In which one thing does not go my way, and then several things do.
As I draft this entry, I'm eating a big stalk of raw broccoli, because I like broccoli and because it's in the fridge. I don't know if anyone else feels this way, but I think broccoli is beautiful. The shading from white to dark green on the underside of the florets, the strong arch of the limbs where the stalk breaks apart into the crown, the way it all looks like a children's-book illustration of a make-believe forest. Every time I sit down with fresh broccoli I wind up holding it for a while, turning it slowly in my hand to admire it from every angle. I guess what I'm trying to say is that today I fought the urge to photograph broccoli. If taking macro shots of vegetables didn't mean having to have macro shots of vegetables developed by innocent strangers, it would have happened.
Here is a story about me, and the internet, and possibly the future. It begins like this: it's Reading Week, and so I have no classes. No classes at all, as a concept, includes the smaller concept "no classes on Tuesday," and Tuesdays the Art Institute has free admission (granted, normal admission is "any non-zero amount you choose to pay; $7 suggested," so I had options) thanks to the mighty Ford Company, which does not make my dream car, the hybrid Camry. Last time I went the textiles collection was closed, so I checked their site Monday evening to be sure that problem had been resolved. In fact, it has not: "The textile galleries are currently closed for the duration of the construction of the new building." Do you know when the new building is scheduled to open? I do, now: 2009. TWO THOUSAND AND NINE.
Gah.
In a fit of pique, I began trolling the net for other museums that would give me what the AIC wouldn't, and made a stop over at the Smithsonian. After a few wrong steps I arrived at the page for the textiles collection over at the National Museum of American History, and I'm afraid you really do have to click this link, because I've got a riddle for you: what's blue and white and ME ALL OVER?
After seeing that, it felt almost redundant to follow the link to "Get Involved," but I did, and y'all, there is a wide variety of internships at the Smithsonian, and the deadline for the fall cycle is July 15. They are particularly fond of candidates with backgrounds in American History or Library/Information Sciences, and although I'm slightly off on both counts (I have a background in European history and a future in Library/Information Sciences), I can't help but think they would love me if they got to know me. Maybe they need someone whose shittily proficient (tm Jules) German might charm old Amish women into giving up their quilts. Or maybe they just need a starry-eyed Smithsonian junky who would be more than happy to sit around manually determining thread counts or editing stultifying newsletters or blankly beaming at her own temporary nametag. Because: Smithsonian!
Wouldn't it be lovely if I could get a fall internship there, in any capacity, perhaps do a bit of work-study with the Folk School in the spring, and then head back to grad school for a nice close-ended LIS degree, emerging in 2009 with two Masters and the potential to do something I might enjoy, professionally? I could celebrate with a trip to the fucking AIC's textile wing! And spit on it!
Another knitting party last night, this time at the house where I was cat-sitting over break. School is nice because it ensures you know people who are having their own adventures, so that whomever you get along with has stories to tell. Conveniently, the knitting group includes many of my favorite people in the department, and myself excepted, everyone is involved in one project or another, feeling good about her work, planning research trips to Paris or London, arguing with her professors over whether you have to read Foucault in French to get the full effect. Among us are truly amateur knitters, exceedingly practiced knitters, unambitious yet (apparently) really fast knitters (me); we share a common love of the yarn Virginia mailed me, and a mild-mannered style of gossip, such that I know by analogy that they must talk about me when I'm not around, and yet I'd probably agree with what they were saying.
They also talk about me when I'm there, occasionally, and I don't think anyone will be surprised that I approve of that sort of thing. I appreciate the general reassurance that I fit in, that no one thinks I don't belong in the program, that I come across well in our classes together, and at the same time that everyone understands why I might want to leave, and is convinced that I will be terribly successful and awesome no matter what I do. I appreciate that, yes, but I also know that I would say as much of anyone of my medium-to-close acquaintance, because that is what you do. Last night, though, I was paid a real compliment, and I'm recording it here for me, and for you if you care.
