Tonight, Jerry (of Ben and Jerry's) came to campus to talk about social activism and small business development. Well, I think that is what it was about--a friend and I went because we heard there was free ice cream as a part of this shindig. Which there was! But it was actually really interesting, too, in non-food related ways.
As I imagined he would be, Jerry Greenfield was funny and insightful, and the type of person that you would probably want to hang out and have a few beers with. I have been to the Ben and Jerry's factory in Vermont, and I fully admit to loving everything about Vermont (I'd live there in a heartbeat, for real), including the fact that B & J stayed so true to their local roots for so long. They don't own the company any more, exactly--it was bought out about 10 years ago by a bigger company, I think Unilever. But it sounds like they did a lot of things right, by being accountable to their workers, making sure 7 1/2 percent of their profits went back to local businesses (I think he said the average at the time was 1 1/2 percent, which is ridiculous), and being conscious of where they were getting their ingredients from--for example, their brownies come from a bakery which employs people with prior personal or financial problems, and gave them job training. Jerry made a good point that there can (and should be) a spiritual motivation behind business too. Not necessarily spiritual in a religious sense, but in a sense that we are all connected, and should treat each other as well as we can. Very important.
As for the ice cream--they had single servings of chocolate chip cookie dough, chocolate fudge brownie, cherry garcia, and a newer flavor, peanut brittle. I was intrigued by the peanut brittle, but went with the cookie dough, while my friend went the brownie route. As we ate our ice cream, our hands freezing from the wind as we walked to our bus, we swapped stories of how Ben and Jerry's has been a major player in our lives. Hers factored into a break-up, while mine was from my first night of studying abroad in England. I was so hungry and homesick, with no phone or internet, and had just left my parents a voicemail from a pay phone that went something like, "hi! I'm in Norwich, and things are fine..well, not really fine...I don't know [incomprehensible crying]...um, the phone is beeping, I might need to put in more pounds but I don't have any more, love you, bye." So, in THAT great frame of mind, I went to the on-campus store, where there turned out to be Ben and Jerry's. I bought a pint--strawberry cheesecake, I think?--and went to my room and unpacked and ate most of it. It turned out to cost something ridiculous like $8, with conversion and all, but so worth it.
It sounds so Bridget Jones-like, to have such an emotional, visceral response to ice cream, but everyone I am friends with really does. I don't know if it is because we are 20-something year-old women, or if I just hang out with ice cream lovers, but there you have it. I distinctly remember my roommate and I in our sophomore year of college passing a pint of brownie batter B & J's back and forth between our desks during a particularly bad week. And I do come from an ice cream loving clan! My aunt always has multiple flavors on hand, and during one really memorable game of catchphrase, my uncle had to get her to say "ice cream" without saying the words, so he said, "you love this," and she said immediately, "ooh! ice cream!" [my cousins were mad she didn't say, "my children."] The only poem I distinctly remember writing (and illustrating!!) was about ice cream. I was seven. It was published in our hometown newspaper.
So if you have ice cream memories, you are not alone. Feel free to share them (and your favorite flavors!) here. To me, it suggests summer, friends, and general silliness. And to Ben and Jerry's--thank you for staying more true to yourselves than a lot of companies do. You've made this socialist ice cream lover very happy.
Thursday 31 March 2011
Sunday 27 March 2011
It's a Small World
You've all heard of the 6 degrees of separation theory, where everyone is six steps (or people) away from everyone else on the earth. I'm not sure if I buy that so much, although I have successfully linked myself to President Obama (such a good story, my cousin met him in a grocery store in Chicago, long before he was president) and the Unabomber (if my coworker was right that he did once walk into the Prendergast Library). Sometimes it's not so much people, but institutions or ideas that you didn't expect to find somewhere else.
Exhibit A: Wegmans. (If you don't know what Wegmans is, you should. Check it here.) Despite having never heard of it before, my friends here have finally put up with my incessant Wegmans talk, although they sometimes forget the name ("hey what's that grocery store called that you're obsessed with?") I was at my local grocery store a few days ago and was checking out with, of course, my Wegs reusable bags. It went like this.
Clerk: Hey, I like your Wegmans bag.
Me: Wait, you know what Wegmans is?!
Clerk: Only the best grocery store OF ALL TIME. I'm from Philly. Are you from Ithaca? [this must be the new upstate representative city]
Me: No, I went to school in Geneva but I'm from the Buffalo area.
Clerk: Wow, I bet there are lots of Wegmans there!
Me: For sure. My school was only 45 minutes from the flagship one, so we would randomly go there sometimes.
Clerk: Jealous! The one in Philly has a bar in it. It's perfect.
Me: Seriously!? I would never leave.
Clerk: I know! They only built it my senior year, and I was so mad that I missed all that Wegmans bonding time when I was at school.
Then we realized we were both first year masters candidates, in different fields, but it was pretty cool. Equally cool was when I first met my advisor in the week before classes and was a bit nervous. I walked into his office and there was a Wegmans bag on his desk, so of course I went, "it's nice to meet you. Wait, is that a Wegman's bag?" and he said, "yes! Greatest grocery store ever. My wife is from Rochester. You're not one of those people who has a Danny Wegmans shrine, are you?" I assured him I wasn't, we talked about Wegs granola, and we have been on good terms since.
Similarly connected to the web of Wegmans fanatics is an ever-growing web of art historians and art history students. Which brings me to:
Exhibit B: our art history symposium yesterday. We have, I do believe, the oldest grad student run and organized art history symposium in the country, with two panels of three graduate student speakers and then a keynote at the end with a fancy reception at the end. It was a long day, as set-up for breakfast started as 8:00 am and we left the reception at 8:45 pm, and then proceeded to go out--so I was pretty sick of wearing tights by the end! My fellow and sister students put in a lot of work. I was on the publicity committee, and so was in charge of community calendars and the like, which was a tiny fraction of what some of the other students had on their plate. And it went off quite well! Our theme was "Dearly Departed: Memory, Absence and Devotion in Art History and Visual Culture," with the keynote on "Memorial Mania" in the contemporary US, focusing especially on September 11th memorials. The turn-out was decent, and hanging out with the guest grad students was very cool. I got to chatting with one who is at a school I am thinking of applying to down the road, and she researches female tombs in the Renaissance! And I do love me some female architectural patronage. Refreshingly, she was also as anti-Florence as I am. (Nothing against Florence, as I'm sure it is a lovely place, but Rome is where it's AT. Or Venice. I have to make that research decision soon, and I don't know which way to go, but that is a story for another time.)
