I want a lion

Ok, I don't really think a lion would fit in my little apartment. But I just heard the "Christian the lion" story. Apparently two guys saved a lion cub from the circus sometime in the 70s and decided to raise him in their apartment. Granted, not the best idea. When he grew up they released him to the wild in Africa where he met a girl lion and became the coolest lion in the pack. The daddies decided to try to reunite with him. Experts said he'd be a full-fledged wild animal and recommended against it. But, this video is pretty much the happiest thing I've ever seen.

I've had an icky week, so forgive me for watching animal planet videos and wanting a lion. I picked this video, because most of the others had a play-by-play commentary by British analysts or an Aerosmith song in the background.

Responsibile Sarah

What does “responsible” mean? Is majoring in art history irresponsible? People at family reunions tend to think so...

I was at the dermatologist a few years ago and while he burned off a mole and pinched my face he jovially told me that my major was never going to make any money, but that I would probably be a really creative mom. Ugh. After telling him that my boyfriend was a writer, he laughed…and then continued to squeeze things. I know that it’s easy to hate anyone who is sticking you with pokey objects, but I really hate that guy. I got a different dermatologist.

Well, I had a conundrum; I had to chose between money and classes. I’m going to give up funding next term for the classes I want to take. When I say “give up funding” I mean I’m not going to apply for a job that would give me funding. Sarah, you might as well apply for the job. No, I’m not even going to apply, because if I got the teaching job, I wouldn’t be able to take either seminar that I was planning on. I would be forced to spend the rest of the term learning about Gothic arches and medieval church plans instead of post-feminist critical theory and surrealism with my two favorite teachers.

I think paying for one term of graduate school is ok. I also think that Gothic arches won’t make me a better teacher whereas the two seminars will. This probably sounds like whining, since most people in the humanities don’t have funding options. But! I’m going to stick it to my dermatologist (pun…get it?) and declare that responsibility sometimes goes beyond financial concerns. I’m being academically responsible. 

Maybe I can tell my kids ghost stories about surrealist artists taking drugs and messing with their unconscious-es. That’s creative right? 

On a happier note, I’m going to be whale watching this time next week with Brad and Michael! I love whales. Think about it: something that weighs 36 tons (according to Wikipedia) is just floating around the ocean. It’s the closest thing to a dinosaur I’ll ever see, and I’m stoked. Plus, Finding Nemo whale impressions will make for an entertaining afternoon. Can’t you just see Michael yelling hello to a whale, while Brad bounces like a small child. I’ll record it, for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about. 

Don’t worry, it’s not very expensive Mr. Dermotologist. Man, I hate that guy.

Ancient Athens cracks me up

My first paper attempt of this quarter is for my Ancient Greek art class about the Panathenaic games, which was Athens’ version of the Olympics. I find this whole period a little frustrating since everything is based on old pieces of marble that we don’t actually know anything about. My professor told us that in the basement of the National Museum of Athens there’s a pile of miscellaneous, marble body parts. So, PhD candidates spend years of their lives rummaging around trying to find a finger of a specific Athena, or pick a piece at random and try to place it somewhere on the Acropolis. The Ancient Greeks were a hoot. I’ve been reading all sorts of little things about their lives and artworks. I have a strong urge to put these interesting tidbits in my paper, but they just don’t apply…so, I’m gonna blog it out.

--During the procession of the Festival of Athena, only the prettiest Athenians were allowed to march in the processional. The processional was supposed to show off the glories of democracy, so naturally only certain people were allowed to march in it. This included a group of old men who were chosen based on their good looks. Apparently, old women weren’t considered aesthetically pleasing enough. I do really enjoy the idea of a casting call for all Athenian fogies. Perhaps they stood in front of a panel, headed by Tyra Banks? Maybe the winners got a rose, or a wild olive branch. The grand high winner, would obviously receive a ceramic of some sort, and 1,000,000 drachmas. 

--This is one of my favorite art historical party anecdotes, which means you’ve probably all heard it before, but I do find it fascinating: Greeks painted everything, and most statues had shiny bronze inlays, like eyelashes or armor that were melted down and lost in later periods. The most common paint color was crimson, garish and bright. The Parthenon would have been painted and may have had purple columns, with yellow and red figures on the roof. All of our ideas about “classic” art and simple beauty are false. The Greeks favored a much more flamboyant style of decoration. This means the White House, and the rest of the US government buildings, really should be colorful. The Purple House, certainly would be a different flavor.

These just don't seem right, do they?

--One event specific to Athenian games, I call chariot hopping. A slave would spur on the horses, driving the chariot on a straightaway as quickly as possible. The athlete, gloriously nude, would leap off the chariot, trying his best not to die. Then, he’d either run to a finish line or attempt to keep up with the chariot and hop back on. Cool sport. Gah!

