This post brought to you by 'Winter Song'

Sometimes I imagine New York City from a birds-eye perspective, and pinpoint the tiny dot that represents myself, there, almost at the very top of the island. With all of the thousands of dots milling around me that represent everyone else. And then I see all of the dots that represent those people who mean something to me, and where they might fall on the map at that particular moment, amidst all of the vibrating stranger-dots.

Right now, almost all of those friend-dots are gone. Vacated the island for the holidays. All of my go-to phone numbers for when I want to see a friendly face are not currently available. I am still here, just me and my City. And these absences make my interaction with Manhattan feel unaccountably different, even though this day may have progressed exactly the same even if all my friend-dots ran along their usual tracks on the map. But today feels not unlike one of those days in Latin America, alone in a foreign city, divvying up my day according to only my own needs and desires. Except that I'm in the city I know best in the world. But isn't that the thing about New York? You never really know it?

I will actually be going home this year, unlike the last two years spent respectively in a retail-bound New York City, and then the far more relaxed Caribbean waters of Panama.

I am really looking forward to seeing Pittsford again. Upstate New York is so beautiful, and though I would much prefer to be there in warm weather, I can't wait to take a long winter walk in the country. I loathe winter, though every day I do my best to find reasons to like it, and a country winter walk is the best thing about it I can think of. Silence, peace, stillness, and snow crunching underfoot.

I also anticipate some forced-relaxation at home, as even a day off here in NY compels me to run errands, and yes, even frequently do some work. Speaking of which...

The butternut squash tomato bisque, cornbread, and a soy cappuccino, please.

I don't know if this is going to paint me as a loner or lonely, (which right now, at least, I am not), but I am sitting down for my first solo meal, in a restaurant, with a waiter. To be fair, I guess it's a cafe, but I'm sitting at a table that gets waiter service. Even when I was traveling alone in Latin America I never went to a restaurant with table service and sat eating all by myself. I would order things and take them to go. More likely I would have stopped at a grocery store for a simple meal of local bread, cheese, and produce. Often I passed a day or two or three with someone else on the road.

It makes me feel very professional adult woman in Manhattan. Heaven knows that every Manhattanite woman's role model, Carrie Bradshaw, sat down for plenty of meals by herself. And that's exactly how I imagine the waiter thinking of me-- seeing me sitting here on my little netbook typing away with my soy cappuccino in the corner of my eye-- I am obviously a writer. With my my vintage-looking (but not) ring, my hair twisted into a braided french bun, my galoshes crossed under my Anthro dress. I think partly why I feel so at ease with eating my meal sola is because I'm so well put together today. It may be different if I felt like I'd just washed up in my tee-shirt, jeans, converse. Not to mention my usual day-off outfit consisting of sweaty work-out clothes.

Sigh. This is NYC in the winter for you. I can't go sit in the Park and eat my food, I have to tuck myself indoors, at the mercy of these lovely waiters. The first of December. I'm not sure either how that is supposed to make me feel, nor how it actually does make me feel. I reserve my 'holiday spirit' for work, and in the face of my currently breathtakingly overwhelming life, I focus on taking one task, project, emotion, day at a time. So the fact that it's December doesn't quite make an impact on how today is going.

If I did let myself think about it for a moment, I might think about how it's the first day of the last month of this eventful year, and consider how that would make me feel. I might think about how nervous I am heading into the winter season-- I don't do well without sunlight on my skin, and growing things within arm's reach.

What I do think about is ALL THE STUFF I have to do in the next two months and how I better stop writing this blog so I can get back to that. On this, my day off. That's life. At least if I'm working on my day off I can do so in a delicious, charming, cozy vegan cafe.

Blast from the past

Did you follow my blog while I was on my trip? If you did, you may recall this sailboat trip. The never-ending one... led by a perpetually intoxicated crazy captain?

I was recently tagged in this photo, posted by a lady I barely met on this night: New Year's Eve going into the year 2010. I do not have enough pictures of me on this trip and I was DELIGHTED to be surprised by this. All the way on the left is Llani, I can't remember the name of the next guy, above him is Joe, the infamous Captain Dennis (look at those rosy cheeks!), myself in the center (I AM SO TAN), and Kathryn to the right.

