I just had a moment of real panic RE: not knowing what the future holds. Being in a temporary job which may or may not become permanent and interviewing (successfully? or not?) for other jobs and really just having no insight into where I'll be living in 3-4 months is exhausting.

I know I've talked about this before, and I know it's not a unique situation. Honestly, I'm grateful to be employed at all, for however short a time. I love my workplace, and I'm excited about the outside jobs that I'm applying for. That's a good thing, right? No matter where I end up, there will be perks and there will be sacrifices. If I leave Utah, I'm giving up a community that I absolutely adore, and a cause that I'm excited about, but I'll be (hopefully) gaining a permanent situation and new challenges (you know I love a challenge), and a new place to discover.

I know I'm being incredibly self-indulgent, but can you sympathize?



(photo- my house courtesy of Google Maps' wonderful 8-bit April Fools version)

Thoroughly Modern Millie

I can't get this out of my head today. I <3 Millie with all of my little heart, and Sutton Foster is INSANELY SPECTACULAR in this clip.

You know

Or at least you should know by now that I love a snarky New York Times movie rating explanation. Though the review for Battleship is bland (as, I suspect, the movie will be), that little blurb at the end does not disappoint.

"Battleship is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Because even against space aliens, war is hell."

Oh Maurice...

When I was a kid- probably seven or eight- and recovering from an event of unspeakable horror, someone gave me a a copy of Dear Mili, a then newly discovered fairy tale written by Wilhelm Grimm which was printed alongside illustrations by Maurice Sendak. I hated it. I'm not completely sure why. It was a combination of things, I think. This particular copy of the book had (and still has) the most bizarre smell; the story itself comes to a terrible, tragic close (which shouldn't be surprising in a Grimm tale that hasn't been manhandled by modern editors to make it more palatable); most of all, the illustrations were strange to me- full of symbols I didn't recognize or understand, full of religious references that seemed out of place, printed in muted colors that were unappealing to me at the time, with faces that seemed too realistic almost for their stylized surroundings, and noses that were just...massive. Even though I hated that book, I looked at it often.

As time went on and I got older and left certain things behind, I still returned to Dear Mili periodically, to wonder why it had been given to me, to puzzle over the pictures. As time went on, I started to dislike the book for a different reason- for the connection it had to that singular event.

Now, for whatever reason (probably shared history more than anything else) it's incredibly precious to me. I love the story of a mother's sacrifice for her child's safety. I love it for the idea that, even in war and darkness, there's a place where children can be safe, where they can be protected by individuals who are profoundly interested in their welfare. I love it for those illustrations that bothered me so much when I was young- for the imperfect faces with their beautiful noses, for the richness of symbol and for the soft colors that, at an appropriate point in the story, shift into tropical vibrance. Despite its dark end, there's something deep and sweet in the idea that, no matter what we've passed through, we can come home again.

I'm grateful for Sendak's unflinching treatment of difficult, even dark themes. As few authors seem to these days, he respected children and believed firmly in their strength and resilience. "Parents shouldn’t assume children are made out of sugar candy and will break and collapse instantly. Kids don’t. We do." (from TIME Magazine, 1988/12/05). I'm grateful for the generosity with which he shared his monumental talent and trademark wit with the world.

Running running and running running and running running

I just dropped a huge wad of money on real, honest to goodness running shoes. I figured if I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it in style. Oh yeah, and also in a way that won't injure me.

If sinking a lot of money into something isn't a good motivation to keep doing it, I don't know what is. PROOF. I ran two miles tonight. Well, about half ran/half walked. I'm still getting up to speed. When was the last time I ran two miles together? Like in a row? Probably never. Go me!

Royal blues

YES. This is so amazing. I never knew I cared about the Queen's color distribution until Vogue told me all about it.

The dangers of specialization.

I think my profession has poisoned my brain. I just changed my profile picture and cover photo on Facebook, then hid the changes from my timeline (stuff like that is boring and I don't think it needs a place). However, as soon as I hid those changes, I thought about someone in 80 years (or some distant future date) trying to learn more about me and what if they really needed to know when I changed the photos?! Now they'd never be able to tell!!!!!

These are the kinds of tiny details that are meaningless to us now, but contribute a lot to understanding a person.

