My two favorite things: Art and Murder

I've just been sooooo busy that I haven't blogged because my life is so important and interesting. Or? I haven't had anything much to blog about. But this weekend was jam packed with action: two rounds of the Arts Festival and a murder mystery dinner. My camera is getting a little bit old and losing its eyesight, so most of my pictures from said events are a little blurry. I intend to steal some from friends when they appear.

My sister and my mom and I went to the festival as soon as it opened. I bought a few things a necklace, a journal, a soap dish--you know, art. My favorites were a guy who cuts into matte boards to make shadowbox-like constructions and the guy that paints with his own blood. I really enjoyed watching people walk into his booth, chatting with friends in their sun hats, get up close to the paintings and then quickly back away once they saw "blood and ink" in the wall text. He also had a basket with a sign that said "Normal" art; I thought it was funny. I'm sure there were some stoked Twilight fans.

 Getting my face painted at the art's festival was the highlight of my childhood, so we visited the kid's yard to remember the good times.

 

My best girls hosted a murder mystery dinner with an ancient Rome theme. Can I just say: it's so nice to live in the same city as the people that you like, at least a few times a year. During the game, Mandy kept stealing things, Jackson convinced small children to burn down buildings, Lindsay was "fast" (as usual), Scott carried around animal intestines...and I committed murder by posing as a statue until everyone but my victim left the room--that's an art historical murder if I've ever heard one. 

My favorite part of the night was when we all sat down to play the game and turned on the CD. We were looking for some kind of spooky instructions, but the first track on the CD was just background music. We ended up sitting in a circle, looking at eachother with shifty "who dunnit" eyes for about ten minutes before we advanced the CD. It was pretty tense. I wish my camera had gotten a good group picture, because our costumes were top notch, but here's the best I got:

 

The wreath on the wall really adds to Brad's costume. I'm sure he planned it.

 Scott's nibbling on animal entrails, which he uses to predict the future...duh.

Here comes Testosterus Maximus! with the groceries. 

I just got home from the Arts Festival again. It was pretty great, although I do think its sad that this event is the only art-related event that happens in Salt Lake. I really like Salt Lake, but for some reason tables of ceramics, jewelry and paintings are too "arty" to exist more than once a year. Maybe I should become the community arts hero of the SLC. 

The girls, next to a car covered in knitwear.

 The boys, talking about water bottles. Scott's saying "I accidentally filled mine with grape juice," while Brad and Michael cluck their tongues sympathetically. Then Michael throws in "We're men, right?"

Smoothie art.

I'm adding this picture because, well, look at Michael. Is he trying to swallow an egg? If Michael got into plastic surgery this is what would happen to his pretty face. Man, it's so great to have a blog/online venue to score points against Michael.

Anyway, thanks for a fun weekend, SL friends!

I also have to add this picture from a few weeks ago when Michael and I took his nephew hiking. He was such a hiker! When we picked him up he said "Wait, Sarah, I gotta get my hydration pack." I felt like an idiot with my low-tech water bottle. When we finished and turned around to start back he looked innocently at Michael and said, "I think I'd like a Slurpee." I agree, Morgan, the best part of hiking is thinking about what you're going to eat when you finish.

Two studs.

Happy Father's Day!

Dear Dad,

You're the best. Everyone thinks so. My friends are always pretending that you're their dad when you aren't looking. You're super cool in weird ways. You used to skip out on swimming lessons, ride your pony "Blacky," bail hay and drink goat's milk in Iowa (you may not think that's cool, but it sounds pretty exotic to me)...  For example, you know a lot about fish tanks, you made a rocking chair once, you climb mountains, build houses, and even beat mom in scrabble (every once in a while). Nobody can do all those things. Well, certainly not in combination. I know little girls always try to find somebody to marry who's like their daddy, but mom has been telling me from the very beginning that I never had a chance--after all, nobody knows anything about fish tanks anymore.

I think you're very easy to talk to, which is something that very few daughters can say. I probably stems from my childhood when I used to commute with you to go to daycare in your building and then to elementary school--forty minutes of talking in the morning and the afternoon will do it. We used to listen to oldies 94.1 and KFAN or I'd read books out loud. Now you listen to books on tape--they probably have better readers than I was, and I'm sure they aren't reading "The Boxcar Children" or "American Girl Doll Adventures," but I really enjoyed our trips. Except for that one time I tried to comb my hair and the brush got all snarled...