Ug. I cannot believe this was me 9 months ago. It is CRAZY how worlds-away this whole trip feels. I was writing a piece for my acting class about an event that occurred during this trip, so I was looking through a bunch of old blog posts. I still can't believe I did this. I want to do it again. Not next month or anything, but maybe next year. For the time being though, things are going really well. I feel some great momentum building, and I am really excited about some things happening, some expectations developing, and some results occurring. Yup, super vague. But suffice it to say my 3 jobs are progressing, I'm the slimmest I've ever been, I love the 2 acting classes I'm in, and I'm being really proactive about my career. For, really, the first time since leaving school. I am thrilled with the state of affairs.

Scroll down to the next post... Yeah, don't I look a whole lot better with a bit of makeup on? I am still really impressed I went this whole trip without a stitch of makeup. Cute boys and everything.

Headshots

Last Tuesday I poked around friends' experience, brains, and the internet to find a headshot photographer in NYC that I liked. Last Thursday I met with one. This past Tuesday I shot with one. I got extraordinarily stressed out about this shoot. Not in a non-functional way, just in a 'Am I doing everything possible to make this a success?' way. I tried to pinpoint the castability I was aiming to emerge with. I shopped for hours looking for colors, textures, necklines that flattered. I didn't buy much. I worked SO MUCH I worried. A lot. I walked a lot. I didn't sleep well. I worked out.

I am an actor. Not a model. Acting feels very different to me than taking pictures. It's not what I have experience doing. It's not what I'm trained in. The only training I have is the school of America's Next Top Model. But what is training without practice?

My photographer and makeup artist were fantastic. I was really reticent about using the required makeup artist. I am a makeup artist and I haven't let anyone else do my makeup for years. But Joey was really wonderful, and open to anything I wanted to tweak. Laura, the photographer, was so professional, unbelievably detail oriented, and was a great coach. Also, so open to any tweaks I wanted to make. Since I'm a slow decision-maker I unfortunately didn't have too many tweaks to work with, but she knows how to take charge anyway. Take a look at her very impressive website by clicking here.

I thought positive thoughts. I thought confident thoughts. I had fun. I let go of the death grip I had on this photo shoot and tried to experience it as openly as anything else. Not as an imperative tool that would make or break my career. It's a really exciting, positive step forward. Do you remember my last headshots? They were lovely, but I needed new ones.Please take 10 minutes and help me decide on a few to get retouched and printed. Before you do, please read the below excerpt from Dallas Travers' book The Tao of Show Business.

"Until your resume stands alone, your headshot must clearly and specifically explain how you're best cast. Casting directors are busy people and in order to stand out, you must convey a clear, specific message. You don't need a ton of specific photos with lots of specific costumes. You only need one to three key photos that speak to your castability in a drama, a comedy, and as a specific character. You've got to know yourself, know how others perceive you, and be willing to showcase your specific and authentic self. The more you showcase your glorious self, the more easily success will meet you. Be your best self. Know who you are and embrace it... Remember that the sole purpose of your headshots is to get you hired. That's accomplished with a riveting photo that showcases the real you and speaks clearly to your castability. It doesn't matter if you're smiling or not. It doesn't matter if your body is off-center, or the photo is cropped tight to your head. It doesn't matter if the photo is horizontal or vertical. It doesn't matter if it's a close-up or shows a little body. What matters is that the photo captures the eye and showcases the real you. That's it."

I'm looking for a commercial shot, a drama, a comedy, and maybe just one solid could-use-for-anything master shot. Remember, I'm not ingenue, I am character. Open a word document or your email so you can jot down the number of the picture and your comments on it as you go. I appreciate any feedback I can get, whether that be specific photo numbers or even just "I like the blue for your commercial shot." Even though any decision I make is ultimately mine, I'm not very good at narrowing things like this down. My photographer narrowed over a thousand shots down to more than 400, which I have narrowed down to 78. Help me out with the last couple of steps by clicking here.

