(no subject)
So I've started doing some deliveries for wedding cakes at work. It's nerve-wracking stuff, what with all that could go wrong, and I definitely wouldn't say I like doing them. I do, however, get paid for it and I try to be very, very careful. Today, my boss asked if I'd take some pictures, I took Tim's wonderful camera with me and thought I'd give you the nicest shot of the batch.
This cake was made by Yarrow Morse and her mother Linda at The Cakery.
It's all covered in fondant, and it was heavier than the subject matter in The Deer Hunter. Delivering it to its destination required carrying it from my car, through the receptionist's area, entering an elevator, holding that sonofabitch while waiting in the elevator, and then carrying it across the floorplan, bespeckled with tables, to the cake table across the room.
According to the boss, bless her soul, there are even worse situations, where one must carry this humongous, expensive, perishable, malleable, melt-able, beautiful mass down flights of stairs to reach the ballroom in at the bottom level of a hotel. I can only imagine it was worse than today, and today I was grasping the thing for dear life, sweating, and I felt the longer it took, that I was descending deeper and deeper into bicep purgatory. Stairs? Hot damn. Sometimes you have to make people move the cake table, so the cake isn't in the sun. I had to ask to move one a couple weeks ago, because they had this frosting-covered piece of art on a stand directly next to a fireplace, complete with a healthy, crackling flame burning bright.
Caking's going well, but I frequently find myself frustrated with my hands. Because bless them, they just haven't been doing it long enough. My latest mantra involves staring at them and thanking them for all the work they do. They've certainly been receiving a shit-ton of strength training as of late. Cake decorating requires a huge amount of strength and control, which are both aspects I find lacking in myself regularly, in all sorts of facets of my life. I'm thankful for my hands.
In something not related at all, whenever I download something from my FTP, my results allllways pop up with this little ditty first:
You have to click on it to see full size, sorry.
....and up close:
Just insert whatever title I'm looking for instead of the clash. Vivaldi, the Beatles, Marylin Monroe, anything. It will always offer me an option to see it having a shaking orgasm during sex. Huh.
And today Tim made the observation that sometimes Leona, my cat, looks like the logo from The Transformers movie.
\
what do you think?
Oh, and this:
This cake was made by Yarrow Morse and her mother Linda at The Cakery.
It's all covered in fondant, and it was heavier than the subject matter in The Deer Hunter. Delivering it to its destination required carrying it from my car, through the receptionist's area, entering an elevator, holding that sonofabitch while waiting in the elevator, and then carrying it across the floorplan, bespeckled with tables, to the cake table across the room.
According to the boss, bless her soul, there are even worse situations, where one must carry this humongous, expensive, perishable, malleable, melt-able, beautiful mass down flights of stairs to reach the ballroom in at the bottom level of a hotel. I can only imagine it was worse than today, and today I was grasping the thing for dear life, sweating, and I felt the longer it took, that I was descending deeper and deeper into bicep purgatory. Stairs? Hot damn. Sometimes you have to make people move the cake table, so the cake isn't in the sun. I had to ask to move one a couple weeks ago, because they had this frosting-covered piece of art on a stand directly next to a fireplace, complete with a healthy, crackling flame burning bright.
Caking's going well, but I frequently find myself frustrated with my hands. Because bless them, they just haven't been doing it long enough. My latest mantra involves staring at them and thanking them for all the work they do. They've certainly been receiving a shit-ton of strength training as of late. Cake decorating requires a huge amount of strength and control, which are both aspects I find lacking in myself regularly, in all sorts of facets of my life. I'm thankful for my hands.
In something not related at all, whenever I download something from my FTP, my results allllways pop up with this little ditty first:
You have to click on it to see full size, sorry.
....and up close:
Just insert whatever title I'm looking for instead of the clash. Vivaldi, the Beatles, Marylin Monroe, anything. It will always offer me an option to see it having a shaking orgasm during sex. Huh.
And today Tim made the observation that sometimes Leona, my cat, looks like the logo from The Transformers movie.
\
what do you think?
Oh, and this:
