My Future as a Professional Whistler is Nearly Assured

This story begins with an office party. There’s one every year, of course. It’s usually in January, the better to make sure everyone can be there. For the first several years I worked at the office, we had the party at a local restaurant. Five years ago, we had it at the Deadwood Social Club, which has a beautiful black box theater, complete with a stage. After eating our delicious meal, a few of us sat staring at the stage, pondering how awesome it would be if there was something to watch happening on the stage.

The the idea of the Office Talent Show was born. The next year we had the party at the home of some of the bosses, and the Talent Show was mandatory. There was a lot of grumbling, but everyone wound up participating. There was a kazoo band incorporating may of the humbugs, to magnificent effect. Other acts included a classically trained pianist playing ACDC’s TNT (classically), which was hilarious, several of our staff members who are in local bands playing original songs (impressively), some of our singers singing, one of the owners riding a unicycle, one of the owners doing a Monte Python sketch, and me demonstrating my infallible knowledge of Disney music (ending with a rousing audience-participation chorus of Mulan’s “Be A Man”).

The second year met with less variety in talent and much more grumbling. (“How can you force us to do this? It’s cruel and unusual punishment!”) But the show went on. There were ukuleles and card tricks and singing and Eddie Izzard and I demonstrated my proficiency in sign language, accompanied by a friend singing an opera aria she and I composed an hour before the party. It was a little lame, I confess.

The third year – last year – full-out rebellion set in. Our employees refused to come to the party if we forced them to participate in a talent show. So there was no talent show. The party was okay – there was food and drink and some chatting – and then everyone left. It felt very unfulfilling.

And so this year we re-instituted the talent show, under a “not quite mandatory” policy. And I like showing off, so I was happy enough to volunteer…

Especially when I realized I have an actual talent.

You see, there is a particular employee in our office who is well-known for whistling badly. Christmas songs, mostly. And one day I was walking by while someone was talking about his bad whistling, and I thought to myself – “heh, heh. Poor guy. I bet he wishes he was as awesome a whistler as I am.” And then it struck me – I really am an awesome whistler.

It is a talent I inherited from my Grandpa George.

I can whistle on-pitch, on-tempo, and I can trill, which isn’t too shabby at all. So, curious, I hopped over to YouTube and searched for “good songs to whistle.” Up came a slew of videos relating to the World Whistling Championships, which I didn’t even know existed. And let me tell you – there are some really amazing whistlers out there.

Finally, I saw an interview with the 2009 Whistling Grand Champion, and she mentioned that maybe next year she would tackle Bohemian Rhapsody.

…

Well obviously, if the World Whistling Grand Champion thought it was a good idea, so should I. And it fit the talent show bill perfectly – something talent-ish, but more importantly, entertaining. Everyone knows Bohemian Rhapsody, and it’s kind of a silly song. Perfect.

So I started practicing.

You know what? Bohemian Rhapsody is not a piece of cake. Normally, I can pick music up very quickly by ear. After listening to Bohemian Rhapsody for two solid days on endless repeat, I was still losing track of which key I was supposed to be in during the middle section, so I downloaded the sheet music. Turns out the song changes keys three times, and time signatures another three times. I complained to my friend Carlynn, a Doctor of Cello and Graduate of Freddy Mercury Week(tm), who said to my pain: “that guy [Freddie Mercury] was not messing around.” She also pointed out that the dude hates shirts.

True enough.

So I kept practicing, using my out-of-tune piano as a crutch. I’m glad I had a full two weeks to get it under control. I probably could have used one more.

Finally the moment arrived: the Not-Quite-Mandatory Talent Show that All But Three Employees had volunteered for. Suddenly, it turned into Only Three Employees who were interested in performing. Whatever. I had a talent and I was ready to go.

After a rousing accordian chorus of Louie Louie (Louis Louis? Lewie Lewie?), I was called to the stage, in front of my massive dining room table. I called for a B to begin my a capella intro to the song and launched into it.