Thank you!

Hello Summer

I've had so many lovely New York moments the last couple of weeks, sometimes I wonder whose life or what film I've inadvertently walked into.


It started in Brooklyn. I baked some previously-mentioned amazing cookies and joined two sisters and a roommate at Prospect Park in Brooklyn for some free tunes performed by The Low Anthem and The Swell Season. Brooklyn is the most charming if you're in the right part, I kind of wish I lived there. The line snaked out through the park, but we had no problem scoring an acceptable square of grass and proceeded to enjoy our delicious picnic. It was the perfect temperature, with delightful company (I get along with the hipsters of Brooklyn so much better than with the uppity socialites of Murray Hill), gorgeous sun falling through the leaves, and warm golden melodies floating back to us. The Swell Season was absolutely fantastic. I wouldn't mind seeing their act again at all. Glen was sufficiently passionate (read: VERY), and they even played my favorite song from the Once album, 'Golden'! I wouldn't have minded whiling away a couple of more hours lounging on our picnic blanket in the park (I. Love. Summer. Nights. In. The. Grass.), but everyone else was done in for the night so we joined the masses exodusing to the subway.

A couple of days later, a friend invited me to some Hitchcock on the big screen in the Upper West Side. Done and done. I know that any Hitchcock enthusiast would roll their eyes at this, but I couldn't stop thinking of Mad Men. And I felt great about that. If I wasn't in love with the style of the 60's before Mad Men, I surely am now. Some great shots, some great style, some classic Hitchcock.
Post-film, friend and I joined a friend of his at an exclusive rooftop lounge/bar in Soho. How rarely do I get to say that I got into somewhere exclusive because I know someone who knows someone? 'Just drop Vanessa's name at the door, and they'll show you right in.' And the view. AND THE VIEW. I'll leave it at that. Great company, great atmosphere, great music, great drinks, and that wasn't the end. The rooftop lounge closed, and The Friend told us that she and the girls always go down to a small swanky club downstairs for live salsa music every sunday after the rooftop closes. Our group hesitated in the lobby, but after hearing those familiar, delicious strains of salsa I said that we at least had to peek in. And then once we were in, I, at least, could not leave. It was indeed small and swanky, with an absolutely fantastic three-man salsa band. (Word has it they play for the Moore/Kutcher clan.) The vibe was perfect, and the dancers were skilled. We had corner seats, and enough dance partners to go around. Plenty of flirting to go around too, including a very attractive lesbian-- I was so flattered. The night was unexpected, unpredictable, and absolutely perfect. And I didn't even have to take the long subway ride home alone. (Hmm, I did not mean by that what you think I am implying...)

The work carries on, as ever. I continue to work about 60 hours a week, so yes, a late night like that in the middle of my work week does take a toll. But luckily, at the end of my work week, that one day when I might find an hour or two to take a breath before plunging into my next work week, my glorious Thursday, my absolutely wonderful boss treated me to a massage at the Caudalie Spa at The Plaza to reward me for my hard work. I arrived after a liesurely stroll through Central Park and took every spare minute I had to relax in that peaceful refuge. And took about one moment to feel imperiously impressive about having reason to be at The Plaza.

The next night I attended an absolutely lovely cocktail party in the Upper West Side. Dreamy apartment, dreamy company, and it might have been my first bona fide cocktail party. I made sure to enjoy that. Drinks with a girlfriend after that.

