Book Cake: a photoplay

A couple weeks in the life of the lovely surprise book cake Stephen got me for the pre-event party my good friend Liz Scott threw before my book launch at the beginning of this month. 

The cake was huge. There was no way it was going to get close to being completely eaten during that party. In the whirlwind of all of us heading over to Powell's for the event, the leftover cake got left, in full, to Stephen and me. I shouldn't have continued eating as much of that cake as I did in the days that followed, but it felt too special. 

I don't remember what piece I got at the party.

This is the piece I had at the end of the night to celebrate the book launch.

Eating the moon.

Remnants. If you look close, you'll see the sign of the beast in there. Yipe.

A last little piece before I bit the bullet (pun intended) and put the last of it out for the squirrels to pick over.

a moment in the day: baking

I'm baking Stephen a cake for his birthday. I'm done with the measuring, the combining, the stirring, the orange-zesting, the egg-cracking, the cake is in the (toaster) oven, and now I'm working on the frosting.

Combine butter and cream cheese and mix.

Add powdered sugar one cup at a time and mix.

Add orange juice and mix.

My hands hurt from all the effing zesting. I'll never be able to be on the British Baking Show because I just couldn't handle it if I had to do any zesting.

Also not British.

All of the sudden I start to smell it. Just a hint at first and then the whole kitchen starts to fill with it. It's the Everything-Will-Be-Alright smell. I never thought of it that way before, but that's what it is, isn't it?

It's warm and sweet and safety and childhood and Mom.

I wonder if this is why so many people are baking during this pandemic.

That, and I realize that for a good long time, all I've been thinking about is, will this cake come out right, and how in the world do they make powdered sugar?

a moment in the day: delivery

Nicholas is barking in the hysterical way he barks when there's a knock on the door, and I follow him quick down the stairs, hoping to pick him up before Stephen answers the door.

Normally these pandemic days, I'd be afraid to answer the door, but I did order some Vegemite, and I got a confirmation email that it was on its way. They'd just knock and leave it on the porch.

Still, doggy in arms, now, I stop. Stephen and I hesitate, neither touching the knob.

"It's probably just my Vegemite," I say.

When Stephen opens the door and we peak out, there's a small box sitting on the porch. On the top it says, "Fat Cupcake."

I say, "Kathleen!"

Now I understand the cryptic text my friend sent me about a "delivery" a little earlier in the evening. Cupcakes from her and from my writing group. For my birthday.

In these fraught times, the gesture gives me a slug of pure joy in my belly.

In the street, a house and a half down, a car is making a U-turn. What kind of car does Kathleen drive? Neither Stephen nor I have our glasses on. I wave big as the car makes its turn and comes back to pass in front of our house. Stephen tells me the driver is waving so I wave bigger, making thank you gestures, and then they're gone.

I take my cupcakes inside.

"I think that was a man," Stephen says.

Yeah. I'm pretty sure I just blew a kiss at the delivery man.

the body show benefit: spotlight on brad fortier

It's number four in my series on stealing things off of Nora Robertson's website to shamelessly promote The Body Show Benefit, an event I'll be reading in, along with some amazing writers and performers, on Wednesday, November 3rd. Come on, people! Donut-eating contest! OK, the next voice you'll hear will be Nora...


Brody Theater’s Brad Fortier recently was invited to Amsterdam to give a talk on the Anthropology of Improvisation for the 2010 Applied Improvisation Network conference. Besides being somewhat jealous of his being in Europe, where they serve fries with mayonnaise, I also was super intrigued by his interview on the anthropological roots of improvisation.

Check it out here.

Brad is something of an anthropologist, in fact. Brad holds an MA in Interdisciplinary Studies from Portland State University focused on the anthropology of improvised theater. His book, Long-Form Improvisation: Collaboration, Comedy and Communion, is a social science analysis of, well, long-form.

As an anthropologist, Brad bounces between doing archaeological contract work for Willamette CRA and continuing his ethnographic studies of improvised theater. His performance career has included shows in the US, Canada, the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, Austria, and Slovenia. He is also known for his duo work with Fort Hal and Uncle Trouble with comedy partner Nate Halloran. Brad can also be found onstage with Icarus and, occasionally, Funnybusiness PDX. He is the Education Director for the Brody Theater in Portland, where he has been teaching since 1998. Brad has also directed several shows for the Brody Theater: The Bards - an improvised musical, Generic Hospital – an improvised soap opera, and Starhole 3060. He also directed “SexyNurd” in Portland’s 2010 ‘Fertile Ground’ Festival of new works.