(Disclaimer, in case you elect to watch the video: my accompaniment was provided by a laptop, making it rather hard to hear. Also, I especially love the bit in the video when Dan checks to see if I’m really whistling. )

My talent was received with exactly the enthusiasm I had hoped: delighted giggles from the first folks who realized what I was up to, applauding, and maybe even a little whistling along.

What I did not expect was the rousing endorsement I got afterward. Apparently, I really amazed my coworkers with what may be a legitimate talent. I promised that if I made it into the World Whistling Championships, I would invite them all along.

And you know what? The World Whistling Championships are hilarious. I looked them up after everyone went home, and here are some of the guidelines I found:

“You may not accompany yourself … [because the] judges need to watch your facial expressions and particularly the use of your lips.”

“But for serious whistlers whose goal is to become an international grand champion, they must enter both the classical and popular categories.” (Which leads me to believe there may be room in this competition for kicks-only whistlers. Also, it leads me to believe you can’t accidentally win.)

Regarding your selection for a Classical Entry: “Composers to be considered are usually those of Europe and the United States. … If Asian, African or South American compositions, a professional music authority must vouch for authenticity of your choice.”

Regarding your selection for a Popular Music Entry: ”…the choices are wide and varied from folk, blues, jazz, county, rock and roll, western, reggae, and many mixtures of music for the ‘masses.’ Your selection could be from ancient ballads to the most current pop song. When in doubt about your choices, you may wish to use the New Harvard Dictionary of Music edited by Dan Randel, or discuss your selections with musicians who have graduate degrees in music.”

That last one is really long, but it was so funny, I had to post it all.

All said and done, I have come to this conclusion: if the World Whistling Championships ever come to South Dakota, I am SO there. Or a state fair. I would almost certainly enter a whistling competition at a state fair.

Stay tuned, and if Dustin uploads it and it’s not too embarrassing (I did run directly into the dining room table when rocking out to the last section of the song), I’ll post a link to my awesome performance.

I hate wind.

I hate it. Hate it hate it hate it hate it hate it.

I had to get that out of my system.

It is 6:15am. For those of you who know me, you know that is not a time of day that I choose to be conscious for. I’ve been up since 3:00, when the entire wrath of shifting pressure zones descended upon my neighborhood.

As I’ve mentioned previously, I have a really irrational fear of the wind. It’s twenty times worse in my new house because it’s an old house, and everything rattles. There’s the windows for starters. Boy, do they rattle. At 3:30 I got out of bed and went around the house closing storm windows to try and make it better. It did, a little. But then there’s other stuff that rattles, and I don’t even know what it is. We don’t have shutters, though I spend a lot of time imagining that we must as things bang around outside. And then there’s the mysterious thumping upstairs… (I’ve decided it must be branches falling off the massive, terrifying cottonwood tree that looms over our roof. There’s a whole ‘nother thing to worry about.)

After I got the windows all tightened up, I made a very good effort at going back to sleep. Every time I’d start to doze off, WHAM! The front of the house would get smacked with a proper clap of wind. (You thought only thunder clapped? You were wrong.) Then I got this idea into my head that the new storm window I’d installed in the attic earlier in the day was flapping from its hinges because I didn’t take the time to install hooks to keep it locked. Unfortunately, there are guests staying in the attic, so I couldn’t go up there to check. But I also couldn’t get the idea out of my head that this glass window was flapping around by two very measly hinges, so I got out of bed, went outside, and peered up at my attic window from the sidewalk.

It was just fine. Of course.

I’m not strictly rational when I’m half-asleep.

Also, it’s amazing that I didn’t blow away.

So I went back to bed and tried again. All the worrying about the wind had given me a serious crick in the neck which didn’t help. Again, I’d get so close to drifting off then WHOOSHBAM!

It continues: something started smacking around outside. For most of the spring, we had a trellis on the side of the porch that was loose on one side, and it would bang when the wind blew. Dustin screwed it in over the summer, but I became convinced that it must be loose again. If it was, I managed to rationalize that there was nothing I could do about it in the middle of the night, so I needed to just stay in bed and go to sleep. An hour later, however, I had convinced myself that the smacking was actually the storm door which I probably hadn’t pulled all the way shut the first time. No no no, that couldn’t be it – it would make much more noise.

