The Fixed Image

Vital Air

2010-05-22T08:30:00.000-07:00

The birds are chirping happily, thinking it's still early morning...it seems dark out for 10:00am, but that is only because a light storm is on the way...I'll light a candle and enjoy my time on the mat...breathing deeply and slowly...with intention, with the freedom to release anxiety...releasing the mind from thought, thereby allowing clarity...and I'm thankful for being here, now.

Away I go...

2009-12-07T06:23:00.000-08:00

I'm off to China to meet up with my husband, and explore a part of the world I never imagined I would see. We are starting in Beijing, then moving south to Kunming and up through the Sichuan-Tibetan highway to see Lugu Lake, Chengdu and Xian before we return to Beijing to fly home. I have a particular interest in the Mosuo people around the Lugu Lake area, which are one of the precious few matrilinear societies in China. The lineage of the family is traced through the women, which is unusual, and women make many of the household and financial decisions. There is also an interest in gender balance, as opposed to the prominent male bias in Han culture. Go Mosuo!

Powerful Woman

2009-11-27T07:36:00.000-08:00

I recently finished reading "Infidel" by Ayann Hirsi Ali and, although I have passed this book on to another woman, I know that it will cross my path again someday. Ms. Ali was born into a traditional Islamic family in Somalia, and spent much of her youth trying to adhere to her ascribed religious beliefs despite the abuse and oppression she experienced as an inherent result of being a female Muslim. A major theme of her experience was an internal struggle between what she felt she was "supposed" to do as a proper Muslim and what her gut an her intellect were urging her to believe instead. She eventually fled to Holland to escape an arranged marriage, and worked her way through the refugee system to a seat in the Dutch parliament. She lives under a constant threat of death because of her outspoken views on Islam, the Qur'an and the gross mistreatment of women under this umbrella of religion. She's also made some really striking observations about the difficulty of integration of immigrants and refugees into Dutch society, also linked to religious beliefs. My understanding is that she advocates for a dissolution, or at least a major shift, in Islamic belief.

I don't pretend to have a very firm grasp on the principles of Islam, or the Qur'an (I've had enough trouble with the Bible...) but her book resonated with me because of the clarity of her voice and the way that she demystified her life growing up Islamic. She was told she was worthless, she was stupid, she was just a woman (less than a man) and should submit submit submit. Through all of that, through beatings and civil war and female circumcision and arranged marriage, she still clung to her own voice, her own reason, and saw that women and children were being relegated to less than second class citizen status.

I am a middle class white woman who grew up in the USA with reasonably stable parents who shuttled me to Catholic school for 9 years. I have nothing in common with Ms. Ali beyond being a woman and being a citizen of this world, really. I am intrigued by her life story partly due to the concentration of the Somalian community in Minneapolis that I have no insight into. As a woman of my somewhat commonplace background, I feel compelled to seek out a purpose for myself: how do I contribute to this world? What difference am I capable of making, what do I want to stand up for?

2009-10-29T15:30:00.000-07:00

"Smoke Poem"

I will wake up eventually
and my eyes will rub from black to purple to blue,
if only there could be a little sun
or a bit better dreaming.

Steam is rising from my arms,
out of my mouth,
off the tails of cats and the slop of leaves.
It's got nothing to do with no one.

Giving Grief

2009-06-22T12:09:00.000-07:00

I've been working a lot more in the past month or so...the semester ended in early May and I needed to supplement my income somehow. I don't know if I will have a class in the fall or not-admissions are looking rather bleak lately, what with (can you guess??) the recession. I'm so sick of that word and that concept. But, despite my grumblings, it is having it's own direct and personal impact on us all, so who am I to complain? I got a second serving job, which seemed like a good idea at the time (money money money) but ended up being an unexpected test of my patience and self-worth.

Ch-ch-ch-changes.

I should backtrack a little. I did not go to college and graduate school to wait tables. Granted, I studied in the fine arts, which in a sense is it's own abstract death sentence, but my gut has always told me that I will not fare well psychically in a traditional job. I did once have a cubicle, and I spent the bulk of my time making a 'zine and abusing the free coffee cart. So. I have had pretty steady adjunct teaching jobs for the past three years, which has been such a great blessing and equalizer. I've always served part time when I'm teaching to bring in a little more green, because teaching isn't like winning the jackpot monetarily. One thing it does afford, however, is some measure of legitimacy socially, and a little bit of ego padding in a subulture that prides itself on being entrepreneurial and creatively dynamic. I have an office...I have office hours even...I have a roster of people who look to me for guidance and critique and support. It's a big girl job.

Serving, no matter how lucrative, doesn't carry with it the same kind of esteem. I guess it doesn't need to, even though it takes a lot of skill and finesse to be a good server. A lot of people who eat out don't realize it, but their server probably has an entire cavalcade of pursuits and endeavors that have nothing to do with how they make the bulk of their money. I understand that it is a very American concept to view that how you make your money is also how you identify yourself (and your self-worth??) A server doesn't necessarily have any training (I learned on the job in the beginning) and somehow that translates into a position of disrespect and even a tinge of cruel harassment. I've had people that I'm serving ask if I'm educated, where I went to high school, what I want to do when I grow up (ugh...), if I can count high enough to seat a table of 9. People huff and puff and use me as their social punching bag if the kitchen is out of something they wanted. They glare at me when I smile and greet them. They grab my arm to look at my tattoo. I become a kind of public property, without my consent. Serving is far more socially complex that it initially seems-you have to be able to read people, to multitask, to predict the future, to deliver disappointing news in such a way that doesn't disappoint, to maneuver awkward questions that aren't appropriate, you have to jump through hoop after hoop after hoop, like some kind of bedraggled circus freak. It gets even worse when the people behind the scenes are making it just as trying for you as the people in your section. When your head chef throws a piece of ham at you, thinking it's a cute move on his part (nevermind the absolute breach of any kind of professionalism, comraderie aside...) and then you stagger up to your table only to have the man ordering from you act like a total nightmare and to tell you that he's just "giving you grief" as if that is supposed to alleviate the irritation that has already twisted your shoulders into a knot and set your jaw like iron. "Giving grief." It's a very revealing phrase, because it's dramatic and personal and totally unnecessary. When I go into an establishment or an office or a department, I don't feel the entitlement or desire to give someone a hard time. I do not go into my guest's job and give him grief. Why is it acceptable to treat servers like this? Especially when they are being cordial and efficient and helpful? Why is the kitchen in turn treating the server like some kind of ragdoll, without a shred of respect for our mutually linked and stressful jobs?

The bright side to all of this is that I can be compensated sometimes around $50/hour for all this rigamarole. I can make in 3 days what some people make in a week. I can take a week off and not be penalized for it through my vacation or sick time (which, by the way, doesn't exist) nor do my benefits suffer (because I have none through my job!!)

Teaching, however, sets up a completely different set of social circumstances. There is order and a title and a classroom and deadlines decided by you. It's tough to move within the two worlds: server and teacher, and even more difficult to try to maintain a sense of your own adult identity.

I recently had an interaction with a woman that left me a little shaken in terms of my identity. I was waiting tables on a Sunday night, and everything was going well, when I had a two-top that included a woman whom I know from my time in graduate school. We didn't know each other super well, but she knows my photographic work, and she seems to like me well enough. When I greeted her table, she looked really surprised and remembered my name, and immediately blurted out, "What are you doing here?!" It really stunned me, because with those few words she immediately communicated to me so much more, so much dealing with her thoughts on what someone like me should and shouldn't be doing. Serving, to her, seemed beneath me? Serving meant that I was amounting to, well, not much ($40 an hour thanks.) I looked at her for a beat, and replied, "WORKING." I mean, what the hell else could I have said? The rest of our time together passed just fine, mostly because I made it so, but she did proceed to ask me if I still had time to make my work. I don't know if she is of the belief that every artist just finds money in the mail or under their shoe or in their paintbox, but she seemed REALLY shocked that I had to work to make my life happen. It's been a real effort to get over that sting, because even though I scoff at her ignorance and insensitivity, there is some validity to the idea of not doing what I would like to be doing, or at least getting paid for it.

