I got some skepticism from people when I decided to attend school in Indiana, especially after living in NYC. "Maybe you'll meet a nice farm boy, but I don't know what the art situation is there" said one of my co-workers. (NYCers, by and large, are annoyingly certain of their monopoly on culture. They have a point. I miss it a lot. But it is rather obnoxious.) I confess to having some doubts about Indiana myself, after crossing the state line for the first time and being confronted with a humongous cross. I needn't have worried. Here is what I did tonight.
Two friends and I met up and walked downtown to a Japanese restaurant, called, well, Japanais. Or Japanee. It's hard to tell--I think the store says one, and online says another. Either way: holy hats, it was delicious. First off: dollar beer specials. Sapporo for a dollar? Yes please! Secondly: their Crazy Roll might be the greatest thing ever invented. Salmon, tuna, avocado, cream cheese, tempura-fried, and drizzled with a spicy orange sauce. My friends had Udom Vegetarian soup, shittake rolls, and intriguing rolls with salmon roe. I ate all their pickled ginger, because I love me some ginger, and all the food was really decently priced, too.
Then, we headed over to the Buskirk-Chumley Theater (very much like the Smith Opera House or the Reg Lenna, for those of you from Gtown or Jtown) for part of Bloomington's four day PRIDE LGTBQ Film Festival. The lobby was bedecked with rainbow banners, and the place was pretty packed. Five dollars for students, and so worth it. The night started off with the Quarryland Men's Chorus, who did two numbers. The highlight was the soloist's preamble for "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," from Spamalot. He said, "I'm sad! I'm a poor grad student and I can't find me a sugar daddy!" and a guy in the audience yelled, "there's one over hereeee!" So that was hilarious. And it just got better, as the second song was mainly a large joke about Catholicism that culminated in lots of confetti.
Next up were four short films--each night had two major films and then short films, too. My favorite was called Hammerhead, about a little boy who was obsessed with sharks and whose mother had recently started going out with a woman. And it was set in North Yorkshire, so it's hard to go wrong! There was also a powerful documentary, called Latecomers, about a man--now woman--who had a sex change in her late 60s, and a man who just came out to his family in his 50s, and their reasons for waiting that long. I've never had to defend my sexual orientation, so it is something that I take for granted. The whole evening made me think about things that I sometimes neglect to think about, especially how hard it must be for people who are married or in relationships with people when they are really attracted to another sex. I can't even fathom what that must do to you, and how hard that would be to reconcile.
The short film we really wanted to see played yesterday, unfortunately--it's set in Indian and is called "You Can't Curry Love." The title alone makes a winner. We are going to stalk it out online, so I have high hopes for that. After the shorts there was a lengthy-ish intermission, so one of my friends went to the lobby to get more delicious mystery beer (I tried some of hers and it was really tasty. I wish I knew what it was!). The other friend and I moseyed over to the Blu Boy Bakery next door--conveniently, there is a door connecting them and the theater! She got a scoop of eggnog ice cream and a scoop of pumpkin, and I got pumpkin and chocolate. Probably it goes without saying that it was good, like all food in this town, but it was GOOD. We also ogled the truffles. The blood orange and dulce de leche truffles were beautiful--it looked like spun sugar/stained glass on top of them! Most had designs painted on, too.
We brought the ice cream back to our seats for the feature film. We went specifically to see Contracorriente (Undertow), a movie about a small Peruvian fishing village, where two men are secretly in love, and one of them is married and expecting his first child. And then there is a horrible accident. I knew something was going to happen to one of them, I just knew it. But it still whacked me over the head when it did. And yet, it was really original how they handled it--it didn't feel tired or stereotyped or anything. But it was so hard to watch--their love for each other, and how they had to be on their guard all the time, and how that must tear someone up inside. Because he really did love his wife, too. Anyway. It was very impressive. We cried a bunch. It felt so real, and awful in its realness. I would recommend, but be prepared for an emotional draining.
After that, it was nice to go out in the lobby and have the Men's Chorus holding rainbow umbrellas and being cheerful. We walked through campus to catch our respective buses, and it was still and peaceful (even if the bus wait was pretty chilly). And now I'm in my apartment, heading to bed. Good Friday night? Yup, I think so.
Friday, 28 January 2011
Friday, 21 January 2011
Focus On: Stuart Davis
I haven't done "art of the week" from the IU Art Museum in about, well, two months, so let's bring it back, shall we?
This work by Stuart Davis is one of the largest paintings in the museum and one of the highlights of the Western art floor. Called Swing Landscape, this is the first painting that the museum owned.
(Swing Landscape, 1938. Thanks to iub.edu for the image!)
Stuart Davis (1892-1964) was raised in an art-focused Philadelphia family, and at an early age came under the tutelage of Robert Henri, becoming the youngest member of the Ashcan School. (I did a Henri painting for "art of the week" awhile ago--see here.) Swing Landscape is an abstract landscape of Gloucester, MA, a smallish city which seems vibrant, alive, and interesting in this painting. You don't really need to know which city this is, although knowing it is Gloucester, a fishing town, helps explain the water and piers on the left. What is so great about this work in person is how bright and bold it is. You do get a sense of the jazz music that Davis liked, as the buildings and shapes are slightly off-kilter. You can pick out things that might be monuments, or just sections of line, color, and movement that grab you in a certain way.
One reason why I like looking at modern art (which I think this would count as) is that I know so little about it. Often when I'm looking at Western art (especially European, especially from 1550-1700), my brain goes into academic mode, and while I might "get more" out of them, I'm not surprised by what I see, usually. With Swing Landscape, I didn't know anything about Stuart Davis before viewing it for the first time, and that is okay. Sometimes art just needs to be looked at. Perhaps not a profound statement for someone in an art history graduate program, but I stand by it.