But I couldn’t stop freaking out about it, so here I am, on the couch, with a mug of warm milk and the freaking dawn is breaking. (The storm door and trellis were both secure. I checked.) I fell down the stairs on my way to the kitchen and my toe hurts too, which really adds to the awesome of this morning.

I’m going to be useless today.

(In other news, I also found this photo while searching for the image above. I think it’s how I feel my house should look after a night like this.)

The Morning of the Super Boff

I don’t make mistakes one at a time, I make them in packages. More efficient that way. Makes for better story-telling too. (Scope this one out for my most epic of Super Boffs.)

I had an appointment for a hair cut at 8:30 this morning. I was running a little late (go figure) and then when I got where I was going, I drove right past the building because, for some reason, her sign was down. I drove around the block, almost turned up a one-way street going the wrong way, then parked two blocks away because I couldn’t stomach making an uphill left-hand turn in Lead. I had my computer with me, so I locked the car and began the hike up the hill to the salon.

When I got there… empty. Not just closed, but clearly she’d moved out. Guh… what? I reached into my purse to call and see where she’d gone. No phone. At least my computer was in my car so I could find some wireless and look it up.

I got back to my car and discovered I’d brought the set of keys that only starts the car, but does not unlock it.

Oh crap.

So I hiked farther down the hill to the gas station where I mooched a phone to call the office. Dustin was out for a breakfast meeting, but Amanda had just called saying she was still on her way to work… from Lead. “GIVE ME HER CELL PHONE NUMBER!” So I called and got her voice mail. I tried calling again because I thought if it rang enough times, she might pick it up even though she didn’t recognize the number. Instead, some dude named Ted (whom I had apparently just woken up) answered. Oops, sorry Ted.

I called the office again to confirm Amanda’s phone number, then called her back. She answered, and was already down at the office in Deadwood. She most generously offered to come get me, so I called Dustin to see if he was available to give her the keys so I could take my own car back, but he didn’t answer his phone.

So. My car is still in Lead (where I don’t THINK I’ll get a ticket for leaving it parked all day…) with my computer locked inside. I have to do payroll this morning.

I’m… hungry.

Why the end of the world not being tomorrow makes me sad

It’s been all over Facebook: RSVP now to the post-rapture looting party on May 21, 2011!

The idea that the world is going to end tomorrow, supported by those who follow the calculations of Harold Camping, has become a giant joke to the larger part of those who know about it. It’s far from the first (and certainly will not be the last) time folks have proclaimed that the end of the world will be on such-and-such very specific date. To me, it breaks my heart a little. People have quit jobs, broken their families, and left everything behind in preparation for an event which I, like so many others, am pretty sure won’t happen tomorrow. I can’t imagine the emotional state they’ll be in if dawn breaks on Sunday.

You have to understand that I’m coming at this from the perspective of someone who also believes the world (society) as we know it is likely in its death throes, and that Armageddon is a real thing that I sincerely hope to see begin during my lifetime. I am one of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and we tend to take Biblical prophesies at lot more seriously than many folks in main-stream branches of Christianity. We do the same thing Harold Camping’s group is doing – getting out and warning people – but we’ve been doing it for so long (and mostly without megaphones), that we’re more of an ongoing knock-knock joke than a news item.

And Witnesses have had their run-ins with badly-chosen doomsdays too. The most recent was a date in 1975,  but that didn’t pan out, and it left a lot of people broken-hearted. Perhaps that was a lesson that needed to be learned the hard way. It seems so clear to me, in Matthew 24:36 when Jesus says, regarding the end of this world as we know it, “Concerning that day and hour nobody knows, neither the angels of the heavens nor the Son, but only the Father.” If Jesus himself was not given access to that information, why should we be? We are, however, given plenty of opportunities to recognize that the time is getting close, as outline in the rest of Matthew 24.

