It's Ray Charles Week

In my library wanderings this week I got a best of Ray Charles CD. It's so good that I feel like sharing.

I was driving yesterday and trying to find something on the radio. Not to be an "old soul" but Katy Perry was playing on three stations. That's no good. This is good.

Peace out.

Banjo love

I'm feeling a little nervous because I have a mondo Dada midterm today. Crazy Dadaists. So, I've decided to blog it out--that's like dancing it out, or taking a cold shower.

I'm going to tell you two Dada stories and one banjo story.

Dada 1) Jokes on us.

One of the lasting legacies of Dada is the "readymade" or a "found art object" that is re-appropriated to a museum setting. This usually inspires people to be offended and ask this is art? Well, that is the question. Marcel Duchamp's work makes it in all the textbooks, and would probably be on the cover, if it were a little more aesthetically pleasing. But, I don't think "pretty" was Duchamp's intent. He purchased a urinal in 1917, signed it under a false name and put it in an art show. And the rest is history, I suppose, since we're still debating the issue of "is this art?" a century later. Most of Duchamp's readymades were lost, basically because no one cared--it was a urinal, after all. It was a statement (like wearing a cape to junior high). Most of Duchamps readymades were reconstructed in the 1950s (mainly by other people) and that is what we have in museums today. The only readymade that survived--an "original" oooooohhhh--was this perfume bottle. Duchamp put a photo of himself dressed in drag as the spokes...person (couldn't say man there) on a bottle that he bought at a department store.

Because this image was an "original" it sold for $11,000,000. Eleven. Million. Dollars. I think this would have made Duchamp cry with laughter and yell "sucker" at our silly ideas of authorship and "originals." I think he would have probably had a merry cry and then made about a hundred more readymades and guarded them closely. "This urinal is going to be very valuable one day," he could have said. What a trickster.


Dada 2) Barroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven


Other people participated in nonsensical art in the Dada movement, but the poet Barroness lived nonsense, proudly. She got around, marrying a few times. I think she married a German Barron, just for the title. Can't blame her--picture this: Duchess Sarah. She fashioned all her own clothing from things picked up on the street, shop-lifted from department stores or garbage. She once showed up for a portrait wearing a tomato soup can bra and black lipstick. My favorite outfit had a birdcage complete with live canary. She also aggressively pursued Duchamp, writing poetry about his body, etc, to the point that Duchamp was completely frightened of her and declared that it was a relief to leave New York sometimes to get away from her brazen advances. So, here's to you Baroness, for tricking the trickster and walking the walk.

Banjos 3)

Every Friday at noon, about twenty people assemble in an empty classroom down the hall from my office and rock out. It's an all-banjo jam session. I have no idea who these people are, but I'm so happy that this happens. They're not young banjo-ists, so they very well may be professors. I hope so.
"Would you like to have lunch on Friday, Tom."
"Sorry I can't; I know a lot of people who play the banjo and we play together in a random room in the art building every Friday."

This post is a little odd, I know. But so is Dada and banjo club.

Spokane word

I drove the seven hours to see Michael this weekend. Someday, I hope we live in the same city.

Anyway, my favorite part of the weekend was eating pizza at a little place that was...well, trying too hard. The menu came in a comic book. There were cartoons on tv, classic video games with artfully broken screens, and RC cola instead of "trendier" drinks (like Coke). When did nerdy become so cool? and brandable? I'll admit though, I was delighted with the Trivial Pursuit questions on the tables.

Me: Where is your medulla oblongata?
long pause
Michael: I don't know...Europe?
prolonged laughter
Me: The answer is: your brain.

Bwahahaha.

We had perhaps an even less exciting weekend than my previous post about Eugene. Highlights included being really cold while we replaced my headlight, buying a wrench so we could change my headlight and discovering this restaurant:

As if the name weren't funny enough--it's arguably an Italian fastfood restaurant.

I also discovered that Michael's door is amazing. The BELL is, in fact, a door bell. Jealous? If you push on my last name nothing happens.