Since I am serving so much, my body is getting beat up a little more, my fuze is a little shorter, but I'm trying so hard to keep a full and balanced life. I'm finding new ways to leave the grief at the restaurant, to shake off the stupid and invasive comments I field on an almost daily basis. I'm reconfiguring my free time to work for me, to bolster those little dark pockets of my mind that might be left bruised by working a double on Father's Day. I think if I can learn from this, even if I never have another teaching job again, it will help me set me course to a richer place. And I don't mean richer as in cash, although that would be nice.

Sweet Thief

2009-03-30T06:34:00.000-07:00

Last night I was listening to a radio piece about art heists, and the speaker was explaining how the thieves aren't the suave, handsome characters from film, but rather look and act like regular schmoes. He insisted that these people don't "wear baklavas and smoking jackets..." and I thought, "Baklava wouldn't be a very sophisticated disguise." However, given further thought, a burglar disguised as pastry is a concept I can endorse...it's genius, the height of deception, and delicious!

Potat-owl

2009-03-23T09:55:00.000-07:00

While I was peeling potatoes to make a curry this weekend, I found this growth in the last potato. I'm not a big believer in religious images popping up in oil slicks or french toast like some more fervent people, but this is my equivalent. It's a perfect owl!! I have a mild owl obsession that started in my childhood. I was completely infatuated with Greek mythology, and I had a particular affinity for the really kick-ass goddesses like Athena and Artemis. Athena's animal is the owl, and one of my favorite incarnations of this was Bubo, the mechanical owl from the movie "Clash of the Titans." The character Wall-E kind of reminds me of Bubo in mannerism and aptitude for bumbling cuteness.

I recently remembered the character Archimedes from "The Sword and the Stone." I'm not a huge Disney fan, but this movie was part of a pocket of time when the animated films were quirky and odd and far less slick than today. I loved Archimedes crusty, fussy attitude, and I would imitate his voice to the best of my little-kid ability.

It's kind of embarrassing that I'm posting about owls, but it's probably time I admitted it. My husband gets a little spooked when I bring in more owl stuff, but it's fairly rare nowadays. I did have a really intense dream months ago that I was walking in a forest with a talking owl. I guess that's an indication that the animal is a part of my totem. Owl medicine is connected to communicating wisdom and guidance, and I value that. Plus, they are such physically interesting animals, both eerie and charming. It's written that the owl is the messenger of death; not necessarily actual, physical death (!) but a dying of a part of oneself to make way for new growth.

Old man winter is a big fat hobo

2009-02-22T10:14:00.000-08:00

So....winter. Do you have a minute? Can we talk? Come into my office....

I get it. It's cool. You can't help yourself. You just feel compelled to dump snow, and blow shit around and freeze over so that I literally slip OUT of my car. Hey, I know somebody's got to do this job. But could you stop begin such a *dick* about it? Please? That little snow emergency prank you pulled was really cute, but I don't have $200 dollars floating around to spend on a tow fee. Are you going to work an extra shift for me?

*sigh, eye roll*

February, I know I posted about this last time. But man, it's a painful month. I'm really anticipating some birthday celebrating this coming week. I just have to get through a shift tonight and a critique in class this week before I can go into party mode. I think lots of people need an excuse to play lately. Whenever I see friends, there is always a weight that keeps us trudging along, shoulders slumped and brows furrowed. Times are tough!

However, I was reminded of something last night that takes the edge off:

Now see if you don't giggle a little bit.

Most boring note ever.

2009-02-15T21:18:00.000-08:00

February...not a terribly exciting month, even though I was born in February. The weather is so complicated, so dreary and contrary. The snow is melting and I can start to see all the litter that my neighbors have left like gems to be slowly revealed. Yuck. How does a whole cupboard full of snack bags end up under our pine tree? Could it be the same way that the fish heads wrapped in newspaper (?!?!) ended up by the fence? Who litters anymore? Haven't the PC police infiltrated every demographic of America by now?

Gotta take the oldest cat to the vet. Gotta drink more water. Haven't seen most of my girlfriends in ages. Somehow my bangs have grown over my eyelashes in a week. My husband and I have a surrogate Valentine's Day dinner planned for later this week. Good god what else. Off to dreamland...

NSFW: Christian Bale might flip on a dude, but at least you can dance to it?!

2009-02-03T08:20:00.000-08:00

(Warning: bad, bad language)

Things that happened in NYC on our trip

2009-01-27T16:04:00.000-08:00

-saw the Marlene Dumas show at MOMA
-refused to roll around at the Pipilotti Rist installation. I'm not a dirty hippie.
-dog-watched from a bar while everyone else drank whiskey in the afternoon
-ate a delicious banana cupcake
-watched a woman barf in a terrible Irish bar in midtown, check her hair for remnant puke, and then shake some dude's hand
-reacquainted with a high school friend-of-a-friend who owns a gallery in the Meatpacking District
-saw the William Eggleston retrospective
-ate oysters with Rob, Emily and Scott (*they were much better than the ones I had at the bull and oyster roast in Maryland in 2001)
-walked and walked and walked in the cold cold cold
-had amazing brunch with friends in Brooklyn
-ate slices of pizza late at night so I could keep drinking
-had vivid dreams while sleeping on air mattresses
-had a romantic cab ride with Rob in the upper East side
-thought that I saw Maggie Gyllenhaal walking in the East Village with a yoga mat under her arm, but it probably wasn't her
-spent time with some lovely, sweet, generously accommodating friends
-had to wear so many layers of clothes that I felt like I was wearing a fat suit, or like I was that kid in "A Christmas Story" who "can't put his arms down!!"
-was eating dumplings when the plane crash landed in the Hudson
-split a bottle of champagne with Emily-it was fun having it at our end of the table!
-fell even just a little more in love with my husband

Modern Interpretation

2009-01-12T14:32:00.000-08:00

Portia and Tim as somewhat inspired by Reuben's Sampson and Delilah

Snow yo.

2009-01-12T14:23:00.000-08:00

It's snowing so oppressively outside that I can't tell where the yard ends and the street begins. It's impossible to drive without fishtailing and it's necessary to go at least 25 mph slower than usual. I've camped myself out on the couch trying to sort through some paperwork before Wednesday. I recently got offered to teach a photo class last minute at CVA, and I need to work out my syllabus before Rob and I leave for an impromptu trip to NYC this week! It will be so great to get out of all this snow, if not the cold.

This has been a rich couple of weeks off, and I can't believe that the semester is starting up again so soon! I didn't think that I was going to be teaching in the spring, so having a photo class is a nice surprise. I've been reinvigorating my work over the past few months-many things are still in the formative stage, but I have such a righteous studio space now, that I feel completely enabled to create and think and play around. The one thing I really need to do is plan a studio party so I can christen the space with some champagne and dancing!

Back to syllabalizing. (Not a real word) That is, if this snow day doesn't send me to dreamland.

Thoughts on your dancing feet OR a history of steppin'

2008-12-20T08:58:00.000-08:00

I took ballet classes as a kid, just like every other fairly privileged girl. I recall being slightly older than my classmates, and therefore taller, slightly more awkward, and definitely alienated. I loved the class-I had no potential or aspirations to be a ballerina (as a kid I thought I wanted to be a comedian, and worshipped Whoopi Goldberg, Eddie Murphy and Richard Pryor.) Being in that group environment, with the warbly strains of some classical melody piping into the studio, I could transport myself away from my vocabulary quizzes, my chores, my bullies and unmade bed. Dancing was like being in a trance, and until I became so sick that I had to drop out of class, I was basking in my dancer's high.

