Read the Book! See the Movie (or not)!

 So last night I was lucky enough to catch “The Time Traveler’s Wife” on HBO…okay, I think I actually own the DVD but it’s still in the wrapping like so many of my DVDs.  This film- and the book on which it’s based- fall under the umbrella of my second-favorite genre: improbable romances (my first-favorite is religious horror. I am a girl of diverse tastes; what can I say?). What I mean by this self-created subcategory is romances that contain an element of magic, a little extra “unicorns and fairy dust” (thank you Ben Nadel for this definition) if you will. Alice Hoffman, my favorite author, always infuses her books with a perfect balance of love and the practical supernatural.  Her characters have some sort of romantic misfortune but always overcome it with the aid of their own determination and mystical powers. It is the ultimate expression of “love conquers all.”

Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler’s Wife also embraces this ideal. The main characters, Clare and Henry, are destined to be together but Henry’s affliction – he has a genetic disorder which causes him to travel through time with no warning or control- separates them both physically and emotionally on a regular basis. It’s hard to talk about the book chronologically since it skips around through the course of their lives (much like Henry himself does), but they more or less meet for the first time when adult Henry shows up in the field behind child Clare’s house. Of course, at this point he is aware that they will fall in love and be married, but Clare is but an innocent accomplice to his erratic life’s journey.

The film actually addresses this issue far better (one of the very few things it does do better) when adult Clare calls her now-husband to task for knowingly shaping the course of her life and removing all free will.  But a little deeper consideration- and Clare’s own heartfelt recanting on Henry’s deathbed- brings this into question: since we don’t actually have a clear picture of when time begins and ends for Henry and Clare, are they both just pawns in the Universe’s perverse chess game? This is never actually answered and, in fact, it really becomes much less of an important issue when weighed against the core of this tale: there is no question that Clare and Henry love each other, no matter when it began and what the reason.  This is, after all, a love story, and that is what really matters.

As my cousin Nancy pointed out, with a few exceptions no movie ever really does justice to the book on which it is based, and the film version of “The Time Traveler’s Wife” is not one of those. However, there are several things at which it excels. I can’t imagine how difficult it was to condense into 90 minutes a 500-plus page book which spans 85 years, and the writer and director did a pretty good job of adapting the pivotal moments from the book which allow us to see why Henry and Clare love each other, how difficult is their struggle, and why we should care about what happens to them (something I often find lacking in modern romances). But the real hero of the film is the Director of Photography, Florian Ballhaus. His cinematography is absolutely, stunningly beautiful and, more so than any other aspect of the celluloid adaptation, brings to life Niffenegger’s gorgeously tragic world. There is one scene in particular where we see the course of Clare and Henry’s life as their daughter, Abra, grows up; the camera moves from room to room in their dream house and follows the main characters around while they age the five years we know will pass before Henry dies. It is an amazing visual representation of something of which all of us, particularly those of us watching our own aging mirrored in the maturation of our offspring, are painfully aware: time passes far too quickly when life is good.

And this is exactly how I felt when the book ended, but I cannot say the same for the movie which left me exclaiming, “Really?!? *That* is the best you could do?!”  The book has a wonderful, all-loose-ends neatly, peacefully bowed completion. Clare, having lived for nearly five decades after Henry’s death, is rewarded for her life of patience and belief: Henry comes for her (though he has been reappearing to Abra throughout these years), and it is implied that both of their journeys are now at a mutual, joyous end. But in the movie, after Henry’s death, Henry and Clare are reunited in the field where so many of their early meetings took place. In a horribly clichéd moment, after Henry inevitably fades into time, Abra and Clare fold up his clothes (in what is a neat concession to reality, Henry always arrives in time naked) and stroll off into the fading sun discussing how Henry will always be there with them. Ugh, ugh, ugh. I am at a complete loss as to why they couldn’t have filmed the book’s vastly superior ending; if any of you have both read the book and seen the movie, maybe you have an answer?

I want to leave you with some recommendations and a request for same. Here are my favorite improbable romances in both book and movie form. If you can think of any that I might have missed and should read/see, lay it on me! Oh, and by the way, I came up with my rating system:

The novel The Time Traveler’s Wife makes my cup runneth over; the movie of the same name leaves my glass half empty.