But, here is something really cool that I found out. Originally, Swing Landscape was commissioned by the FAP (Federal Art Project), a subsection of the WPA (Works Progress Administration), during the 1930s, and a good way to keep artists a little funded during the Great Depression. Swing Landscape was meant to be hung in the Williamsburg Housing Project in Brooklyn, but for some reason it was sold instead, and we bought it! The Brooklyn Museum has quite a few of the murals which were installed at the Williamsburg Housing Project--I used to walk by them daily to get to my office. (They're in a glass encased corridor on the first floor, back by the sculpture garden, heading to the elevators, in case you're looking for them.) From what I have seen of these murals, they are also abstract, but not based on a specific place, and the colors tend to be more subtle and muted--part of that could be from hanging not in a museum for years, but in a presumably brightly light housing project. Perhaps Davis's was different in style and so was rejected. Want to know more about the murals? Check out the Brooklyn Museum's works here. Want to know about the FAP and Williamsburg, with better images from the Museum's first show of the works? See here.
And thanks to Stuart Davis, for making a grey and snowy week a little less grey for me.
OH, and important blog housekeeping announcement--one of my art history friends has started a blog on ART, where she'll spend the year writing about whatever art strikes her fancy. Check it out here! Like me, she is enamored of the 17th century (although she leans Spanish Baroque while I lean Italian). We both took an Islamic class last semester and also loved that a lot--her post on the Süleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul is especially good. Her blog is now linked in my sidebar. Hooray for art and art historians!
This work by Stuart Davis is one of the largest paintings in the museum and one of the highlights of the Western art floor. Called Swing Landscape, this is the first painting that the museum owned.
(Swing Landscape, 1938. Thanks to iub.edu for the image!)Stuart Davis (1892-1964) was raised in an art-focused Philadelphia family, and at an early age came under the tutelage of Robert Henri, becoming the youngest member of the Ashcan School. (I did a Henri painting for "art of the week" awhile ago--see here.) Swing Landscape is an abstract landscape of Gloucester, MA, a smallish city which seems vibrant, alive, and interesting in this painting. You don't really need to know which city this is, although knowing it is Gloucester, a fishing town, helps explain the water and piers on the left. What is so great about this work in person is how bright and bold it is. You do get a sense of the jazz music that Davis liked, as the buildings and shapes are slightly off-kilter. You can pick out things that might be monuments, or just sections of line, color, and movement that grab you in a certain way.
One reason why I like looking at modern art (which I think this would count as) is that I know so little about it. Often when I'm looking at Western art (especially European, especially from 1550-1700), my brain goes into academic mode, and while I might "get more" out of them, I'm not surprised by what I see, usually. With Swing Landscape, I didn't know anything about Stuart Davis before viewing it for the first time, and that is okay. Sometimes art just needs to be looked at. Perhaps not a profound statement for someone in an art history graduate program, but I stand by it.
But, here is something really cool that I found out. Originally, Swing Landscape was commissioned by the FAP (Federal Art Project), a subsection of the WPA (Works Progress Administration), during the 1930s, and a good way to keep artists a little funded during the Great Depression. Swing Landscape was meant to be hung in the Williamsburg Housing Project in Brooklyn, but for some reason it was sold instead, and we bought it! The Brooklyn Museum has quite a few of the murals which were installed at the Williamsburg Housing Project--I used to walk by them daily to get to my office. (They're in a glass encased corridor on the first floor, back by the sculpture garden, heading to the elevators, in case you're looking for them.) From what I have seen of these murals, they are also abstract, but not based on a specific place, and the colors tend to be more subtle and muted--part of that could be from hanging not in a museum for years, but in a presumably brightly light housing project. Perhaps Davis's was different in style and so was rejected. Want to know more about the murals? Check out the Brooklyn Museum's works here. Want to know about the FAP and Williamsburg, with better images from the Museum's first show of the works? See here.
And thanks to Stuart Davis, for making a grey and snowy week a little less grey for me.
OH, and important blog housekeeping announcement--one of my art history friends has started a blog on ART, where she'll spend the year writing about whatever art strikes her fancy. Check it out here! Like me, she is enamored of the 17th century (although she leans Spanish Baroque while I lean Italian). We both took an Islamic class last semester and also loved that a lot--her post on the Süleymaniye Mosque in Istanbul is especially good. Her blog is now linked in my sidebar. Hooray for art and art historians!
Saturday, 15 January 2011
I say Qur’ān, you say Koran
As I sat in the library yesterday for four hours performing "quranic exegesis" for my Prophet Muhammad seminar, all I kept thinking was, "this time, girl, you have got in over your head." Quranic exegesis, like Biblical exegesis, is looking at a religious text and critically examining it. A lot of it has to do with word choice, so, for instance, why a translator translated Hebrew one way, and how another version might vary slightly, or why certain passages are important. I had Biblical exegesis coming out my ears two years ago, so I figured the article on the translation problems in the Qur’ān wouldn't be too awful. Well, I figured wrong.
Two problems arose early on: I know very, very little about the Qur’ān, and this author presupposed that I had read it, and apparently remembered every chapter and verse number, as he had a tendency to say things like, "obviously, in Q 6:112 this is also evident," AND I unfortunately can not read Latin, Hebrew, Greek, or Arabic, which, along with German and Italian, were used by this author WITHOUT providing translations.
An example of what I'm talking about. This is from the eighth page.
"Instructive examples of parallel phraseology for divine and satanic inspiration are generated by Quranic application of the verb alqā (literally to cast, but often synonymous with arsala, or with awhā, in the sense of dispatch), e.g. Q. 40:15 [arabic phrase] (cf. 4:171; and a similar construction with nafakha 21:91), 20:39 [arabic phrase]. The imagery was perpetuated in the exegetical tradition, e.g. [long arabic phrase] describing the activity of Gabriel."