Rather late in the evening, the cats first dared to show their faces in the living room. I was joking around with them - also at this point we discovered that if I scratch the base of Polly's tail, she begins working her jaw like a nutcracker, which was hilarious - about our previous encounters, and EM shared my alternate names for them... by quoting, almost exactly, the email I sent her over Christmas. I laughed ("Do you always memorize emails?") and Andreanna said, "She tells everyone this story." I am an anecdote! And not just an anecdote: a voice. That, you know, is very nearly all I ever wanted.
That pulled us back to the topic of "Who should Rachel be when she grows up?" (I'd told them the Smithsonian story earlier while we were trading summer plans). EM volunteered that when she and Bushnell were discussing this (the fuck? but also hee), she'd gotten his approval for her NPR idea. In fact, she specified, I should be "that woman who's always on 'This American Life'." "Sarah Vowell!" someone said. "Of course!" That prompted EM to pull out "4 Stories for 4 Tumblers," the TAL "radio disk" (CD) she acquired in some NPR/CPR pledge drive; she wanted to play Vowell's piece on Johnny Cash, and while we were at it we listened to excerpts from Julia Sweeney on the Bible, and Dan Savage's "And Daddy Makes Three." I'm sure, because you guys are real liberals and not just default liberals, like me, that you listen to TAL religiously and know exactly what I'm talking about, but all three pieces were new to me. And awesome.
I will add only that you guys would let me know if I actually sounded like Ms. Vowell, right? Because I could find some new way to communicate that didn't involve speech, or climb a ladder and get over myself, because there is 'distinctive' and then there is 'overblown and annoying.' I love what she's reading, but her speaking voice is obnoxious. And her intentionally flat delivery of anything she knows is funny is deadly. My God.
A third note on voices: today I bought a bottle of ink from Barry White. Guy made me sound like a Disney animal. Whoa.
The rest of this update is about Wednesday night's PR finale. You may be asking yourself why you'd bother reading my run-down of the recently completed "Project Runway" season. "Rachel," you might say, "I don't even watch that show." To which I would reply, me neither. I've never seen an episode. Perhaps you rejoin, "Okay, so… really? Why do I care what you have to say about it? Also, you personally have no fashion sense whatsoever." And so I will have to tell you, dear reader, to shut up. Seriously. If you want to read on, though, you need only keep scrolling.
The full recap for the last episode won't be up for a few days, but after getting spoiled by MSN I figured I'd go ahead and check out the runway stills on the official site. I wasn't impressed. I can agree with the win for Chloe, with Santino in second place; all of it was boring, but unlike Daniel V. those two managed to incorporate the occasional COLOR.
Here, let's flash back to last season's finale for a moment. Most of Kara's stuff was too obsessively booby for my tastes, but she did manage one great coat - and of course if you like the cleavage cut-out, well, you can probably get her autograph if you hang around a Repetitive Necklines Anonymous meeting. (The Pepper was The Pepper, some more, though I cannot hate this suit.)
Jay was the clear winner. Part of my approval, of course, is just that Jay shares my fondness for geometric shapes and colors. Then, his collection looked like a collection - not because he repeated fabrics or a neckline (ad nauseam), but thanks to the gloves, the headphones, the shapes, and the clever ordering of the models (it's a spectrum! So gimmicky, but I love that). There were wearable pieces, fantastic things, and NO SHRUGS. I found it very appealing.
Back to this year.
Daniel V. had those boxy, blank tops (plus two quite inoffensive ready-to-wear sweaters), and those plain dresses with... shields. Of the pieces that showed any signs of having been designed, I could really only get behind the coat and the padded-corset blouse, which is ugly but fun to look at. Santino came through with colors, which I appreciated, but it seems like there's a truly unattractive look for every nice one. And although the Oscars did not have my back on this issue, I think dresses whose bodices are so heavily constructed that they resemble foundation garments are gross.
That leaves us Chloe, who like Santino had some heinous shite, for sure, but obviously can fit the hell out of some seams (the brown dress, too), and got off a neckline that is so very smooth and clean that I want to hug it. Not wear it - because where would my breasts go? - but, you know, admire it.