You seem to dominate my childhood memories. You were always home braiding my hair into elaborate fishtails and sitting in my room with the rocking chair until I fell asleep--you even used to let us style your hair. You threw me in the air when "John Stockton sent the Utah Jazz to the NBA finals!" I remember you trying to talk me into eating a hotdog once when we were camping in Canada, but I refused and you made me a veggie burger and never bugged me about being a 13-year-old vegetarian again. Remember when we went and picked out Rusty? Admit it--that was a genius idea.

I remember you pointing out poison ivy before my first climb (I wasn't afraid of heights, I was afraid of being itchy) and I always remember our father's day outings with Laura. Tracy Aviary, Liberty Park, once we did a Starzz 5K. We're going on an outing tomorrow...once Laura and I come up with something.

You've always made me feel safe. I remember once we were raking leaves in the back yard when I was little and I'd just watched a scary movie called The Witches (Rold Dahl was so scary) and I was  pretty sure the "Grand High Witch" was going to walk across the deck and turn me into a mouse. The whole day I made sure that you were between me and the deck. I still feel that way a little bit. I'm very happy that you've always been there for me, even if you've never defended me from an evil witch.

I remember once time when in high school when I was bummed out about religion and feeling like a black sheep, or at least a grey sheep. You told me that no religion and no person should ever be hateful, but also that understanding was a two-way street and I would have to try to understand people if I wanted to feel better. I think I would have rather just talked about how everyone sucks but me, gotten bitter and engaged in "Utah hating," but I think back on that conversation often and it still means a lot to me. You were right. I tend to lump that memory with another one: I once came home from junior high and called someone, probably Laura, a "fag," you and mom both leapt out of your seats like I'd slapped you and told me how hurtful and wounding words like that could be. I remember thinking you were both crazy, and I tried to keep using the word, but it felt wrong and it still does.


This is another sort of silly memory, but I remember being at McDonalds when I was pretty little sometime during a road trip and we ordered water. I must have thought I was pretty smart because I cheated the system and filled my drink up with orange soda (I could have at least gone with Sprite, if I was trying to be sneaky). You gave me a dollar and we went and paid for the drink. You said, "there's no reason to lie about something silly like pop." I'm making you sound like you're always delivering prophetic statements, but I guess I just really remember the times that you did.

I've mentioned the girly stuff that you've been supportive of (hair, American Girl Dolls, playing cat's cradle) but you were also at all my concerts throughout school (even though your musical knowledge stops at "Joy to the World") and I know you were proud at things like concerto night and my graduations. I think you're even interested in art history (or at least you let me talk about it like we're still commuting to school), which is just kind, because it's pretty boring most of the time.

Growing up I never thought about how great my dad was (unless mom was telling me about it).  I was used to my dad being home a lot--all summer even--making sure I had everything I needed or wanted, playing games and laughing with our family every night. I realize now that that is an incredible gift that a lot of people I know didn't have.

I'm very thankful for our relationship and I'm so proud that you're my dad. Ask anyone, I always bring my friends to the house, tell random people your calculus scores and say "Oh, that's my dad's climb."

I took this picture a long time ago, but I always pull it up in Oregon when I'm missing you.

Love you,
Sarah

Swim, Bike, Run, Wear a Tuxedo

I drove through Spokane and Boise on my way home from school because I'm a very supportive person. Michael hosted the graduate reading for his program. Why? Because he brought a tuxedo to Spokane and owns his own PA system (which he also brought to Spokane). You may be asking why Michael brought his high school concert choir tuxedo and a sound system to grad school. I asked a very similar question when I helped him pack. Not to mention bringing two tuxedo shirts...but that could be a blog post in its own right.

I suppose he proved me wrong though. Here he is, with his co-host, presenting her with the award he (and everyone else in the cast) won for their participation in the Music Man, circa 2003. I clapped (see, supportive).

We then caravan-ed to Boise to watch Michael's parents run a half tri-athalon. We discovered that road tripping in separate cars is not fun at all. If you can't argue about what to listen to and offer each other licorice, then it doesn't count as a road trip.

We did have fun in Boise though. It's not that often that you get to cheer for the people you love. We should try to do this more often--like when someone parallel parks or has a good hair day. I made a sign (two supportive points). The family next to me borrowed my sign since their racer was also named John--he was touched that they made him a sign (I never let on...except for now). They both ran/biked/swam well and were surprisingly life like post race.

In the below pictures, Michael will demonstrate how to make an inappropriate sign face. Sign faces should be happy, or angry if it's a protest sign. You shouldn't have a serious face behind a sign that has polka-dots. And what is that in the next picture...sly?

 

Great job Becky and John! Thanks for giving us an excuse to cheer for you!

