Our San Francisco Treat

Last weekend Michael and I met my parents in San Francisco to visit the Harpers. Everything went really well, except for the trip to the airport. Michael's brother-in-law volunteered to drive us to the airport (at 5am, mind you) and while we were busy looking at Portland in the dark (which is very pretty), we missed the airport exit. After circling around a few times, we almost missed it again when Seth decided to go for it! Only to discover a that there was in fact a median between us and the exit. 

Dang. 

The "Incident Response" vehicle saved us since the jack didn't work, but it wasn't quite fast enough. Michael and I ended up being too late to check-in to our flight (even though we were through security and in line at Starbucks before our flight actually left) and the car ended up with some new rims. Sorry about that, Seth and Jen. We actually considered running down a shoddy hill and climbing a chain-link fence to get to the Orbiz next to the freeway. "Can we call a cab and ask them to pick us up on a freeway on ramp?" Oh, dear. Moral: print our your boarding passes before you get to the airport so you can make a run for it, and leave early enough to accommodate popped tires and broken jacks.

At least they didn't charge us and put us on the next flight a few hours later. The rest of the trip was great--even when Michael and I borrowed my cousin's car and drove around the city. Its time like that when I really miss the Utah grid system.

The Harpers whisked us straight to a winery--always a good idea after a stressful morning--and we sat outside in the eighty degree weather. Michael was supposed to be arguing about punctuation in a meeting and I was supposed to be giving a midterm, so we were in rather good moods. Unfortunately, Michael and I did not have a picture where we both look good at the same time on our whole trip. This picture is a Michael fail. 

 

We made it to Muir woods right before it closed. Yes, it is strange that woods can "close." This tree was about 2000 years  old. Whaaa?

Sarah fail. 

 

On the way to Alcatraz.

Lovely, isn't it? I can't imagine how cold it must have been at night. The prisoners would sleep on their elbows and knees to save body heat. Gah.

 The Harpers came to Alcatraz with us! Dick had never been. I guess it takes a tourist to show you the city.

 Ok, this one is actually pretty good. Although, I'm not sure when I got pregnant.

We met my Uncle Dean and his family at the SFMoMA and all relaxed at the sculpture garden. Everyone tried to convince Michael that the San Fran weather was always eighty degrees and clear. 

 The next day Michael and I walked along Chrisy Field and saw all the dogs--there are more dogs that children in the city. I think this shot could probably be on a brochure somewhere.

 Extreme Sarah Fail. I told you there weren't any good couple pictures. Maybe I could photoshop in a new head. I like my new bangs, but there supposed to be sweep-to-the-side bangs, not in-my-eyes-promoting-a-grimace bangs.

San Francisco was lovely. My only regret was that we had to go home. Thanks family for hosting, transporting us to the airport and saving us from grad school for a couple of days!

A musical mystery

Don't you think Ben Folds is secretly a Dr. Seuss character?
 

 

PS- this is my favorite Ben Folds song right now, if you care to listen.

It's Amanda's BIRTHDAY!! Woooo!

 This was Amanda's birthday a few years ago. It would be nice if we all lived in the same place. Maybe we could have a Skype party.

There are lots of ways to commemorate Amanda's birth. I could simply mention all the things that remind me of her (hippos, onion goggles, pig tails, stretchy sweater jackets, Oscar Wilde paperbacks, fresh flowers from Lee's, black necklaces, Batman, pretty hands, looong sentences, class notes with random words that have been traced over multiple times, big paintings, slip-on sneakers, midnight poetry, and pajama pants that are too short), or talk about how much I miss her, but I'd rather just say thanks.

Thank you Amanda. You're my secret weapon against the world, because I talk to you in my head all the time. You always give me great advice, by the way. I think one of the best things about you is that even though you're pretty responsible and all that, you never lost your imagination. So when I talk about something that could happen someday, like getting married or reading more Russian novels you get all excited. You're all filled with genuine happiness at the thought of me reading. a. book. That's crazy...and wonderful. You're my favorite person to plan and dream with and I love telling you good news, because I think it really makes you happy. Well, I'm touched by your caring about my life--it means a lot. I honestly think you would be embarrassed if you knew how much I talk about my "best friend who's in this super cool toxicology program in NY" (usually to strangers).