I abandoned dance, and most athletics as well, in my teenage angst and aversion to competition and anything organized. It was around this time (early high school...um, the very early 90s) when I met my best friend Ginny. She had two older sisters who carried her into the world of downtown clubs and mix-tapes and grunge and all those mysterious and cool scenes we were starting to dream about. Because of Ginny's access to cool, and because of my friendship with her, we started to "go out dancing." I write that in quotations, because going out dancing is never just that. It is always a mish-mash of preparation, the thrill of pulling up to the club and hearing a song you recognize, of watching the seasoned dancers and finding your own moves, of slowly integrating yourself into this new community. The club we went to was called "Visage" and it hosted an all ages night (we were only 14-15!) The DJ's were spinning music from the 1980s to full effect, and that's where I was introduced to The Smiths, New Order, Depeche Mode, and on and on and on. Orlando had a a particularly interesting dance scene; I joke now about how it was so goth, and it was, but there was a mix of rave, trance, new wave in there too. It wasn't enough just to stand on the floor and shuffle your feet around-you had to embody the music somehow. Yes, I did learn from a lot of goth/industrial dancers. There was a lot of twirling and bowing and kicking and fake praying and all that (not by me-I could never fully commit to goth. I think my own dancing inspiration is triangulated somewhere between a Muppet, Saturday Night Fever, and Twyla Tharp.) It was time when you could smoke indoors, and people were always dancing with a lit cigarette, so you always had to watch out for enthusiastic gesturers. I lived to go dancing; Ginny had found a surrogate for the ballet classes of my youth, except with better music (arguably) and only optional leotards.

By the time I was in college, I was still seeking out dance nights. I was living in Columbus, Ohio, which surprised me with it's small yet concentrated community of artists and music. I would go to one club in particular, and dance until my shirt was sticking and my hair was plastered with sweat. The whole vibe of the place reminded me of Visage, and the spell was only broken when 2 am rolled around and the abruptly turned on the house lights and told us to GET OUT. That was around the time when I learned about the disenchantment of appearances and the glamour of the dance floor. Nobody was ever as attractive as when the house lights came on, myself most of all. After college, I went back to Orlando and Ginny and I were really hitting our boogie stride. In my memory, this was the era of Barbarella (now called the Independent Bar) and the crystallization of our dance club identities.

We would go 2 nights a week; I was nursing a difficult and complicated break-up and Ginny was declaring her independence from her (then) husband, so we both really needed an escape. We would get there early to secure a booth for the night, and over time we got familiar with the door guys, the bartenders, and the regulars. There was the tall, adorable, possibly gay guy who really threw himself into the music, the squat, aging goth chick who always looked like she was auditioning for Macbeth when she danced, the middle aged man who looked like he got lost on his way to a carpet sales convention and had one move only (that consisted of stepping from one foot to the other, always in the same rhythm, regardless of what song was playing.) We eventually made friends with some of them, and I particularly enjoyed crushing on the cute boys that knew what to do with their feet. I never pursued the crushes, because the idea was always better than the reality.

I eventually moved to Minneapolis, and lost my dance nights. There didn't seem to be any club that played the right music, drew the right people-everything seemed like prime meat-market opportunity. Since I wasn't going dancing to get groped, I had nowhere to go. Only in the past year have I found a good dance night, and someone to go with. I've tried going to Too Much Love, but it seemed like it was stuffed with these young kids who had never gone out dancing before, and didn't know what to do: they either just stood there, preening in the center of the floor, or they overcompensated and danced beyond capacity (undoubtedly after too many Sparks.) There was a lack of understanding of the dynamics and flow of the dance floor, and these kids seemed more interested in being seen than moving. The current dance situation seems to embody both the greatness of my dancing youth and the irritation of a current lack of experience. There are people who literally plow their way into the middle of the dance floor and then just stand there. Is it stage fright? Temporary parylization? Bad manners? There are people who get too drunk and fall over, people who keep their coats on all night, people who dance with their hands in their pockets and therefore leave their elbows out for others to bump into. There seem to be an unusually high concentration of men who like to make a running commentary of how my friend and I dance. We've been dubbed as interpretive dancers and choreographed maniacs. Granted, we can get a little over the top, but it's out of a love of the situation, and a desire to milk that night for all it's worth.

What I don't understand is the kind of posessiveness of the floor that seems to exist nowadays. That, and the tardiness of some dancers to the contemporary dance experience. My best example: Pulp's "Disco 2000" comes on and a herd of boys in their pseudo-NYC-Interpol-come-lately-quasi-dandified gear rush the floor like they are at a soccer match and basically thrash around pumping their fists into the air. NOBODY else can dance when this is happening, and it seem intentional, but it also seems a bit behind the times. I mean, that song, while totally danceable and fun, is old news. So why the mosh pit? Is it because these guys are relatively young, and are still freaking out on their dance high too? What about the girls who don't ever dance a step, but keep a hawkish eye out for every other girl on the dancefloor? It crushes the joy of the night, and getting your foot impaled by someone's stiletto (that they can't dance in) gets tiring. There are a few throwbacks to what I'm reluctant to dub the "old days" but I guess it's really true. Certain dancers who know how much space they should take up, how to really get into the song, and how to do it with style.

Baby, you were born to run. (Thanks Boss)

2008-11-23T20:22:00.001-08:00

I've just recently started getting into running, which is something I honestly never thought I would do. I've always been tall and athletic, and I probably would have made a great cross country runner, but I always had so much pressure piled on top of me that I rejected a lot of sports when I was young. I was also anorexic, which made exercise a conflicted issue, and I vaguely recall one instance where my mother had to carry me off the field at a meet because I fainted. Pretty sad stuff. I started exercising again a few years ago when I was trying to deal with my boyfriend at the time being gone on tour most of the year. It was great therapy when I had a troubled student in my class the first year I ever taught photography. Working out was a way to be totally distracted and still be in touch with myself in a way that I never really understood before. Running, however, was still off limits.

Well, many things have changed in the past few years, and I've seen my mother take up exercise and even start to train for a half-marathon. My husband of 6 months wakes up at 5:30 in the morning to run before he goes to school. I still exercise regularly, but running? Mysterious...tedious...painful! I tried running to and from the gym last week, which resulted in sore ankles and a runny nose (it's too cold to run outside.) A few days ago, I got on the treadmill and ran a 13 minute mile. It wasn't as hard as I thought, and the rush that I got just knowing that I was doing something that I hadn't tried since I was a teenager was surprisingly thrilling. Yesterday I ran for almost 2 miles straight and it RULED! I was sweating like a hog, bright red in the face, hair stuck to my forehead and neck, but I felt completely in tune with how far I could go, and how harmonious my body could be. My hope is to run indoors during the winter and start running in the neighborhood when the weather permits again.

I attribute this newfound freedom to the safety and love that I get from my husband, friends and parents every day. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Yes, we can!

2008-11-05T12:12:00.000-08:00

Rob and I voted first thing in the morning yesterday. After getting through the line in less than an hour, he went to school and I went on a long walk with my lovely friend Erika. I've been fighting off a nasty cold, but I was determined to stay up for the results and to hopefully hear an acceptance speech to remember. Rob and I were both stunned at how fast the results poured in, and how quickly Obama's lead over McCain grew! I remember being in Florida in 2000 when the election fracas was in full swing, and I was worried that there would be attempts to gum up the works this time too. We went to the Bryant Lake Bowl to have a beer and listen to our new president speak, and the whole experience was so moving, so thrilling, so awe inspiring. I felt a particular jolt when he announced Michelle Obama as the first lady, and I shouted without even realizing it. I have no better words now than "THIS IS SO NECESSARY, THIS IS SO WONDERFUL!" I feel so heartened and inspired to be an American today, and it's not an experience that is familiar. I acknowledge that we could be in situations far worse, but here we are, on the cusp of a tragic and embarrassing presidency and on the verge of what I hope will be a progressive and healing time for our country. And *bonus* no more political ads on tv! I hope that all of my friends and family are feeling as gratified and optimistic as I am today.

Girls on film

2008-10-14T14:35:00.000-07:00

There is some new work on my website http://www.ellenfitzgerald.net from this summer. It is tentatively titled "Away With" until I finish editing the images and statement. Please take a look!