Buddahological hippopotami

I was reading an article on Buddhist art for a class; therefore, I was terribly bored. Since the reading was optional I clicked on the author's biography. Apparently, she's currently advising a student's studies on "visual images of Buddahological hippopotami." Here it is! proof that you should always click on blue links. If I hadn't, I never would have found these two incredible words (one of which is almost certainly made up) assembled together and thus, have the best post title on the blogosphere.

Say it out loud--it's even better.

Bathtub books

I've recently discovered that no matter how much reading I have for school, I can't sleep properly or be sufficiently happy unless I'm reading a book, and also thinking about the next book I'm going to read.

These musings are partially inspired by an artist's lecture by Andrea Zittel (who was pretty great) where she talked about her clothing. Following the idea that rules and limitations can sometimes be liberating as opposed to stifling, she elected to adopt a type of uniform to wear everyday. Uniform? That word takes me back to junior high... Zittel wears a black tee shirt (washed daily to avoid cartoonish "stinky lines") underneath a hand-made dress for about six months and then she creates a different design and wears that for about a season. Instead of feeling restricted she said that she found herself perpetually excited and always thinking ahead to the next design, and thus felt that it expanded her creative horizons.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to adopt an every six months outfit, but I loved the idea that rules that you set for yourself can actually be liberating and help you look forward to the future.

I have never thought of it as a "rule" but I always have a book on my nightstand and I'm always thinking about my next book. I blame my parents who read to me before I went to sleep and were always reading something themselves. I dare say the process has gotten rather regimented, in the way that I chose genres. War and Peace was followed by a few Harry Potters, and a contemporary fiction novel is always coupled with a classic (they're tried and true, and cheaper after all). I also tend to chose things that Michael hasn't read--take that, English major--which has lead to a healthy competition (which he's losing) over who's read more Barnes and Noble classics.

Last term, I fell off the wagon. I didn't even bring very many novels to school, allocating my bookshelf space to Greek Art and Contemporary Feminist Theory. I do have a rather daunting amount of assigned reading every week, but it doesn't scratch the same itch. Today, I figured out why. Eureka! Because I cannot read Art History in the bathtub. It's too dangerous to risk water damage on some of these books, and I tend to have to take notes. It is possible to scribble in margins and delicately balance notebooks on your knees while the textbook teeters on the edge of the tub, but it is NOT possible to decipher these writings later. My baths have become shorter, less bubbly or salty and fundamentally less satisfying without a book. I think I thought that reading a novel on top of everything else would cause a sort of brain explosion. But, it turns out novels make me happier and my brain feels more substantial. So, I'm retreating back to the world of books.

On a side note, I believe books should be loved--they should be smeared with chocolate, burned by hair straighteners and really, very wrinkled. Many book-lovers consider this blasphemy. I'm not allowed to borrow books from Michael unless I swear I won't break the binding or bring them near water or food. One of the cutest things I ever heard my friend Mandy say was that she used to be so worried that her books would get hurt in her backpack in junior high, that she'd put them in a big ziplock baggie. I'm not of this mindset, many of my books no longer have covers. HP and the O of the P requires a rubber band to stand up straight.

Anyway, I just started a happy, little Nick Hornby book to get me started. I have a new rule: read before bed and whenever else you want to. And, frankly, thinking about what book should come next is just about the most exciting thing I've got going today. I'm not sure if it's making me more creative...but it feels pretty good.

"There must be quite a few things that a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them."

 --Slyvia Plath. 

I found this quote particularly inspiring because I read it while in the tub.

When I searched for bathtub books this came up:

 Maybe I should try Baby Loony Toons rub-a-dub books...