Anyway, I'm really happy that you were born and that we ended up living across the hall from each other. I can't wait to see you, I hope I'll get to this Christmas, eh? We'll have to walk through a cemetery, for old time's sake. I'm so proud that you like me. Love you.

 PS-I have a million pictures of you (in most of them we both look ridiculous). I picked a few.

 

 

 

Bed-shmed

I thought I would share this video from a few weeks ago. Michael and I were just eating chocolate chip pancakes in the shape of Starwars figures (as usual), when we discovered something...

I know he's a little hard to see, but his little face is so cute in the last frame.

Jump! Jump! (Part 2)

Second case study: Beach trip with Mandy

Michael is horrible at taking pictures with my camera. He's actually shockingly bad. When Mandy and I were on the Oregon coast last year, waiting for the rest of the group to finish exploring, we decided to have the perfect jumping picture. But, we asked Michael to take it and this is what we got. 

 PS- look at Mandy cheating, trying to get some height on me by using the curb...

Every time, Michael? Really?

This is the best one. Pitiful.

I tried to show him how it worked, so Michael replaced me. And then, out of nowhere, Michael did some sort of aerobic drill team move.

 

Michael tried again after my lesson, assuring us that he'd get it if he just had one more chance. This is what we got:

Look familiar?

We began to look for a different tactic--jumping off a picnic table. Genius! 

Yeah, that totally worked.

And thus concludes my jumping picture series. I hope all of you fail too.

Jump! Jump! (Part 1)

I watched Mrs. Doubtfire last night (I know, I'm radical person) and was inspired by the party scene where they listen to the '90s classic "Jump Around"--you know, while the goat eats the cake. Anyway, I remembered a blog plan that I had about six months ago, when my friend Mandy and I tried to take a jumping picture.

I hate jumping pictures, they're so cliche and totally trendy, you might say.
Well, go away because this is my blog. Also, you probably can't jump. I'll now offer you a comprehensive guide to jumping pictures.

The best part of the jumping picture is when you miss it. Face it: that slightly squated pre-jump position is not flattering, the hair-in-the-air landing shot isn't anyone's best look. More on that later...

My sister and I have completely mastered the self-timer jumping shot. Although, she sometimes looks like a baked potato. Rusty's good at it too.

PO-ta-to! Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew.

I got good at jumping in France a few years ago, see my header thing for a good example. I offer you a few case studies. Here are Derek and I, killin' it:

And now... Jackson, staring at the ground like a raging doofus:

And now... Jackson, completely blocking Derek and I.

Because this is turning into an unnaturally long post (I guess I have a lot to say about jumping pictures), I'm going to end it here and offer you a new case study next time. Here's a preview:

History Changed

I'm a GTF this year, so I'm teaching two discussion sections, running reviews and answering (a bazillion) student emails. As a side note, when did students start emailing so much? I probably sent two emails as an undergrad. Anyway, I was reading through the new edition of Gardner's Art Through the Ages, an Art History 101 mainstay, since I start teaching next week and found something I'd never seen before. It's new to me, but it's oooold.

The professor I'm working for is great. He may or may not have given me a B one time on a paper, but I forget that (well-deserved) outrage when he starts teaching. This is the 30+ time he's taught survey, but he obviously loves doing it. Who wouldn't want to tell people about paleolithic art for the first time? You get to start your first lecture with the words "Millions of years ago..." I'll probably never teach this class, since I focus on Modern/Contemporary art, but I sort of wish I got to.

So, I'm going to teach you, blog reader, about the new-to-me statue that was discovered a few years ago.

Human with feline head, from Hohlenstein-Stadel, Germany, ca. 30,000-28,000 BCE, mammoth ivory, Ulmer Museum

Did you get that? 30,000 BCE. Considering that Michelangelo was painting the Sistine Chapel only 500 years ago, that's really old. 

There are still traces of pigment, so it was probably painted red...and the rest is a mystery. I will say though, this had to be important to someone, since creating it required hunting and killing a mammoth and then toting the statue around (it's about one foot tall) as you moved from place to place around Europe.

This is certainly not the oldest work of art, or even the oldest one we've discovered--there are a few incised lines on stone and one carving that may represent a face--but it's a rather exciting discovery. More importantly, I learned something new today. Sometimes I think I should take off to Southern Europe and start exploring caves. Brad would come with me, right? We could search for stenciled hands and herds of bison. Plus! I could be the historical expert on the Nova or the History Channel program about our discoveries (which is the ultimate goal, really). Paleolithic cave paintings, you know?