Oh, and the six degrees of separation thing? One of the speakers was someone who was in my interview group at another university last year. We both ended up going other places, we facebook friended each other with congratulations and the promise to let each other know what we were up to, art history-wise, which of course we did not do. When we got the list of participants I kept thinking his name was familiar, but couldn't place it. And then his facebook status was something like "packing for Bloomington" and it clicked. So we got to catch up yesterday, which was nice too. He is a pedantic but well meaning person, and very well-informed about 17th c Dutch painting, which I don't know much about but like all the same. All in all, a fun and tiring day. I have to do about a month of laundry today (it is dire) and other unexciting things, and am looking forward to my next random encounter!
Exhibit A: Wegmans. (If you don't know what Wegmans is, you should. Check it here.) Despite having never heard of it before, my friends here have finally put up with my incessant Wegmans talk, although they sometimes forget the name ("hey what's that grocery store called that you're obsessed with?") I was at my local grocery store a few days ago and was checking out with, of course, my Wegs reusable bags. It went like this.
Clerk: Hey, I like your Wegmans bag.
Me: Wait, you know what Wegmans is?!
Clerk: Only the best grocery store OF ALL TIME. I'm from Philly. Are you from Ithaca? [this must be the new upstate representative city]
Me: No, I went to school in Geneva but I'm from the Buffalo area.
Clerk: Wow, I bet there are lots of Wegmans there!
Me: For sure. My school was only 45 minutes from the flagship one, so we would randomly go there sometimes.
Clerk: Jealous! The one in Philly has a bar in it. It's perfect.
Me: Seriously!? I would never leave.
Clerk: I know! They only built it my senior year, and I was so mad that I missed all that Wegmans bonding time when I was at school.
Then we realized we were both first year masters candidates, in different fields, but it was pretty cool. Equally cool was when I first met my advisor in the week before classes and was a bit nervous. I walked into his office and there was a Wegmans bag on his desk, so of course I went, "it's nice to meet you. Wait, is that a Wegman's bag?" and he said, "yes! Greatest grocery store ever. My wife is from Rochester. You're not one of those people who has a Danny Wegmans shrine, are you?" I assured him I wasn't, we talked about Wegs granola, and we have been on good terms since.
Similarly connected to the web of Wegmans fanatics is an ever-growing web of art historians and art history students. Which brings me to:
Exhibit B: our art history symposium yesterday. We have, I do believe, the oldest grad student run and organized art history symposium in the country, with two panels of three graduate student speakers and then a keynote at the end with a fancy reception at the end. It was a long day, as set-up for breakfast started as 8:00 am and we left the reception at 8:45 pm, and then proceeded to go out--so I was pretty sick of wearing tights by the end! My fellow and sister students put in a lot of work. I was on the publicity committee, and so was in charge of community calendars and the like, which was a tiny fraction of what some of the other students had on their plate. And it went off quite well! Our theme was "Dearly Departed: Memory, Absence and Devotion in Art History and Visual Culture," with the keynote on "Memorial Mania" in the contemporary US, focusing especially on September 11th memorials. The turn-out was decent, and hanging out with the guest grad students was very cool. I got to chatting with one who is at a school I am thinking of applying to down the road, and she researches female tombs in the Renaissance! And I do love me some female architectural patronage. Refreshingly, she was also as anti-Florence as I am. (Nothing against Florence, as I'm sure it is a lovely place, but Rome is where it's AT. Or Venice. I have to make that research decision soon, and I don't know which way to go, but that is a story for another time.)
Oh, and the six degrees of separation thing? One of the speakers was someone who was in my interview group at another university last year. We both ended up going other places, we facebook friended each other with congratulations and the promise to let each other know what we were up to, art history-wise, which of course we did not do. When we got the list of participants I kept thinking his name was familiar, but couldn't place it. And then his facebook status was something like "packing for Bloomington" and it clicked. So we got to catch up yesterday, which was nice too. He is a pedantic but well meaning person, and very well-informed about 17th c Dutch painting, which I don't know much about but like all the same. All in all, a fun and tiring day. I have to do about a month of laundry today (it is dire) and other unexciting things, and am looking forward to my next random encounter!
Tuesday 22 March 2011
Life Things and Literary Things
I am back in Indiana after a very fun and at times kind of hard spring break. The fun part is obvious--friends, NYC, museums, great food, kind people, my wonderful family. The hard part is a little more abstract, and it mostly involves distance. I realized this visit that the vast majority of my best friends live in the Northeastern Corridor area, and I really miss them. I miss being by water in a way I never thought I would, and I miss being close to my family. My grandmother has been feeling poorly and while I was able to spend a few days with her, and she is a tough lady, I hate being so far away. Today was a bad day for her and I do not want to be here right now. I didn't get to see my parents or other grandmother this trip, and that was hard, too. It is making me wonder if I can really stand a career that is far from my family. I was talking to one of my friends last week about how we feel like we don't know what we're doing with our lives sometimes (who does though, really), which brings me to this poem:
Electrical storm
On August nights, when pressing heat and swarms
of heavy air hang thick above your bed,
and traffic lights outside your room birth forms
that shift on darkened walls in ugly red
and purple flames, you find yourself awake.
You shuck to clinging boxers, crossly shed
confining sheets, and pray the fan won't break.
These nights all pass the same, until one night
you face the window, conscious of the ache
of sunburned skin. A sudden burst of light
breaks darkened sky and fragments in a flash
that makes you stir with something close to fright.
You watch the show with awe. The feathered slash
of lightning does not echo into thunder,
but rather bears another splintered gash,
and then another, and another. Under
mottled clouds the streaks of white combine
and you, in stupid, juvenile wonder
only stare, as worries leave your mind
and time becomes irrelevant.
It's you
and nature, nothing more, the strange design
of marbled evening, burning deep into
your eyes—the muted fireworks that brought
the ancient people to their knees.
And through
the web of fiery rain in which you're caught
you realize that you truly understand
the marvels of the earth; and age has taught
you swift dissection of the cryptic, grand,
and interwoven meanings of the sky.
You feel your wonder dimming which each brand
of white that shudders through the dark. You sigh
and shut your eyes, ashamed of how naive
you used to be…
and yet, you can't deny
how powerful it was when you perceived
(when you were young, and quite alone)
the magic of the storms. And you believe
that now, since all that can be known is known,
your life meant nothing more than it did then
(when god-like sparks were very much your own)
and it will never mean as much again.
Nature has seemed so scary and destructive lately. In a microscopic example, my flight went through a thunderstorm yesterday and I never want to do that again. But this poem reminds me of summer storms, standing in our sunporch with my sister or running through the rain in the street by our house. I love thunderstorms (except when I'm on an airplane!) and I love summer nights where you feel small yet safe and you can just marvel at the sky.