For sale: my body

No one panic: I haven't gotten so broke as to walk the streets. I'm not selling my eggs either ($50,000...yes, I looked it up). I am selling my hair here. I've donated twice, so nobody judge. The worst part is internet frauders. After hunting craigslist for an apartment and a job, I'm pretty good at picking them out. Mostly, if they don't speak/type English particularly well and have some sort of obscure reason for complicated payments like blindness, deaf-ness, being a very important and very rich business man who has his own private bank (wha?), or being "at sea." I've actually had all of these. In fact, I just sent this email:

I'm sorry to be unaccommodating, but, since I'm not really sure what your asking and I'm a little wary of internet scams, I'm going to go with a different buyer. If you really are an oceanographer, searching for hair to give to your British mother as a birthday present who cannot pay me regularly since you are...at sea, I hope you find it.

Sarah


Oh well, I've had some offers that sound a little more believable, who are willing to use paypal (like real people do). If you know anyone who needs some...hair, let me know. Frankly, I'm taking the best offer I have by the end of this week because I have a ziplock bag full of hair on my nightstand which is a little icky.


On another note, I like my short hair. Everyone says to cut off inches in the summer to cool off. But nothing kicks off a new year like teaching yourself how to style dramatically different hair. That's the perfect resolution: a hobby that feels great for a week and then slides into something you resent. Just kidding, I don't regret my decision at all. I've pretty much got it down though, and it's nice to spend 5 minutes blow-drying instead of 45. I do feel like a child when I try to accessorize. I haven't worn "haircessories" since age 12, so it feels like a regression to put on "clippies" and a stretchy headband. I should go to Claires! haha. Here are the two styles I've mastered. These were taken on my computer so the quality's shabby, but you'll get the idea.

 I should get back to Greek art now...as you can see I'm smiling at my laptop in a library.

My life belongs in a magazine

Well, Michael came to see me. We did a bunch of hipster/super cool things:

--refilled my ink cartridge
--went to the wrong mall for a movie
--considered getting an oil change
--decided against getting an oil change
--did all of our homework...almost
--walked to the library
--walked to the campus library
--found the prettiest trees on campus (yep, that one was my idea)
--had a spare key made (don't tell my manager)
--bought garbage bags
--got a bagel
--tried to get a doughnut, but VooDoo Doughnuts (tempting eh?) only took cash
--Michael watched Harry Potter one and two
--I took two Harry Potter naps (I watched them last month...and they're not very good)
--had a two hour debate about what to name Michael's new story
--I had a cookie fail. They look delicious....
--took the futon up and down one million times



"Sarah your blog is like an adventure novel, full of action and sparkle." Don't I know it.

It was great though. Plus, Michael made us watch Harry Potter and is listening to HP and the HBP right now on the drive. I've got him all trained up.

You may think that none of this demanded photo documentation...but you're wrong. Here's Michael, in the library:

Spelling: 1. Florist: 0.

Yep.

Grades smades

I like to think that I'm above letter grades or standardized tests, but who doesn't like to get a score that starts with a 9? After all, a 4.0 is pretty easy...when you major in Family and Consumer Science. Yes, that was insensitive. However, I'm allowed to make jokes because my major also means nothing; an "A" in Museum Studies is nothing to do a backflip about.

I usually lull myself into believing that my interest in education is a romantic pursuit of Knowledge (with a capitol "K"). During the term, I do get a sense of personal satisfaction when I know I've tried my hardest. However, I do get an equally satisfied feeling when someone smarter than me pats me on the head (think the "Teacher's Pet" scene from Guffman). An A- is a thumbs up, but sometimes I need a head pat.

As a graduate student, I thought I was past GPA drama and attendence points. Grad school is about elbow patches, stacks of ancient books in library basements and 3 am eurekas! Right? Nah, I still get points for attendance and have to memorize the occasional flashcards. My classes are hard--I'm proud of that--but, my mood seems to sway dramatically depending on 95s versus 89s. What exactly does a check plus mean? Where's the romance, where are the ELBOW PATCHES?

Oh! That must come when you're working on your doctorate. I better get my PhD. soon. Excuse me, I'm going to go sew fabric onto all my sleeves.

Post-Christmas Christmas

Now that I'm back in Eugene and have nothing to do besides put off doing my reading (yes, I already have reading even though the term hasn't started), I have time to upload Christmas pictures. My favorite presents this year were all the clothes I got, Netflix (more ways to not do my reading), and Derek's wand. I cleaned up.