For more of Brad’s work, check out his collaboration here with director Alden Morgan, or, on a more frivolous note, come see him eat doughnuts stylishly for the Body Show Benefit’s Voodoo doughnut eating contest, Wednesday, Nov. 3rd, Someday Lounge, door at 7PM, 7:30-9:30PM, $5-15 donation

spotlight on the body show benefit: girl in cake

Less than two weeks from the Body Show Benefit, and over on Nora Robertson's website, she's included an excerpt from the story I'll be reading, along with a graphic I put together in a frenzy of frosting and photoshopping, to commemorate the upcoming event. [The next voice you hear will be Nora's...]


A woman decides to jump naked out of a cake to surprise her husband for their anniversary, and quickly ends up baking hundreds of sheet cakes. Gigi Little’s writing has appeared in the anthologies Portland Noir and The Pacific Northwest Reader, and she has written and illustrated two children’s picture books, Wright Vs. Wrong and The Magical Trunk. She works as In-Store Merchandising and Promotions Coordinator for Powell’s, and before moving to Portland, she spent fifteen years in the circus. To hear more of this story, check out Gigi at the Body Show Benefit, Nov. 3rd, door at 7PM, 7:30-9:30PM, $5-15 donation.

EXCERPT

I never thought I’d be the kind of person who’d like frosting a cake in the nude. But, oh, I do. First is the smell of the sugar all around. Then there’s the way it feels. Trust me, if you think running a knife along frosting is kind of sensual, try doing it with nothing but air against your skin.

I say cake, but actually this is one of those giant novelty cakes a girl hides in and then jumps out of in a pink teddy. Or in my case, naked. Naked because today is our fifth wedding anniversary, and I don’t just want to celebrate, I don’t just want to give Andy a little surprise. I want to make an exceptional gesture.

That’s what he called it when he bought me that dress, the red one that cost like five hundred dollars. He could have bought me the sweater I asked for, but he wanted to make an exceptional gesture. So, this year, I’m doing something special for him. Something classy. I’ve got a bottle of thirty dollar champagne and the table in the corner is set with silver and candles. I constructed this cake all by myself—could have rented it from a costume shop, but then it might not have even had real frosting and definitely would not have been an exceptional gesture—at least not nearly exceptional enough.

Almost seems like I should open the champagne and have a tiny toast before Andy gets here. Because, if I do say so, this cake looks great. Well, mostly it looks like I frosted the washing machine. I tried to make it round, but somehow it came out with corners. Oh, it’s way wider than a washing machine and goes all the way up to my chin, so even if it’s not completely cakelike, at least it’s enormous. Guess it’s also kind of lopsided. But as soon as I decorate it with rosettes, it’ll be perfect.

I take the knife across the living room to the table. Balance it butt-end on the edge so the icing won’t get all over the tablecloth. The bottle is hard and a little wet—I twist the cork, let it pop, and wow—I never noticed before, but opening champagne is sort of suggestive of something. I don’t want to smudge the crystal glasses, so I swig right from the bottle. Shimmery crisp. A different sort of sensual from the soft of the frosting knife, different from the chill air on my skin. It’s an icy prickle of sexy in my mouth, so I’ve got to take another swig.

Frosting a cake naked does take some restraint. If you’re not careful, you might end up wanting to roll your body all over that smooth, lovely frosting. So I step back. Just in case. Andy’s not due for another fifteen minutes at least, but who can say when he’s driving all the way from Seattle. That’s the real reason I’ve got my clothes off. The minute I hear his key in the lock, I’m taking a nose dive into that cake. The thought that he could show up any second makes a tingle like champagne in my stomach. Makes me want more. So I go and pour myself exactly half a glass and take it back the couple steps to the cake. Then I drink it down in one go. Which feels a little excessive, but I have to keep my hands free for my work.

Usually these big novelty cakes are made out of wire and cardboard or something, but mine is an exceptional gesture. Andy always says I go overboard when I get excited, but this time he’s going to have to admit it’s worth it. How can a woman hope to be sexy jumping out of a cake made out of wire and cardboard? If you want to be sexy, you want to go real all the way. And what could be sexier than cake?