(Wansbrough, Quranic Studies: Sources and Methods of Scriptural Interpretation, 60.)
So if I could read Arabic, this wouldn't be too bad, and I'm planning on locating a translated Qur’ān and at least checking some of the verses. But even just ignoring all of the non-English words, the friend I was working with and I had to get out the English dictionary, because half of his English words were ones I had never even HEARD of. We are also two of four people in the seminar who can not read Arabic, so I just had this feeling that everyone else would be breezing through the article, gamely reading the Arabic, while I stared at it, hating it. You had to have professorial permission to get into this class and she obviously let us in, so she must trust us well enough. But feeling like you're the one person at the party who doesn't know what is going on is not a great feeling to have.
The two of us are slated to lead discussion on this reading and three others next Wednesday in class. Send us some scholarly vibes, please.
Two problems arose early on: I know very, very little about the Qur’ān, and this author presupposed that I had read it, and apparently remembered every chapter and verse number, as he had a tendency to say things like, "obviously, in Q 6:112 this is also evident," AND I unfortunately can not read Latin, Hebrew, Greek, or Arabic, which, along with German and Italian, were used by this author WITHOUT providing translations.
An example of what I'm talking about. This is from the eighth page.
"Instructive examples of parallel phraseology for divine and satanic inspiration are generated by Quranic application of the verb alqā (literally to cast, but often synonymous with arsala, or with awhā, in the sense of dispatch), e.g. Q. 40:15 [arabic phrase] (cf. 4:171; and a similar construction with nafakha 21:91), 20:39 [arabic phrase]. The imagery was perpetuated in the exegetical tradition, e.g. [long arabic phrase] describing the activity of Gabriel."
(Wansbrough, Quranic Studies: Sources and Methods of Scriptural Interpretation, 60.)
So if I could read Arabic, this wouldn't be too bad, and I'm planning on locating a translated Qur’ān and at least checking some of the verses. But even just ignoring all of the non-English words, the friend I was working with and I had to get out the English dictionary, because half of his English words were ones I had never even HEARD of. We are also two of four people in the seminar who can not read Arabic, so I just had this feeling that everyone else would be breezing through the article, gamely reading the Arabic, while I stared at it, hating it. You had to have professorial permission to get into this class and she obviously let us in, so she must trust us well enough. But feeling like you're the one person at the party who doesn't know what is going on is not a great feeling to have.
The two of us are slated to lead discussion on this reading and three others next Wednesday in class. Send us some scholarly vibes, please.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
How I Spent My Winter Vacation
Charlie Brown always had to write a report about what he did on his summer vacation, but I've never had to do that. (Did anyone have to do that? Maybe it was just Charlie Brown.) Anyway, I am back in Indiana after three weeks at home/my relatives on the other side of the state, all of which was lovely, fun, relaxing, and too too short. I spent a large chunk of my time curled up on the couch either reading or eating, in some cases reading about eating, and in two cases, reading through letters. And that is what I'm going to mention today.
While I was at my aunt's I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. It's about the German occupation of Guernsey during WWII, something which I didn't even know happened! It's told through letters between a writer based in London and some people in Guernsey, and then she goes to Guernsey because she connects with them over books. I know it's been out for a few years so I'm a little behind the times, but it is such a good book. And a fairly quick read--I'm usually pretty slow and I finished it in a day and a half. It's sweet without being cloyingly so, and it's clever and the characters are people you genuinely would like to have tea with. But they don't feel one-dimensional either. The people in Guernsey had horrible, horrible things happens to them, and the descriptions by one character who was in a concentration camp are hard to get through. At the same time, some of the German soldiers who occupied Guernsey were kind too, and they were also starving and scared, which made me think about the German Army in a way that I normally don't. Having the book conducted through letters was a great way to do it. It's lovely.
Since I was on epistolary book kick (epistolary meaning something which consists of letters--I just looked that up), happily for me my mother got for Christmas As Always, Julia: the Letters of Julia Child and Avis DeVoto, edited by Joan Reardon. It is fabulous. Having been raised watching Julia Child on PBS, I have known for a long time that she was a witty, opinionated dame, but so is Avis DeVoto, it turns out. Their friendship started because Avis's husband Bernard had written an article on knives which Julia, who was living in Paris with her husband Paul, had read and liked, and wrote to thank him and mailed him some knives. Avis, who answered her husband's letters from readers, wrote back. And they became friends.
Avis and Julia were penpals, so their letters were a bit different than letters between people who know each other in person. They sent pictures of themselves and their families, and eventually they met. They stayed in close contact for the rest of their lives. What is so cool about this period in Julia Child's life is that the letters started in 1953ish, when she was just beginning to work on her revolutionary French cookbook, which would eventually become Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Avis was instrumental in getting it published, through her connections with publishing houses. This was also the time when McCarthy was wrecking havoc on civil liberties, and as the DeVotos and Childs were all liberal, they had much to talk about.
As Always, Julia, encompasses 7 years of their letters, during which time Bernard DeVoto had a heart attack and died at a fairly young age, and Julia and Paul moved from Paris to Marseilles to Bonn, Germany to Washington DC to Oslo to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Avis also lived. One thing this book did was make me want to travel--I found myself getting quite jealous of Julia, who frequently zipped over to Paris while they were living in Marseilles and Bonn. Avis, too, spent all of her summers on the Cape or Maine or out West. I was also jealous about how passionate they were about politics. Avis was so proud of Adlai Stevenson that she wrote many letters about him, and helped fundraise for him. I can't think of any politicians I am excited about, and that is sad. This book also made me want to cook, but then also made me lose my appetite. I will never be excited about chicken livers or the best way to bone a duck. I don't need sauces on my vegetables, and though someday I would like to make beurre blanc, but it's not high on my list of life-goals. Still, it's fascinating to read about someone who is so focused on food, who wants others to love it as much as she does.