The sunglasses shot: a Christmas favorite.

Jazz tickets.

 

 I'm pretty sure she took this back. This smile is a lie. I won't be too mean...

she gave me a super cool necklace.

Michael didn't know it, but Star Wars pancake molds are just what he wanted. There's a chess set on his lap (from me)--what a dork. PS--this led to some great jokes "Make pancakes, you will." Well, I thought they were great.

Wandage:

 Diminuendo = not a spell

This is what Jackson looks like all the time now.

"If you too don't stop dueling, I'm going to call Voldemort." I better photoshop in a darkmark.

 My cousin's son, Ben, came to see us this Christmas. I think we spent most of the break playing with his new toys.

Anyway, I had a jolly Christmas. At least I'll be able to see everyone I love a lot more often now that I have a wand. "Accio Rusty, Accio Mom, Accio Brad Pitt circa 2000..."

Pre-Christmas Christmas

I know fake trees are more manageable, but nothing beats the real thing. This picture is from Christmas morning. Awww...


Here's a barrage of present and temple square pictures with Michael's family. I learned that if you ever want to please a child, buy them a Leapster (they'll jump for joy).

Christmas Eve with my family looks like this:

Winter wonderland

Sometimes I love Utah.

My surrogate aunts, Deb and Diane, built a yurt in the Uintas this summer. Yurt: almost a cabin, much better than a tent. Michael and I wanted to test out our snowshoes so we drove up to the Ashley forest. I've used my snowshoes before, but mostly on packed snow where they weren't really necessary (just to look hardcore). We thought we would be hiking in about one mile, three at the longest. The Uinta's got 22 inches of snow the day before we arrived. So we hiked five miles. It was beautiful and put me in the Christmas mood since it felt like walking through a snowglobe, but I'm a little sore...still. Our favorite thing to do was stop in a random snow field and say, "This would have been a GREAT spot for the yurt!" Michael chose to sing most of the way...but it was still fun.

Diane ended up with the wrong skis and had to turn back,

but this picture is rather poster-esque I think.

Michael (as the strapping, young buck) got to pull the sled with supplies. This inspired the Christmas jingle "I am pulling a sled. I'm pulling a sled..." to the tune of sleigh ride. 

Tres hard core.

Outside the yurt.

Inside the yurt.

 Chilly birds.

 Sunrise.

 Wading through the snow. Just huntin'.

Festivus

Michael's birthday is the 14th of December. The poor kid has to wait all year for gifts (poor girlfriend has to come up with two presents within two weeks). It was really fun to be home with Michael for his birthday. He got super duper slippers and a coffee maker from his parents--he must be a writer. 

I got him this super cool tee shirt from cafepress.com. It's true; he is an unreliable narrator.

On his actual birthday we watched Lord of the Rings extras...so it was pretty much my birthday too. Also, if anyone thought Michael and I were cool, this proves them wrong.

Our Christmas tree hunting was a little late this year because Laura just got home from finals. Today we went to Cactus and Tropicals, where Laura's "working." I say that sarcastically because the place is so pretty that it's more of a relaxation exercise than a job. I gotta get on that...

I love having a real tree in the house. I also think the Christmas tree fields in Oregon are beautiful and I imagine that I can see the oxygen oozing out of them. Support growing trees! even if it's to cut them down, put them in the livingroom and bedeck them with popcorn. Anyway... \

Awwww, Laura and her moss unicorn--a Christmas classic.

 Told you: relaxation exercise.

We stood next to every tree, and finally decided that we looked best next to this one. Just kidding. It is really pretty though. I'll let you see the finished, decorated product. 

My dad told Francisco, the tree helper, that he could do it himself. Take that Francisco.

So far, I'm really enjoying being home and can't wait for the extended family to come home. I do keep having vaguely guilty feelings since I'm not doing anything art historical. That's what the rest of the year is for, right?