As someone who believes that such an end will eventually come (though the end I anticipate bears very little resemblance to the end being trumpeted for tomorrow – no rapture, for example), I have undertaken to live my life simply, so that I will not be reluctant to let it go; to keep my priorities straight, so that spiritual matters and not material ones are kept at the forefront; to help any who will listen see that life cannot go on as it is and encourage them to form their own relationships with God. In such a way, I am capable of living in the “end times,” when life is difficult and disasters too abundant, with both hope and patience, without worrying too much about exact dates and times and what the implications to my faith might be if that doesn’t pan out.

So here’s hoping that if it’s not tomorrow, it’s soon. And to my friends and family: I understand that you may think I’m every bit as nuts as the folks who’ve cashed out their 401ks because they won’t be needing them after tomorrow, and respect that this is not the path you’ve chosen. Thank you for continuing to love and support me. I have every confidence that death – by natural causes, unnatural causes, or divine intervention – will not be the end for any of us.

Ah, me.

We have a professional blogger staying with us this weekend, and it makes me miss my poor, neglected blog. Apparently, my limit is one online distraction at a time. I suspect the dwindling of my posts here roughly coincides with the infatuation I’ve developed with Kingdom of Loathing, an online game with terrible(awesome) graphics and hilarious writing and endless possibilities for ways to play.

So let me at least post a sort of wrap-up on the Chili Cook-Off while I think of a more satisfying post to put up. The reporting sort of dwindled, I was, in fact, sampling many and varried chilies throughout the winter. In addition to the two I posted about, I tried out:

Chocolate Chili

Summary: I loved the chocolate note, but to cancel out the bitterness, I had to add more sugar than I care for. Was also the ugliest chili I’ve ever seen.

• Deliciousness: 3
• Beauty: 1
• Idiot-Proof: 4
• Dirty Dishes: 4
• Total Score: 3

Sweet Potato Veggie Chili

Summary: Very simple chili with few steps. You can slice up your veggies and toss them in the heated pot one at a time, giving them just enough time to cook while you chop the next veggie. I found the final product quite bland, though, and nothing I could do with veggie options made it any better. I finally gave up and tossed in a chicken boullion cube, and that was perfect. Oh well. The colors of the tomatoes, sweet potatoes, and black beans were beautiful together.

• Deliciousness: 4
• Beauty: 5
• Idiot-Proof: 3
• Dirty Dishes: 5
• Total Score: 4.25

First Attempt at Conglomerate-Everything-Perfect Laura Chili

Summary: I took all the things I’d liked best from the recipes I’d tried so far and put them together. The result was pretty darned satisfying.

6 strips of bacon
1lb ground beef
1 bell pepper, diced
1  onion, diced
1 jalapeno pepper, diced (seeds optional)
4 cloves garlic minced
3 T chili powder
2 T (heaping) cocoa powder
1 tsp rosemary
1 can petite diced tomatoes
1 can tomato paste
1-2 T chipotle in adobo (or one chipotle, chopped fine)
2 cups homemade (or canned) stock (I used chicken stock, even with the beef – it was fine)
1 can each pinto beans and black beatns, drained and rinsed
1 can of sweet corn, drained
1/2 c red wine
a couple dashes of Tabasco
brown sugar (add about 1 T at a time and taste after each addition)
salt/pepper taste

Cook up the bacon, set aside and pour out most of the grease but reserve it for later. Cook the beef in the same pan. Set the cooked beef aside with the bacon.

Add a bit of the bacon grease back into the pan and add the onions. Cook for a couple minutes, then add the bell and jalapeno peppers. Cook three or four minutes until tender. Add the garlic. Continue cooking until everything starts to stick to the bottom of the pan. Deglaze with a bit of water, then add a bit more bacon grease and the spices. Saute until it smells delicious. Stir in tomato paste, tomatos, and chipotles. Return beef and chopped bacon to the pan. Add one cup of stock, beans, corn, and wine. Start with 1 T of brown sugar, add a couple dashes of tabasco, and let it all simmer for about an hour. Now you can taste it and adjust the amounts of sugar, wine, and spices if necessary. Use additional stock to thin it out, or add an extra can of beans (kidney, to add variety) if it seems like it needs more stuff. Serve with lots of cheese and corn chips.