Both of these books got me thinking about letters, and really how important they are as a record. Yeah, we have email, but it's not the same. Emails won't be in archives for dorky researchers like me to someday pore over. Getting a letter from someone you care about is such a good feeling. My friends and I do send a fair amount of non-email mail, but my New Years goal is to write two letters a week. If you get one from me, you certainly shouldn't feel obligated to reply. But do think about writing a letter to someone.
While I was at my aunt's I read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. It's about the German occupation of Guernsey during WWII, something which I didn't even know happened! It's told through letters between a writer based in London and some people in Guernsey, and then she goes to Guernsey because she connects with them over books. I know it's been out for a few years so I'm a little behind the times, but it is such a good book. And a fairly quick read--I'm usually pretty slow and I finished it in a day and a half. It's sweet without being cloyingly so, and it's clever and the characters are people you genuinely would like to have tea with. But they don't feel one-dimensional either. The people in Guernsey had horrible, horrible things happens to them, and the descriptions by one character who was in a concentration camp are hard to get through. At the same time, some of the German soldiers who occupied Guernsey were kind too, and they were also starving and scared, which made me think about the German Army in a way that I normally don't. Having the book conducted through letters was a great way to do it. It's lovely.
Since I was on epistolary book kick (epistolary meaning something which consists of letters--I just looked that up), happily for me my mother got for Christmas As Always, Julia: the Letters of Julia Child and Avis DeVoto, edited by Joan Reardon. It is fabulous. Having been raised watching Julia Child on PBS, I have known for a long time that she was a witty, opinionated dame, but so is Avis DeVoto, it turns out. Their friendship started because Avis's husband Bernard had written an article on knives which Julia, who was living in Paris with her husband Paul, had read and liked, and wrote to thank him and mailed him some knives. Avis, who answered her husband's letters from readers, wrote back. And they became friends.
Avis and Julia were penpals, so their letters were a bit different than letters between people who know each other in person. They sent pictures of themselves and their families, and eventually they met. They stayed in close contact for the rest of their lives. What is so cool about this period in Julia Child's life is that the letters started in 1953ish, when she was just beginning to work on her revolutionary French cookbook, which would eventually become Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Avis was instrumental in getting it published, through her connections with publishing houses. This was also the time when McCarthy was wrecking havoc on civil liberties, and as the DeVotos and Childs were all liberal, they had much to talk about.
As Always, Julia, encompasses 7 years of their letters, during which time Bernard DeVoto had a heart attack and died at a fairly young age, and Julia and Paul moved from Paris to Marseilles to Bonn, Germany to Washington DC to Oslo to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Avis also lived. One thing this book did was make me want to travel--I found myself getting quite jealous of Julia, who frequently zipped over to Paris while they were living in Marseilles and Bonn. Avis, too, spent all of her summers on the Cape or Maine or out West. I was also jealous about how passionate they were about politics. Avis was so proud of Adlai Stevenson that she wrote many letters about him, and helped fundraise for him. I can't think of any politicians I am excited about, and that is sad. This book also made me want to cook, but then also made me lose my appetite. I will never be excited about chicken livers or the best way to bone a duck. I don't need sauces on my vegetables, and though someday I would like to make beurre blanc, but it's not high on my list of life-goals. Still, it's fascinating to read about someone who is so focused on food, who wants others to love it as much as she does.
Both of these books got me thinking about letters, and really how important they are as a record. Yeah, we have email, but it's not the same. Emails won't be in archives for dorky researchers like me to someday pore over. Getting a letter from someone you care about is such a good feeling. My friends and I do send a fair amount of non-email mail, but my New Years goal is to write two letters a week. If you get one from me, you certainly shouldn't feel obligated to reply. But do think about writing a letter to someone.
Friday, 31 December 2010
Good Samaritans & the Close of a Year
I did something dumb (well, dumber than normal) yesterday: I left my wallet on the Amtrak.
I have never, ever left my wallet anywhere before. But through some seat switching and the fact that I was SO GLAD to finally get off the Amtrak, I didn't even think about where I'd put it, I just LEFT. The last few Amtrak trips I've taken have been kind of a bummer, due to weather/cold rails/inadequate engines--from Chicago to Rochester, we were 2 1/2 hours late, from Buffalo to Albany we were 4 hours late (have you ever sat on the tracks for 2 hours outside Schenectady with a broken engine and thermostat? Don't, is my advice), and yesterday, from Albany to Buffalo, we were 2 hours late. But my Amtrak love was in some sense restored when I got a call this morning from Dave, from the Buffalo Exchange Station.
I had not yet noticed my wallet was missing, because when I got home last night I went to bed without looking in my bag, but Dave called and told me they had it in Buffalo. It was turned in to the conductor. All my cards were still there, but all my cash and change had been taken. It could have been much worse, but for a slightly financially delinquent grad student, the loss of $26 is not great. Mostly, I just felt like a moron.
Happily my wallet was in Buffalo, but I live 1 1/2 hours away, so another problem presented itself. Dave, who by this point in our conversation was calling me "hon" (a moniker which I'm not normally that fond of, but when you lose your wallet, it's nice), said that he didn't want me to have to make the trip up unless I had to. He said that he would call the bus company that makes the run between Buffalo and Jamestown, to see if the driver would be willing to pick up the wallet for me on his way to Jamestown, and then I wouldn't have to go. This was a great idea! Dave is awesome.