--The Phyrric dance proves that rhythmic gymnastics has a long lineage. Competitors would don traditional armor and perform a choreographed dance. Oddly, this is a team sport. I tend to think of this as a really manly dance, in a Maori-style, but it was accompanied by a single flute.

--Oddly, the double flute also accompanied the long jump, by tooting when the athlete should start running, jump and land.

--There was also a contest of Manly Excellence. That’s not so hard to understand though. We still have that whenever someone moves. “I’ll take that sofa, singlehandedly. You ladies step aside.” “Ah look, a large box of books. I only wish there were more…”

--One of the most famous contestants to ever clinch a prize was Plato, who won at the Isthmus games as a teenager. Perhaps he just sat very still before the match and focused on ideal strength or an athletic ideal. After he won he probably cried, “I’m closer to understanding the awesome forms and ideals of the heavens. You are an infinite loser.”

--Perhaps the strangest reading I’ve done is on erotic vase painting. Is it just me, or does it seem like crafting a pot, painting it and firing it would require a lot of work and skill to come up with something that’s just going to end up under a teenager’s mattress? Just kidding. I do think it’s funny how many of these vases modern museums own, but can’t display in order to not traumatize school groups. Maybe they should have an adult gallery in the back, with a flashing neon sign and a heavy velvet curtain. ADULT CERAMICS. I won’t post any here, but it’s a swinging google search if you’re interested.

--Don’t think that women didn’t compete in athletics. Spartan women were trained in wrestling and running just like the boys and even competed in a festival dedicated to Hera (Zeus’ main squeeze). You go girls.

Rainy days

When my dad built on to our house, he installed a skylight. Unfortunately, it only lit up the attic for about a year, since he hadn't cut through the kitchen ceiling yet. However, this did not prevent the rain noise. Even though you couldn't see the skylight, every time it rained you could hear the thwack. I have a skylight in my apartment, so almost every day I get to hear the rain thwack. I love it. It inspires pajamas and reading under the covers.

Anyway, I like rain. I don't however like umbrellas. I think this is mainly because you can't walk with your hands in your pockets while holding an umbrella. So, I invested in a super-duper rain coat from REI. Swanky, eh?

When Michael came to visit me this weekend (to celebrate the day of love and do homework in each others' company) we set off for school, so he could study and I could go to class sans umbrella.

Sarah: Do you want a jacket? At least take your sweatshirt.
Michael: No, I'm a man.

Ok, he didn't actually say that, but you know... Guess what? It rained. A lot. I live almost two miles from campus. He got wet. A lot. What a n00b.

There are little droplets on his hair. Pah. My favorite thing about having a blog is possessing the ability to publicly mock Michael without him having the ability to retort. Maybe he should start a "Sarah stinks" blog. I would follow that.

Today I took Michael to get a gyro from a little place in Eugene for Valentines. It may be partially inspired by the Ancient Greek art midterm I have on Monday...You may think this is an odd present, but on our walk to the "surprise" I told him to list the things he loved. "What do I love," he mused. "It's probably a food item, since we didn't eat breakfast...gyros, sushi, tea." It was gyros, and we're getting sushi tonight (with my swinging coupon), but don't tell him. Anyway, after ordering the store owner told us it was cash only. I'd only brought my credit card, because who likes carrying a purse...I don't. I began preparing myself to walk home and then visit the ATM while the Greek guy held Michael ransom when the store owner said, casually, "just come back later, when you have a minute."

Wha?

We did, and we tipped him and everyone's faith in humanity was restored. Eugene is pretty cool that way.

Want to know another reason why Eugene is cool? There were four items on the menu and two of them were vegetarian. It's a bi-eating habits couple's paradise. How else would you describe it? A carvi/herbivoric couple? I guess together we're an omnivore. According to google, there's such thing as an insectivore. Dare you to try it.

I've solved the mystery of what the Artemisian God was holding in his hand; it's not a lightning bolt, or a trident, or a spear, it's a bronzevgyro for sure.

My Roommates

I composed this post a few nights ago when I couldn't sleep. I stayed awake sorting through colors and remembering my best girls. I’m going to brag about my friends; specifically my girls (because, let’s admit it, the boys don’t read this blog and because girls rule and boys drool). They make me feel all kinds a warm and cuddly. This is the only picture I have of all of us, but it totally fits, because we're all really happy about looking silly. But, just for the record, we really do like Katie and don't usually make her stand off to the side, and Mandy and Nicole are not the same height.