Yum.

Hell Week (or, “why it’s worth it”)

In high school, I was a member of a huge, incredible theater department. Our drama teacher/director was trained for the theater. It was her life and her passion. We didn’t do anything halfway. Shows were cast with the best talent available, and the multitudes of us who were slightly less talented with line delivery were there to fill in the technical aspects of producing a show. We built two-story sets, sewed costumes from patterns we designed ourselves, walked the cats and hung the lights… it was amazing.

As the week of production descended upon us, we donned our play-themed t-shirts and paraded around the school, proud of our participation and accomplishment, looking forward to what we dubbed as “Hell Week,” the week we’d be at school until 10:00 every night, practicing and perfecting every final detail. The week would be crowned by the three performances for large audiences which we’d come out of glowing and already getting nostalgic.

So here I am, at the bitter end of Hell Week for a non-high school show and all I feel is totally wiped out. There’s been nothing overwhelmingly arduous about rehearsals this week – we even had last night off – but tonight we’ll have our first real performance and I have no enthusiasm, no energy.

What’s the difference?

For a start, this is the first major role I’ve ever had. Prior to this show, I think I maxed out at 20 lines, and mostly I never had any lines at all. In previous shows, I’ve coasted along on the coattails of the more key players without really having such a huge investment myself. This time, a lot more is riding on me. I feel a little stressed about that.

Next, this just isn’t high school anymore. I don’t spend my days surrounded by a swirling mass of friends, classmates, and teachers who are all just as excited about this as I am. These days, I work in an office where everyone has their own, very separate concerns in life, not to mention work that they’re focusing on for the day. Don’t get me wrong – my office is hugely supportive of the arts – especially the ones our workers are involved in – and they’ll probably all come see the show, but they’re not IN the show. There’s no feeding off each others’ energy the way you would in high school when you sat down in math class and realized that the people wearing Pirates of Penzance t-shirts outnumbered everyone else.

And then, I suppose, there’s the basic fact that I have a job. I work 8-5 every day. None of this getting off at 3:00 business. I’ll run directly from the office to the show, gobbling a peanut butter sandwhich on the way because that’s all I’ll have time for. My hair and makeup for this show takes two and a half hours. I’ve done that every day this week so far, and I can’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm to do it again.

So why? WHY am I doing this??

Because tonight we’re going to have an audience. And they are going to laugh uproariously as poor Barney Cashman tries so desperately to get lucky and fails, over and over again. Because maybe I’ll forget a line or two, but maybe I won’t and the audience will say, “My goodness isn’t that young lady with the long straight hair talented!” Because I love to dress up and step into someone else’s shoes for awhile, and let’s face it – who doesn’t love a little applause? And when it’s over, I’ll wish it had gone on longer. I’ll stick a picture in a frame and think back fondly on the whole experience, forgetting how tired I am today and how many grumpy hours I spent with the straightening iron. And I’ll start to think that maybe it would be a good idea if I gave it another go…

And some time next year, I’ll be posting a note a lot like this one, begging you to come see my show, to make all the struggles and efforts more than worthwhile.

Please come see my show?

The Neeley’s Chili Recipe

I found this recipe on foodnetwork.com and it looked absolutely delicious. More than that, it was 5-star rated by a gazillion reviewers, which is always an excellent sign. So this made it onto the list of chili trials as #2. I’ll paste the ingredients for your perusal. For full details on how to put them together, click the link above to check it out right on their site.

No pictures this time… I seem to have lost Dustin’s camera. Oops.