As to why anyone would be trying to learn more about me, I have no idea. My thought processes are just twisted all around by archiving.

A startling realization has been sneaking up on me over the last year. I've been stubborn, refused to speak it out loud, worried that it might not be the coolest of opinions (oh wait, cool is one thing that's never really applied to me. Whew, guess I don't have to worry about that one). What is it, you ask?

I love Salt Lake City.

Like a lot.

Like heartbeatingfasteverythingseemsbrighter levels of love.

I don't know what to do about it.

Projects and things

I just started working on a Wiksten Tova top in a super lightweight gauzy printed cotton. I want a million lightweight shirts for this summer- I have a feeling it's going to be extremely long and burningly hot (like every summer in Utah, let's be honest).

Thinking of summer makes me dream of vacations. I'm trying to decide whether or not to join a group of friends who are planning to hike Hadrian's wall next summer (see my last post on my inability to make long term plans with an uncertain future staring me down).

Not much funny has happened lately. Sorry.

Also, go see John Carter- just because I actually feel sorry for Disney that it was such a monumental financial flop. Honestly, it's completely absurd, but still kind of a fun movie- old fashioned swash-buckle-y-ness...but with lots of CGI and lots of abs. If nothing else, do it for Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Yesterday I saw four mountain goats at work.

Today we're having a snake/safety/awareness training. With real snakes.

My workplace is cooler than yours, freezing cave notwithstanding. I'm just saying.

Also, can we talk about how hard it is to plan for the future when you have no idea where/if you'll be employed in six months? I want to take trips and accrue vacation days and learn stuff and buy a condo (preferably with lots of exposed brick and industrial design features so all of my frilly decorations will look more balanced). I'm learning a lot about patience right now. I think.

Am I crazy?

There's a bike shop in town that fixes up used/vintage bikes and resells them. I drove past last night and there out front was an exact replica of my happy little 1974 Schwinn Suburban, but instead of nondescript copper like my bike, it was a delightful shade of raspberry. RASPBERRY y'all. Would it be strange if I bought it and had two of the same bike?


(Mine looks like this, but with oh-so-shiny copper fenders. I do love it. Photo courtesy of Velospace.)

Midnight in Awkwardland

Today I went to the release party for Shannon Hale's new book "Midnight in Austenland"! It was so much fun! I don't think I've ever been to a book signing before...shocking, right? I went by myself, and it was at a tiny independent bookstore over in Sugarhouse. She told hilarious stories about filming "Austenland" in England over the summer, I somehow ended up standing sandwiched between her parents and her husband, there was an impromptu murder mystery game to be played while waiting for signing, and there were also secret prizes hidden throughout the bookstore- I found one! It's the German edition of my favorite book of hers- "Book of a Thousand Days". Maybe it's a sign that I need to ditch Russian and start learning German instead?


Then I was next in line and after spending my line-time thinking about what to say I stepped up and....couldn't say anything. WHAT?! It was like on that episode of Community where Troy meets his hero Lavar Burton and spends the whole visit not talking and running out of the room screaming when ovserwhelmed. Except...she's not even my hero, just an author whose books I enjoy, and who I think is really intelligent and hilarious and just generally kind of great. I think I just jinxed myself by thinking about it too much? And it was just horrible. She wrote something German in my "Das Buch der Tausend Tage" and she looked at it and said "I hope that's right!" and I "well, I won't know if it's not!" and sounded really ungrateful and then walked away awkwardly as she said "it was nice to meet you!" after me. Omg whyyyyyyyyy.



Anyways, I have my copy of "Midnight in Austenland" and I'm super excited to read it.

On a happier note, something truly charming and delightful happened when I first got to the bookstore and was waiting in line to buy my books. I saw the cutest thing I've ever seen. There was a family in front of me in line- two parents and a girl who was maybe 5 or 6- and she was carrying a book of photos of Gaudi's buildings in Barcelona, and she kept turning the page and saying things like "oooh we were there! How old is this building?" She wanted to buy it but her mom kept saying "but we have photos of all those bldgs from when we were there!" Eventually she gave in (who wouldn't give in to a wee squeaky little child begging for a book about great architecture?), and as the little girl handed the book over to her mom, she said in a reverent voice, "it's soooo awesome!". I almost died. I just wanted to eat her she was so cute. What small child cares about Gaudi? Weird and wonderful.