Oh, and the poet? My sister, Elizabeth (Liz, as she's normally known). She is a college senior and is presenting at her first ever conference starting tomorrow! Basically she is awesome, she is crazy smart, she never ceases to keep me in line and make me laugh, and I firmly believe she will be a poet laureate some day. She won this lecture-thing last year at her school and I went and she did a great job, so though she may be a bit nervous right now, SHE WILL ROCK PITTSBURGH. There is another poem I love that she wrote after I took her to Brighton Beach last year, but I can't find it right now. So you might get another taster later.
AND, in other tales of my accomplished family, my cousin Melis is shortlisted for a writing contest in the New Yorker, about what your next journey would be. And you should all vote. This is the link. Melissa Slater is a teacher at a transfer high school in Brooklyn. I slept on her couch all of last year, so I can personally vouch for how much she cares about her students, how much work she does, and how deserving she is. We need more teachers and human beings like her. Continuing the theme, her post is about nature, too!
I need to catch up on reading and work and school-stuff, but at the moment it just seems terribly insignificant. Sometimes, one just needs to open all the windows (it is freakishly warm here), drink some tea, and read some poetry. And that is what I intend to do.
Electrical storm
On August nights, when pressing heat and swarms
of heavy air hang thick above your bed,
and traffic lights outside your room birth forms
that shift on darkened walls in ugly red
and purple flames, you find yourself awake.
You shuck to clinging boxers, crossly shed
confining sheets, and pray the fan won't break.
These nights all pass the same, until one night
you face the window, conscious of the ache
of sunburned skin. A sudden burst of light
breaks darkened sky and fragments in a flash
that makes you stir with something close to fright.
You watch the show with awe. The feathered slash
of lightning does not echo into thunder,
but rather bears another splintered gash,
and then another, and another. Under
mottled clouds the streaks of white combine
and you, in stupid, juvenile wonder
only stare, as worries leave your mind
and time becomes irrelevant.
It's you
and nature, nothing more, the strange design
of marbled evening, burning deep into
your eyes—the muted fireworks that brought
the ancient people to their knees.
And through
the web of fiery rain in which you're caught
you realize that you truly understand
the marvels of the earth; and age has taught
you swift dissection of the cryptic, grand,
and interwoven meanings of the sky.
You feel your wonder dimming which each brand
of white that shudders through the dark. You sigh
and shut your eyes, ashamed of how naive
you used to be…
and yet, you can't deny
how powerful it was when you perceived
(when you were young, and quite alone)
the magic of the storms. And you believe
that now, since all that can be known is known,
your life meant nothing more than it did then
(when god-like sparks were very much your own)
and it will never mean as much again.
Nature has seemed so scary and destructive lately. In a microscopic example, my flight went through a thunderstorm yesterday and I never want to do that again. But this poem reminds me of summer storms, standing in our sunporch with my sister or running through the rain in the street by our house. I love thunderstorms (except when I'm on an airplane!) and I love summer nights where you feel small yet safe and you can just marvel at the sky.
Oh, and the poet? My sister, Elizabeth (Liz, as she's normally known). She is a college senior and is presenting at her first ever conference starting tomorrow! Basically she is awesome, she is crazy smart, she never ceases to keep me in line and make me laugh, and I firmly believe she will be a poet laureate some day. She won this lecture-thing last year at her school and I went and she did a great job, so though she may be a bit nervous right now, SHE WILL ROCK PITTSBURGH. There is another poem I love that she wrote after I took her to Brighton Beach last year, but I can't find it right now. So you might get another taster later.
AND, in other tales of my accomplished family, my cousin Melis is shortlisted for a writing contest in the New Yorker, about what your next journey would be. And you should all vote. This is the link. Melissa Slater is a teacher at a transfer high school in Brooklyn. I slept on her couch all of last year, so I can personally vouch for how much she cares about her students, how much work she does, and how deserving she is. We need more teachers and human beings like her. Continuing the theme, her post is about nature, too!
I need to catch up on reading and work and school-stuff, but at the moment it just seems terribly insignificant. Sometimes, one just needs to open all the windows (it is freakishly warm here), drink some tea, and read some poetry. And that is what I intend to do.
Thursday 17 March 2011
Travelogue: Vacation Day 7
I told my cousin a few days ago that I feel slightly hypocritical, because even though I have moved away from NYC, I still feel justified in judging tourists, especially when they stop in front of me with their maps and pointing fingers. Although she said that I would always be a NYer, I felt a bit like a tourist myself today, since I took some pictures on Wall St and various other points along the way (I'll load some on here sometime!). But I figured, I didn't take pictures when I lived here, so why not? And I wanted to document the St Patrick's Date Day.
Date Night started when one of my very good college friends moved here last April. When we were both working fulltime it was usually something where we'd do something pretty chilled out on Friday nights--movies or hanging out, usually with 5 Guys (Burgers and Fries) involved. She was "sick" today (and what are "sick" days for, if not 60 degree St Patrick's Days?? Really) and so we had an extended day o' fun together. And fun it was! She lives on Wall St, and I've gotta say that I think that area is my most favorite part of Manhattan. The winding streets, cool little pubs, closeness to water (I didn't realize how much I miss and crave and need and love bodies of water until I moved to the Midwest), and just the old feel to it are so fun--it makes me want to wander about and explore. We did wander a bit, and then took the train up to the Upper East Side, where we waded through some parade crowds, got a hot dog and a knish from a vender, and did some people-watching before going into the Frick.
I have a personal fondness for the Brooklyn Museum, but I think the Frick is my favorite museum here. It's so calming and subtly gorgeous and there is so much to LOOK at! Well, it's usually calm, but today was accompanied by bagpipe-ing out the window, which was actually a pretty great touch. My hawt date and I each picked out which painting we would live in if we could--we both picked Turner's, of course; mine was this and hers was this. Their guest exhibit was a show on Rembrandt, his followers, and their etchings, which was a good time. We went outside, did some parade watching, meandered through Central Park to get frozen yogurt, wandered back for more parade watching, took a rush hour train (with 19474561981 other people) back to Wall St, wandered some more, went over to South St Seaport, and then went to (where else?) 5 Guys for dinner. I haven't been eating meat that much lately, but for some reason a burger just hit the spot tonight. We hung out in her apartment for a bit, and then I headed back to Bk, where this exchange happened on the subway:
Woman next to me, bumping my arm accidentally: Oh, I'm sorry!
Me: No problem!
Woman, reaching into her purse: Here, would you like a peppermint?
Me: I'm ok, actually. Thanks though!
Woman, musingly: Green-striped peppermints for a green-themed day! And tomorrow I'll probably be green at the gills. I don't know why I'm celebrating this, I'm only a fourth Irish.