He called me back and said that the bus company wasn't answering their phone. (Hon, I think these guys decided to take the holiday early.) He went outside to see if they would stop (they only stop at the train station if someone asks them to, before going on the bus station), but they didn't stop, so he wasn't sure what we could do. My dad came up with plan B--go to the bus station in Jamestown, make sad faces at the bus driver, and try to get him to get my wallet so I wouldn't have to spend 5 hours in transit + bus fare. So that is precisely what I did. Except I didn't have to make sad faces, because the bus driver immediately agreed to "transport" my wallet for me, and even offered to drop it off to me at home. (I said I would just meet him when he got back.) Then I called Dave for the 76th time today, and he was delighted, and put my wallet in an envelope, and gave it to Dan, the bus driver, and now I have it.
I will write letters to Amtrak and Coach USA to say thanks (and to promote these two, who were both so sweet), and I gave Dan some mixed nuts, courtesy of my grandmother, who always has some at hand for last minute presents. I don't know if thank you notes are adequate, but it's the best way I know to, well, gives thanks.
All of this self-inflicted goofiness is actually a pretty apt closer for 2010, and a good opener for 2011. It's a reminder. To remember than people are generally kind and I should trust that they will be, but that sometimes that kindness will be tinged with something else (like, turning in a wallet, but taking all the money first). To remember to keep a closer eye on things, to appreciate what I have, to never take myself or my family or my friends for granted, ever. To deal with travel delays with patience and understanding. To someday have pride in my job, to be willing to help people, even with minor issues. To listen to peoples stories more. To be kind. To trust my instincts. To trust others.
Be safe tonight, everyone, and I wish you all good things for the new year! And to close, here's something from ol' F Scott himself.
"It eluded us then, but that's no matter---tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And one fine morning---So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." --The Great Gatsby, final sentence
--I remember reading this passage for the first time in my 10th grade English class, and for some reason I loved it then, and I love it now.
I have never, ever left my wallet anywhere before. But through some seat switching and the fact that I was SO GLAD to finally get off the Amtrak, I didn't even think about where I'd put it, I just LEFT. The last few Amtrak trips I've taken have been kind of a bummer, due to weather/cold rails/inadequate engines--from Chicago to Rochester, we were 2 1/2 hours late, from Buffalo to Albany we were 4 hours late (have you ever sat on the tracks for 2 hours outside Schenectady with a broken engine and thermostat? Don't, is my advice), and yesterday, from Albany to Buffalo, we were 2 hours late. But my Amtrak love was in some sense restored when I got a call this morning from Dave, from the Buffalo Exchange Station.
I had not yet noticed my wallet was missing, because when I got home last night I went to bed without looking in my bag, but Dave called and told me they had it in Buffalo. It was turned in to the conductor. All my cards were still there, but all my cash and change had been taken. It could have been much worse, but for a slightly financially delinquent grad student, the loss of $26 is not great. Mostly, I just felt like a moron.
Happily my wallet was in Buffalo, but I live 1 1/2 hours away, so another problem presented itself. Dave, who by this point in our conversation was calling me "hon" (a moniker which I'm not normally that fond of, but when you lose your wallet, it's nice), said that he didn't want me to have to make the trip up unless I had to. He said that he would call the bus company that makes the run between Buffalo and Jamestown, to see if the driver would be willing to pick up the wallet for me on his way to Jamestown, and then I wouldn't have to go. This was a great idea! Dave is awesome.
He called me back and said that the bus company wasn't answering their phone. (Hon, I think these guys decided to take the holiday early.) He went outside to see if they would stop (they only stop at the train station if someone asks them to, before going on the bus station), but they didn't stop, so he wasn't sure what we could do. My dad came up with plan B--go to the bus station in Jamestown, make sad faces at the bus driver, and try to get him to get my wallet so I wouldn't have to spend 5 hours in transit + bus fare. So that is precisely what I did. Except I didn't have to make sad faces, because the bus driver immediately agreed to "transport" my wallet for me, and even offered to drop it off to me at home. (I said I would just meet him when he got back.) Then I called Dave for the 76th time today, and he was delighted, and put my wallet in an envelope, and gave it to Dan, the bus driver, and now I have it.
I will write letters to Amtrak and Coach USA to say thanks (and to promote these two, who were both so sweet), and I gave Dan some mixed nuts, courtesy of my grandmother, who always has some at hand for last minute presents. I don't know if thank you notes are adequate, but it's the best way I know to, well, gives thanks.
All of this self-inflicted goofiness is actually a pretty apt closer for 2010, and a good opener for 2011. It's a reminder. To remember than people are generally kind and I should trust that they will be, but that sometimes that kindness will be tinged with something else (like, turning in a wallet, but taking all the money first). To remember to keep a closer eye on things, to appreciate what I have, to never take myself or my family or my friends for granted, ever. To deal with travel delays with patience and understanding. To someday have pride in my job, to be willing to help people, even with minor issues. To listen to peoples stories more. To be kind. To trust my instincts. To trust others.
Be safe tonight, everyone, and I wish you all good things for the new year! And to close, here's something from ol' F Scott himself.
"It eluded us then, but that's no matter---tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther... And one fine morning---So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." --The Great Gatsby, final sentence
--I remember reading this passage for the first time in my 10th grade English class, and for some reason I loved it then, and I love it now.
Friday, 17 December 2010
"Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends. "
I feel like I'm living in a Christmas Story, because 1. I live in Indiana, 2. it is snowing, and 3. people around me quote it constantly as, indeed, so do I.
Here is the square in downtown Bloomington, in all its Christmas-y splendor. I've never seen trees wrapped so well! And it's not just the square that's bedecked. I had a haircut this morning and I go to a place which is in a Victorian house and already full of quirky wall colors and fun decorations (the foils they use for coloring are leopard print, for example), but they really went to town for Christmas. My hairdresser said they close for a day to fully decorate, and it shows--the stairs up to the second floor were completely turned into a Christmas village with houses and fake snow, mini-trees were on all the cabinets, ornaments hung from every doorway and ceiling, and gold ribbon was everywhere. I was in the small mall downtown yesterday, and it's the same thing there! The best was long strings of lights hanging from the ceiling--I had to duck to pass under them--and the ceiling is mirrored so it looked really cool.