I just applied for a job posted by a group of museums/historical societies in PA. They're looking for a temporary cataloger for their textile collections. OMGAWESOME. It wasn't until I was describing this job to my Friday lunch group that I realized I may be the only person that gets giddy about a job like that. But seriously, how perfect would it be for me? Me, who can only think about textiles all. day. long. ITWOULDBETHEBESTEVER.

So...I posted a while ago about a review of the movie "Anonymous" (I would put a picture here if I cared enough about it, but I don't, so DEAL with a pictureless post), and I went to see it as soon as it came out here because, whatever, I love movies, OK!? And even more than movies, I love a good period piece. Y'all know me. Anyways, I just realized that it's been weeks and I've failed to say anything about it (and a million other movies), partly because I was just. So. Disgusted. by it.

So here's the thing. Hopefully you know a little bit about Shakespeare. And hopefully you know a little bit about alternate theories of authorship of his works. One of the most popular (and most perplexing and obnoxious) theories started sometime in the 1920s with someone who said to himself one day "well this Shakespeare fellow was lower class. And poorly educated. And so was his family. So there is NO possible way that he would have been smart enough to pen the most transcendent works of the English language. No effing way, man" (they talked like that in the twenties). So this man set out to figure out who else could have been behind it and came up with Edward de Vere, then Earl of Oxford. He was wealthy, he was smart, he was close to the royal family (well the royal person, Elizabeth didn't exactly have a family...), somebody said one time that he was a poet, blah blah blah, it must have been him!

Fast-forward about 90 years, and, despite the fact that 10 of Shakespeare's plays were not performed or published before Oxford's death (and they could not have been published posthumously because some refer to events that didn't happen until years after his death), the theory only continues to grow in popularity, supported and propogated by celebrities (and why not? they're famous, so that makes them smarter than us, righ?!), despite the best efforts of prominent Shakespearean scholars to debunk this piece of ridonculosity (Shakespeare made up words, so I can too. Werd yo.)

So all this was floating around in my mind before I went to see "Anonymous", but I thought I'd find a pretty good movie despite the absurdity of its premise. Unfortunately, I found myself unable to willfully suspend my disbelief and enjoy the movie for its own sake. Why, you ask? Because, as the film went on, that premise struck me as more and more offensive. What? I was offended by a movie?!?? Yes, apparently I'm not beyond feeling. Or something.

Anyways, what offended me so much is that this whole theory (and the movie that supports it- director Roland Emmerich has become a major proponent, and released with the movie, a documentary by his prodcution company and lesson plans to be sent to high schools so kids could learn about this hogwash) is based on the idea that poor/uneducated/obscure people cannot do extraordinary things. Can you imagine tteaching that to high schoolers? Oh hey kids, do great stuff with your lives, but probably just accept that since you're pretty average you'll never do anything better than average, and if you do, the credit will go to someone else, because who would seriously believe that a kid like you could do anything extraordinary? I don't know why this makes me so mad, but it just does.

Oh and on top of that, the people who made this movie and who support the Oxfordian theory of authorship probably mourned the recent loss of Steve Jobs, designer and entrepeneur extraordinaire, which strikes me as ironic because, like Shakespeare himself, Jobs' early life was rather unextraordinary.

And. AND...should I spoiler this? don't read any further if you don't want spoilers.

According to this movie, Queen Elizabeth was a raging wanton who bore many children who were farmed out to be raised in anonymity by her noble vassals. So she never knew who they were. So we find out as the movie progresses that Oxford had an affair with Elizabeth that resulted in a child. NOT KNOWING THAT HE HIMSELF HAD BEEN ONE OF HER CAST-OFF CHILDREN. WHAT:SODfao;sh;oqw??!~!orh;oh?!?!?!?!??!! Oh yeah and they had a kid together. So Elizabeth had a child with her son. HER SON.

I like to keep an open mind when it comes to history, but this type of historical revisionism, that drags major players down to the gutter without any supporting evidence is just disgusting.

UGH. What a frustrating movie. I actually almost walked out of it. For me to even consider walking out of a movie is...pretty extreme. It is classist, it is disrespectful, and on top of that, probably its worst crime is that it's just not entertaining.