And, finally, on Sunday I attended a dear friend's going away party. I am absolutely not happy about this dear friend's departure (well, except for the important fact that this is a momentous and good move for him). But his going away party was so much fun. It started at a little Italian restaurant in the West Village, and continued on to Marie's Crisis Cafe-- a hole-in-the-wall piano bar where everyone gathers around the piano to belt out showtunes with each other. It is tiny, dirty, and perfect. Most of the people there were obviously regulars. The creator/producer of Glee joined us for a few songs, and though I sang my loveliest for him, he was making out with some guy so I'm pretty sure I didn't snag his attention. He requested Funny Girl. Typical. The night included many good songs, a few bizarre people, and some weird-therefore-perfect moments. The piano player made some very inappropriate gropes to some males of our party. There was also a very tanned, bleached, Big Papi rich man who apparently owned half of the Dominican Republic who could not tear himself away from the males of our party, and told me that when speaking Spanish I have no accent! There was also this BRILLIANT MOMENT: the room suddenly went silent (I was mid-conversation and was both shushed and snapped at), and this woman, who I'd assumed was homeless, emerged from the shadows under the stairs to sing us a truly glorious song. Everyone was transfixed, figuratively bowed down to her, and then she retreated back to her shadows, where she remained, silent and motionless, for the rest of the night. And finally, as it was time to depart, Michelle and I sang one last song. There weren't many people left in the bar, and my back was to the door. Somewhere near the end of the song, I saw Michelle's eyes widen as she looked behind me at the door. I turn my head, and making their entrance sidestepping down the staircase, is a trio of truly made-up fabulous drag queens. There is always something dream-like about a drag queen's entrance, let alone a trio. My West Village dream night was so deliciously complete at that moment.

Tomorrow night: stargazing in Central Park at midnight.

Of conditioners and cookies

Naturally.

There are a lot of things about living in New York City that are inconvenient. But looked at askance, it's easy to see them as charming. One of these things is how in-your-face and drastically affecting of your life/plans/weekend the weather is here. When it's cold, it's f-ing cold. And you have to speed-walk umpteen blocks imagining the toastiest thoughts no matter what, every day (no running to the protected bubble of your car). You have to wear a hat or you will die, and that messes up your hair. And in the summer, it's laughable how quickly your best attempts at a toilette become the sweat trickling down your lower back. And when you're home, you seclude yourself in the one room where you can attempt to control the temperature: your bedroom with the air conditioner hanging out the window. And that drastically affects your electric bill, (although at least now I am environmentally guilt-free on this account because I use WIND POWER!) BUT. Isn't it sort of charming that even though central air conditioning is commonly used across huge swatches of our country, our old NYC buildings still cling to this antiquated solution to the temperature concern? Doesn't it make you smile just a little to see all those boxes in those windows? By the way, how terrifying is it that these colossal, heavy machines are preciously perched on our windowsills?! I frequently have visions of my unit suddenly, soundlessly, swinging backward over the edge of my window to crush some unsuspecting passerby below.

I do still have a so-called beef with my air conditioning unit though, even if I can squint and see the charm in it. And that is that it is ugly. There is no way around that. Well google found my weakness and advertised the above, beautiful air conditioning unit this morning as I was perusing my gmail. If only.

And now on to more delicious talk. Behold:
That may look like any old chocolate chip cookie, but it is not. Oh no, that, my friends, is a picture of some of the most delicious cookies I have ever created. Are you ready for this? Organic, whole grain, vegan, banana-chip dark chocolate chunk almond cookies. (Ok, those aren't MY cookies, they are Heidi Swanson's, from whom I pirated the picture and recipe and substituted to make them vegan.) THEY ARE DELICIOUS GO MAKE THEM NOW AND THANK ME LATER. Well, make them after you get back from Whole Foods because who has wheat germ sitting in their refrigerator? Oh, that's right, after this, you do.

(If you really want to make these un-vegan style, you can check out the original recipe by clicking on Heidi's name above. But go ahead, save some chickens and cows some grief, and make them vegan, because you can.)

Note: I am generally pretty generous when I bake. As in, I might throw in a few more chips, or quite a few more chips, just... because. Well, the measurements for mix-ins here turn out to be pretty spot on, so if you're as generous as myself, you might find that the actual dough isn't quite stretching as far as you'd like to hold the mix-ins together. Mine turned out fine in the end, but just to save yourself the worry, really just use what is recommended on this one.

Banana Chip Cookie Recipe

I look for organic banana chips - the ones I like are made with organic coconut oil and bananas.

