NOW WE’RE COOKING! (now with updates!)

Behold, friends! The day has arrived! Girl At Sea is no longer just at sea! Today, the book is out! At least on Amazon and Barnes and Noble, and probably at most stores. If you don’t see it yet, it should be there in a few days. If not, demand it!

The first Girl At Sea cards are going in the mail, Free Monkey is preparing for his trip, I’m preparing to get out there to meet some of you and sign some books.

Let’s not wait! Let’s start celebrating RIGHT NOW! I’m giving away two signed copies today. Here are today’s two ways to win:

[NOTE: THIS CONTEST IS NOW SEMI-CLOSED. SEE BELOW FOR WINNERS, UPDATES. MORE CONTESTS TO COME, ANY DAY I FEEL LIKE IT. THIS COULD HAPPEN A LOT. I AM IN A BOOK-GIVING MOOD. THIS IS BY NO MEANS YOUR ONLY SHOT.]

Make a big stink
Do something crazy, internet-wise, to get the word out about Girl At Sea. I leave the what and how up to you! You are far cleverer than I! Write and tell me what you did, and at the end of the day, I will choose the one person who did the thing that had the most impact and general panache. I like style! I like loud! I like VIRAL! (Not the bad kind that makes you sick or kills your computer. The good kind.)

If you get me into the top 100 on Amazon, I’ll give you TWO copies. And a unicorn.

UPDATE: Several of you wrote in in a bit of a panic because you wanted to do something but saw this too late. So I have decided to extend this part until SATURDAY at noon. You have days to spread the word, however you can! The winner will get a book, and maybe something else, if I find something else that is interesting around here. I have many interesting things.



How will you get people’s attention?

Leave a comment
Easier than the first, but less certain. Just leave a comment. At the end of the day, when I am reviewing the internet offerings, I will also gather the names of all commenters and pick one out of a hat. (Note: anonymous won’t win. You have to leave SOME kind of name.)

UPDATE: WINNERS!
I'm giving away an extra copy here to make up for the one I held in the other part of the contest. So, the two commenter winners are Gabrielle and Katiek. Please send me your addresses so I can send you your books!

Now, let’s talk about Food Network.

“Wait,” you said. “What? Food Network? Why are you talking about Food Network on a day like this?”

Well, inquisitive and good-looking friends, I’ll tell you.

One of Girl At Sea’s first readers wrote to me and asked, “Do you like to cook? Because there are a lot of really good sounding dishes in here.”

Actually, I do. I have had a lifelong obsession with cooking. I’m not saying I’m great at it, but I’m not bad. And I definitely try. Ever since I was a tiny mj, I have been an obsessive cookbook reader. I’m also a big believer in making fresh food, and trying not to eat processed stuff—because it’s gross, and it’s bad for your health, and it’s not as fun as real food. Real cooking, real food culture . . . people actually caring about what they eat . . . I like that! It’s one of the millions of reasons I like Justine Larbalestier, who knows a thing or two about good food.

The evil processed "food" weakness I have is for Diet Coke, which is one of the most noxious substances on the planet. I still drink it, but I know I should stop. Especially since the last can that I had attacked me. It slipped from my hand as I took it out of the fridge, and it landed on my foot . . . and hurt. A lot more than you'd think. Then I picked it up, limping along, and opened it, and it sprayed right into my eye, blinding me for a moment. Lesson learned!

I have long been a devotee of Food Network. Before I wanted to be a dead body on Law and Order, I wanted to be a guest on a Food Network show. That dream came true. (I won’t tell you what show it was—though I may have before, somewhere on this blog, a long time ago. I will say it involved a picnic and a lot of beer, and I wasn’t expecting to be featured as much as I was, nor to be as obviously drunk on television as I was. Not my fault. Really.)

Plus, I have long had a case on Rachel Ray simply because of this ad, which is all over the New York subway.



#@$^&*#^$&*#^$!

As I think I have mentioned a thousand or two times, I really need a Vespa. Not want. Need. And as I also mentioned, no one will let me have one, because they think I will be instantly killed by a speeding cab as I cruise along on my excellent scooter, which has pretty much the same amount of power as a blow dryer and no means of protection.

Which MAY be so, but I still need one. So this ad is really just taunting me. It’s not okay that Rachel Ray has both a cooking show and a Vespa.

Many of you may have seen Anthony Bourdain’s mean but extremely funny rant about Food Network. He bashed Rachel Ray, but saved his absolute worst vitriol for a show called Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee. He had this to say about it:

Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained. I would likely be arrested if I suggested on television that any children watching should promptly go to a wooded area with a gun and harm themselves. What’s the difference between that and Sandra suggesting we fill our mouths with Ritz Crackers, jam a can of Cheez Wiz in after and press hard? None that I can see.