I’m a pretty happy person, but I’ve never been as consistently happy (or as consistently sleep deprived) as my freshman year of college. I mean that word “happy,” too, even though it’s a very odd looking word. Dammit, it’s Mandy and Ashley’s fault that I look at words… Anyway, I credit these chikas for a large part of that happiness and I get an amazing rush of affection whenever I think of them. It’s called group therapy and we’re good at it.

In order to avoid sounding like a yearbook entry, full of inside jokes and obscure references to reality tv dance shows (Search for the Next Pussycat Doll, anyone?), I’m just going to tell you why I love each of these girls and because I've been reading some color theory, I’m going to tell you what color they are…just go with it, it’s my blog.

Lindsay Loo is grey.

Not a concrete grey, or a steel grey, but a velvety grey that’s coolly elegant and subtle without being boring. She straight up sophistication (yeah, that’s a silly phrase). Lindsay has an inappropriate sense of humor—not the NC-17 kind, but the laugh when people are fighting and break into a spasmatic dance to Maneater in the middle of the day kind. Lindsay thinks ugly pictures are the most hilarious thing in the world—if her teeth aren’t covered in black candy and her eyes aren’t crossed, than it’s not a successful operation. I have her to thank for the barrage of facebook embarrassment, including a Braveheart-inspired picture that almost made Michael run for the hills. Lindsay manages to convince people to make themselves look silly, by example, but also convinces them to tell her the truth, by example. Lindsay is terrible at hiding her emotions, which makes her very easy to be honest with, since you’re sure that you’ll get it back. The first time I met Lindsay, she invited me to picnic with her on the soccer field (to repay me for loaning her a book, obviously) as the elevator doors closed. I did live by the elevator, but this was still out of the ordinary. Somehow, she does all this…stuff, with grace and a smile. Thanks Loo.

Ashley is pink.

Not bubble gum pink, or Lisa Frank pink, or Avril Lavigne pink, but a deep fushia with a leathery texture. Ok, describing colors is hard. Ashley is pink because she’s a composite of red and white. Red, in the sense that she’s a wee bit fiery and won’t back down from things that she believes and white in the clean sense of the word (like a negative space, graphic design, no clutter way). I’m super proud of Ashley’s “big girl” job and rock climbing membership (I take full credit for that) but I’m also just proud that she’s my friend who’s always super willing to celebrate triumphs and commiserate over small tragedies. I was so happy when Ash came to Marie Callenders so we could freak out our tables—I would tell them that I’m a vegetarian, so no I don’t like chicken pot pie, and she would say that her favorite pie flavor was pumpkin and watch them sort of nod and order chocolate satin. Ok, so we weren’t very helpful waitresses, but it was good to have her around. If I was lost at sea or on some sort of exploratory adventure, I would want Ashley to come, because she would say things like “It seems that the engine has dropped out,” or “Ah yes, there’s a snake,” bluntly in a “let’s just handle this and move on” kind of way. She has a special breed of sarcasm, without being bitter—I don’t have that kind, I am bitterJ. Ashley inspires me to walk from the cafeteria to the dorms like a model on a catwalk and someday I’m going to go wedding dress shopping with her. Ashley likes girly things, she’ll rock out to Glee and enjoys a good haircut, but she undercuts that with this sarcasm and hardcore workethic (that’s what she would say “hardcore workethic”) that makes her fundamentally unfrivolous or airheady. She’s deliciously pink and I love her. 

Mandy is blue.

Dark blue, but not navy. Sort of a sapphire with a little bit of inky blackness, so that it’s smooth not shiny and deep like a pool. Mandy needs a little black in her blue, I think, and not just because she had a goth phase J. Mandy’s the best roommate ever (even if her room usually looks like a clothes tornado just passed through) because she’ll wake you up in the middle of the night to ask you what the words to the Monster Mash are and come climb in your bed or dress up like High School Musical kids and jump around. Mandy has a deep level of enthusiasm for an incredible amount of things including but not limited to Celtic music, art, dark chocolate, literature, fashion, Nintendo, Japanese movies, malls, Harry Potter, classical music, masks, Shakespeare plays and her friends. Mandy is the most loyal friend I’ve ever had; she cares about me and my problems more than I do most of the time (and I’m an egoist) and is willing to talk about whatever, whenever (due to her conveniently late bedtime). Mandy balances all the people and parts of her life seamlessly and somewhat mysteriously, I’m not sure how she manages to fit in caring about her family and friends so much. Mandy laughs at me more than anyone I know, often commenting that I find myself so funny that I don’t need anything else to entertain me. She’s right; I am funny. Mandy knows of her inner wonderfulness deep down, but she’s also shy, saving her best parts for the people who deserve them. I’m honored to have seen some of Mandy’s best parts…that took a lesbian turn, whoops. Mandy’s an onion with some serious layers and I haven’t quite figured out her sense of humor yet (I have mastered my own, as previously mentioned). She’s one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met and I’m so happy that we’ll be friends when we’re old and wrinkly.