It's been a very hard week for non-academic reasons, and I will be so glad to be home. As always, though, it had really nice moments, due to the fabulous people in my life. On Wednesday, to celebrate surviving our first semester, a bunch of us went to Grazie, the Italian restaurant on the square, and got to admire all those Christmas lights. What did I have? A campari and soda (the people in one of the mystery series I like drink those all the time), some Malbec, and gnocchi in a very tasty Gorgonzola sauce with a lot of spinach. All told, it cost about my entire weeks food budget, but no matter. Grazie is a really cool place--our server was great and the decor is classy but comfy. I'll definitely be back. Having sampled other people's dinners, the food seems to be uniformly tasty, too. After that we went to a dance party where there was ABBA records (I love ABBA and I don't care who knows it) and silliness and it snowed and snowed.
One of the many reasons why I like this time of year is because I am a creature of ritual and tradition. It doesn't have to do with the religious aspects at all, really--it's more the fact that so many people experience it, and Christmas is such a good and convenient time to be happy and thankful. I've got a lot of Northern blood, but sometimes even for me the winters get too cold and dark and claustrophobic, and I need friends and family then, more than ever. And if there are cookies involved, so much the better!
So because I'm a grad student and really good at quoting other people, here are some of my favorite Christmas things. Most you probably know, but some maybe not. Enjoy.
"You - you said - what'd you say a minute ago? They had to wait and save their money before they even ought to think of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what? Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they're so old and broken down that they... Do you know how long it takes a working man to save five thousand dollars? Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you're talking about... they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn't think so. People were human beings to him. But to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they're cattle. Well, in my book he died a much richer man than you'll ever be."
--George Bailey, It's a Wonderful Life
[Jimmy Stewart is so cool. I wanted to be a senator after watching Mr Smith Goes to Washington as an impressionable youngster.]
"Whence comes this rush of wings afar,
Following straight the Noël star?
Birds from the woods in wondrous flight,
Bethlehem seek this holy night."
--"Whence Comes this Rush of Wings," which I think was originally a French carol
[if you don't know this carol, I would suggest looking it up. My grandmother has a sweet Christmas carol book from the Met, so it's got all these cool paintings in it too, and my sister and I have lately become enamored of this carol. It's got a lovely little dissonant bit at the end, and the bird imagery is neat.]
My mouth's bleedin' Bert! My mouth's bleedin!
"There was a line for Santa and a line for the women's bathroom, and one woman, after asking me a dozen questions already, asked, 'Which is the line for the women's bathroom?' I shouted that I thought it was the line with all the women in it.
She said, 'I'm going to have you fired.'
I had two people say that to me today, 'I'm going to have you fired.' Go ahead, be my guest. I'm wearing a green velvet costume; it doesn't get any worse than this. Who do these people think they are?
'I'm going to have you fired!' And I wanted to lean over and say, 'I'm going to have you killed.'"
--David Sedaris, "The Santaland Diaries," from Barrel Fever
[Not overly jolly, I suppose, but so true in so many awful ways. David Sedaris reading this is even more win, so do check that out here. It's not the whole story, but it'll give you a taster. For more Sedaris Christmas Wonderfulness, here is the text to "Six to Eight Black Men," which is the first essay of his I ever heard. It's great.]
Ms Sheilds, in Ralphie's dream: "Oh! The theme I've been waiting for all my life. Listen to this sentence: 'A Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time'. Poetry. Sheer poetry, Ralph! An A+!"
--A Christmas Story
[One of those movies that my family could probably quote in its entirety, as could so many other people.]
Oh, there goes Mr. Humbug
There goes Mr. Grim
If they gave a prize for being mean
The winner would be him
Old Scrooge, he loves his money
'Cause he thinks it gives him power
If he became a flavour you can bet he would be sour
Aside, vegetable: Yuck!
Vegetable seller: Even the vegetables don't like him!
--"Scrooge," from the Muppet Christmas Carol
[Again, my family could legitimately quote this entire movie. I also think every line from it is hilarious, and the songs are really very good, if you like Muppets. I especially love "Thankful Heart." Michael Caine will always be Scrooge to me.]
Kermit as Bob Cratchit. Genius, my friends.
"Dasher Dancer Prancer Vixen
Eisenhower Kennedy Johnson Nixon
Dasher Dancer Prancer Vixen
Carter Reagan Bush and Clinton"
--Bob Dylan, "Must be Santa"
[I bought Dylan's Christmas CD, Christmas In the Heart, last year when it came out and I'm still not sure why, as Dylan singing "Little Drummer Boy" makes the ears bleed. I think he had the proceeds go to charity, which is a nice deal, and "Must be Santa" is such good fun! The music video is GREAT. Any time I can see Dylan smoking a cigar while saying "ho ho ho," vaguely gesticulating in lieu of dancing, and wearing a myriad of hats, is time well spent.]
Flick? Flick who?
Rudolph: But you fell off the edge of the cliff.
Yukon Cornelius: Didn't I ever tell you about Bumbles? Bumbles bounce.
--Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer
[This movie transports me back to being 6 years old. And Hermey wants to be a dentist!]
Handel's Messiah. All of it.
[I only listen to it at Christmas, and I don't know why, because some of those arias should be heard year round.]
What are you favorite Christmas things, pop culture-y or otherwise? (I could write an entire post about lingonberries, rice pudding, korv, Janson's Temptation, glogg, pickled herring, pepperkaker and Bondost, but I don't want to make you all hungry!)