Pat’s Famous Beef and Pork Chili

Ingredients

• 6 slices thick-cut applewood smoked bacon, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
• 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 2 medium onions, finely chopped
• 1 red bell pepper, chopped
• 1 yellow bell pepper, chopped
• 3 tablespoons chili powder
• 1 tablespoon ground cumin
• 1 tablespoon chipotle chili powder
• 2 teaspoons dried oregano
• 1 tablespoon smoked paprika
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 1 pound 85 percent lean ground beef
• 1 pound ground pork
• 1 cup beer (recommended: Budweiser)
• 1 (15-ounce) can black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 (15-ounce) can kidney beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 (24-ounce) can crushed tomatoes
• 1 (24-ounce) can diced tomatoes, with juice
• Lime wedges, for garnish
• Sour cream, for garnish
• Shredded Cheddar, for garnish
• Sliced scallions, for garnish

I first got suspicious when  no where in the directions was I asked to drain the grease from the six strips of bacon or 85% lean (read 15% fatty) ground beef. But this experiment is all about following directions, so I went with it. Having all that fat in there and browing the meats *among* the vegetables (instead of on their own) caused a sort of amazing meat-melting thing to happen. The meat disolved into very small bits without even much prodding from my spoon. I personally like my meat in very small bits, so that was a good thing.

The next suspicious thing was the quantity of spices. This recipe, which is at least double the volume of my brother’s turkey recipe, called for the same quantity of spices. Sure enough – they had to be significantly increased. I probably doubled them, though I lost track because I gave up on measuring the extras I added.

We also didn’t use Bud for the beer because, uh, we don’t drink that stuff. All I could find, in fact, was a porter. So, not exactly an equivalent, but how much difference could that have made?

The end result was disappointing. Perhaps it’s because I had such high hopes. Bacon! Pork! Beer! But what I got was a sloppy, *very* meaty chili that had no real defining flavors. Even with all the extra spices, it was bland. It felt heavy going down and did not leave me with any desire for seconds. Could I blame the beer substitution? Is my taste for spices out of control? I don’t know. In any case, this was not the chili for me.

Deliciousness: 1
Beauty: 3
Idiot-Proof: 3
Dirty Dishes: 3

Total Score: 2.5

Tommy’s Turkey Chili

Enter the first contestant in my winter-long personal chili cook-off!

My brother Tommy is going to be a chef when he grows up. He’s already an excellent cook, and he’s got official cridentials too. He’s worked in some pretty swanky restaurants in Denver and went to Florida for some sort of national cooking contest when he was in high school.

But my brother has a few anti-cridentials too. For example, he doesn’t really like vegetables. (“I can work around them!” he says.) And he doesn’t like beans (“they’re just mooshy and get in the way”). Which, unsurprisingly, leads to the correct conclusion that he also doesn’t like chili.

And yet… he does like this chili. I don’t know where he got the recipe, but since it’s the only chili he’s willing to eat and I got the recipe from him, I’m declaring this recipe his. It gets to be the first chili on the menu because it is the simplest of all the chili recipes I have considered so far. Let us begin:

Tommy’s Turkey Chili

1lb ground turkey (beef is also fine)
1 bell pepper, diced small
1  onion, diced small
1-3 habanero peppers (see note)
a couple dashes of Tabasco or Sriracha
3 cloves garlic minced
1 can petite diced tomatoes
1 can tomato paste
1 can kidney beans, drained and rinsed
32oz low sodium chicken broth
3 T chili powder
salt/pepper taste
maybe a pinch of sugar

Like so:

I was probably supposed to use a green pepper, but yellow was what I had on hand so I used that. Besides, yellow peppers are way tastier. I also didn’t have any habanero peppers, but since the “note” on that said “I use three habaneros but apparently my spicy capacity is ridiculous…”, I wasn’t too worried. That pepper you see there had been living in my freezer since the last farmer’s market. I don’t even know what sort of pepper it is, but it couldn’t possibly be worse than three habaneros, so I decided to go with it.

Step one: brown the meat and add diced vegetables.

Did you know that ground turkey is really gross to cook with? It’s creepy slimy, and wouldn’t crumble up the way ground beef does. At some point shortly before adding the veggies, I had what looked like turkey meatballs rolling around in my pot. But eventually I got it figured out.