In conclusion, shapes and colors are nice to look at. Runway models sometimes have amazing legs and sometimes have icky skin-wrapped sternums where their boobs should be. And, sometimes, horrifying duck lips, but that's a problem for another show.
Congratulations: if you didn't skip anything, that was a solid four pages of single-spaced 12-pt. type. True, the last of those pages was about 60% linked urls, but still. Good work, you.
Here is a story about me, and the internet, and possibly the future. It begins like this: it's Reading Week, and so I have no classes. No classes at all, as a concept, includes the smaller concept "no classes on Tuesday," and Tuesdays the Art Institute has free admission (granted, normal admission is "any non-zero amount you choose to pay; $7 suggested," so I had options) thanks to the mighty Ford Company, which does not make my dream car, the hybrid Camry. Last time I went the textiles collection was closed, so I checked their site Monday evening to be sure that problem had been resolved. In fact, it has not: "The textile galleries are currently closed for the duration of the construction of the new building." Do you know when the new building is scheduled to open? I do, now: 2009. TWO THOUSAND AND NINE.
Gah.
In a fit of pique, I began trolling the net for other museums that would give me what the AIC wouldn't, and made a stop over at the Smithsonian. After a few wrong steps I arrived at the page for the textiles collection over at the National Museum of American History, and I'm afraid you really do have to click this link, because I've got a riddle for you: what's blue and white and ME ALL OVER?
After seeing that, it felt almost redundant to follow the link to "Get Involved," but I did, and y'all, there is a wide variety of internships at the Smithsonian, and the deadline for the fall cycle is July 15. They are particularly fond of candidates with backgrounds in American History or Library/Information Sciences, and although I'm slightly off on both counts (I have a background in European history and a future in Library/Information Sciences), I can't help but think they would love me if they got to know me. Maybe they need someone whose shittily proficient (tm Jules) German might charm old Amish women into giving up their quilts. Or maybe they just need a starry-eyed Smithsonian junky who would be more than happy to sit around manually determining thread counts or editing stultifying newsletters or blankly beaming at her own temporary nametag. Because: Smithsonian!
Wouldn't it be lovely if I could get a fall internship there, in any capacity, perhaps do a bit of work-study with the Folk School in the spring, and then head back to grad school for a nice close-ended LIS degree, emerging in 2009 with two Masters and the potential to do something I might enjoy, professionally? I could celebrate with a trip to the fucking AIC's textile wing! And spit on it!
Another knitting party last night, this time at the house where I was cat-sitting over break. School is nice because it ensures you know people who are having their own adventures, so that whomever you get along with has stories to tell. Conveniently, the knitting group includes many of my favorite people in the department, and myself excepted, everyone is involved in one project or another, feeling good about her work, planning research trips to Paris or London, arguing with her professors over whether you have to read Foucault in French to get the full effect. Among us are truly amateur knitters, exceedingly practiced knitters, unambitious yet (apparently) really fast knitters (me); we share a common love of the yarn Virginia mailed me, and a mild-mannered style of gossip, such that I know by analogy that they must talk about me when I'm not around, and yet I'd probably agree with what they were saying.
They also talk about me when I'm there, occasionally, and I don't think anyone will be surprised that I approve of that sort of thing. I appreciate the general reassurance that I fit in, that no one thinks I don't belong in the program, that I come across well in our classes together, and at the same time that everyone understands why I might want to leave, and is convinced that I will be terribly successful and awesome no matter what I do. I appreciate that, yes, but I also know that I would say as much of anyone of my medium-to-close acquaintance, because that is what you do. Last night, though, I was paid a real compliment, and I'm recording it here for me, and for you if you care.
Rather late in the evening, the cats first dared to show their faces in the living room. I was joking around with them - also at this point we discovered that if I scratch the base of Polly's tail, she begins working her jaw like a nutcracker, which was hilarious - about our previous encounters, and EM shared my alternate names for them... by quoting, almost exactly, the email I sent her over Christmas. I laughed ("Do you always memorize emails?") and Andreanna said, "She tells everyone this story." I am an anecdote! And not just an anecdote: a voice. That, you know, is very nearly all I ever wanted.