School is cool

It is raining on my skylight in little bursts. It gets almost too loud and then moves to the front of the apartment. It's more like a car wash than anything else--like the apartments moving through the shower.

Welcome back to Oregon, welcome to school.

I have a very important back-to-school announcement. I bought boots. I've been looking at them for over a year. They weren't even that expensive, I just can't technically afford anything right now since I'm barely breaking even each month. But, in the spirit of back-to-school excitement and my resolution to not eat out for one month (excluding lunch with my department folks...that's networking right?) I  bought them. They're winging their way to me via Amazon Prime at this exact moment. Wish me luck.

They're pretty.

In the spirit of not being able to really afford anything, Michael and I booked our plane tickets to San Francisco to visit the fabulous Harper family, see my parents, introduce Michael to the city and soak up some art. Less than a month! Here are a few picture from past San Fran fun. It's one of my favorite places.

 

Oddly, right now I'm most excited about the traveling part. Michael and I have never flown together and we always end up driving separately. Travel buddies!

Well, I'm starting school tomorrow. I bought a notebook and am taking a plant to school in the attempt to disguise the fact that my office is actually a cement block. So tomorrow, I'll be on the bus with my tennis racket (for my tennis class), a plant and the knowledge that I have boots coming my way.

So, even though pretty much everyone has already been in school for about a month, I'd like to say happy first day of school!

Style and Stuff

 Due to a little Huffington Post-ing and New Yorker-ing last night, I discovered the Honorable Daphne Guiness whom everyone is calling a "style icon." She just put her clothes collection on display at the F.I.T in New York (check it out here).

I have to say there is something strangely fascinating about her and I can understand why she inspires some enthusiastic fan blogs and is consistently referred to as a chameleon--I've watched enough America's Next Top Model to know that that is a good thing. I think all the fan sites should focus more on the wrapping than the person--why do they never talk about who she's wearing? The designers are the artists. I suppose she could be a muse...


As an art historian, I read a lot about "artist's muses." Unfortunately, the muse/lover/model is the only role women have in art history until pretty recently. After reading about all these muses though, I'm a little unimpressed with Daphne Guiness. She's heir to the Guiness fortune, and the daughter of a duke (thus the "Honorable" title). Although she did have an affair with the French philosopher Levy--a must for a muse--and left the homestead to do something rash when she was very young (she married a Greek guy, who her parents disapproved of), she's just soooo rich. I'm a little sick of the struggling, eccentric artist cliche, but it's a little easier to believe a commitment to art (fashion in this case) when you have to first quit your day job. I think it's possible this "Honorable" woman gets away with her choices because she has a fancy title and no budget cap. I know fashion is expensive, but I'm reminded of my favorite "muse," the Baroness Elsa who broke the rules of fashion and art.

Elsa Von Freytag-Loringhoven hung out with the German and American Dadaists in the twenties and thirties in Europe and New York. Really, Elsa and Daphne aren't so different: fancy titles, affairs with French philosophers, young marriages and abandoned families. But, Elsa used to collect her favorite garments from the NY streets and create her own, fantasmic, outfits--she was a Dadaist herself. My favorite of her accessories was a canary hat, with a live canary, but she also wore a tomato soup can bra (before Warhol was born, I might add), teaspoon earrings, lots of black lipstick and a bouncing spring, which she hung from her hip and let swish. She also once shaved her head and covered it in laquer (which is cooler than the Frankenstein wife doo, I think). The Baroness had hundreds of lovers, escaped arrest multiple times and made the stuffy French expatriots thoroughly uncomfortable. Her advances may have inspired Marcel Duchamps' returning to France--she also may have suggested that he try using a urinal as art. Hmmmm...

                               Elsa died under suspicious circumstances in a Paris apartment in 1927 after going a little crazy--like a good artist should. :)

Perhaps any blog post, that requires me to pull out my class notes from last year won't be to interesting to you, blog reader, but I'd just like to think about the woman with the tomato soup bra as the true "style icon," not the rich heiress who buys other people's soup bras. Then again, I just spent more time looking at Daphne Guiness pictures...