And whether you celebrate Christmas (religiously or not), Chanukah, Kwanza, Festivus, St Stephen's Day, the Winter Solstice, Boxing Day, or nothing in particular, I hope that you and yours are happy and healthy. Safe travels, and see you in 2011!!
Here is the square in downtown Bloomington, in all its Christmas-y splendor. I've never seen trees wrapped so well! And it's not just the square that's bedecked. I had a haircut this morning and I go to a place which is in a Victorian house and already full of quirky wall colors and fun decorations (the foils they use for coloring are leopard print, for example), but they really went to town for Christmas. My hairdresser said they close for a day to fully decorate, and it shows--the stairs up to the second floor were completely turned into a Christmas village with houses and fake snow, mini-trees were on all the cabinets, ornaments hung from every doorway and ceiling, and gold ribbon was everywhere. I was in the small mall downtown yesterday, and it's the same thing there! The best was long strings of lights hanging from the ceiling--I had to duck to pass under them--and the ceiling is mirrored so it looked really cool.It's been a very hard week for non-academic reasons, and I will be so glad to be home. As always, though, it had really nice moments, due to the fabulous people in my life. On Wednesday, to celebrate surviving our first semester, a bunch of us went to Grazie, the Italian restaurant on the square, and got to admire all those Christmas lights. What did I have? A campari and soda (the people in one of the mystery series I like drink those all the time), some Malbec, and gnocchi in a very tasty Gorgonzola sauce with a lot of spinach. All told, it cost about my entire weeks food budget, but no matter. Grazie is a really cool place--our server was great and the decor is classy but comfy. I'll definitely be back. Having sampled other people's dinners, the food seems to be uniformly tasty, too. After that we went to a dance party where there was ABBA records (I love ABBA and I don't care who knows it) and silliness and it snowed and snowed.
Which brings me to the title of this post, quoted from It's a Wonderful Life, a movie which I am ambiguous about. I spend so much of it being depressed, and then the ending is such a mushfest. When everyone brings the money so George doesn't have to go to jail and Harry Bailey says, "A toast to my big brother George: The richest man in town," I cry EVERYTIME. I honestly teared up just typing it. Which shows that I am a total sap, but also that Christmas movies, carols, and books are embedded in so many of my memories that I can't fathom a world in which I wasn't watching The Muppets Christmas Carol with my family on Christmas Eve, because that is what we DO.
One of the many reasons why I like this time of year is because I am a creature of ritual and tradition. It doesn't have to do with the religious aspects at all, really--it's more the fact that so many people experience it, and Christmas is such a good and convenient time to be happy and thankful. I've got a lot of Northern blood, but sometimes even for me the winters get too cold and dark and claustrophobic, and I need friends and family then, more than ever. And if there are cookies involved, so much the better!
So because I'm a grad student and really good at quoting other people, here are some of my favorite Christmas things. Most you probably know, but some maybe not. Enjoy.
"You - you said - what'd you say a minute ago? They had to wait and save their money before they even ought to think of a decent home. Wait? Wait for what? Until their children grow up and leave them? Until they're so old and broken down that they... Do you know how long it takes a working man to save five thousand dollars? Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you're talking about... they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn't think so. People were human beings to him. But to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they're cattle. Well, in my book he died a much richer man than you'll ever be."
--George Bailey, It's a Wonderful Life
[Jimmy Stewart is so cool. I wanted to be a senator after watching Mr Smith Goes to Washington as an impressionable youngster.]
"Whence comes this rush of wings afar,
Following straight the Noël star?
Birds from the woods in wondrous flight,
Bethlehem seek this holy night."
--"Whence Comes this Rush of Wings," which I think was originally a French carol
[if you don't know this carol, I would suggest looking it up. My grandmother has a sweet Christmas carol book from the Met, so it's got all these cool paintings in it too, and my sister and I have lately become enamored of this carol. It's got a lovely little dissonant bit at the end, and the bird imagery is neat.]
My mouth's bleedin' Bert! My mouth's bleedin!"There was a line for Santa and a line for the women's bathroom, and one woman, after asking me a dozen questions already, asked, 'Which is the line for the women's bathroom?' I shouted that I thought it was the line with all the women in it.
She said, 'I'm going to have you fired.'
I had two people say that to me today, 'I'm going to have you fired.' Go ahead, be my guest. I'm wearing a green velvet costume; it doesn't get any worse than this. Who do these people think they are?
'I'm going to have you fired!' And I wanted to lean over and say, 'I'm going to have you killed.'"
--David Sedaris, "The Santaland Diaries," from Barrel Fever
[Not overly jolly, I suppose, but so true in so many awful ways. David Sedaris reading this is even more win, so do check that out here. It's not the whole story, but it'll give you a taster. For more Sedaris Christmas Wonderfulness, here is the text to "Six to Eight Black Men," which is the first essay of his I ever heard. It's great.]
Ms Sheilds, in Ralphie's dream: "Oh! The theme I've been waiting for all my life. Listen to this sentence: 'A Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time'. Poetry. Sheer poetry, Ralph! An A+!"
--A Christmas Story
[One of those movies that my family could probably quote in its entirety, as could so many other people.]
Oh, there goes Mr. Humbug
There goes Mr. Grim
If they gave a prize for being mean
The winner would be him
Old Scrooge, he loves his money
'Cause he thinks it gives him power
If he became a flavour you can bet he would be sour
Aside, vegetable: Yuck!
Vegetable seller: Even the vegetables don't like him!
--"Scrooge," from the Muppet Christmas Carol
[Again, my family could legitimately quote this entire movie. I also think every line from it is hilarious, and the songs are really very good, if you like Muppets. I especially love "Thankful Heart." Michael Caine will always be Scrooge to me.]