1 3/4 cups whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 cup (toasted) wheat germ (Toast them in a pan over low heat until they turn a darker brown and smell toasty. Really, this makes a difference.)
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
scant 1/2 teaspoon fine grain sea salt
1/2 cup coconut oil (solid, if it's too hot in your apartment, as in mine, put it in the fridge for an hour)
1 cup natural cane sugar (or brown sugar)
Egg Replacer for 2 eggs, or 1 mashed up banana
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2/3 cup banana chips, loosely chopped
1 cup chocolate chips
2/3 cup toasted almond slivers, chopped (or walnuts if you prefer)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees, racks in middle/upper middle. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

Whisk together the flour, wheat germ, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Set aside.

In a large bowl, or stand mixer, beat the coconut oil, then beat in the sugar until it is the consistency of a thick frosting (this didn't happen for me, so I just beat until well-combined). Beat in the egg substitute, and scraping down the sides of the bowl a few times along the way (important!). Stir in the vanilla. Add the reserved flour mix in two increments, stirring/mixing a bit between each addition (but not too much). By hand, stir in the banana chips, chocolate chips and almonds - mix just until everything is evenly distributed.

Drop 1 heaping tablespoon of dough for each cookie onto the prepared baking sheets 2 inches apart and bake for about 7 - 8 minutes, until barely golden on top and bottom. Resist over baking, they will come out dry and not as tasty. Cook on racks.

Make about 24 cookies.

Each cookie is 140 calories, and is packed with some mighty-fine nutrients. That can be important information to know for guilt-free consumption.

What's in a name?

I'm pretty sure I am automatically biased to enjoy the song "Laura", covered by Mates of State here. Yes, it's a cover, get over it.

I'm also pretty sure I have totally fallen in love with my name. Took me long enough, eh? I always loved my nickname, Lola. I couldn't get enough of it, and wished more people would take hold and run with it. The nickname was given to me before it was linked to any connotation of sauciness or seductress in my young brain. I've never been this kind of Lola.

My newfound love for my name began in Central America, where everyone pronounced my name Laurrra. Rhymes with pow-ra. I've never taken to any other versions of my name, such as the 'Lara' pronunciation, or the French 'Laure' by which I was addressed in French class throughout middle, high school and college. But BAM-- here was a name I loved. And it was already mine! One that fit just right, and thrilled me to the core whenever anyone said it. Well, let's be honest, especially when boys said it. I thought, if only I could claim a drop of Spanish blood, maybe some Argentinian blood (they're pretty light-skinned in general, more likely to be believed), then I could make everyone start pronouncing my name the Spanish way. And though many (many) people have asked me if I have any asian heritage, no one has ever considered that I may be of Spanish descent. Anyway, I don't like to lie. I wouldn't want my very name to be a lie. A name stands for something.

My name means: victorious. It comes from the laurels the Romans used to crown victors with. When I would read this in baby name books growing up, I just shrugged. Big whoop. But now, I love being reminded of it whenever my name is used. As we all know, there are many (many) people in this world who have exceptional challenges to overcome. And compared with them, my life seems easy. But we all have our demons, and I like the occasional encouragement I get in my battles just from hearing my own name.

I've been thinking about this post ever since I downloaded this Mates of State cover. I called my mom one day-- much to her surprise, it was my third call that day due to some postal service challenges. She was surprised to hear from me, and certainly surprised to be sidelined by the "Why did you name me _____?" question. I'd never asked before. And her response, as I'd anticipated, was a vague dance around Laura Ingalls Wilder and not remembering. Not exactly the meaningful, story-laden response I'd been hoping for. (Not to downplay Laura Ingalls-- we all very much enjoyed her books growing up, and though I haven't read them recently, she is to be very much respected for being a female authoress in times when it wasn't easy to be so.) But that's alright. We can all make of our circumstances what we want, what we need.

I'd also like to say, in relation to songs of names, every time I hear this song I wish my name was Kate. I have wanted to send a CD to my niece Kate with just this song on it, because I think she'd get a kick out of it (very danceable), but I already fear that her parents are going to be concerned about the un-LDS influence I could have on their children (TOTALLY my own paranoia here, not their's... as far as I know), and I don't want to be the one responsible for any of the Thomason kids asking the "what does it mean when they say she smokes pot?" question.