Me: I'm not Irish at all, but sometimes it's nice to pretend.
Woman: I'm not sure who Duncan McClannahan was or really how we're related, but I am celebrating for him tonight!
Me: Sounds like a good plan. Oop, this is my stop! Have a wonderful evening!
Woman: And the same to you!
Who says NYers are grumpy? Not me. Just don't get me started on tourists...
Date Night started when one of my very good college friends moved here last April. When we were both working fulltime it was usually something where we'd do something pretty chilled out on Friday nights--movies or hanging out, usually with 5 Guys (Burgers and Fries) involved. She was "sick" today (and what are "sick" days for, if not 60 degree St Patrick's Days?? Really) and so we had an extended day o' fun together. And fun it was! She lives on Wall St, and I've gotta say that I think that area is my most favorite part of Manhattan. The winding streets, cool little pubs, closeness to water (I didn't realize how much I miss and crave and need and love bodies of water until I moved to the Midwest), and just the old feel to it are so fun--it makes me want to wander about and explore. We did wander a bit, and then took the train up to the Upper East Side, where we waded through some parade crowds, got a hot dog and a knish from a vender, and did some people-watching before going into the Frick.
I have a personal fondness for the Brooklyn Museum, but I think the Frick is my favorite museum here. It's so calming and subtly gorgeous and there is so much to LOOK at! Well, it's usually calm, but today was accompanied by bagpipe-ing out the window, which was actually a pretty great touch. My hawt date and I each picked out which painting we would live in if we could--we both picked Turner's, of course; mine was this and hers was this. Their guest exhibit was a show on Rembrandt, his followers, and their etchings, which was a good time. We went outside, did some parade watching, meandered through Central Park to get frozen yogurt, wandered back for more parade watching, took a rush hour train (with 19474561981 other people) back to Wall St, wandered some more, went over to South St Seaport, and then went to (where else?) 5 Guys for dinner. I haven't been eating meat that much lately, but for some reason a burger just hit the spot tonight. We hung out in her apartment for a bit, and then I headed back to Bk, where this exchange happened on the subway:
Woman next to me, bumping my arm accidentally: Oh, I'm sorry!
Me: No problem!
Woman, reaching into her purse: Here, would you like a peppermint?
Me: I'm ok, actually. Thanks though!
Woman, musingly: Green-striped peppermints for a green-themed day! And tomorrow I'll probably be green at the gills. I don't know why I'm celebrating this, I'm only a fourth Irish.
Me: I'm not Irish at all, but sometimes it's nice to pretend.
Woman: I'm not sure who Duncan McClannahan was or really how we're related, but I am celebrating for him tonight!
Me: Sounds like a good plan. Oop, this is my stop! Have a wonderful evening!
Woman: And the same to you!
Who says NYers are grumpy? Not me. Just don't get me started on tourists...
Wednesday 16 March 2011
Travelogue: Vacation Days 5 6
I had forgotten how weird NYC makes me feel. It's liberating to be among so many people, with such great people watching. It makes me feel like I can do anything, and no one will care, or notice, which is sort of nice. But at the same time it's very isolating. That's something about living here that I don't miss, the fact that you sometimes just feel like a statistic and not a person. But hell, grad school is isolating too, and this spring break is turning out to be exactly what I needed to break the February-March funk that I always seem to find myself in.
That introspectiveness out of the way, I am in my pajamas, watching TV, and just consumed some red velvet cake for breakfast. Hello spring break! I do have to get through some reading today (of course), but it could be a lot worse. I spent most of yesterday at the Met, which was as usual a fun time. They redid their maps! (gripping stuff, I know.) There was a cool guest exhibit on guitars, AND, best of all, I went through their American Art visual storage and completely dorked out texting some friends in my Gilded Age class. The American Wing has been under construction since I've lived here, and it will be for the rest of this year. It was surreal to see a row of John Singer Sargent's full-length, gorgeously rendered, atmospheric portraits while they are behind a wall of glass, with people hammering and drilling around them. But I SAW them! I realized how wonderful Eakins is in person and how Homer rocks in everything he did. Even better was that one of my friends was simultaneously at the Art Institute in Chicago, so we kept texting each other pictures and things like "I <3 Homer". That's why art kids are cool, my friends.
After the Met, I wandered around Union Square and then got off in downtown Brooklyn to get a bubble tea and wandered around a bit more. My cousin and I got home at the same time and she ordered our favorite Thai food from our amazing Thai place--ginger noodles with tofu and vegetables, vegetarian spring rolls, and calimari. My cousin, who is always a rockstar, stopped by Lord's Bakery on her way home and got a slice of chocolate buttercream for herself and a slice of red velvet for me. Which I finished up for breakfast. Thanks Melis!
So today will probably be low key--I was going to hit another museum, but I've got plenty of time, and admittedly I'm a little art history-ed out. Tonight I'm going to dinner with Melis and my Wall St William Smith friend to Lincoln Center to see Lucia di Lammermoor. I actually don't know that much about the plot (I know she goes mad, but that's all I've got). I'm excited because we are in one of those boxes on like the sixth balcony, so hopefully we can see, and because I have been on a Joan Sutherland kick ever since her death in October, and this was her role. This duet is stupendous. And while I'm not expecting Sutherland-level greatness, I am excited to spend time with those two lovely ladies and get some opera-on.
PS if you are curious about more Brooklyn musings, after I graduated from college I moved here for a year, slept on my cousin's couch, had two odd jobs, interned at a museum, and participated in some shenanigans. Check it all out here.
That introspectiveness out of the way, I am in my pajamas, watching TV, and just consumed some red velvet cake for breakfast. Hello spring break! I do have to get through some reading today (of course), but it could be a lot worse. I spent most of yesterday at the Met, which was as usual a fun time. They redid their maps! (gripping stuff, I know.) There was a cool guest exhibit on guitars, AND, best of all, I went through their American Art visual storage and completely dorked out texting some friends in my Gilded Age class. The American Wing has been under construction since I've lived here, and it will be for the rest of this year. It was surreal to see a row of John Singer Sargent's full-length, gorgeously rendered, atmospheric portraits while they are behind a wall of glass, with people hammering and drilling around them. But I SAW them! I realized how wonderful Eakins is in person and how Homer rocks in everything he did. Even better was that one of my friends was simultaneously at the Art Institute in Chicago, so we kept texting each other pictures and things like "I <3 Homer". That's why art kids are cool, my friends.