Not. Recommended.

I'm moving to the North Pole.

So I've been applying for jobs. And sometimes I apply for jobs that are longshots, or in places I wouldn't really want to go, because hey, any job is better than no job, right? Or something. And as much as I say I would be willing to go anywhere, there are still some places that I don't include in my definition of "anywhere". Like China. Or Florida. New Mexico. Arizona. Basically any place that is too foreign, or where the temperature regularly tops 110 in the summer.

Anyways, I'm thinking about applying for a job (that maybe I don't fill all the qualifications for, but I've got most of them, and it's worth a try). But you guys, it's in Yellowknife, CA- that's in the Northern Territories. Still not sure where that is? Visualize with me-


IT'S PRACTICALLY IN THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.

Oh, whew, I just checked, it's a full 512 KM south of the Arctic circle. AND it's nickname is "Diamond Capital of North America". SOLD.

(Also, I'm counting on a disproportionately high man to woman ration. I like the odds of that.)

More NYTimes movie review ratings:

"'Jack and Jill' is rated PG (Parental guidance suggested). Poop jokes."

Classic. Needless to say, I won't be seeing this movie.

Sometimes...

Sometimes, when I'm putting my makeup on in the morning, I accidentally powder my eyeball instead of my face and it hurts. HURTS, y'all. And then I have to wait for the tearing and irritation to subside before I can put on my eye makeup. And then I lose time.

ALSO, I have these boots that I love. Just love. Today I wore them with tights. I usually wear socks as well. When I was walking out of the house, I noticed that one boots felt noticeably looser than the other. Then I realized I had only put on one sock. Did I turn around and go back inside to put the other sock on? Obviously not. I'm too lazy for that. I'd rather play loosey-goosey boot day than be normal.

Basically what I'm trying to say is that today is an all-around win. ALREADY.

Anna Bolena

Last night I dreamed that I was baking cookies or something totally mundane like that. Not that exciting, right? What if I told you that I was doing it in a modern kitchen, but there were tons of people around, and we were all dressed like it was the 1530s?

This is what happens when I watch opera too late at night. Btw, if you have even the slightest interest in opera, do yourself a favor and find a theater nearby that shows the Metropolitan Opera's performances. They. Are. SPECTACULAR. I've never left one feeling less than amazed. Even if, going into it, I think to myself "well, I don't really know this opera at all or like this composer, or the story just doesn't sound that interesting, but it's the Met so I guess I'll go", I'm always completely won over by the end. Completely.



Last night I watched "Anna Bolena", Donizetti's take on the story of Anne Boleyn. I wish I had something intelligent (ANYTHING intelligent) to say about opera, but I don't, so bear with me. I was mostly bored by the music in the first act, but the set was mind-blowingly clever, and the costumes wonderfully rich AND historically accurate (much more so than the opera itself). I can't help but be completely green with envy for anyone who works in the Met's costume shop. The level of detail they manage to achive (even when very few people will ever see the costumes up close) is really inspiring.

All that was well and good, but what really won me over was Anna Netrebko's performance as the beleaguered Queen Anne. By the end of the second act (when she has some temporary, heart-rending madness and finally bucks up, pulls her hair to one side, and heads out to face the executioner), I just wanted to throw my hands in the air and shout "Amen!" (you know, like the same way you feel whenever Mercedes sings on Glee, only stronger because it's so much better than that, and classier, of course, because it's opera :) ) Not only is she one of the best singers around, she's also an amazing actress (a skill which is sadly lacking in many singers).

Anyways, like I said, I don't really have anything super smart to say about it, except that I have a sneaking feeling that I just watched one of the best performances I'll ever see. Anywhere. In my whole life.

(But, let's be totally honest here, we all know the real reason I love watching these broadcasts is so I can crush on Russian Baritones, like Mr. Ildar Abdrazakov in the photo up there.)

Orcas are not people

Um...well...I don't even know what to say to this article(pause while you read it), except that I'm not *quite* sure training Orcas is the same as enslaving human beings. But it will certainly get PETA some attention.

(And while human slavery is still a problem, I think it's irresponsible to draw so much attention to something that, comparatively, does not matter)