Because I love a car wreck as much as the next person, I had to see for myself. I had never seen Semi-Homemade cooking with Sandra Lee before. And because I refuse to suffer alone or in silence, I made Oscar Gingersnort watch it with me when we took a break from painting.

“Sit down,” I said, knocking him sideways on to the plastic-covered sofa. “You’re going to get a lesson in American culture.”

“Wot?”

“We’re going to watch Semi-Homemade with Sandra Lee.”

“What is that?”

“Less talking. More culture-learning,” I said, switching on the tv.

In this episode, Sandra Lee went to a racetrack. Not a very famous one, I don’t think. She was wearing a jumpsuit and standing at a portable kitchen by the track itself. She promised to make the most delicious day at the races meal you’d ever seen.

The thing that first hit me about Sandra Lee is that a lot of her “cooking” is actually just “pouring” or “unwrapping.” Literally. I have seen this woman “make” a cocktail that was actually just pre-made bottled cocktail that she poured into a glass. Which, no matter how you slice it, really isn’t cooking. It is spectacularly unimpressive. I mean, I understand the occasional use of pre-packaged products, but come on. My grandma had a way with pudding mix that would make you weep with joy. This is like watching someone do a three meter run at the Olympics. It’s just not exciting.

Also, Sandra kept referring to her display table as a tablescape—which is simply unacceptable. It was made worse by the fact that in this episode it was actually some kind of tool chest.

“What the^&#*$^*#&^ is a tablescape?” I asked Oscar.

“How do I know?” Oscar asked weakly. “I’m English. What did I do to deserve this?”

She also seems really shocked by pretty normal foods, and seems to feel you will be shocked by them as well. Foods like raspberries, which she holds up to the camera and announces, in much the same way that a biologist might display and name the egg of a heretofore unknown sea turtle species.

“Look,” she seems to be saying. “This is a RASP-BER-EEE. Isn’t it AMAZING? I’ll bet you’ve never seen one of these! And now I’m going to put in on my TABLESCAPE.”

But we didn’t see anything really awful until we came to the carpetbagger steaks.

I have never heard of carpetbagger steak. I no longer eat steak, but I remain fairly up-to-speed on common foods. This one escaped me. She promised to make the nicest, most delicious steak, filled with “the most delicious blue cheese dressing.”

Oscar and I looked at each other.

“First,” she said. “Red wine.”

She filled a bowl with wine. We nodded. That was an okay start.

And then, she added the salad dressing mix. What was worse was that she had two kinds of salad dressing mix, and that she had to pick one. Then she asked everyone to look at it, to examine how wonderful and full of flavor it was. Salad dressing mix is generally made of stale dried seasoning, dried processed fake cheese, and preservatives and additives and whatever else they find in the plant. Mugwort. Those little paper circles that fall out of hole punches. I don’t mean to sound like a total snob here, but it’s just not good.

She stirred it into the wine with a maniacal grin.

“No!” Oscar shouted. “Why? Why? The wine! The wine! We have to save it!”

She took some kind of manky steaks with thumb-sized holes in them and dumped them into the wine. She had some of these that were pre-done waiting in her cooler. Then she made “the most delicious blue cheese dressing,” which was a mix of pre-packaged blue cheese, hideous jarred mushrooms, and a different kind of salad dressing mix . . . and I tell you the truth, it was the most disgusting looking food item I have ever seen on television. Or possibly anywhere. Suddenly, Anthony’s harsh words did not seem strong enough.

“I can’t watch this,” Oscar said.

“You must!” I said, grabbing his ankle and preventing his escape. “It’s for science!”

“No it’s not!”

She stuffed this goop into the steaks, and we both winced.

Then it was time for cocktails. We watched in grim silence as she filled a blender with soda and booze, and then . . .

“No,” I said. “No. Do NOT fill that blender with . . .”

In went about a half a gallon of Gatorade.

“Great,” I said. “You can get drunk AND keep your electrolyte balance!”

As the show concluded, Sandra walked us over to the tablescape, which was decorated in racing decorations. She was exceptionally proud of the fact that the plate-holders were hubcaps, the fake flowers (“Don’t they look real?” Answer: NO) were in empty paint tins that were supposed to look like oil cans, the massive and lopsided (seriously, this show is sloppy) store-bought cake was covered in two tatty flags and sat on a tire, and the placecards were made of spark plugs. It looked like a Pep Boys had thrown up on the table.

“And look!” she said. “Look at the table dividers! Aren’t they amazing? Know what they are? LUG WRENCHES.”

“I’m going home,” Oscar said, getting up. “Where’s my passport?”

I had, of course, hidden his passport before turning on the television. I’m not a total idiot.

All right . . . enough! This must be posted! Books must be given out! And I need to get myself a Gatorade cocktail to celebrate Girl At Sea! Ahoy!

PS: HANK GREEN JUST CALLED ME ON THE PHONE!

YES! THAT HANK GREEN!