Just a little silliness

Well, I decided to take a break from my terrible, terrible life and peruse the internet.  (Ok, my life isn't terrible, but my papers are not finished yet.) I've been wanting to share one video with my blogging fan base for a while. I'm kind of a youtube hater, I don't know why. I think it comes from my anti-chain mail position. But, every once in a while I lighten up. I'm really enjoying these two today.
I have two comments:
1) That is the worst possible name for a fish on a hook.
2) This is very similar to my dog Rusty's voice.

 

I know I say this a lot, but I'm so looking forward to going home. Michael and I are going to meet up with Michael's super-star-athlete parents and watch them run a half ironman. I fully intend to cheer away grad school while they run. I may consider bringing a blow horn...

I lost it

I lost my free bagel card. Eating ten bagels and receiving a hole punch was the most concrete accomplishment of my first year of grad school and now it's gone. Gone, as if my bagels never existed. Well, I'm here to say that they did--I ate those ten bagels and I'd do the same for any one of you!

I'll let you know if I find it.

Speaking of finishing my first year of grad school, I had my last class today. We watched a disturbing Surrealist film which I'm trying to forget...anyway, I'm about 30 pages and a few xeroxes from freedom. So close, and yet so far. I never thought I would get sick of class, but the past few weeks I've just wanted time to research and work on projects instead of going to my seminars. What does that say about me, I wonder? I've become a complete nerd, who would rather wade through books alone than learn collectively? or I'm so focused on my projects that I've lost touch with the real world? Probably both.

I'm going to go write those papers so I can get home for some climbing, settlers, Cancun Cafe, meeting Michael's new baby niece (!), Rusty Rusty Rusty and some not art history. Sounds lovely right? I guess I should write those papers now.

This is the image that came up when I searched for "lost bagel." Not exactly what I had in mind...

The day is lost

I'm not going to do anything school-y for an entire week when I get home. After that, I'll have to start researching, but just think about it! That means no response papers, no article reading, no pretending that I know what I'm presenting about while presenting, etc. This also means I won't have to stall before doing school-y things. I'm pretty good at stalling. Watch this:

Saturday 10:12- Consider waking up because my bed is very warm from heated mattress pad/ skylight combination. I also remember that I have a filled out punch card for the bagel place down the street and decide that today could be a free bagel day.
10:23- Officially wake up to Michael's phone call. We have "races" to see who can wake the other person up if they're being lazy. This might sound crazy. It is.
10:45- Go out on my balcony with oatmeal and my laptop with big plans to finish one of my projects.
10:55- It starts raining, oh well! I can't type in the rain. Better go do something else...
11:00- Bubble bath.
11:35- Consider getting out of the bath, but decide that it will be really cold out there.
11:36- Run more water into the bath.
12:00- Get out, turn on the heat. Shake my fist at the cold rain. Sit down on the couch to decide what would be better for lunch a grilled cheese, or a free bagel?
12:03- Accidentally watch Grey's Anatomy.
12:30- Nap
1:00- Consider waking up because it's so cold.
1:01- Pull extra blanket out from under the couch.
2:00- Wake up to the horrible realization that the bagel place is closed.
2:05- Decide that the day is lost.
2:10- Make grilled cheese and rearrange all the cabinets.
2:30- Clean out the clean fridge.
3:00- Think about starting final projects.
3:10- Blog


How am I supposed to work without a garlic artichoke bagel? I guess I'll have to do everything tomorrow.

Identity Crisis

Michael and I read the Eugene weekly as usual and decided to go to a wildflower festival outside of town. Remix: I make Michael do things so as to avoid my homework.

We, finally, found the arboretum and got in a line of cars for parking. Most of the them were Hybrid Prius, with a few running on bioethenal. Then we spotted another line of cars--not cars, trucks with American flag decals, towing trailers. Little did we know, the wagons were full of civil war reenactment gear. Large signs read "Civil War! -->" We were at a crossroads. Naturally, we parked in the middle and went to both. I feel the need to report that the wildflower visitors were required to walk a half a mile, while the civil war spectators had a shuttle bus. Of course.

Round One: A Nature Walk with Tom

We learned about the destructive nature of geraniums and Douglas Firs, and the sexual practices of maple trees. Quote of the hour? "When male plants can't find any female plants, the tree drops them, since there's no point in fertilizing yourself." Here I am, tree hugging.

 We were accompanied by a family with a little girl in a bucket hat (aka me, age five), a few older ladies and a woman wearing a raccoon tail, as if that was a valid option. We also learned that Michael must have great eye contact, because when ever we go on one of these things, the guide talks directly to him. He handles the attention by nodding wide-eyed with discomfort and standing behind me. It was a beautiful place--it doesn't seem fair for one place to be so green. We also really liked the "Human-powered vending machine." So much so, that Michael bought a banana. I considered getting my face painted, but I didn't want to look like a target for our next event.