After the Met, I wandered around Union Square and then got off in downtown Brooklyn to get a bubble tea and wandered around a bit more. My cousin and I got home at the same time and she ordered our favorite Thai food from our amazing Thai place--ginger noodles with tofu and vegetables, vegetarian spring rolls, and calimari. My cousin, who is always a rockstar, stopped by Lord's Bakery on her way home and got a slice of chocolate buttercream for herself and a slice of red velvet for me. Which I finished up for breakfast. Thanks Melis!
So today will probably be low key--I was going to hit another museum, but I've got plenty of time, and admittedly I'm a little art history-ed out. Tonight I'm going to dinner with Melis and my Wall St William Smith friend to Lincoln Center to see Lucia di Lammermoor. I actually don't know that much about the plot (I know she goes mad, but that's all I've got). I'm excited because we are in one of those boxes on like the sixth balcony, so hopefully we can see, and because I have been on a Joan Sutherland kick ever since her death in October, and this was her role. This duet is stupendous. And while I'm not expecting Sutherland-level greatness, I am excited to spend time with those two lovely ladies and get some opera-on.
PS if you are curious about more Brooklyn musings, after I graduated from college I moved here for a year, slept on my cousin's couch, had two odd jobs, interned at a museum, and participated in some shenanigans. Check it all out here.
Monday 14 March 2011
Travelogue: Transition, Day 4
Last year when I was working at a bookstore in Brooklyn, I was chatting to one of my coworkers (as you do in retail) and he asked, "is there anything that makes you cry that you don’t think makes most people cry? Like, certain things that aren’t really sad, but trigger something for you?"
And the answer, of course, is yes. I suspect we all have things like that. (For me--certain works of art, especially Vermeer paintings, the end bits of some operas, certain letters and emails, and every single Pixar movie.)
I then asked him if he had anything that made him cry and he wasn’t sure why. He thought for a bit, and said that if he had been outside of New York City for the weekend or something and was on the Amtrak back into the city, the first look at the skyline, particularly at night, would make him cry. Despite being Brooklyn born and bred, he said he forgot how miraculous that view of Manhattan is until approaching it from the Amtrak.
Tonight, as I took the Amtrak into the city, I understood.
Even better than that view, though, was the people watching I got in on the subway. NYC, whatever one can say about it, is not dull, and I could use some not dull right now. Some things that I saw:
--4 teenage boys giving each other hugs before they got out at their respective stops.
--2 older women discussing Japanese flower arranging, Bonsai trees, the Botanical Gardens, and their community garden. One of them was the chair of her community garden and had just taken a class on pruning, and when her friend asked if she had a committee to help her, she replied, "sure, I have a committee, but they are a bunch of New Yorkers. What do New Yorkers know from trees and grass? Nothing."
--2 very tall, very thin 16ish year old boys with an 8ish year old girl (their sister, I assumed) on the shuttle. She kept chattering at them about her school day, and when they got off, they told her they would pull her flowered backpack. She started giggling and said, "you look so silly!" and a guy and I behind them started laughing and one of the boys said, "hey! this isn't my backpack, alright?"
--a man swing dancing by himself on the subway platform.
Sunday 13 March 2011
Travelogue: Vacation Days 1 2 3
I am on Spring Break, in sunny (sorta) balmy (well not really) New York state. I figured I would do a few posts while here to let you know what I'm up to, because, let's be honest, my normal daily routine is not the sort of thing to set the presses afire. It's a lot harder to write about reading than it is about...PARADES!
Yep, parades. A slightly less-well-known fact about me is that I jump at the chance to go to parades. Despite being about as unnationalistic as they come, I love all displays of Americana--county fairs, fireworks, picnics, and parades. And I have never been to the Albany St Patricks Day Parade before, but my extended family goes every year. Despite having not one iota of Irish genetics, I am fond of St Patricks day because a lot of my favorite music is Irish/Celtic in origin and soda bread is awesome, and I knew that my relatives + beer + bagpipes = a good time for all, and I was SO right.
To back up a bit: I flew into Albany on Friday after a really great week with my sister visiting me in Indiana. I'm sure there will be further posts about that, but suffice it to say that it was super fun. We ended the week with a massive dance party with my friends, having somehow convinced the DJ at a particular bar to play us multiple Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls tracks. We flew out on two separate planes yet landed in Detroit at around the same time. I met up with my sister and her roommate there, where we went to an airport bar for the first time ever for some very overpriced martinis. Then they flew to Rochester and I flew to the ol' state capital itself. If you were curious, the gate I flew out of in Detroit was in the far end of the C wing, down some stairs, and they were re-carpeting the floor so I had to climb over some carpet rolls and dodge some caution tape. It was pretty classy! One of my cousins picked me up, we collected another cousin at the train station, and headed home.
Saturday morning began Parade Day. We all got decked out in green and headed to the city to check in on one of my cousin's and his friends, who were most definitely drunk but also their normal polite and funny selves. Then we went to another house party, where a really really good college friend of mine met us. After we left and were walking down the street, we walked past the house of a guy who went to high school with my friend, and he was standing on his porch! She knew he lived on that street, but not where, so that was pretty cool. We met his roommates, used their bathroom, chatted, grabbed lunch, and met up with more of my family, including my seven year old cousin, who was wearing a green tutu, and her fabulous mom (another of my many awesome cousins) who was wearing rainboots with chickens on them. My family's tradition is that you walk along the parade route with the parade before watching most of it from the end.
(photo courtesy of my cousin Melis! We're festive.)
Admittedly, there was nothing that spectacular about the parade--some pipes, drums, marching bands, random Irish people, step-dancers, and the like. What was fun was all the various people watching and their shenanigans. The police just give up for the day and don't enforce open container laws, and it seems to work surprisingly well. I didn't see anyone who was belligerent, although I'm sure as the day went on that got a lot worse. And my relatives seem to always find random people wherever we go that they know somehow, so that's always funny. The father of one of my cousin's friends works at City Hall and let us in the basement to use the bathroom, so I can now say I've been in City Hall! In a weekend where so much of the news was about tsunamis and flooding and sadness, it was nice to stop watching the news and just to be goofy for awhile. My friend came home with us and we had really great bonding times before she had to leave for work this morning.
As for today, I spent a lot of time in my grandmother's wing of the house--she's been feeling unwell but seemed to perk up a bit today. We dropped my cousin off at the Hudson train station (a really adorable train station! It reminds me of England). I read for school (about the Jyllands-Posten cartoons), read for fun (Agatha Christie), watched the most TV I've watched in about 3 months, and wrote an abstract (due tomorrow--no sense in waiting til the last minute, say I). My aunt made a tasty salad and shrimp alfredo for dinner, I got to meet the newest member of my family, my 6 month old cousin who is the smiling-est baby boy EVER, hung out with his 6 year old sister who is hilarious, and had the goofy (as they often are) black lab lick my feet. I miss my hometown and parents and my other grandma, but I also love all these people to bits. My family, I often say, is the best.