Honeymoon Part 3

2008-09-03T10:19:00.000-07:00

Venezia! The Floating City

The last leg of our trip was spent toddling around Venice. It was only by the time that we arrived there that I realized all three of our destinations were water based cities. I found Italians to be all-around awesome people: good looking, chic, friendly, laid back...I guess it doesn't hurt to live in a place that is so freakishly picturesque. This photo doesn't really accentuate the unusual minty green color of the canal water, but the color of the city in general is really luscious.

An example of the beautiful ornamentation that can be found just about anywhere. There is a heavy use of lion motifs, which are sometimes winged and really appealed to the mythological nerd in me.

The palette of the city.

We made a brief stop in some of the more touristy spots.

Italian sky rats.

The zodiac clock-you can see where the sun is in Gemini. Duuuuuude.

Some of the marble work at the Governor's Palace-I wish that I had been able to photograph inside, but it wasn't allowed much. The Palace was a giant complex that was part dungeon, part palace, part baroque gallery, part court. It was one cavernous room after the other, with walls covered in dark wood, gold and intricate portraits of dozens of governors (who were the equivalent of the president? Grand Poo-bah? Ryan Seacrest?) sitting in the clouds with the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. It was so heady and over the top-it felt like a period piece film set.

The courtyard of the Palace. This must be where all the chill backyard hangouts happened. You know...something low-key.

Venice was plastered with Carnivale shops selling really gaudy masks-of course I had to photograph the unicorn mask.

We opted out of taking a gondola ride. It was outrageously expensive, and there was plenty of cheap and accessible water transportation. Besides, I didn't fancy the idea of being on display trying to have a "romantic" moment while every tourist within throwing distance is photographing like their lives depended on it.

Other things we did in Venice: saw the Peggy Guggenheim museum which is in her old villa on the Canal, drank Prosecco at 2 in the afternoon, had dinner in an amazing little cramped restaurant that no tourist could ever find on a map, saw a ton of art, walked miles without realizing it...it was a brief flash of the city but it was a lovely end to our trip.

Honeymoon Part 2

2008-08-22T14:11:00.001-07:00

Crucial Croatia

We spent most of our trip in Dubrovnik, Croatia, which is one of three preserved medieval cities in Europe. The plane touched down in an airport hidden in a valley, and our ride into the city unfolded into a ridiculous view of sea and sky. The city itself is a white marble walled-in fortress.

The view from our apartment.

Dubrovnik is a steep place-lots of winding stairs and crooked walls. Best of all, it's practically covered with tropical plants. Nearly every home has a pergola, and everything is in bloom.

Here's me getting winded on some wack staircase. It just kept going and going. I need to stop for a beer, please.

A view of the city from the walls. You can take a 1 mile tour of the fortress walls which really gives you a bird's eye view of the layout of the area. I've never seen so many terracotta roofs in my life. There is a good chunk of the city that is still very much under renovation after being bombed during the Serbian-Croatian War.

It was the World Cup while we were here, and Croatia was kicking ass and taking names. It was cool to walk to down to the bar and watch the game-you could literally hear a unified victory cheer throughout the entire city when they scored! Then you hear what I think was the national anthem...over and over again with dudes zipping by on tiny motorcycles getting wasted and just freaking out. The girl in the photo had a Croatian flag painted on her cheek, which is somehow cuter than getting drunk on a motorcycle.

Robert plunging into the Adriatic off of Lokrum island.

A beautiful maritime cemetery in Cavtat.

Rob and I drove to the top of a nearby mountain for a dinner made "under the bell" which describes a local food prep method: basically they take whatever meat you want to dine on and cook it for 4-5 hours over smoldering embers covered by a (yup) giant metal bell. You have to call a day or so in advance, which Rob did, and was presented with a list of potential meats we could have. We chose the lamb, since we figured it would be a bit more local (no beef or pork....nowhere....not that I really care that much, because ~duh~ we are in a seafaring town and I love seafood) When we arrived at the mountain top, we found a sweet little patio and a server in full native dress. She kept suggesting dishes and we just kept saying yes, because we didn't know any better and we didn't want to be rude. All of it was delicious: local meats and cheeses, brandy, "salad" (shredded lettuce and tomato-how I was longing for some spinach and tempeh and such!) and then a massive platter of our lamb with potatoes in what basically constituted a stick of butter. IT WAS AWESOME! High five Croatia!

A view from the mountain after our infamous dinner.

One of our day trips was to Montenegro, which borders Croatia on the east. I believe it translates to roughly "Black Mountain" which has a distinct metal appeal, but it was a very discomforting and emotionally draining day for me. This whole country seems oppressed, whether financially or politically, and is sorely underdeveloped. Even the weather was bleak: a kind of half-hearted overcast sky, a slight drizzle of unconvincing rain, a breeze that often fell flat. We eventually stopped for lunch and I had the most depressing bowl of spaghetti and meat sauce ever. Really, did I come all this way to sit in some strip mall and eat this slop with a bunch of surly locals? Where's the interesting local specialty? Where's the charming waterfront cafe? Where's the freaking booze already!? Bitching aside, we did stop and see some ancient Roman mosaics dating 300B.C. on the drive home which gave the landscape a little context.

Miljet! Whoo-hoo Miljet!! (pronounced Mill-yet) One of our last little hurrahs in Croatia was to take a 2 hour boat ride to Miljet island for a sleepover. It's basically a giant national park, and we were restricted to a few areas, but it was so quiet and beautiful that it didn't feel restrictive. We rented a scooter and traveled all over the place, which was seriously the best thing ever because we were all alone on this green island just humming away under the blue sky and bright sun. It's one of my favorite memories of our whole trip.

While we were on our scooter, we passed this elderly woman at her roadside shop and we pulled over to check out her goods (the food and drink goods I mean. Ew, stop it. I know what you're thinking. Ew.) She had bottles of homemade brandy and wine for sale, and by that point we had finally learned the words for wine and brandy so we could communicate with her. She had the gnarliest hands I'd ever seen, and all her liquors were bottled in used water and juice bottles. It was nice to have this encounter since so much of our time had been spent in relatively touristy spots, where everything is prepackaged and orderly. We went back to our room to make dinner and get relaxed with our backwoods-peasant-lady-moonshine.

Easy summer fishing on Miljet.

There really were an endless supply of great sights on this leg of the trip. I didn't even get to the feral cat population, the squid incident, the monastery with the bomb hole, the Serbian-Croatian war crimes photo exhibit (WHOA), the ice cream proliferation, the bar on the rocks right on the ocean...But! I will leave you with this: a photo of a sunbather's butt. You're welcome!

Honeymoon, part 1

2008-08-18T20:29:00.000-07:00

So, I've been sitting on a recap of the honeymoon for a few months. Ultimately, I think that this sort of trip is essentially a private experience, the first few weeks spent as husband and wife, and I'm sure nobody wants to hear the lovey-dovey details. But I do bet that people would be into seeing some of the amazing sights from all our destinations.

AMSTERDAM

It lives up to the legend. Everyone rides a bike there from scrappy little kids to wobbly old ladies. I was immediately struck by how different the biking culture differed from the USA: everyone rides nice and slow, and they almost all ride cruiser bikes, so they sit upright and have the most amazing posture. I think I saw one rider with their pant-leg rolled up...everyone else was wearing cute outfits and the coolest shoes.

Cate, cats, cats! Amsterdam is replete with cats! They are under every nook and cranny, they are silky and sedate, they are AWESOME! I was in heaven, however Rob did find cause to poke fun at my desire to photograph every single street cat we came across.

The famed Vermeer light.

We were staying very near the Jordaan, and passed this doorway each morning. Nearly every house we passed had flowers bursting from the front entrance. The effect is that you feel like you are tip-toeing through some amazing secret garden every time you turn a corner. Another weird fact: Amsterdam residents feel totally ok with leaving all of their front curtains open. And since a lot of housing is on the street level, you have a bird's-eye view right into their lives. At first it's unnerving, and you feel like a creepy American tourist, but after a while you find yourself envious of all the cool interior design.

The Nationaal Monument (no, that's not a type-o)

Crazy Dutch pigeons do this.

Herons on the canal.

Rob caught me mid-bacon-and-apple-panakoken glory. God, that was a brilliant moment.

Even the dogs are amazing.

Getting tranquil on the canal.

The time that we spent in Amsterdam was really peaceful and lazy. It was possible to wake up late, stroll down for a coffee (espresso, actually...boy did i state to miss 16oz cups of coffee) and just walk around the neighborhoods until the sun set. We had meals at a different spot each day, and took lots of beer breaks. The energy of the city put us at ease, and it was especially fun to rent bicycles and cover some new territory.

You give me (Cabin) fever.

2008-08-17T20:32:00.001-07:00

My grandparents-in-law recently offered me the use of their cabin for a girl's trip, and I a group of 7 of us went up last weekend for some badly needed partying and bonding. As the school year is approaching, and I'm getting totally burned out on serving, I really wanted some time where I wasn't staring balefully at my piles of books and notes and all the tedious Power Point presentations I've been fussing over...I needed a lot of laughs, nature, sleeping in, and just a touch of booze. Growing up in Florida, I never experienced the "cabin culture" that is so deeply ingrained here in Minnesota, and I don't think I've ever quite appreciated it the right way until this trip. Portia, Jenn, Kelsey, Kristina, Helen, Erika and myself really maxed out on the pontoon boat, the quiet of the lake and the trees, and all the cocktails we could mix up.

Everyone smile and say "Pontoon boat!"

Righteous mermaids.

Kelsey would not want me to write about the time when she wondered out loud if a bottle of beer would float in the lake...because it's full of liquid, right?...and then tossed a bottle into the water. It sank. Actually, a lot of beer was spilt that weekend. Just a little sacrifice to the party gods I guess!

hhrrmmmmm....yesssss.

A couple of dudes were paddling around the lake and asked us to tow them back in to shore. Jenn told them that they looked like they needed the exercise. Well, it was true! Sorry, but how hard is it to paddle a stupid little boat with your legs? Do they ask their girlfriends to carry them when they get tired of walking?

There were gorgeous ladies relaxing everywhere!

Things got a little silly, but it was fun to turn off the responsible woman part of our brains and act like little kids. We did speculate on whether or not guys get so ridiculous when they go on similar trips. Do they talk about their periods synching up, and banning all "feeling fat" talk, and getting in touch with, you know, their feelings? Do they have dogpiles inbetween margaritas and a game of "Apples to Apples?" They should!

Thank you girls, thank you for making it the best weekend in a long time!

Ahhh...the surprising vegan treat.

2008-07-07T13:20:00.000-07:00

When Rob and I first started dating, he was sticking to a vegan diet. I had dated vegetarians before, but never a vegan, and I was a little leery of diving into it, seeing as how I try to subsist on bacon alone when I can. (I was a rebellious and inexperienced vegetarian for years, and was done in by a BLT. Sorry, ethics police, but it's my vice.) I quickly found out what an exceptional cook Rob was, so I was excited to see what kind of vegan cuisine he would be whipping up. One of our first hang-outs involved him making me beet soup, which was sweet because it was healthy and a lovely scarlet shade, and DANG, no guy had ever made me soup before. It was a new beginning for us, so I figured I would venture into unfamiliar territory and try making a vegan dessert. I've had a soft spot for baking ever since I was young, and I decided to make a vegan chocolate cake with homemade strawberry icing. I was completely shocked when the cake not only turned out, but tasted light and delicious, and not remotely like cardboard or...i don't know...bran. When I brought my triumphant cake to a backyard hang-out, I was hoping to impress Rob, and I think I not only impressed him, but the rest of the group. It was GOOD!!! As that summer wore on, I tried more and more vegan recipes, eventually honing in on cupcakes and an occasional carrot cake. I'd like to think that my vegan cupcakes are famous within our little social circle. It's such a rush to see someone's eyes light up when you tell them that there are cupcakes to be had, and vegan nonetheless. We have a lot of friends who are very conscious of their diets, and vegan treats let them party too.

Last night I got the baking prerogative, and i made some chocolate cupcakes with peanut butter frosting. Totally vegan, totally awesome. We got a mechanical pastry bag for a wedding gift, so I've been luxuriating with that instead of having to slop my precious frosting like a bricklayer. When Rob got home from work at 4am, and kissed me as he crawled into bed, I could taste a little chocolate-y, peanut-buttery goodness in his smooch.

Please stop when you should.

2008-07-02T14:08:00.000-07:00

Today I was driving home with Robert behind a car that ran over a cat and didn't stop to deal with the aftermath. The woman driving the car clearly saw the animal streaking through the street, because i saw her tap her breaks. I can't be angry that she hit the cat, because it sort of came out of nowhere, but I think it's disgusting that she kept driving on. I watched that poor beast convulse and writhe on the pavement and die in a pool of it's own blood within 30 seconds of her speeding off in her posh sedan. Rob called Animal Control, and I couldn't help but sob against the steering wheel. I don't think the cat had a collar on, so who knows who the owners are or if they will ever find out what happened to their pet. It didn't look like a stray: it looked sleek and well fed. I hope that driver feels like shit for not stopping. I hope that if she has a pet at home, she takes better care of it than she did of the animal she killed.

Bachelorette Bacchanal

2008-07-02T07:06:00.000-07:00

My girlfriends know me well enough to know that I couldn't bear to have a bachelorette party decorated primarily in penises. Nor could I ever envision myself stumbling downtown covered in a sash with a cheap tiara dangling on my head soliciting people for dollar bills while I throw lollipops at them. (Although it is funny to imagine just HOW DRUNK I would have to be to do that.) I count myself lucky to have such stellar ladyfriends, some of whom flew from the opposite end of the country to be with me for my wedding.

Virginia has been one of my very best friends since the first week of high school, when I volunteered to carry her books across campus due to her injured foot. It was a rare moment of outgoingness for me, and I was richly rewarded with a friend who grew from a chatty, headstrong girl to a fiercely loyal, steadfast and nurturing woman. Ginny was my maid of honor, and the first and only person that I hoped would fill that role.

Kristina planned my bachelorette party, which involved a ridiculously delicious dinner at The Red Stag Supper Club followed by dancing. This photo doesn't foreshadow the kind of windmilling, booty-shaking, sweat-flinging that occurred later that night on the dancefloor (it kind of sounds like Ultimate Fighting, yeah? Instead of dancing? Well, we take our dancing VERY seriously.)

As the evening wore on, Portia and I started to feel...pinker.

My sister-in-law Elizabeth and I had never gone out dancing together before...and it looks like we are using Jazzercise as our inspiration.

Eventually we cleared the bar out with our high-kicks and whirling dervishes. Portia invented a dance that gracefully channeled a drunk guy throwing punches (no photo available, unfortunately.) It felt so awesome to have the space to move like this, and the privacy to act like little girls at a frantic slumber party, plus booze. (I swear, someone handed me a cocktail every 10 minutes!) But, despite all the boozing and bumping, I made it to the next morning sans hangover.

True Love Will Find You In The End

2008-06-25T21:43:00.000-07:00

The knot has been tied, fancy style. We are back from the honeymoon and slowly getting back into the summer swing. I have photos and a little bit of commentary to share, but it's going to have to wait.

"Love seems the swiftest, but is the slowest of all growths" -Mark Twain

2008-05-28T14:31:00.000-07:00

An engagement of 14 months is finally winding to a sunny finish. Every piece is falling into its place. Everything that needs to be said has been said, except for our vows, and soon we will have those under our feet and at our backs, carrying us forward to this new passage in our lives.

Soon.

2008-05-18T21:43:00.000-07:00

The wedding is coming up very soon...in less than 2 weeks actually! I've been laying fairly low, which has been a pleasure of sorts since the weather has finally turned sunny. It's been so dreamy to just open all the doors and windows and lay in the grass, to work in the garden and bike around as much as I care to. But I do feel a certain responsibility to cloister myself in a way, to try to cultivate a sense of peacefulness and calm. I suppose that it's a kind of ritual, since my family has no real prepatory rituals of their own. I mean, I'm not traveling to some distant hill to sit in a tent for a week with my female relatives and weaving tapestries or anything (unfortunately.)

I've had a lot of people ask about the event, and it's nice to have people be excited for us, but I am a little disturbed at how many people ask me if I'm having second thoughts. That question strikes me as particularly ruse and prying, as if they expect me to wink and whisper, "Yeah, I'm actually leaving him at the altar! Our little secret!!" I know people like drama, but the truth is, things just aren't terribly dramatic. We have had over a year to plan the wedding, and it's been very easy and natural, I think because we are really ready. I think if I had agreed to marry any of the people from my past, it would have been a struggle to get to where I am now, surely impossible. There is a boundless hope that I feel as I enter into this marriage, and I'm surprised to see how it is affecting me emotionally. It's honestly a little scary, which I know sounds contradictory, but a part of me simply cannot believe how terrifically fortunate I have found myself. My mom confided to me that on her wedding day, she was apprehensive because she was in disbelief that someone could actually love her enough to commit themselves to her. I must have internalized some of her disbelief, though thankfully not all of it, not all. I have had my share of painful relationships, ones that ended messily, and lingered with me for a long time. When Robert and I met each other again, and began our relationship, I think I was on the brink of a huge personal transformation, and he was just the right element to push me into a larger, brighter world.

Yes, I just blogged about my cats.

2008-03-11T06:59:00.000-07:00

My allergies are hitting me full force...I feel like my face is one giant congested nose. I suspect the cats. And even if they aren't the culprits, they are driving me absolutely batty with their cat antics: constantly warring and and tumbling and leaping from one piece of furniture to another and shredding anything they can get their hands...er...paws on. If only I could let them outside to chase birds and be terrorized by squirrels and climb all the trees in the yard. This uneasy transition from winter to spring isn't going to last long. That snow had better melt soon, if it knows what's good for it.

Birdie, voicing her displeasure at being stuck indoors.

Gretta, a graceful old dame.

A tense truce.

A modern dance piece

2008-02-29T08:12:00.000-08:00

i am materialistic and it's really fun!

2008-02-28T15:25:00.000-08:00

okay, not to get all showy up in here, but two very beautiful objects have recently made their way into my life. the gorgeous blush colored bag was my birthday gift from robert, who showed impeccable taste in picking out girly stuff while still staying cool and understated. the morning of my 30th birthday i wasn't feeling well, so he made me breakfast in bed (with sooo much bacon!) and snuck my regular purse downstairs while i was hiding under the covers. when i finally shuffled downstairs, i found my foul old bag hanging next to this killer satchel and i pretty much body-slammed him in joy. we met my parents for a nice dinner at la belle vie, but i still wasn't 100% and barely made it through the dessert course. i still had a wonderful day, but i'm wondering...is it stupid to want to cradle my purse all the time?

the shoes on the right are a pair of wickedly beautiful indigo colored heels from stella mccartney that are going to be the shoes i get married in!! i know they don't seem particularly bridal, but that's the point! i'm not wearing white, why would i want to go conservative? (no offense to the kind gentleman who tried to fit me into a pair of pointy toe platinum pumps, but...) i love the shimmery raffia blossom over the toes...who could blame me if i trip going down the aisle because i'm still dazzled by my fantastically adorned feet? (just kidding, i know my eyes will be tearing up as i see rob at the end of the long walk through all of our loved ones.)

DIRTY THIRTY

2008-02-24T19:49:00.000-08:00

I party, I party, I party, I party!

Butterfly-balloon, vegan-cupcake, candles-blazing, impromptu-danceparty-sending-the-piano-bouncing, crank-calling, bourbon-shooting, secret-telling, mega-girl-time BASH!

Thanks to all those lovely ladies who made my early 30th birthday party so rad, so rowdy and so memorable!

I <3 Conversation Hearts

2008-02-14T15:16:00.000-08:00

valentine's day is for the birds.

i was listening to MPR last night and jeffrey eugenides (author of "the virgin suicides" and "middlesex") was being interview about an anthology of love stories that he recently edited, called "my mistress's sparrow is dead." i tuned in at the tail end of the talk, and the interviewer was asking mr. eugenides if he was doing anything special for his wife for valentine's day. he replied that one of the reasons that he initially fell in love with his wife was because they both agreed that they would never celebrate this commodified holiday of something that should be intimate and meaningful. it was so funny to hear the disbelief in the interviewer's voice, and her insistance that CHOCOLATE AND FLOWERS MUST BE HAD!

(side note: jeffrey eugenides doesn't look ANYTHING like i imagined.)

i was in line at the drugstore this morning to buy some wax paper for making a vegan lemon meringue pie for rob (ok, i'm kind of a sap too) and the man in front of me was buying last minute gifts...and i use that word lightly. flowers, a stuffed...thing (i don't know...it might have been a dog, maybe a bear, definitely not something any adult should ever own) and a card. the man purchasing these treasures of the romantic spirit even declined to take an envelope to put the card in. *massive sigh* he scooped up some free candy on his way out. i wonder if the recipient of his offerings wouldn't have been happier to just get a handful of hershey kisses and a pinch on the cheek. when the cashier was ringing my wax paper up, he asked me if it was for baking. a reasonable question, but then there was this...

him: "i don't think people even bake anymore...i mean, most people can't even boil water."

me: "uuhhhh..."

him: "here, take some candy...since i'm not paying for it!!"

clearly, everyone was feeling cupid's arrows in there.

rob is singing at the Turf club tonight in St. Paul for "How Fucking Romantic" where a bunch of TC bands are covering The Magnetic Fields 69 Love Songs. i really do like my lovey dovey holidays with a little bit of irony.

besides that, he is making us dinner, after which we will give my vegan confection a try (no promises.) regardless of the day, i'm still getting all the love i could ever want from the most lovely man i've ever met. and i didn't even have to buy him candy!

I...Love...My...Jaaaawwwb.

2008-02-10T08:31:00.000-08:00

...and because i don't get to vent about waiting tables outside of work...i give you these little gems:

just because you call the new, hip restaurant and make your precious reservation, show up on time, and sit in my section doesn't mean that you are renting me for the 2 or so hours that you insist of sitting in your booth. believe it or not, it doesn't mean that you can grab my arm and make very personal inquiries about my life and my choices. do you know how many times i've been asked about the tattoo on my wrist? have you never seen a tattoo there before? is this 1950?! why do you always ask if it hurt?!! what's with the morbid curiosity? would you prefer that i respond, "well, ACTUALLY, it was so terrible that i lost a pint of blood and had to be rushed to the emergency room, and i eventually contracted Hepatitis C...so, how are your entrees?"

people who eat out: DON'T TOUCH YOUR SERVERS!! DON'T ASK THEM INANE QUESTIONS ABOUT THEMSELVES!! yes, it's a public job, but that doesn't mean that it has to become personal too. (*incidentally, a man did ask me last night if i got my wrist tattoo to display my machismo. who am i, sylvester stallone?! i also had a clever answer from a younger guy when i asked if i could get his table anything else.."yeah, do you have 1,000 dollars?" to which i replied, "hmm, well if i did i definitely wouldn't be standing here holding your dirty dishes." THAT one felt good.

i like my job well enough, but sometimes i just don't know about people. every once in a while you get a really lovely experience, but usually i feel like i'm walking a tightrope over a pit of morons and social imbeciles.

Persistent Vision

2008-02-05T14:49:00.000-08:00

Three weeks from today will be my 30th birthday. I feel surprisingly ambivalent about it...and I think that's probably a pretty good thing. To be honest, I've been too busy to worry about much of anything, least of all something I have no control over (I know, I know...I COULD always put myself in deep-freeze, but it's expensive!!) I've started teaching a new class and I am chin deep in wedding plans. I haven't been making much new photographic work, but the weather has been so dismal it's practically a miracle that I even wake up in the morning! I have been spending a lot of time researching calls for artists to put my work out in the real world, and I've been trying to rework my website so that it makes more sense.

Speaking of photos, I've been looking at older photographers, namely Lee Friedlander and Lee Miller. Both artists have a very particular eye that distinguishes them-lately I've found myself fretting over my own work, wondering what is going to set it apart and how it's going to endure. I still don't know the answer to that question, but I have the feeling people like Friedlander and Miller didn't entertain those questions very often.

untitled post of miscellaneous items.

2008-01-08T11:43:00.000-08:00

the whole new year's uproar has finally died down. thank god, because all of the holiday business was finally starting to lose its gleam. however, this was a particularly sweet holiday time for me, what with the upcoming wedding. my future in-laws are the loveliest people, and so thoroughly midwestern in the best way. their christmas eve was full-on swedish, which is a shocking contrast to the muggy floridian strip-mall christmases i had in my youth. but with all the comings and goings i was starting to feel exhausted and resentful of the people who still have twinkle lights in their yards.

tomorrow robert and i are going back to florida so that he can meet my best friend, who is going to be in our wedding in may. i'm excited to see her, to see green, to ride in a car with the windows down, to go dancing, to drag rob to epcot center...

even though i don't buy into the calendar new year as a definitive beginning and end of the cycles of our lives, i am excited for 2008. i'm getting married, i'm turning 30, i'm going to croatia, and also, i love the number 8. thank goodness for little favors!

didn't your mother teach you any manners?

2007-12-01T09:03:00.000-08:00

it's snowing unmercifully outside, and since i'm not going to step foot into the outdoors until i absolutely have to, i thought that i would write a little piece on a particular subject that has been getting my goat lately. (getting my goat? is there a better phrase that i'm grasping at? i don't talk like that...i'm not an 80 year old appalachian woman.) anyhow, i've recently decided to be a little more confessional in this blog since i'm sure the only people who read it, if any, are my friends, so they will indulge me for putting this kind of junk out there in the ether, or wherever it is that electronic ideas end up.

so.

when i was young, i thought that adulthood was this slick and intricately choreographed dance that people would just naturally know how to participate in. once you passed a certain age threshold, you just KNEW WHAT TO DO. and somewhere in all of this intrinsic knowledge lay the ability to go out in public (say, to a restaurant) and be able to conduct yourself with civility and decorum. (sure, i wasn't using these words as a child in prospecting my adulthood, but i really think i had the basic gist of it.) as i mentioned in an earlier post, i've been serving for years now, and i've seen some bizarre, confusing, hilarious, and terribly offensive things. most of the time, i'm not the target of any of this lame behavior, but in this past week i've had two incidences that take the cake. i ask this question: when did it ever become ok for people to forcefully grab the arms of their server? what part of going out to eat at a nice restaurant makes anyone think that they are renting an indentured servant for the night? what happened to the dignified and gracious manners that our parents tried to instill in us? essentially, why are diners so freaking crazy?

i'm asking this because i have been grabbed by the arm on two separate occasions by women this week at work. the first incident was with an overly aggressive woman who wanted me to take a photo of her family. (aside note: your servers aren't party paparazzi...it's super-annoying when people want you take their picture, especially when it's busy. i don't really mind doing it when the group is respectful and gracious, but usually it's a drag.) this woman had already demonstrated herself as being demanding and a little unpredictable, and she seemed incapable of politely asking for anything she wanted. rather, she would just kind of whine like a child who was on the verge of a tantrum. i had more competent manners when i was in grade school! now, i'm not passing total judgement on these kind of people...i'm sure they are great in their own respects, and they love and have people who love them, but it's almost like they go into panic mode when they dine out and their distinct awkwardness forces things to come out of their mouths that maybe they never intended. i digress. so as she hands me her digital camera, she grabs my arm and starts pulling me to the side of the table. i mean, pulling...like a frustrated dog own pulling their resisting pit bull away from the tasty mound of trash that they are nosing through. i was instantly so stunned by her actions that i started leaning away from her and tried to pull my arm free, but her grip was ironclad. i had the flash of an instinct to rip my arm away from her, but thank god i didn't or we could have had a problem. more idiocy followed with some really ignorant and rude remarks she made regarding the fact that i told her i was actually a photographer and could handle this little chore, but i won't get into that. the real issue that frustrates me is that she felt like she could grab me... i don't know if it's motivated out of a false sense of entitlement, or if she thinks we are conspirators, or if she just thought i was a blithering idiot.

and as luck would have it, i waited on a table headed by a gregarious and gravel voiced matron who immediately launched into grilling me about a football score for a game that was happening that night. i don't know what people think that chefs and servers do back in the kitchen of a monumentally busy and classy restaurant, but i'll tell you it isn't watching tv or listening to the radio. i have pretty much zero time to do anything but run my ass off. when i told her i didn't know the score, she just exploded into chiding me about sports and ended her tirade by GRABBING MY ARM. hey grandma! i'm not your snot-nosed little niece who you can manhandle and fling about like a rag doll. i'm actually a 6 foot tall woman who is 2 feet away from a pile of polished steak knives!! all jokes about violence aside, the whole experience was so exaggerated that i started looking at the rest of the table in confusion with a silent plea in my eyes: is this for real? will someone please rescue me? i don't consider myself to be a diminutive person, and i'm trying to figure out why people have been groping me so freely. maybe they just don't know how to behave, and by treating me like i'm beneath them equalizes the stress of eating out. i don't know. i'm many things: teacher, server, artist, lame party paparazzi....but i'm no psychologist.

i'll be back in the saddle tonight, and who knows what kind of crazy interaction i might have with the patrons. as much as i and my fellow servers gripe about these kinds of issues, it's usually entertaining to watch people just make total goofs of themselves. but i'm still hoping for the day when people remember that their server isn't a moronic auto bot, but a cultured and nuanced person with an outside life who doesn't deserve to be grabbed like a misbehaving child.

fictional conversation, actual cocktail.

2007-11-25T16:19:00.000-08:00

"...mmmmm....thish ish thuch a delithious daquiri. it isth thso chock full of sshtrawberries that i mutht drink it with my pinky out."

"yeth, yeth...itsth true. and not only thso fruity, but this bowling alley chaliceth isth thso heavy. isth it my turn to bowl?"

20% or more, or shame on you!

2007-11-25T13:19:00.000-08:00

i don't understand people. i am saying this from the perspective of someone who has worked in the restaurant business for a long time, and who comes into the weirdest, most awkward contact with tons of people. last night i had two particular instances which just left me shaking my head, and incidentally enough, they both happened within an hour of each other.

the first: i was hoping to use the restroom quickly in the middle of my shift. i went to the restroom hall, and knocked on the open door of a room, just to be safe. when nobody answered, i figured it was safe to go in. ( i mean, the door WAS open an all.) nope. of course not. naturally there was a guy pulling up his pants, in front of an unflushed toilet, ON THE PHONE!! who talks on the phone while they are using a public bathroom?! i mean, trying to pull up their pants! and then this bozo is sitting in my section. the rest of my interaction with him was decidedly bizarre, but i am pretty sure that he had no idea that i had just seen him indisposed. WHAT THE HELL?

and then: i have a table of four people (2 couples) who have brought a magnum of wine for their table. the cork just disintegrates as i open it, which is embarrassing enough. but they were nice enough, if a little pretentious. people sometimes have extreme difficulty controlling the bull that comes out of their mouths when they are in a dining situation. some people think it's funny to make jokes about skipping out on the bill, or leaving a bad tip, or taking shots at the server's intelligence . this table had one man in particular who seemed to be enjoying his food, but still felt like he had to tell me they might be sending something back to the kitchen. those kind of jokes are NOT funny to servers about 99.99999% of the time. after dessert, they shared two glasses of port, which i had described as a tawny (which is what it says on the menu, and hell, i don't know about ports. whenever i think of the word port, i think of the Swedish chef from the Muppets saying "port port port!" with his rad accent.) sooo, they get all worked up because they don't think it's a tawny port, and they try to engage me in some kind of "is it? isn't it?" debate (because they are IN THE BIZ...as one guy put it.) finally, they ask to see the actual bottle, to which i obliged them. usually, i'm able to grin an bear that kind of hoop-jumping, but i did get a little sassy with them. i guess it paid off because i was tipped $60 on a bill of $180. people are rarely that generous, and it seems that when you bend over backwards for them they tip you less than you deserve. but not this time, i guess.

port port port!!

my heart is exploding onto yours

2007-09-03T22:00:00.000-07:00

http://emichrysalis.co.uk/sigurros/heima/film/heima_trailer.html

a movie about sigur ros?! why wasn't i born in iceland?! i went to see them with my father last year, and it was one of the few shows i have ever cried at. and now a feature length film...am i going to be the sappy chick sniffling in the back row of the theater?

fairly

2007-08-30T09:25:00.000-07:00

i love to be scared and freaked out sometimes. that's partly why i go to the fair. observe:

i don't know...that was a little creepy on my visit to the fair, but at least i had a reserved seat. but then i saw this little gem...

i don't know if all that information is accurate. i'm pretty sure i don't enjoy dodging poop at any given time.

then i ran into this guy...and he tried to sell me a pewter and crystal unicorn statue.

then i found the american apparel photo shoot...

and then i adopted a bunny that wears more eye makeup than i do...

thoughts on the small and mighty

2007-08-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

although i am not a native, i grew up in the sticky swamps of southern and central florida. admission of the land of my youth is always met with surprise and a detectable note of revulsion. considering that i live in minneapolis, i guess i can understand why people are so shocked that i moved from florida (orlando to be precise, which is a double whammy.) over the years that i have resided here, i've found that minnesotans LOVE to camp, and they really have good reason to, especially regarding the northern borders. this is one activity that i haven't been able to relate to, since my family was decidedly not wilderness-bound while in florida. who in their right mind would want to throw their sleeping bag down in a sandy, red ant infested, flat, mosquito ridden forest; a landscape with no promise of glittering lakes or charming wildlife or rocky cliffs? i do remember taking some lovely canoe trips as a child, but it seemed kinder to just sleep in the boat rather than try to camp. alligators, anyone?

anyhow, this weekend, i think i passed my final induction as a certified minnesotan of sorts (after all, my parents are from here!) rob and i drove up to lutsen to camp with his sister and her best friend. rob's family is the sort that camp regularly every year, are NOT intimidated by yellowstone (nor do they confuse it for jellystone...) and are perfectly capable of cooking amazing meals on an tiny propane grill in the middle of the dark. this goes against everything i knew growing up. really, my parents and i even went out to eat on christmas eve. it's kind of sad in a way, because i never cultivated that humble sense of hearth and home. i think we ate out so much because we had no other family in florida, and my parents didn't socialize much, so to go out for meals was one way we integrated ourselves with the rest of the world. i think that rob was really excited to bring me into his environment, to show me the tents, lanterns, the rituals.

maybe it is because i have such limited experience in the wilderness, but there is something about being in the fresh air and surrounded only be trees and stars that rekindles a little bit of the fanciful dreamer that i was as a girl. i was the type of child who would stare into forests looking for telltale signs of unicorns and who would interpret unfamiliar markings in the backyard as evidence of a cavalcade or fantastic creatures. i did have two small experiences during my trip that satisfied my more romantic self. one was on the first day, when we were horseback riding in the hills. i saw a buck leaping into the grove of bushes just as i rode past. i know it doesn't sound that wonderful, but for a split second the willowy legs and white tufty tail of the deer looked like something more special. the second instance happened as we were packing up our site. i was scanning the ground for litter, and i saw what i first thought was a broken branch, but later turned out to be an antler. it hadn't been there the day before, so either something dragged it into our site, or a deer just pulled up to shed the horns and vanished. even though you aren't supposed to take anything from the campgrounds, i did bring it home since i didn't remove it from the animal myself. i have no idea what this object will be used for, and i really hope this doesn't signal a weird prediliction in me for tons of animal relic house decorations. yeah, if you come over, and you notice that i have a chandelier made out of horns or something, please pull me aside discreetly and punch me in the face.

“Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O sea! And I would that my tongue could utter the thoughts that arise in me”

2007-08-11T07:39:00.000-07:00

when i was 18 or 19, i remember randomly purchasing a copy of blind spot magazine, the fine art photo resource. i'm not sure if i had set my heart on the pursuit of photography in school yet (i did attend art school, but with the initial desire to be a graphic designer. it seems to me that the world has a comfortable supply of both designers and photographers, but i have to fit in somewhere!) anyhow, the cover of the particular issue that i got resonated with me in a way that i don't believe any image had up to that moment.

this image, or rather, this style of imagery, this mode of working...doesn't really look that contemporary anymore, but at the time of my first viewing, i couldn't get the awkward shape of the boys legs in contrast with the remote beauty of the seascape out of my mind. i think it was the first time that i had ever been able to readily acknowledge the poetry in a work of art, or at least in photography. people freely throw around words like "poetry", "lyricism", "beauty" and "history" when talking about any art in particular, but so often i feel that those words ring hollow, or function as blanket qualifiers for work that really isn't anything remarkable. it's no longer of such crucial importance that art embody the traditional ideas of poetry, beauty, etc. especially since really contemporary artists have taken work to a position where ideas trump objects. but i will admit that i like beautiful things, and if they can communicate something more emotionally stirring, then i think the artist has achieved something rare.

i know that people curate favorite things in their lives, and that those cherished items/idols wax and wane with age and experience. for example, when i was a child i adored bubble gum ice cream, unicorns and new kids on the block. now i can't imagine why i would want to take bite after bite of ice cream studded with chicklets, unicorns are still a vice and nkotb induces nausea. however, i feel that i can say that this image of the girl in the green swimsuit will remain a fundamental part of my love for the photographic image. I love the way that she is mirroring the birth of venus by botticelli, the way the the bottom of her swinsuit is still wet from the ocean, as if she has just walked out of the water, the way that the seascape looks like a painting itself. this is the kind of beauty that you don't grow out of.

3 cups of unicorn puree

2007-08-09T07:48:00.000-07:00

so, i was baking massive amounts of delicious treats last night and the power went out. well, everything on my block went down to about 10% power, and my regular old oven was reduced to E-Z Bake status. i was expecting a friend to come over and hang out while i worked, so i lit a ton of candles so she wouldn't think i had left. i think she thought i was trying to set "the mood" for her...because, you know, nothing says romance like a hot, muggy kitchen and tons of cupcakes in the dark. i abandoned the food and we went to get a drink. lucia's is close by, and we had a glass of wine, but i think we offended our server by not ordering food because he told us to "stay hungry" as we were walking out of the door. i work in the service industry and i've never heard that epithet as a standard for dining hospitality. but, you learn something new everyday i guess.

i see what i cannot see

2007-08-07T13:01:00.000-07:00

beginning to blog feels like trying to condense yourself into your most interesting and charming form to impress a first date.

despite the discomfort, i am going to give this a fair shake.

i don't have a particular agenda, although i'm especially interested in the arts: photography and music being my particular loves. do i think that having a blog is a vehicle through which to share information? maybe. do i think it's a forum for me to communicate with abstract forms? sure. is it an opportunity to shred binary solos? definitely.

i recently returned from a trip to the east coast: chicago, then on to nyc and philadelphia respectively. rob, cameron and i went to coney island one afternoon to see the wretched paradise for ourselves before it becomes condos, or and industrial park or a starbucks or whatever it is that developers are doing these days. we saw the midway, the concession stands, the skee-ball arcade...basically every element that seems to make this place repulsive and magnetic. it's difficult to imagine the glamour of it's history...i wouldn't be caught dead teetering around in heels and garters in that terrain. i felt like my shoes were constantly being pulled from my feet by wads of gum strewn on the boardwalk like seashells.

we eventually made our way to the beach, right up to the water's edge, and i made some photographs of bathers. rob took a photograph of me in the middle of my reverie. it's unusual for me to have an image of myself, since i'm regularly the maker and not the subject, but this image reminds me of my reverence for my camera, for the multitudes, for reineke dijkstra's "bather" series. i'm grateful to have this reminder of the grittiness and the loveliness of that day.