Katie  is [snow] blue.

She’s not black, contrary to her wardrobe, or red, contrary to her kitchen appliances. Do you know what blue I’m taking about, it’s the color that snow turns at dawn or dusk or right before it snows? It looks shimmery and solid—sort of thick like the perfect snowball type of snow. Well, that color is Katie. Katie has two sides: one can stand in front of people and make everyone laugh just by making noises or speaking in accents, and the other can scoot her chair back a little and listen contentedly, watching and oozing a sort of sisterly affection. Katie can express every emotion by first clapping her hands and then arranging her face and hands in specific ways. Commonly the face/hand combo makes an explosion or she simply shouts “good, good job” in a decidedly sarcastic manner or hits herself in the face. I tried to describe it Katie, sorry…just do that thing that you do with your hands and then everyone will understand. I’m afraid that she sounds like a stooge, but she’s also capable of intelligent conversation, particularly if the conversation is about punctuation; she taught me that this

***

is called a dingbat. Who knew? Katie did.

Nicole is gold.

Not bling gold, or Olympic gold, or anything that could be described as "encrusted," but like gold leaf. She's not shiny, but more sober like the stairs at Abravenell Hall in SLC or Byzatine panel paintings. She is gold, which is certainly not boring, but she's not "brand new" shiny. Nicole is a Greek goddess: wisdom, power, beauty, grace and a general inclination toward nudity. Like gold leaf, something glows out of Nicole—sometimes it explodes in a torrent of sass, but most of the time it just radiates. I once skipped two classes and talked to Nicole, standing in the middle of the quad while it snowed for hours, because I knew that that conversation was more important than Poly Sci 1100. Nicole’s guarded like a mama lioness, but she’s not shut off; she’s very connected with her feelings and those of the people around her and offers her friends a level of respect and understanding that gives me, at least, a kind of quiet confidence. She also lies on the floor and laughs with you until she decides that the occasion calls for a sort of theatrical, upward-thrusting, hand motion, which is the mark of any true friend.

Amanda is purple

Let’s not mess around with violet shades, Amanda’s not a cupcake or an Easter dress; she’s deep purple like royal robes or her converse shoes. She’s got some sort of power over people and has a serious side (royal), but she’s also super fun, and purple is a lighthearted color with a little bit of a wink that doesn’t take itself too seriously. Everyone likes Amanda and Amanda likes everyone, but she’s mine so all y’all back off. Just kidding. I love the things that make Amanda nervous, because they aren’t normal things like public speaking, tests or heights, but the thing that makes her the most uncomfortable is when other people are uncomfortable. This means she raises her hand and makes up a comment whenever there’s an awkward silence in class or starts dancing around if I start crying (because that will make it better). Amanda is the first person to drop on her knees in the company of a puppy—to get down to their level. I’ve watched her play peek-a-boo with children she doesn’t know in the grocery store, popping out from behind the chips. She greeted every person that walked through our front door or within her general wingspan with hugs and enthusiastic salutations, because when other people feel good, Amanda receives genuine pleasure and joy. This is why Amanda should have lots of kids and puppies. Besides, selfishly enjoying how much Amanda cares about me (and everyone), I love when she says “do-ti-do” and wiggles her shoulders while she’s cooking. Even though she likes people a lot, Manda also can get really quiet at a music performance and hang out in her room alone, writing out Valentines or poetry in the middle of the night. I love that her hand-eye coordination is…just not even there. I wish Amanda would draw more pictures so I could write papers about children’s art (FYI: that was supposed to be a joke about how Manda can’t draw). I love that she’s the only person I’ve ever met who rock climbs with her knees. I know we don’t get to stay up until 4 talking about our friends, politics, books, art and science, but I feel like we do, because I have conversations with Amanda in my head all the time and think of her whenever I see a hippo, a fuzzy blanket, or an overly-stuffed, black backpack. Love.

Well, I'm going to stop know because I’m feeling a little bittersweet. I love you girls, thanks for the support and the fun. I decided to write this post because I was telling a story about Nicole (beating up a French mugger, incidentally) to my classmates and I called her my roommate. My cohorts got confused (because I live alone) and I realized that I never actually lived with Nicole. But you all are not just friends, or people I used to live with, you’re my roommates (even if some of you have husbands and stuff) and I love you and (as a cheesy end to a cheesy post) I know I can always come home to you.