I leave the fam tomorrow and train-it to Brooklyn tomorrow. Details to follow!
Yep, parades. A slightly less-well-known fact about me is that I jump at the chance to go to parades. Despite being about as unnationalistic as they come, I love all displays of Americana--county fairs, fireworks, picnics, and parades. And I have never been to the Albany St Patricks Day Parade before, but my extended family goes every year. Despite having not one iota of Irish genetics, I am fond of St Patricks day because a lot of my favorite music is Irish/Celtic in origin and soda bread is awesome, and I knew that my relatives + beer + bagpipes = a good time for all, and I was SO right.
To back up a bit: I flew into Albany on Friday after a really great week with my sister visiting me in Indiana. I'm sure there will be further posts about that, but suffice it to say that it was super fun. We ended the week with a massive dance party with my friends, having somehow convinced the DJ at a particular bar to play us multiple Backstreet Boys and Spice Girls tracks. We flew out on two separate planes yet landed in Detroit at around the same time. I met up with my sister and her roommate there, where we went to an airport bar for the first time ever for some very overpriced martinis. Then they flew to Rochester and I flew to the ol' state capital itself. If you were curious, the gate I flew out of in Detroit was in the far end of the C wing, down some stairs, and they were re-carpeting the floor so I had to climb over some carpet rolls and dodge some caution tape. It was pretty classy! One of my cousins picked me up, we collected another cousin at the train station, and headed home.
Saturday morning began Parade Day. We all got decked out in green and headed to the city to check in on one of my cousin's and his friends, who were most definitely drunk but also their normal polite and funny selves. Then we went to another house party, where a really really good college friend of mine met us. After we left and were walking down the street, we walked past the house of a guy who went to high school with my friend, and he was standing on his porch! She knew he lived on that street, but not where, so that was pretty cool. We met his roommates, used their bathroom, chatted, grabbed lunch, and met up with more of my family, including my seven year old cousin, who was wearing a green tutu, and her fabulous mom (another of my many awesome cousins) who was wearing rainboots with chickens on them. My family's tradition is that you walk along the parade route with the parade before watching most of it from the end.
(photo courtesy of my cousin Melis! We're festive.)Admittedly, there was nothing that spectacular about the parade--some pipes, drums, marching bands, random Irish people, step-dancers, and the like. What was fun was all the various people watching and their shenanigans. The police just give up for the day and don't enforce open container laws, and it seems to work surprisingly well. I didn't see anyone who was belligerent, although I'm sure as the day went on that got a lot worse. And my relatives seem to always find random people wherever we go that they know somehow, so that's always funny. The father of one of my cousin's friends works at City Hall and let us in the basement to use the bathroom, so I can now say I've been in City Hall! In a weekend where so much of the news was about tsunamis and flooding and sadness, it was nice to stop watching the news and just to be goofy for awhile. My friend came home with us and we had really great bonding times before she had to leave for work this morning.
As for today, I spent a lot of time in my grandmother's wing of the house--she's been feeling unwell but seemed to perk up a bit today. We dropped my cousin off at the Hudson train station (a really adorable train station! It reminds me of England). I read for school (about the Jyllands-Posten cartoons), read for fun (Agatha Christie), watched the most TV I've watched in about 3 months, and wrote an abstract (due tomorrow--no sense in waiting til the last minute, say I). My aunt made a tasty salad and shrimp alfredo for dinner, I got to meet the newest member of my family, my 6 month old cousin who is the smiling-est baby boy EVER, hung out with his 6 year old sister who is hilarious, and had the goofy (as they often are) black lab lick my feet. I miss my hometown and parents and my other grandma, but I also love all these people to bits. My family, I often say, is the best.
I leave the fam tomorrow and train-it to Brooklyn tomorrow. Details to follow!
Saturday 5 March 2011
March Happenings
I'm going to collect my sister (!!!) at the airport in a little bit, but before I do, here is what has been going on of late! Probably the next few weeks there will be a dearth of blog posts--I'm smacking into a lot of deadlines. I'm sure you'll all live just fine.
So, here's what happened this week (some exciting, some not-so-much.)
--I got my hair cut, not from my regular hairdresser, who is on maternity leave, but from another person at the same place. She had the most gorgeous hair I have ever seen, down to her waist, black, and in separated waves, almost like they had been twisted together, in the manner of dreadlocks. One section was bright pink. She twisted it up into a bun before she cut mine, and secured it with two sticks, something which I have NEVER been able to achieve, even when I had long hair. Also, if I could always start my day with someone massaging my skull, I would. (If I ever become a dictator, that will happen.)
--Attended T J Clark's lecture called "What Bernini Saw". Any time an art historian has their own wikipedia page, it's a sign that they're a pretty big deal. It was about this painting:
which, as I'm sure you've deduced is no Bernini: it's a Poussin (The Sacrament of Marriage, 1647-48. Thanks to the National Gallery of Scotland for image!) Poor ol' Poussin. He is one of those artists that I know I should intellectually like, but I just can't get excited about him--he's too smart, too cultured, too perfect. I don't feel anything when looking at his works (except his self-portraits. Do check those out--powerful.) Why this talk was called "What Bernini Saw" is because Bernini saw this painting in 1660 and raved about it, especially the completely veiled figure on the left, by the column--in fact, Bernini called her the female column. Clark talked about the female column for an hour, and he actually made me like Poussin a bit. You start to see sneaky, secret things when you stare at a painting for that long--the cross marked out by the tiles, leading to Mary and Joseph (hard to see in a reproduction), the adorable baby right behind Mary (impossible to see in a reproduction, he/she blends right into the yellow-ish cloak), and the tiny figures outside the window. As he's English born and Cambridge trained, Clark's accent made me feel smarter.
--Pondered how academics ask questions, especially in light of the Clark talk and a recent religious studies conference I attended. I don't know what the deal is with this, but lately I have noticed that when academics (grad students or professors) ask questions, it's about 5 minutes where they talk about themselves, their knowledge, their anecdotes, and then 3 seconds when they ask an actual question. I would like to state for the record that this is SUPER annoying. If I ever turn into a person who likes to hear myself talk in public forums, I want one of you to punch me in the head. Is it to prove yourself? Because you think you're a genius? To make sure everyone knows where you stand on something? It is not all (or just) academics who do this, of course. The best ask normal questions, or don't feel the need to ask questions at all (for instance--my advisor, who watched the man next to him ask 4 questions while asking none himself, despite being the person in the room, other than Clark, who probably knew the most about Poussin.) I felt the same way in the few times I've been CCed on fac listserves--maybe I'm just too private, or not passionate enough, but it's odd.
