A picture's worth... well, you know

I went to the Museum of Modern Art in New York over Thanksgiving weekend and I forgot how much more better images can be at communicating what you're feeling and/or thinking.

Got art?


[KEY:
Image 1: Shot of The Gates from last February. The idea of walking through some orange gates in the middle of a gray winter day didn't seem marketable or even exciting until I went. It was one of those gorgeously sunny, but brutally cold, days and it made the juxtaposition of the orange with the dead trees and snow that much more keen. Christo rocks.
Image 2: Jasper Johns, Map, oil on canvas, 1961. This one jumped out at me at the museum for a couple of reasons. First of all, everyone in my office has a U.S. map on their wall (it's the nature of our work) and the idea of having one that is this intense appealed to me. Also, I think its essential themes (upheaval, uncertainty) are as resounding today as they were then in 1961. Probably more so.
Image 3: Rorschach inkblot. If you've ever lay on you back trying to make out what that cloud looks like or tried to see a bunny or a duck, then you're doing really thinking about this little baby. The idea that the human mind can see thousands of images in this one inkblot is staggering. Sometimes you have to sit back and ingest how cool that is.
Image 4: I tend to like art that is calming (Image 2 notwithstanding) so almost every Ansel Adams photograph is high art to me. I wish that I would have had the bright idea to take a camera, tripod, and shitloads of black and white film out West to take pictures of some of the most awe-inspiring sites in nature. Adams genius is capturing these places in all their majesty, nothing more and nothing less.]

Going to the chapel

Here's the deal: my second friend from college got engaged last week. These aren't just acquaintances that I had a discussion section with but friends that I smoked with, drank with, and cried about boys with, who are now going to have "Mrs." in front of their names. Somehow when it was just one of them, it felt okay. Her and her fiancée had been together for three years, were living together, and had a dog together, so marriage was coming and that was fine. But now that there are two of them engaged, I have to start rethinking the logic of the whole marriage scenario.

Maybe it's because my own life is so far from that course that I find it impossible to even digest what marriage involves. Living with another person, having a joint checking account, splitting holidays between families, and oh yeah, WANTING TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIVES TOGETHER. There are very few people in my life that I like spending more than a few hours with, so the concept of together forever sounds a little far-fetched.

Ok, ok, now you're saying, "But Libberash, if you were with someone you would have a different view." To that I say,"No, fuck off." We've all been in serious relationships by this point in our lives and it just kills me that all of the sudden any serious relationship we have has to be on the marriage track. In fact, I know people who have broken up perfectly good relationships because neither of them were quite "there" in terms of marriage. Baby with the bathwater, much?

Before you take the image of a bitter, man-hating feminazi from all of this let me just say, despite all my reservations about getting married in general, my two friends that are engaged are truly happy. I mean sun-shining-birds-chirping-sometimes-you-just-know happy. So I, being the good supportive friend, am happy for them. Honest to goodness.


But don't you dare aim that bouquet at me.

What I'm not missing

So this might be premature, but I've been thinking about Thanksgiving. This will be the first time in my life that I will not be home for Turkey Day. With the brother and I both residing on the East Coast, our rents made the generous suggestion that we all break bread with our family in New Jersey rather than coming home. We both gratefully agreed so we could avoid the expensive flight, the screaming children, and the generally messiness that is O'Hare airport around the holidays.

The other thing that I'm avoiding (purposely?) is seeing people I know from high school. Not my friends from high school, mind you, because they're either not coming home or I just recently saw them. No, I'm talking about the official bar night at Prairie Moon where you arm yourself with interesting stories and a cocktail in order to prove that you have made a life for yourself outside of Evanston and that you've matured accordingly.

Descending upon the bar the night before Thanksgiving you see people that you either haven't thought about, forgotten existed, or have been morbidly curious since high school. During college, this was a time honored ritual because we were still mostly tethered to Evanston, for better or for worse. My friends and I were still excited to see these random folks and get caught up on their lives, but since my senior year, this has becoming an increasingly cringeworthy exercise. Are we really going to rehash that thing I did sophomore year? Or that guy that you dated? Really? That's what we're going to talk about?

Occasionally I see that person that I have lost touch with who I actually want to see, and we separate from the group and talk about real things that have been going on in each other's lives. Unfortunately I usually spend the night engaged in pathetic small talk or eyeing the cast of characters with a smug sense of superiority over those that I once deemed as "cool."

The best example of this was when I ran into my high school crush two years ago. We have known each other since fifth grade and I had "dated" for a month in seventh grade. (He dumped me because I was flat--was the joke ever on him!) I lusted after him all through high school: went to any play he was in, convinced myself that when he flirted with my friends he was just trying to make me jealous, and even hooked up with him a couple of times. I literally bumped into him and was pretty stoked to catch up.

"Hey!! How are you??" I hugged him hello.

Twenty minutes later and not a word in edgewise, I interjected.

"Oh, yeah you're going to move back here? That's great!! Well, you know I'm good too. I'm moving to DC, I've been dating someone and school is great, thanks for asking."

At that point I made a mad dash to the bathroom. Were you always this self-centered? How had I thought you were crushworthy for so long?

Want to know the ironic part? My friend told me later that she overheard him talking to someone else and he said that I was, "obviously trying too hard to prove I had moved on."

Well, that's just fine. Because you were always a horrible actor.

Happy Thanksgiving!

When I'm 64... I'll be cooler than my children

The Quizzo crew and I were pondering this today: how did our parents become cooler than us? How did these people whose mere presence used to send us shuddering and whose every comments were just another thing we were going to have to tell our therapists about, start leading cooler lives than us?

We all thought that our parents lives' rose and fell with our own, but guess what? They never did. They have hit the peak of the mountain. They're empty nesters, and empty nesters are like two silly kids in love but with one big difference. THEY HAVE MEANS.

Stick with me on this: you go through your teenage years, all angsty and acne-filled, but you have a lot of freaking freedom and very few real world responsibilities. Then you have your quarter-life crisis, where you try to find a job/career you like and meet someone you don't hate. You two get married, have kids, raise them, and then one day you realize you haven't bought a new shirt in five years because your kids have sucked you dry. That's okay though, because one kid is driving and the other one just got Bar Mitzvah-ed, and you slowly are able to start to focus on yourself for the first time in 15 years.

Then, one kid goes off to college. Sure, tuition payments are siphoning money off and the kid keeps telling you she needs "books" and "food," but hey, education means the possibility that she could one day be employable. The other kid's at home, but he's in high school and so the exchange of car keys becomes the only daily interaction you and your spouse have with him. That's fine, though, because you haven't had a this many nights to yourself since Carter was in office.

Then, something magical happens. One kid graduates and gets a job! And the other one is in school but the tuition payments aren't that bad because now you're only supporting three people instead of four, and even that is temporary. You realize you're married to a person you still don't hate and you have real world responsibilities, but you also have a fair amount of money because your empty nest years tend to coincide with your super-gainfully employed years.

So you decide you can travel more, you buy hybrid cars on a whim, you go to U2 concerts, all the while your own children, who are now employed but are suffering through their own quarter-life crises, wonder why their parents (now in their 50s or 60s) appear to have a much more satisfying and exciting social life than they do (in their 20s).

55 is the new 25, you heard it here first.

In this edition: Dell sucks, Bubba rocks and hangovers are usually worth it

Did you miss me? Nah, don't lie. Rebuilding your computer from the ground up is not something that I recommend. There is a reason that I paid Dell to install Windows and Microsoft Office when I bought the damn thing the first time. Nevertheless, here are the three important lessons that I have gleaned from this experience:

1) Patience is a virtue. It's self-explanatory, but important to remember when you spend two hours on the phone with Dell technician Jennie who has explained to you dead hard drives are her "bread and butter." Thanks Jennie, I feel so much better. 2) I am smarter than I thought I was. After a disasterous moment when I thought I had lost all of my papers from college (among other things) I saved my own day by finding a CD marked, "My backup 7/23/05." Big ups to Libby on July 23rd! She was awesome! 3) The sex mixes were saved! Copypod is the best thing to ever happen to me and it will have my eternal gratitude.

Ok, enough housecleaning. On to what you all surely want to know about: Little Rock. Man, that town is fun! I know you're rolling your eyes but if you want to go somewhere random for a weekend, I totally recommend it. Little Rock is desperate for your business. Come visit. Please. They'll won't beg you, but they'll come close.

So Thursday night, my co-worker and I checked into the Holiday Inn Presidential and found ourselves at the mercy of a young, Republican alumnus of ours. He showed us all the hotspots: The Flying Fish, complete with a Catfish Wall of Fame where I was forced to eat fried okra, the Capital Hotel where I smoked a cigar (!) and got plenty of those, "who-do-those-city-folk-think-they-are" looks, and finally The Cajun's Wharf, where we danced all night and harrassed the band into playing, "I Got Friends in Low Places." Thursday was just a warm-up for Friday's big event.

At 6:30pm on Friday, we entered Billy's House. The Clinton Presidential Library is amazing. Seriously, so freaking cool. I know some people say it looks like a trailer at night, but that doesn't take away from it's other great attributes. We had rented out the library for our group which was only 30 people, so we basically had the place to ourselves. It has the crisp and clean look of a new museum, plus everything is laid out really well. There is a full-scale replica of the Oval Office as it was laid out during his presidency, as well as a full-scale Cabinet room. Sit in his chair and not feel chills, I dare you.

My feet were hurt so much from a full day of activities that I took my shoes off and made myself at home as I moved through the museum. I read about the longest period of economic expansion in American history. I watched a puff piece video describing Clinton's rise to power (a obvious emotional ploy, but damn if it didn't work) and I read letters that everyone from Queen Elizabeth to Sheryl Crow had written the Clintons praising their family,their commitment to this country and their hospitality. I felt alternately happy for taking this walk down memory lane, and severely depressed at the fact that it was a memory. Leave it to Dubya to try and ruin even the Clinton Library.

Later, my co-worker and I did our best to ruin our reputations in Little Rock. That was easily accomplished by flirting with guys wearing cowboy hats whose girlfriends did not look pleased and by dancing flirtatiously on the stage at the piano bar to "Baby Got Back." I headed back to the hotel at 3am forced myself to pack for my 7:30am flight and collapsed...until 7:10am.

I managed to get to the airport and through security by 7:25am (the miracle of small airports), but my stupid flight had already pushed away from the gate. I was able to make my connecting flight out of Dallas, but I wore my sunglasses the entire way (yes, I was that girl) and that takes us to last Saturday afternoon when I was informed that my hard drive was dead.

Consider yourself in the know.

We interrupt this program

for me to tell my faithful readers (both of you), that the hard drive on my home computer has died. It was a sudden, tragic death that has me questioning everything: how did this happen? What could I have done differently? What will happen to my music? WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO MY MUSIC??

The answers to these questions, according to Dell, is there is no good reason it happened, there is nothing I could have done differently, and there is a possiblity that my music can be saved. (oh please, oh please, oh please!) So until I get everything set back up (I'm hoping to use my day off on Friday for this purpose), my posting rate will flag. I am blogging from work right now and it feels wrong. Only vaguely wrong, but wrong nonetheless.

I do have lots to share, so here' s a preview of what to expect when I'm back up and running: my trip to Little Rock, UPIs, and maybe a prelude to the holiday season.

In the meantime, technology can suck it.

AR-Kansas

Tomorrow I'm going to Little Rock, Arkansas for work. This might be my one and only chance in life to go to Arkansas, which is nice in order to keep my dream of going to all 50 states alive. As far as I can tell, everyone in Little Rock has seen the Clinton Library upwards of 100 times, and you are required by law to eat barbeque. My co-worker and I have been instructed by our Board Chairman (who is from Little Rock) to eat at a place called the Cajun Wharf and drink alcohol out of a mason jar. And we're going clubbing. What does clubbing in Little Rock consist of? Um, right, I'll get back to you on that.

And don't worry about the holidays this year--you're all getting bobbleheads for xmas.

Bubba-land here I come!