 

 Round Two: Civil War Reenactment

Let's just say there was no organic fruit at the civil war reenactment, the "Coexist" bumper stickers changed to "Not my President," and suddenly suspenders were in fashion. I'll stop, before someone accuses me of stereotyping. We walked through the camps before the battle (oddly, they never said which battle it was...) and witnessed a child being recruited by a Union soldier while they stood in line for the porter potty. 

I used all my best Gone With the Wind jokes and sang songs from Cold Mountain, and we took our seats. The children all around were either terrified or giggling. Come to think of it, so was I.

The kid next to me was pretty into it. Quote of the hour? "I think the blue teams going to win, Grandpa."  The canons were outrageously loud. 

I have some shoddy camera work here when the canon goes off (sorry, it was scary). Michael's busy pointing out historical inaccuracies.

The dialog from the soldiers included "Medic, help this lieutenant!" and "We're going to need more ammo, general." One man repeatedly yelled, "Arrrrgggg" from the Union side.

No one died for the first twenty minutes, but then people started dropping. I think I would be great at dying. Put me in coach. 

This is the Confederate last stand, the fighting's getting closer to the audience. My favorite soldier is the portly gentlemen with a pistol who gets in there at the last second. The horsemen with the floppy hat is also entertaining.

 

Big thanks to the city of Eugene for accommodating our eclectic interests. Pretty good day. That banana was delicious.

Dear Mom

Mom,

We’re going to have to rain check on our Mother’s Day festivities, since I’m living in a different state and all, but I thought I’d give you a blog post instead of sending you something. Amazon recommended that I buy you a diamond pendant, but I’m going to go with this…

You are the easiest person to talk to in the entire world—I have no doubts. Even about things that are supposed to be hard to talk about or that no one else talks about with their mom. You’re not just a friend that’s a good listener though; you’re my mom. You give me mom advice and mom praise and you help me talk through problems. You’re really good at the praise part though. For example, you can make me feel great in a dressing room, which can be a depressing place. Most people can’t wear turtlenecks like you can, Sarah. I also think your shoulders are really pretty. I didn’t even know shoulders could be pretty. Now, I’m incredibly confident about my shoulders. I must have got my ego from you. Nah, I did that without any help—are you impressed?

Come to think of it, I think I got my sense of humor from you. Remember when my kindergarten teacher told you that I was a little sarcastic? I have no idea where that came from… I have to say, I wish I was being sarcastic about my outfit in the picture below, but I seem to genuinely think I'm lookin' cool.

You spin terrible situations. You don’t sugar coat things or turn into a maniacal cheerleader or anything, you just calmly reason out the good while remaining empathetic. I’m really impressed with how mature and classy you’re being about this break-up. I got dumped. But, somehow you salvaged something from the wreckage every time. Your Marie Callendar’s uniform is ugly, but that color looks nice on you and at least you don’t have to waste real clothes on work. And when situations are too terrible to spin, you just nod and that makes me feel better too—like seventh grade, or when Daddy fell.

Growing up, you read me books out loud while I bounced around on the end of the waterbed. If I ever have kids, I have only one plan: they’re going to hear Little House on the Prairie, The Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter before they fall asleep. 

Also, if you could give my children “the talk” I’d really appreciate it. You were pretty amazing at Halloween costumes too—I should say you are pretty amazing, because Star Wars 2009 wasn’t too long ago. I was half Dorothy/half Scarecrow one year—you can’t buy that one at a store. I’m pretty positive there isn’t a pattern either.

Last weekend I watched the Bloomsday racers run by in front of Michael’s apartment. I saw a lot of families and I got a little emotional remembering how fun it was to run races (I spent a lot of time walking, but still) and to watch you run in your marathons. Dad would shuttle Laura and I around so we could see you multiple times during the race—I know you never broke any world records but it was really fun to cheer for mommy. I think that’s because you spent a lot of time clapping after my concerts, and I have to say they always meant more to me when you and dad were there. 

I thought walking in my graduation would be lame, but it felt great knowing that you were doing the Scotsman right behind me. I hope you’ll whistle at my Master’s graduation. That’s reason enough to study.

I’m a little obsessed with merging my worlds—I loved bringing friends home from school to play games with you (and dad, before he fell asleep). Sometimes they never leave, and still come over to “watch the Biggest Loser.” I mean, come on, Michael and I played Settlers with you on our FIRST DATE.