Book recommendations: Anything by Alice Hoffman, but Practical Magic and Here on Earth in particular; anything by Richard Matheson; Like Water for Chocolate (even better than the movie, believe it or not!)…

Movie recommendations: “What Dreams May Come,” “Chances Are,” “Made in Heaven,” “City of Angels,” “Starman,” “13 Going on 30,” and “Kate and Leopold.” There are many, many more but these are the ones that came to mind first.

Growing Down to Myself

I am growing down. Not like my favorite character from The Phantom Tollbooth, Alec the little boy who started off at the height he would eventually be and got “taller” as his feet got closer to the ground… although now that I think about it, I wonder if it was somewhat prescient of me to fall in love with such a minor character when I was so young. No, by “growing down” I mean that I can feel myself actually returning to a younger version of myself in many regards.

I have rediscovered my passionate love of reading, for one. I know this is going to be hard for many of you to believe, but I was actually a really lonely, kind of socially awkward kid and teenager. I loved people, much as I do now, but that “heart on my sleeve” thing that you all find so endearing now led to me being emotionally butchered to the point where I eventually just started sort of keeping to myself a lot. I would still occasionally sit on the curb at the end of the cul-de-sac where we lived and just wait for someone to notice me, to come play with me… but, of course, that kind of odd behavior was exactly the sort of thing that drove the neighborhood kids away (at best). So I read. Constantly. I had my nose buried in a book at all hours of the day, and I would often find- as I do again now- that coming out of that deeply engaged state of reading, of exiting the world of whatever novel I was immersed in, was a bit like resurfacing when you’ve worked to touch the bottom of the pool and need to get up quickly since you’re almost out of air. But there’s a difference now. When I was younger, I would definitely lose myself in the books, in the stories, in the characters whose lives were all figured out and neatly packaged between the pages. Now, I find that I am taking these aspects of the stories into myself and finding where they fit in with who I am and who I am becoming. Through Clare, the tragic heroine of The Time Traveler’s Wife, I see my capacity to believe in love even in the face of insurmountable odds. Elv, one of Alice Hoffman’s Story Sisters, is- like I was- able to find through becoming a mother a depth of sanity and groundedness she’d never even believed she could embrace. Even in my sporadic rereading of The Fountainhead I see in Howard Roarke’s fiery passion for architecture and perfection my own soul-deep love of teaching.

And writing. Oh my G’d, how I loved to write when I was a kid! I think until I started blogging again, I really had forgotten how wonderful it feels to let out of your head and your heart the thoughts and ideas and dreams that just swirl around endlessly. The first thing I remember enjoying writing were our weekly Spelling stories in third grade. I know, right? It’s hard to imagine loving such a pedestrian, tedious assignment. But I made it my own: I took the spelling words and easily and, I have to say, pretty effectively crafted them into tales of fun and adventure involving my classmates. My class had 16 or so kids in it, we had 20 words per week (give or take), and I delighted in making sure that each classmate and each word got the full attention s/he/it deserved.  It was kind of a turning point for me, in a way; my classmates, eager for their 15 seconds of fame, would badger me about what was going to happen that week, what adventures would we go on. In this way, I gained a modicum of greater social acceptance and an early notion that perhaps the way I could get people to love me was just to pay attention to them and recognize them for who they were (Not such a tall task for a girl who really was (and is) genuinely fascinated with those who surround her). But spelling stories became a thing of the past as we moved through school, and I took to writing stories about whomever I fancied myself in love with at the time. I will never forget the summer when I had to leave the theater arts program I so adored in order to – horror of horrors!- be dragged kicking and screaming to Mexico with my family (I think this was after my sophomore year of high school, but I’m having some trouble recalling the time line). I defiantly sat in my hotel room and wrote and wrote and poured out the longing in my teenaged heart (hmm… I’m thinking this was probably about Bill Wright, or Mr. Wrong as my girlfriends so aptly called him)…until I got back, went to camp, and fell for some other guy and dumped my original protagonist for this newcomer. The writing was good for me; the writing itself…probably not so much.

So I now find myself again embracing these two aspects of the younger Wendy and reclaiming the thoughtful, dreamy, hopeful quality with which reading and writing imbued me at an early age. But it is now combined with the wisdom and experiences of the life I’ve lived, and this gives me a perspective which my youth simply did not allow. As an adult, I am able to contemplate, to filter, to accept that which is worth pulling in and keeping close and to politely let go of that which belongs just to the book I’m reading or the words I’m crafting. As I said in an email to a friend last night, “...not quite sure what to make of myself these days, but I think I like who I am becoming." It seems trite, but I truly believe these words are valid: Life is a journey, not a destination. Here's to the journey to becoming me.

Eat, Pray, Love...Think and Thank

I just saw “Eat, Pray, Love.” Originally I intended to do a review of it, but I think instead I am going to talk about the things it made me think about (and maybe I’ll review it later, perhaps after I’ve read the book). I have to say that I have heard from a number of people that it wasn’t their cup of tea, and I can definitely see why. One reviewer, the smarmy guy on the NYC taxi cab news show, said that Julia Roberts’ Liz is suffering from “rich lady problems” (that’s paraphrasing), but I completely disagree. I do see how many people would have trouble understanding what the character is going through; in fact, I almost emailed a younger friend of mine to tell him not to bother seeing it because I was certain he couldn’t relate to it at all. But for me, the movie (and, I am guessing, the book) touched on SO many things I am dealing with and have been dealing with in the past 18 months that it was downright cathartic to see “Eat, Pray, Love.” And here is what I took away from it.

I have an amazing life. I have so much to be grateful for. I am so very, very lucky and blessed.

If someone had told me in April of 2009 (or June or August or November), or maybe even a few nights in the last seven months, that I would be saying those words, I would have seriously questioned his/her sanity. My life has definitely undergone some remarkably significant changes in the relatively recent past, and I would be lying through my fingertips if I didn’t tell you there were many times in there when I was not at all sure I could live through those changes. Literally. They say that that which does not kill us makes us stronger, and I am the absolute living proof that that is often, in fact, the case. What I went through almost killed me (emotionally, spiritually, and physically), but the woman I am today- the person I am today- is so much stronger and better and healthier and happier than the woman who existed before all of this pain came my way. And the truly exciting part is that I’m not even close to done growing yet! I have so much more to look forward to; I’m really just at the start of my journey, having come out the other side of these changes. And the possibilities are limitless! I can go anywhere (soon), I can do almost anything I want to… the only barriers to my happiness and success are the ones I choose to accept and place in my own way, and I am here to tell you that I am DONE with that!

Some of the changes that happened in my recent past were not my choice, and I have to say that for a long time I would gladly have chosen to go back to the way things were. But I have gradually come to recognize that the place in my life I am now is so much better not only than where I was but even where I could be if those changes hadn’t occurred. Some of you reading this are smiling, no doubt; I know many of you have told me these same things, but as you well know- you can’t tell me anything. ;) Seriously, I would not be in this sound, solid, sane place without all of you. You have listened to me cry, you have called me on a daily basis, you have put up with my snail-paced learning process, you have tolerated my clinginess and my isolation, you have reminded me that I can fall in love again, you have encouraged me when I am doing well and held me up when I wasn’t. I’m sure all of you know that “Footprints in the Sand” poem/story/allegory, but in *my* story it is all of you who have carried me when I was unable to walk; it was your footprints on the beach of my life.

It all begins with being mindful and grateful.

Some of what I lost, I lost because I wasn’t mindful of the good things in my life (even though there were better things ahead); this, too, I am done with. I am going to try to be grateful for at least one good thing in my life every day, and I am going to be mindful and acknowledging of even the little things that have led me to this unexpectedly joyful place in my life. I am not foolish enough to believe that there isn’t still struggle ahead, and that I won’t have to work not to fall into my old, easy habits of just paddling along. But, as Don Miguel Ruiz says in The Four Agreements, “Always do your best.” If I am always doing my best (notice the absence of the word “try” there, by the way), then even when my best isn’t of the highest caliber or doesn’t quite get me where I’d like to be going, I can be content knowing that it was, in fact, the best I could do right then. And maybe later on, my best will be a little better for having accepted that.

As I like to do with these blogs, I’m turning this back around on you, my friends and readers. Tell me what you’re grateful for, tell me what you’re mindful of, tell me what you’d like to change in order to be more appreciative and aware. I will end this by telling you that today I am grateful for a good movie that helped me to focus my thoughts and feelings in such a positive and progressive way. 

All I Have to Do is Dream

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.

That is my favorite poem, penned many years ago by the wonderful Langston Hughes.  I think it speaks to me because it is how I live my life- clinging to dreams and making sure that my field doesn’t become, you know, barren and frozen and stuff.  However, right now I am sorry to say that I am dreamless. I have nothing to dream about right now, and it’s definitely giving me pause. I don’t mean I’m not dreaming when I sleep (don’t you go crazy when that happens?); I still have totally whackadoodle dreams of the nocturnal variety and enjoy the heck out of analyzing them when I wake up. No, what I mean is that I have nothing about which to day dream, to fantasize in the here-and-now.

Now some people will be shaking their heads at this, wondering how on earth I can be whining about having everything so damn perfect in my life that I have nothing left to want for. Um…no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. Don’t get me wrong; my life right now is so far better than it has been in ages that even I am a little disgusted at myself for complaining about this. But truth be told, it is a big deal for me to not have anything or anyone to jones after, and it’s having a definite deleterious effect on my life!

Since I was a wee girl, I have put myself to sleep at night by telling myself stories, in effect fantasizing. But we’re not talking “Three Bears” or even “Wendy Does…um, Walla Walla” here. I come up with a scenario of some sort that I want to happen and in elaborate and vivid detail, I play it out in my head. These can last for as short as one night or literally for months and months. I’ve always done it; it really is the only way I know how to fall asleep. And, okay, I will confess that a good number of these fantasies *do* revolve around whomever I’m into at the moment, be it a celebrity (Matthew Morrison was featured prominently for a while) or someone I have a crush on, though to be honest, right now there are more folks in the “people I should not be fantasizing about” category.

But here’s the thing- the scenario is always something that could actually happen. Now I am sure even those among you who think I’m cute as a button are going, “Right, Wen. Like you could nail Matt Morrison. In your…er, dreams!” And, you’re probably right. But I can set up a scenario (my journalist friend has to do a “Glee” set interview and brings me along), a reason for us to meet (the craft services line, where I impress him with my foodie knowledge), a reason for us to continue talking (I mention that I was the teacher who, at the Paley Festival, asked him who inspired him), a reason for him to want to see me off set (he wants me to teach him how I make my awesome panzanella) and from there, well, let’s just fade to a nice, safe black shall we? However, I basically could not keep deluding myself that Matt and I were going to meet up much less hook up, particularly when I saw the kinds of girls with whom he keeps company.

And like I said, most of the time these fantasies revolve around someone I know, and right now there is just nobody I can/should be thinking that way about. SO…what am I left with? I have tried dreaming about jobs, but considering my current unemployed status and how much I love teaching, coming up with awesome curricular ideas is just torturing myself. I have tried designing jewelry in my head, but I’m so visual with that particular hobby that I just give myself a headache trying to precisely picture what I might be making. Oh, and you’ll love this: I tried blogging in my head the other night, but that just made me hop out of bed at 1:00 AM so that I could jot stuff down and not forget it. Kind of counterproductive, right? And I’m still not getting to the root of the problem here: I have nothing to wish for, nothing to hope for, nothing to dream about.  My bird is definitely hobbled.

I would love to end this post with something pithy and wise, but honestly- I’ve got nothing. I’m having trouble sleeping, I’m unhappy about my lack of passion for my life overall right now (though I can’t complain about the contentment factor!), and I am not enjoying having nobody in particular drift across my mental storyboard. But, this has given me the opportunity to turn it back around to you, my friends and readers: what do you dream about? What fantasies feed your emotional well-being? Oh, and I’ll leave it up to you as to how naughty you want to make it, but keep in mind that my mom and my kids may be reading this. Alternately, if you’re not comfortable sharing your innermost secrets with my reading public (but hey! We don’t judge here at It’s a Wendyful Life!), tell us how you fall asleep at night.

I'm in Lesbians with Scott Pilgrim vs The World

So, last night I *finally* (and by finally I mean I had to wait two whole days after it opened) got to see “Scott Pilgrim vs. The World.”  To say that this was the movie I was most looking forward to this year would not be a big overstatement, and I am overjoyed to tell you that I was in no way disappointed by it. Scott Pilgrim is a comic book or video game come to life, and even though I am not a comic book geek or a gamer gal (despite the best efforts of some of my friends and my son) I found it wholly delightful, entertaining, and fresh.

Michael Cera plays the titular character, and though- as with all his movies- he is basically playing Michael Cera, he does add enough depth and originality to his portrayal to make the character likeable and compelling. You want him to get the girl! Mary Elizabeth Winstead’s imbues his lady love, the aptly named Ramona Flowers, with just enough slacker charm and world-weary sadness to allow us to see what he sees in her. Too often in modern romantic movies you’re left wondering, “Why the hell would s/he go through all of this for him/her!?!?” but that is most certainly not the case in Scott Pilgrim. The secondary characters are equally well portrayed.  My particular favorite is Kieran Culkin (now surpassing Macaulay as my favorite Culkin!) as Wallace Wells, Scott’s gossip-monger gay roommate with whom he is forced to share not just living quarters, not just an actual bed, but several awkwardly intimate moments. Other standouts include Brandon Routh (almost unrecognizable in a white-blond wig) as a smug vegan who has his comeuppance and Anna Kendrick as Scott’s supportive but savvier sister. The sweet-faced Ellen Wong does a wonderful job with a thankless role, that of Knives Chau the girl whom Scott throws over for the enchanting Ramona.

But it is the big special effects and small touches that really make Scott Pilgrim an original and completely engaging film.  Sh*t is blown up, fights are had…no, gang, I did not accidentally step into a theater showing “The Expendables!” Scott Pilgrim is also full of action, and definitely should be topping Stallone’s meatfest in the box office (yes, yes; I’m going to see it. I just think Scott Pilgrim is a way more creative, exciting movie and deserves more box office love for its efforts).  It does things no movie before it has done, and – not unlike “Sin City” before it- will definitely be emulated in upcoming movies that spring forth from the comic book world. I don’t want to spoil the surprises and cute little touches that are sprinkled throughout the film, but I will say that you should definitely hit the loo before you go in so that you don’t miss something and then have to walk back in to your friends yukking it up over something they won’t be able to explain to you adequately later. Scott Pilgrim is a movie to be seen, not to be heard (about).

I’ll leave you with one final piece of advice re. seeing this film: don’t hang around after the credits. There’s a cute little videogamesque sequence at the end, but it is definitely not worth doing the potty dance if you actually bothered to listen to me, went before the movie, but then drank the equivalent of the River Nile in Coke during the film. *That* you can have your friends (or, you know,  me) tell you about!

So, since this is my first movie review, I need some sort of star-like rating system, and I’m looking to you, blog-reading pals, to help me out. I was thinking of giving a movie a certain number of “boobs” (it being me and all), but that seems kind of crass and besides- who really wants FIVE boobs!?!?  Cookies? Meows? What about “words,” since so many of you are amused by my use of the affirmation “word” or “word up?”  Hmm…  “I give Scott Pilgrim 4.5 WORDS!” Eh…I don’t know. What do you think?

Death of a Friendship

“Friendship is love with understanding.” That’s a fortune (from a long-ago consumed cookie) that sits on my desk at home. I contemplate this little bon mot with fair regularity, going back and forth as to whether or not it’s true. In my mind, love is sort of friendship *plus*- friendship with that added, ineffable something that makes it extra-special. But this statement implies that it’s actually friendship that has an added ingredient- understanding. So is that to say that we don’t have to understand our loves to the same degree as we do our friends? Or is it saying that because with love we already have bonus components (physical attraction, nesting, whatever), understanding is the thing that makes friendship special in its own right? I don’t have an answer to this…

I’ve actually been writing this post in my head since I decided to create a blog. Those of you who know me (and that’s most of you, though since Ben Nadel so kindly linked to my blog in a post last night - The Girl Who Broke My Heart, And Made Me a Better Person -some of you may not know me at all. Welcome! – but don’t be looking for ColdFusion programming stuff here; it’s all my kids, cooking, books, movies, and emotional stuff) know that being a good friend is one of the most important things in the world to me, right behind being a good mother and a good teacher (and these days, since I’m not working, it’s getting second-billing). But it seems particularly fitting to be writing this blog from my hotel room in NYC, home to the only two friendships I can honestly say I killed or did my best to cause to expire (hence the title of this post). No, it wasn’t a side effect of the cold, cold city; in both cases, it was wholly my own bad judgment and a rarely-demonstrated totally self-serving side to my personality. I have ended quite a few friendships in my life, because of disagreements over fundamental ways of being or because I recognized that the friendships were too unidirectional or unhealthy for me in some way. But these two friendships I am going to tell you about are the only times I can recall where I truly, truly regret my actions and their aftermath- the demise or critical injury to a friendship I should have valued and cherished more.

I actually ran into both of the other parties involved in these friendships this weekend, oddly enough. The first is a story some of you will know, having had to stay neutral in the bloody aftermath of the friendship fallout. Without going into too much excruciating detail, E. and I were inseparable for several years during the Buffy days. A few of our mutual friends marveled that two women with such big, strong personalities could be so close and not try to constantly steal the spotlight from each other. But there was such a core of genuine caring, honest affection, and a feeling of having someone who actually *got* me/her that it overrode any of the more petty, competitive feelings which might have arisen. At least, it did for a while. And then, of course, a guy entered the mix and all bets were off. This person (and in his case, I think I use the term fairly loosely) had nothing but his own agenda in the forefront and if actively playing E. and me off of each other fed his ego, advanced his means, and got him what he wanted…well, what was wrong with that? But let me be brutally honest here- this was MY fault, not his. I didn’t have to let him urge me to talk trash about E. or to try to manipulate me into dealing with her in a way which was disrespectful of both her professional standing and our friendship. I actively allowed myself to be encouraged to behave in that way, and though I will say that E.’s response was similarly unkind and self-serving, you have to keep in mind that she was being equally manipulated by this Machiavellian character on her end. It took me a while to recognize that this was my doing and that continuing to finger-point at him was weak and would deprive me of the one positive thing I could take away from this: learning from my mistake. But here’s the part that still kills me: I learned! I recognized what I’d done wrong, I worked it all through, and I apologized. I accepted the total blame I owned, and I asked to be forgiven. I wasn’t. E. and I have seen each other from time to time (including Friday night) since we still have many mutual friends, and she has always been very affable and appropriate…but it’s not the same, and the few times in the more recent past that I have reached out to her she hasn’t responded. I understand that; it’s certainly in her best interest not to trust someone who let her down so horribly in the past. But when we were sitting together chatting on Friday and started completing each other’s sentences the way we used to when we were friends…well, I was struck full in the face by how much I’d lost. Regret is a terrible thing.

And that brings me to the other friendship I mentioned earlier. That one is on life support right now, and extreme measures have been taken to try to save it…but to be honest, I’m not sure that’s going to happen; and it’s probably going to be a long, long time until there actually is a definitive answer. Interestingly, this paragraph probably would have looked a lot different had I not totally serendipitously run into this person on the street a couple of hours ago; we had a perfectly normal, friendly conversation about all of the stuff we used to talk about when we were talking more regularly (and in spite of the fact that we didn’t plan on seeing each other while I was in town). Unlike with E., I had much more of a sense that this was something that *could* be repaired, saved, maybe even made better given time and – most difficult for me- some patience. I know some of you reading this who know what I’m talking about are shaking your heads right now and silently cursing my total lack of self-protection, but sometimes you just have to believe that *I* actually know what I’m doing where I am concerned (sometimes ;-). Friends are the mirror through which we see our own best reflection, and when you meet someone who reflects back on you a version of yourself that is so close to your ideal, it’s worth taking a few hits to the gut (and heart) to stick with it.

There are myriad quotes about friendship, from Sun-Tzu’s “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer” (dangerous and not really all that pleasant) to Aristotle’s “What is a friend? A single soul in two bodies” (romantic and existential, but more of a statement on love in my opinion). But this is one of my favorites (and not just because I said it ;): A friend will tell you what you want to hear; a good friend will tell you what you don’t want to hear. So, friends, let me hear it – what does friendship (ours and any others on which you care to comment) mean to you?

The Lady who Lunches

So, yesterday P.B. (pre-blog) I posted on Facebook and Twitter about the fact that I made some oven-roasted tomatoes (and some unexpectedly candied bacon, but that doesn't figure into this blog). They did not come out looking as uniformly beautiful as Ina Garten's did (nor did they seem to dejuicify as much as hers did, but I was kind of lazy about taking the seeds out...and hello? I don't have a gazillion assistants and a house on the Hamptons and the world's most successful catering business and a really sweet husband who lives just to praise my food...er, where was I?). However, they taste pretty yummy, albeit a bit sweet.
Today, I put them on one of my useful-but-fairly tasteless Pepperidge Farm Deli Flats, added a couple ounces of fresh mozzarella, and a few leaves of basil - essentially Ina's Roasted Tomato Caprese (recipe below) offended by its bready base (my kingdom for low-cal ciabatta)!
I then FINALLY got around to making some low-cal cole slaw, a food which I crave in summer the same way I crave tomatoes, basil, mozzarella, grilled corn, (barely) grilled tuna and kisses from James Franco (hey, a girl can dream). Didn't follow any recipe, just winged it... and had I not tried to get cute, it would have been awesome. By "get cute" I mean, "Add black sea salt because those little flecks of black will look so great in between the pale green cabbage and vibrant orange carrots and creamy white dressing." Kids, do you know how black sea salt GETS black? They *dye* it black. And do you know what happens when you mix black dye with creamy white dressing? (there WILL be a quiz later, so pay attention) You get something that looks very much like New York City gutter runoff. Not so great-looking mixed in with the pretty cabbage-n-carrot mix. Sigh... ANYWAY, added a few tablespoons of peanuts because I used to love when my mom did that when I was little, and I have a very unattractive but nevertheless tasty and healthy cole slaw to pick at for the week. Recipe below.
Oh, and just kidding about the quiz. ;)

Ina Garten's Roasted Tomato Caprese Salad - serves 6ish
12 plum tomatoes, halved lengthwise, seeds but not cores removed
1/4 c. virgin olive oil + some extra for drizzling
1 1/2 tbsp. balsamic vinegar
2 large cloves garlic *Note* - I used like 3x this much. :)
2 tsp. sugar
Salt and pepper
1 lb. fresh mozzarella
12 fresh basil leaves chiffonade'd

Preheat oven to 275 degrees F (yes, that low. It's not a typo).
Arrange the tomatoes cut side up and not touching each other. Drizzle the olive oil and balsamico evenly over the tomatoes, and sprinkle with the salt, pepper, garlic, and sugar. Roast for 2 hours (yes, that's long. It's still not a typo) until the tomatoes shrink down and caramelize. Allow them to cool completely before using.
Cut the mozzarella balls into slices/half slices (*Note*: Ovoline are about the size of a baby's fist and often come in containers with 2 4-oz balls, so two of these containers would work great if each ball were sliced into thirds and then those slices halved). On a platter, alternate slices of mozzarella with the tomatoes and scatter the basil chiffonade over the top. Drizzle with a little more olive oil (if you think it needs it), salt and pepper.


Wendy's Cole Slaw - serves 12ish
1 package (~10 oz) sliced cabbage (mix of green and purple looks best)
1 package (~8 oz) grated carrots
1/2 sweet onion, thinly sliced
1/4 c mayonnaise (I recommend canola or olive oil-based)
1/2 c non-fat Greek-style yogurt
White vinegar
salt (NOT BLACK) and pepper to taste
1/4 c roasted peanuts (optional)

Mix veggies in a big bowl. In a smaller, separate bowl thoroughly mix the mayo and the yogurt. Drizzle in a little (less than a 1/4 c) white vinegar until the mixture takes on a dressing-like consistency. Add the dressing to the veggies and mix thoroughly. Add salt and pepper to taste and, if you like, throw those goobers in the mix! Alternately, save the peanuts for topping your slaw when you serve it; they'll be less well-integrated, but they'll retain more of their crunch.

If you try either of these, I'd love to hear how they turned out! Enjoy!