Next: add tomato paste, chili powder, and hot sauce of your choice. No problemo.

Hey, that looks a lot more like chili now!

Final steps: add diced tomatoes, beans, chicken broth, and “simmer for as long as you can stand to not eat… it is much better the longer it sits and the next day is AMAZING!” I was foresightful enough to start cooking at 2:00, so by the time we ate at 7:00, all the flavors were delightfully well melded and yes, it was really very good.

I had not added any sugar or salt initially. I added both and upped the chili powder just a smidge, along with a couple extra shakes of Tabasco to round things out. A handful of cheese and some corn chips made it all just right. It is a very simple recipe without any fancy ingredients, but that’s just what you want some nights. The texture of the turkey was softer than the beef I am used to, but that was rather pleasant too. I like the flavor added by using broth instead of just water. My mystery pepper was also just the right amount of spicy, thank goodness.

Thank you for the recipe Tommy! I dub this chili a success.

Deliciousness: 4
Beauty: 4
Idiot-Proof: 5
Dirty Dishes: 5

Total Score: 4.5

The Great Chili Cook-Off

Yesterday, I walked back into the office after eating my lunch of a stale bran muffin and an overripe banana, and I smelled chili. Someone had warmed up chili for lunch, and I wanted it. Badly. So badly that I stopped by Wendy’s for dinner and got chili there, and even that tasted pretty darned good.

So I sent out a Facebook plea, asking for favorite chili recipes. My chili “recipe” has always consisted of tossing into the pot whatever happens to be in the fridge. Every time I discover a new trick people use to make their chili delicious, I add that to my chili strategy. The result is that my chili usually has about 57 ingredients and cannot be relied upon to taste good. Sometimes I accidentally do something that results in wonderful chili, sometimes the combinations  aren’t right and I wish the leftovers would just go away.

I wanted a recipe. A real one. With measured ingredients. And my Facebook friends came through for me. So far, I’ve gotten recipes for Grandma’s Chili, Kitchen Sink Chili, White Chicken Chili, Chocolate Chili, Triple Pork Chili, and Turkey Chili. That’s not what I was expecting. I was expecting to get three or four recipes that all looked more or less the same, from which I could glean the secrets of a perfect chili. Who knew there were so many varieties?

And what am I supposed to do about it? Try them all, obviously. So I’m declaring this winter my personal Great Chili Cook-Off. I figure I’ll document my efforts here. And I’m still accepting submissions. Anyone else have a chili recipe that you’re willing to share? Don’t worry – I promise not to enter any actual chili cook-offs with your recipe. I’m way too inconsistent a chef to pull that off without it ending in tears (for me and the judges, no doubt).

Facebook, email, comment, text, tweet, write, or whisper me your recipes. I’ll add them to the list and let you know how they stack up.

PS: Extra judges always welcome. Feel free to invite yourself over for dinner.

Musings on Pern Fandom

I’ve been active in seven different Pern Fanfiction clubs during the fifteen years I’ve been involved in fandom. (Whoa. How did I ever find a husband?) Never more than two clubs at any one time, and only one most of the time. But with that many in my pocket, I’ve observed a thing or two about what works and what doesn’t to keep a club alive and happy. My comments will be pretty specific to Pern fandom, but roughly apply to most varieties, I suspect.

Let me start by saying that “what works” depends a lot on what you expect to get out of joining a fanfiction club. My personal motivation is to be able to write easily and freely in a world that is comfortable to me with a group of other folks whose company and writing I enjoy. Simply: to have fun. In support of that particular goal, here are the lessons I’ve learned:

Let people make mistakes.
So a character just walked into a room and commented on the ugly decor. Well, you very plainly described the decor in a post three months ago, and it was *not* ugly then. Who’s this new writer to redecorate your room?? A new writer, that’s who. Or an old writer who got confused. Rather than writing them a public scolding saying “you’re wrong! fix it!” you might do well to consider rolling with it. Make up a mini-plot to explain the change in decor, then fix it so it’s fun and satisfying for both of you. If this simply cannot be arranged for whatever reason, consider just ignoring it. If you put up a new post two weeks from now praising the glories of the wondrous decor, probably no one will notice that it went through an ugly phase. If you can’t handle ignoring it, a nice, private message calmly explaining the need for a change goes a lot farther toward goodwill than a public lambasting.