"Dasher Dancer Prancer Vixen
Eisenhower Kennedy Johnson Nixon
Dasher Dancer Prancer Vixen
Carter Reagan Bush and Clinton"
--Bob Dylan, "Must be Santa"
[I bought Dylan's Christmas CD, Christmas In the Heart, last year when it came out and I'm still not sure why, as Dylan singing "Little Drummer Boy" makes the ears bleed. I think he had the proceeds go to charity, which is a nice deal, and "Must be Santa" is such good fun! The music video is GREAT. Any time I can see Dylan smoking a cigar while saying "ho ho ho," vaguely gesticulating in lieu of dancing, and wearing a myriad of hats, is time well spent.]
Flick? Flick who?Rudolph: But you fell off the edge of the cliff.
Yukon Cornelius: Didn't I ever tell you about Bumbles? Bumbles bounce.
--Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer
[This movie transports me back to being 6 years old. And Hermey wants to be a dentist!]
Handel's Messiah. All of it.
[I only listen to it at Christmas, and I don't know why, because some of those arias should be heard year round.]
What are you favorite Christmas things, pop culture-y or otherwise? (I could write an entire post about lingonberries, rice pudding, korv, Janson's Temptation, glogg, pickled herring, pepperkaker and Bondost, but I don't want to make you all hungry!)
And whether you celebrate Christmas (religiously or not), Chanukah, Kwanza, Festivus, St Stephen's Day, the Winter Solstice, Boxing Day, or nothing in particular, I hope that you and yours are happy and healthy. Safe travels, and see you in 2011!!
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Finals Week (Oh, the Excitement)
I always feel like kind of a waste of space during finals week. I'm busy, as is everyone else, but I'm never as busy as professors, who have to grade everything. I feel like it's not really more work than I normally have, it just counts more, but I also don't have class, so I have more time to do it. When I was in undergrad, this time was spent by sitting around with my friends and watching TV and making massive trips to the dining hall to stock up on fries/apples/energy drinks. Now, though, there is no dining hall, I live by myself, and although I have certainly been "wasting" time with friends, it's been a lot more of sitting by myself with my computer. I also don't have sit-down finals this semester, so I don't have to study for slide tests, which is pretty nice.
Finals just seem less scary and/or less important now. I think this stems from working retail and interning last year, and seeing how busy this season really is for some people. Some of my coworkers would work 2 weeks straight for the extra holiday pay. As Christmas got closer, I was only getting 15 minute breaks at the register because it was so busy. Standing for 9 hours and being polite to EVERYONE? Slightly harder than writing papers, at least for me (although, you do get paid!). I've also finally realized that everything will work out fine, that I can turn in something not quite perfect, and it's not the end of the world. A healthy attitude, although I'm not sure how great a grad student it makes me! My internet gave out a few nights ago, and rather than tweaking out about not finishing an image set, I just took a bubble bath and started an Elizabeth Peters book and went to bed, knowing that I have good time management and would have plenty of time to finish what I had to do. And I did.
So, what I have left: an Italian presentation tonight, a whole bunch of bibliographies, a paper on my "research methodology" (would you want to read that?? I certainly would not), and a scary paper for my seminar that I am sort of in denial about as it is due next Wednesday. In preparation for this paper, here is what my living room floor looks like:
A chart of seventeenth century self-portrait types, color coded by country, grouped by motivation behind the portrait (facial studies, stressing intellect of artist, status, in the act of painting, etc.) Which is all well and good, except I still have no thesis (or at least, not a thesis that I am comfortable with) and this paper is worth 70% of my grade. GAH.
Other than that, though, I need to do all my holiday shopping (which I really enjoy) and I have a few fun things planned during the rest of finals time, so things could be much worse. So far, the best cures for stress--listening to La Vie en Rose, loudly and on repeat while you waltz about your apartment, snagging free cookies from the museum, giggling a lot with friends either in person or on the phone, reading Adrienne Rich's "Claiming an Education" to remind myself why I am here, and thinking of all the fun family and friend times that await me in about a week and a half. Bring it on, finals!
Finals just seem less scary and/or less important now. I think this stems from working retail and interning last year, and seeing how busy this season really is for some people. Some of my coworkers would work 2 weeks straight for the extra holiday pay. As Christmas got closer, I was only getting 15 minute breaks at the register because it was so busy. Standing for 9 hours and being polite to EVERYONE? Slightly harder than writing papers, at least for me (although, you do get paid!). I've also finally realized that everything will work out fine, that I can turn in something not quite perfect, and it's not the end of the world. A healthy attitude, although I'm not sure how great a grad student it makes me! My internet gave out a few nights ago, and rather than tweaking out about not finishing an image set, I just took a bubble bath and started an Elizabeth Peters book and went to bed, knowing that I have good time management and would have plenty of time to finish what I had to do. And I did.
So, what I have left: an Italian presentation tonight, a whole bunch of bibliographies, a paper on my "research methodology" (would you want to read that?? I certainly would not), and a scary paper for my seminar that I am sort of in denial about as it is due next Wednesday. In preparation for this paper, here is what my living room floor looks like:
A chart of seventeenth century self-portrait types, color coded by country, grouped by motivation behind the portrait (facial studies, stressing intellect of artist, status, in the act of painting, etc.) Which is all well and good, except I still have no thesis (or at least, not a thesis that I am comfortable with) and this paper is worth 70% of my grade. GAH.Other than that, though, I need to do all my holiday shopping (which I really enjoy) and I have a few fun things planned during the rest of finals time, so things could be much worse. So far, the best cures for stress--listening to La Vie en Rose, loudly and on repeat while you waltz about your apartment, snagging free cookies from the museum, giggling a lot with friends either in person or on the phone, reading Adrienne Rich's "Claiming an Education" to remind myself why I am here, and thinking of all the fun family and friend times that await me in about a week and a half. Bring it on, finals!
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