That pulled us back to the topic of "Who should Rachel be when she grows up?" (I'd told them the Smithsonian story earlier while we were trading summer plans). EM volunteered that when she and Bushnell were discussing this (the fuck? but also hee), she'd gotten his approval for her NPR idea. In fact, she specified, I should be "that woman who's always on 'This American Life'." "Sarah Vowell!" someone said. "Of course!" That prompted EM to pull out "4 Stories for 4 Tumblers," the TAL "radio disk" (CD) she acquired in some NPR/CPR pledge drive; she wanted to play Vowell's piece on Johnny Cash, and while we were at it we listened to excerpts from Julia Sweeney on the Bible, and Dan Savage's "And Daddy Makes Three." I'm sure, because you guys are real liberals and not just default liberals, like me, that you listen to TAL religiously and know exactly what I'm talking about, but all three pieces were new to me. And awesome.
I will add only that you guys would let me know if I actually sounded like Ms. Vowell, right? Because I could find some new way to communicate that didn't involve speech, or climb a ladder and get over myself, because there is 'distinctive' and then there is 'overblown and annoying.' I love what she's reading, but her speaking voice is obnoxious. And her intentionally flat delivery of anything she knows is funny is deadly. My God.
A third note on voices: today I bought a bottle of ink from Barry White. Guy made me sound like a Disney animal. Whoa.
The rest of this update is about Wednesday night's PR finale. You may be asking yourself why you'd bother reading my run-down of the recently completed "Project Runway" season. "Rachel," you might say, "I don't even watch that show." To which I would reply, me neither. I've never seen an episode. Perhaps you rejoin, "Okay, so… really? Why do I care what you have to say about it? Also, you personally have no fashion sense whatsoever." And so I will have to tell you, dear reader, to shut up. Seriously. If you want to read on, though, you need only keep scrolling.
The full recap for the last episode won't be up for a few days, but after getting spoiled by MSN I figured I'd go ahead and check out the runway stills on the official site. I wasn't impressed. I can agree with the win for Chloe, with Santino in second place; all of it was boring, but unlike Daniel V. those two managed to incorporate the occasional COLOR.
Here, let's flash back to last season's finale for a moment. Most of Kara's stuff was too obsessively booby for my tastes, but she did manage one great coat - and of course if you like the cleavage cut-out, well, you can probably get her autograph if you hang around a Repetitive Necklines Anonymous meeting. (The Pepper was The Pepper, some more, though I cannot hate this suit.)
Jay was the clear winner. Part of my approval, of course, is just that Jay shares my fondness for geometric shapes and colors. Then, his collection looked like a collection - not because he repeated fabrics or a neckline (ad nauseam), but thanks to the gloves, the headphones, the shapes, and the clever ordering of the models (it's a spectrum! So gimmicky, but I love that). There were wearable pieces, fantastic things, and NO SHRUGS. I found it very appealing.
Back to this year.
Daniel V. had those boxy, blank tops (plus two quite inoffensive ready-to-wear sweaters), and those plain dresses with... shields. Of the pieces that showed any signs of having been designed, I could really only get behind the coat and the padded-corset blouse, which is ugly but fun to look at. Santino came through with colors, which I appreciated, but it seems like there's a truly unattractive look for every nice one. And although the Oscars did not have my back on this issue, I think dresses whose bodices are so heavily constructed that they resemble foundation garments are gross.
That leaves us Chloe, who like Santino had some heinous shite, for sure, but obviously can fit the hell out of some seams (the brown dress, too), and got off a neckline that is so very smooth and clean that I want to hug it. Not wear it - because where would my breasts go? - but, you know, admire it.
In conclusion, shapes and colors are nice to look at. Runway models sometimes have amazing legs and sometimes have icky skin-wrapped sternums where their boobs should be. And, sometimes, horrifying duck lips, but that's a problem for another show.
Congratulations: if you didn't skip anything, that was a solid four pages of single-spaced 12-pt. type. True, the last of those pages was about 60% linked urls, but still. Good work, you.