I don’t mean to say that you did everything right. You taught me that trash cans were called dumpsters and then sent me into the world to make a fool of myself. I have a grammar problem because of you—this makes texting very difficult. Remember when you took away my binky? Rude.

Well, mom, I’m really proud of you. I brag about you all the time. The NY Times’ Crossword? My mom thinks that’s pretty easy.  I love telling people that you made my gauntlets. We both like dark chocolate (I've obviously always liked it, see picture below) and baths. We have the same eyes. When people ask me what color my eyes are I just say, "same as my mom's" because I don't think they are a color, really.

I may be trying to be a bit too much like you in the picture below, though.

I’m proud of our relationship, too. Thanks for making that happen. I call you when I have good news, or bad news or no news. One thing, before I go…somebody asked me what my favorite five minutes of the year was as part of a silly quiz thing. It was sitting with you on the couch at Christmas, watching our elf family dance. No question.

 

Happy Mother’s Day! 

Love you,

Sarah

Grad school blues, and such

I typed "Art history sucks today" and this was the first image that came up. My thoughts exactly.

I should mention before we begin that Kate Middleton studied art history, so if you want to marry a prince you should start with an art history program. Not really though, I don't want to be in classes with those girls (or boys).

Grad school sucks lately. Here’s why:

1—“Don’t worry about picking a thesis topic yet, Sarah. Live, learn, absorb and really take time to grow. By the way, if you could just tell me what your thesis will be for class tomorrow, I’d appreciate it.”

2—You’re funded! Or are you… We’ll let you know in two to three weeks, so just spend your time thinking about that. I know, I know, don’t complain about getting $$, Sarah. I’m just complaining about the stress.

3—First year fifteen. Like freshmen have an excuse to gain weight?

4—Anything below a B is actually an F. But, hey! don’t worry about it. Live, learn, absorb…

5—My boyfriend lives in a different state and we spend most of our time talking about our homework. I don’t mind this so much, sometimes Michael actually cares about the French feminist I’m reading, or issues of Intention, plus he’ll argue with me about it. That really is a good thing, honest. Anyway, 7-8 hour drive? Good plan, SarMichael! (our names don’t fit together in a cutesy way, but it never works out if they do—remember Bennifer?)

6—The most enforced rule on campus is Do NOT eat in the library. So, don’t eat since you’re always in the library.

7—Read everything. All the time. And when you’re done, research for your huge papers. PS—what’s your thesis topic?

8—Grad school makes you old. Remember when I used to take like 5 classes and stay up until 4 am having confetti fights?

9—I found a good yoga class, but they don’t practice on moon days. Freakin hippies. Plus when I’m there they always casually mention that I should be doing about an hour of yoga a day, and then they ask me what I’m writing my thesis on. Just kidding.

10— My plants are dying. They hate me, which is completely rude because all I do is love them.

11— I’ve become so paranoid about exploited departmental toner by printing articles at school, that I had to either buy my own super printer or start taking anxiety pills. I bought one. Wait, what if my printer runs out of toner!! I better stock up on toner, paper, buy a generator in case I lose power, and maybe a back-up printer. I’m considering pasting google-y eyes onto the front so I can have a friend at home. Screw you, plants—I’m going to hang out with my printer.

12—I signed up for a Verizon Wireless super internet plan over the summer. I can be online for about 20 hours a month without paying extra. 2- year contract? You got me again, Best Buy (Newman!). That may seem like a lot of time, but it isn’t. If I chose to watch Modern Family, patrol facebook…or blog at home, I end up having to ration my research time. I actually have to make lists before going on the internet. Don’t despair! I have more time to work on my thesis (grumble, grumble).

13—Everyone refers to each other as “colleagues.” If I ever start an email with, “Dear colleagues,” somebody punch me.

14—Speaking of emails, one of my professors suggested that “Hello, blah blah” was not an appropriate salutation and that I really should begin things with “Dear so-and-so.” It took ALL of my willpower to not reply: Dear so-and-so, Thank you for the advice! Sarah.

15—I have that “Drivin round town with the girl I love…” song in my head all. the. time.

Okay, so that last one has nothing to do with graduate school, but it may be my most pressing problem. I like my program and am proud to have been accepted, I’ve been very lucky with funding, I like my apartment, my classmates and teachers (I mean, colleagues), and I like Eugene. But this past week I’ve had a case of the mean reds. I’m just missing my roommates (which includes about 7 girls… and also Jackson), MGB, Sunday dinners, my puppy and my family this week. Why? Because none of them ask me about my thesis. OR sing peppy, pop songs (except for Michael).