--Talked to my cat on the phone. I was talking to my mom yesterday and the cat was standing on her lap--he does this, while he decides whether he wants to sit down or not, and sort of kneads your legs while doing it. He's weird. And weighs quite a bit, so it is also sort of painful. But she held the phone to him and we had a chat--a bit one-sided. This worked better when we had dogs, because they would occasionally bark into the phone, where he just stares at it..
--Went to see Gounod's Faust. Normally, were I sans deadlines, I would devote a whole post to this event, because it was stellar. I have been impressed all year with the sets, costumes, and vocal talent here, but this was the best set yet, I think. It was a new setting which moved Faust to the present day and after he sells his soul to Mephistopheles it goes back to his youth in what looked like the 1930s, in what reminded me of a seedy Berlin. All the performers were uniformly excellent, although I admit to having ZERO sympathy for Faust, and all the sympathy for Marguerite, whom he seduces, impregnates, and then leaves, before the devil torments her into killing her child. In the end, she rejects Faust and Mephistopheles and is carried to heaven. The odd thing about this retelling (versus the Berlioz opera, which I think is the one I've seen before) is that the last two acts are predominantly Marguerite. She is the one who must deal with Faust's terrible decision making skills, and the opera ends with her death, not with Faust's--I think in Berlioz he gets cast into hell, as I seem to remember a lot of flames. If you're interested in the music, check out this and this and this and this, although I'll also add that our sets were a lot better. Not a happy opera by any means (and I tend to like mine full of cross-dressing and shenanigans) but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the music.
--Learned some fascist vocabulary. Yes, this is what my Italian unit is on right now. Lest you were curious, il nazionalismo is nationalism, sopprimere is to suppress, maschilista is sexist, and imperatore is emperor. Yuck!
--Read a 1914 novel, about a girl who is pressured into show business by her family, and who goes to NYC and has to deal with creepy society men, her overbearing parents, and fake friends, before finding love. I was reading/skimming this at the rare books library (going to a school with a rare books library is beyond fabulous) because the illustrations were done by Charles Dana Gibson, and I'll be writing a paper on him in a few weeks. At one point the protagonist slaps a drunk man-boy who has been hitting on her and trying to force her to waltz with him ("about damn time!" I wrote in my notes) and then 400 pages later, she is MARRIED to him. I'm not sure how that happened, as I was skimming, but it was angering, especially since it ends with her giving birth to their son, and him saying something about how "she was now in her natural place, motherhood." The book had a gorgeous cover, though.
--Bought Toffifay this morning. I had never even heard of these babies until a few weeks ago, when my Swiss-born and bred seminar professor brought them in. They are awesome, and just started carrying them at the grocery store I usually go to. Wegmans probably has them, too--caramels with a hazelnut in it and hazelnut spread and chocolate on top? So much awesome.
And now, off to Indianapolis!!!
So, here's what happened this week (some exciting, some not-so-much.)
--I got my hair cut, not from my regular hairdresser, who is on maternity leave, but from another person at the same place. She had the most gorgeous hair I have ever seen, down to her waist, black, and in separated waves, almost like they had been twisted together, in the manner of dreadlocks. One section was bright pink. She twisted it up into a bun before she cut mine, and secured it with two sticks, something which I have NEVER been able to achieve, even when I had long hair. Also, if I could always start my day with someone massaging my skull, I would. (If I ever become a dictator, that will happen.)
--Attended T J Clark's lecture called "What Bernini Saw". Any time an art historian has their own wikipedia page, it's a sign that they're a pretty big deal. It was about this painting:
which, as I'm sure you've deduced is no Bernini: it's a Poussin (The Sacrament of Marriage, 1647-48. Thanks to the National Gallery of Scotland for image!) Poor ol' Poussin. He is one of those artists that I know I should intellectually like, but I just can't get excited about him--he's too smart, too cultured, too perfect. I don't feel anything when looking at his works (except his self-portraits. Do check those out--powerful.) Why this talk was called "What Bernini Saw" is because Bernini saw this painting in 1660 and raved about it, especially the completely veiled figure on the left, by the column--in fact, Bernini called her the female column. Clark talked about the female column for an hour, and he actually made me like Poussin a bit. You start to see sneaky, secret things when you stare at a painting for that long--the cross marked out by the tiles, leading to Mary and Joseph (hard to see in a reproduction), the adorable baby right behind Mary (impossible to see in a reproduction, he/she blends right into the yellow-ish cloak), and the tiny figures outside the window. As he's English born and Cambridge trained, Clark's accent made me feel smarter.--Pondered how academics ask questions, especially in light of the Clark talk and a recent religious studies conference I attended. I don't know what the deal is with this, but lately I have noticed that when academics (grad students or professors) ask questions, it's about 5 minutes where they talk about themselves, their knowledge, their anecdotes, and then 3 seconds when they ask an actual question. I would like to state for the record that this is SUPER annoying. If I ever turn into a person who likes to hear myself talk in public forums, I want one of you to punch me in the head. Is it to prove yourself? Because you think you're a genius? To make sure everyone knows where you stand on something? It is not all (or just) academics who do this, of course. The best ask normal questions, or don't feel the need to ask questions at all (for instance--my advisor, who watched the man next to him ask 4 questions while asking none himself, despite being the person in the room, other than Clark, who probably knew the most about Poussin.) I felt the same way in the few times I've been CCed on fac listserves--maybe I'm just too private, or not passionate enough, but it's odd.
--Talked to my cat on the phone. I was talking to my mom yesterday and the cat was standing on her lap--he does this, while he decides whether he wants to sit down or not, and sort of kneads your legs while doing it. He's weird. And weighs quite a bit, so it is also sort of painful. But she held the phone to him and we had a chat--a bit one-sided. This worked better when we had dogs, because they would occasionally bark into the phone, where he just stares at it..
--Went to see Gounod's Faust. Normally, were I sans deadlines, I would devote a whole post to this event, because it was stellar. I have been impressed all year with the sets, costumes, and vocal talent here, but this was the best set yet, I think. It was a new setting which moved Faust to the present day and after he sells his soul to Mephistopheles it goes back to his youth in what looked like the 1930s, in what reminded me of a seedy Berlin. All the performers were uniformly excellent, although I admit to having ZERO sympathy for Faust, and all the sympathy for Marguerite, whom he seduces, impregnates, and then leaves, before the devil torments her into killing her child. In the end, she rejects Faust and Mephistopheles and is carried to heaven. The odd thing about this retelling (versus the Berlioz opera, which I think is the one I've seen before) is that the last two acts are predominantly Marguerite. She is the one who must deal with Faust's terrible decision making skills, and the opera ends with her death, not with Faust's--I think in Berlioz he gets cast into hell, as I seem to remember a lot of flames. If you're interested in the music, check out this and this and this and this, although I'll also add that our sets were a lot better. Not a happy opera by any means (and I tend to like mine full of cross-dressing and shenanigans) but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked the music.
--Learned some fascist vocabulary. Yes, this is what my Italian unit is on right now. Lest you were curious, il nazionalismo is nationalism, sopprimere is to suppress, maschilista is sexist, and imperatore is emperor. Yuck!
--Read a 1914 novel, about a girl who is pressured into show business by her family, and who goes to NYC and has to deal with creepy society men, her overbearing parents, and fake friends, before finding love. I was reading/skimming this at the rare books library (going to a school with a rare books library is beyond fabulous) because the illustrations were done by Charles Dana Gibson, and I'll be writing a paper on him in a few weeks. At one point the protagonist slaps a drunk man-boy who has been hitting on her and trying to force her to waltz with him ("about damn time!" I wrote in my notes) and then 400 pages later, she is MARRIED to him. I'm not sure how that happened, as I was skimming, but it was angering, especially since it ends with her giving birth to their son, and him saying something about how "she was now in her natural place, motherhood." The book had a gorgeous cover, though.
--Bought Toffifay this morning. I had never even heard of these babies until a few weeks ago, when my Swiss-born and bred seminar professor brought them in. They are awesome, and just started carrying them at the grocery store I usually go to. Wegmans probably has them, too--caramels with a hazelnut in it and hazelnut spread and chocolate on top? So much awesome.
And now, off to Indianapolis!!!
Wednesday 2 March 2011
Meetings
As a youngster, I was obsessed with meetings. My Barbies had meetings. My doll house people had meetings. Even the matchbox cars would get lined up in meeting form--I didn't play with the cars as cars, but as vehicles with imaginary people inside them, whose life stories I would make up. And they would have town meetings and everyone would sit on their cars, like at a drive-in movie theater. Nothing was ever discussed at these meetings, because, at the age of 6, I suppose I didn't know what one DID at a meeting. But I distinctly remember setting up my Barbies in rows, prepared to meet.
And then, 10ish years later, I was in high school, a robe mistress in the choir and on a pastoral call committee, and it finally sunk in that meetings are not fun. College and grad school have helped reinforce this idea. Meetings are things that happen when I would rather be doing something else. I became one of those people who would rather just deal with group work by myself rather than have to coordinate with other people. I feel less this way now than I did in high school and parts of college, because I now trust my sister students to actually pull their own weight, so that is nice. Meetings are a bummer, though. We all know this. They are either much longer than they need to be, or you make an effort to go and they are only a few minutes long. People go on tangents and you want to smack them (or at least I do). I am not an overly impatient person, but if I feel like people are wasting my time, I get fairly grumpy, and I don't like feeling like that.
What brought on this post is that I just filled in my calendar for March and it's a little unfortunate. Our department is hosting a conference in two weeks, which is grad student run. I haven't had to do anything yet, but now I will, and this week I have at least two meetings (professorial, committee, study groups) and two guest lectures/faculty talks every day. Interesting, often, but sometimes not so much. The semester is hitting that pre-spring break crunch point, so that pressing down too. The thing is, I can't force myself to get too worked up about schoolwork. If I don't finish my readings, no one will die, least of all me. Which is a healthy outlook, I think, but as a scholar, I'm not sure how great it is.
However, one cure for meetings and general school malaise is turning out to be the...gym? Yes, the gym. I have, for many years, abhorred going to the gym (dislike of sweating, dislike of sit ups, my refusal to wear shorts in public, etc). But I've been going with some friends and it's actually making me feel a lot better. We went tonight and had to use those exercise balls (which I fell off of, AGAIN) and high step run around the room, and it just got really hilarious and we kept dissolving into giggles (this always happens to me, laughing when you're not supposed to. It's worse in church). It's helping with general winter blahhs and is a nice antidote to neck ache from too much computer usage. I still prefer walking around outside, but for now this is working nicely. I don't know if I've lost any weight (and if I have it's from the chest-area, alas), but my arms feel more toned, and I feel less sluggish of late. Take that, meetings!
I'm not sure what the point of this post was, if there was one at all. More walking and less meetings? More silly friend time and less solitary computer time? Works for me.
And then, 10ish years later, I was in high school, a robe mistress in the choir and on a pastoral call committee, and it finally sunk in that meetings are not fun. College and grad school have helped reinforce this idea. Meetings are things that happen when I would rather be doing something else. I became one of those people who would rather just deal with group work by myself rather than have to coordinate with other people. I feel less this way now than I did in high school and parts of college, because I now trust my sister students to actually pull their own weight, so that is nice. Meetings are a bummer, though. We all know this. They are either much longer than they need to be, or you make an effort to go and they are only a few minutes long. People go on tangents and you want to smack them (or at least I do). I am not an overly impatient person, but if I feel like people are wasting my time, I get fairly grumpy, and I don't like feeling like that.
What brought on this post is that I just filled in my calendar for March and it's a little unfortunate. Our department is hosting a conference in two weeks, which is grad student run. I haven't had to do anything yet, but now I will, and this week I have at least two meetings (professorial, committee, study groups) and two guest lectures/faculty talks every day. Interesting, often, but sometimes not so much. The semester is hitting that pre-spring break crunch point, so that pressing down too. The thing is, I can't force myself to get too worked up about schoolwork. If I don't finish my readings, no one will die, least of all me. Which is a healthy outlook, I think, but as a scholar, I'm not sure how great it is.
However, one cure for meetings and general school malaise is turning out to be the...gym? Yes, the gym. I have, for many years, abhorred going to the gym (dislike of sweating, dislike of sit ups, my refusal to wear shorts in public, etc). But I've been going with some friends and it's actually making me feel a lot better. We went tonight and had to use those exercise balls (which I fell off of, AGAIN) and high step run around the room, and it just got really hilarious and we kept dissolving into giggles (this always happens to me, laughing when you're not supposed to. It's worse in church). It's helping with general winter blahhs and is a nice antidote to neck ache from too much computer usage. I still prefer walking around outside, but for now this is working nicely. I don't know if I've lost any weight (and if I have it's from the chest-area, alas), but my arms feel more toned, and I feel less sluggish of late. Take that, meetings!
I'm not sure what the point of this post was, if there was one at all. More walking and less meetings? More silly friend time and less solitary computer time? Works for me.
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