Let people write stupid characters.
They exist in great quantities. In clubs I’ve been in, they’ve been called Mary Sues and Twinkies. They have it all: gorgeous looks, charming character, a tragic history, a beautiful singing voice, a long-lost twin sister, a talent for communicating with animals, and they’re horribly misunderstood. Et cetera. I’ve seen clubs try to control the impulse to write these characters, with varying success. While such characters should be discouraged in seasoned members, they’re completely harmless in the end. Once a new member has written a few of them, they’ll develop a taste for more complex characters and no one will be worse off for an extra doe-eyed, red-headed orphan running around the Weyr.

Make special honors available, then give them out liberally.
In Pern fandom, it’s the gold dragon. Everyone wants one. Unfortunately, they do need to be somewhat limited to keep insanity to a minimum. I’ve seen this problem partially solved in a couple clubs by putting the bronze dragon on a roughly equal pedestal: rather than just giving bronze dragons away to anyone who asks, certain conditions have to be met – say, you have to have been a member for x long, or you have to help the club admins with some chores, or you have to win an in-game contest. These are great incentives. They give members goals to aim for and make them feel great about themselves once achieved. But here’s the key: those incentives should be obtainable for all. A club that only has room for three members or one member to have a Really Special Character is not a fun place for anyone except those three or that one. Withholding privileges because a member isn’t a good writer, because a member might flake out and leave in a month, or because you just don’t like a member? That sucks. Reward loyalty. Reward participation. Reward effort. If you can’t give everyone shiny dragons, that’s okay too. But seek out ways to make your members feel appreciated, and they will return the favor.

Make it really easy to join the group.
When last shopping for a club, I sifted through dozens of well-established clubs that were probably a ton of fun. I rejected all of them because their websites were confusing or I found novel-length pages of rules explaining the seventy-five ways I could get myself expelled from the club or joining in required me to write three drudge-level characters and pass a background check. Who wants to deal with that? Wait to spring the really deep stuff (like the judicial process the BoD undergoes to excommunicate power-posers or the dice mechanic for determining hatching colors) for some secret members-only page that no one can see until they’ve already been suckered in through the front door. This is important, because…

To keep a club alive, you have to have a constant stream of new participants.
It’s really great to have a core group of writers you know and love and write well with. You are the heart of the club and you keep things moving. However, new writers are what keep things interesting. They bring enthusiasm and ideas that you never have access to if you don’t bring them in. Recruiting is dirty business, though. Finding new members is hard work. Then, when you find them, you discover they’re not all gems. For every 10 people you get, only two of them will stay longer than a month (or past the first hatching). For every 10 who stay, only two of them will be people you really enjoy writing with. It doesn’t matter! Having the bodies and the input does matter. If you don’t like to write with them, chances are good someone else will, but a club goes stale without fresh blood now and then.

Benevolent dictators are good for business.
If I ever decided to start my own club (haha), I would be a benevolent dictator. With a dictator, someone’s word is always law. If you join a club with a dictator you don’t like, you just leave and find some other club. Easy. When things are too democratic, club politics can get very, very messy. Members try to pit one club admin against another, or campaign to win in- or out-of-game favors. Admins can quarrel endlessly about a plot, wind up compromising to get it approved, and in the end no one is really happy with it. No… if I owned a club, I’d get folks to help me out with the chores, and I’d appreciate them and reward them and love them forever, but when tough decisions came up, I’d say “We’re gonna do this” and that’s the way it would be. In cases where I’ve been a club admin, I’ve always been known as the one who wants to let the members get away with everything. So I guess you’ll know whether or not you want to join my imaginary club based on that.

And that’s what I believe about running a successful club in Pern Fandom.