Just Deserts

I'm not really into vengeance. Or comeuppance. Or payback. I don't spend a lot of time imagining so-and-so really "getting what he or she deserves" or reveling in various displays of retribution. It's just too much negative energy. It's wasted emotion. It's sooo not world-warming.

This is not to say, however, that I don't love a little well-timed poetic justice. I mean we all have to eat some crow every now and then, right? And sometimes a little sugary-sweet humor really helps the medicine go down.

Tonight was the White House Correspondents' Dinner, an annual orgy of politicians, journalists and celebrities. Everyone gets skewered at this event, not least of all the President himself (and often by his own hand). Tonight President Obama demonstrated, as have many Commanders in Chief before him, that a sense of humor is an integral trait when it comes to leading the free world.

Obama took the stage to Hulk Hogan's theme song. He wrung every joke out of the ubiquitous "Birther" ridiculousness. He made fun of Fox News. He teased his wife. He was about as self-deprecating as a person could possibly be. He praised Donald Trump for being able to distinguish the talents of Meatloaf from those of Gary Busey: "These are the types of decisions that would keep me up at night. Well handled, sir."

And then it was Seth Meyers' turn.

Meyers roasted the various news outlets, including his own in spades. He mocked various 2012 presidential hopefuls, including Obama, Michele Bachmann, Tim Pawlenty, and Mitt Romney.

And then he got to Donald Trump.

Listen, I try not to get all overtly political in this blog. Especially since I spend much of the rest of my existence being pretty darn expressive about my liberal leanings. But I don't know too many folks on either side of the aisle who take Trump seriously as a presidential candidate. Do you? I mean come on...when asked about how he'd negotiate oil prices with OPEC, he responded:

Look. I’m going to look ‘em in the eye and say,  "Fellas, you’ve had your fun. Your fun is over."

Ah yes, the old "your fun is over" speech! Too bad no one else thought of that over the course of the last 50+ years. Shoot! Obviously, we've been going about this all wrong. Fuel-efficient cars? Multiple wars over petroleum? All completely unnecessary. Someone just needed to do some tough-talkin' with our good friends, the Saudis.

Done and done.

I think we all know that The Donald has been absolutely out of control this last week or so (and the media no better, for giving him so much attention). His interviews have been boorish and banal. His lack of reverence for the severity of our nation's ills is nauseating. His arrogance is staggering...even when compared to politicians in general (and yes, I'm including my own party in that comment).

I spent the week watching his news coverage like the colossal car-wreck that it was...unable to tear myself away, no matter how hard I tried. I kept hoping someone would trip him up...or really rip into him the way he so obviously deserved. But he would never shut up long enough to let anyone else talk. He insulted reporters and blathered on about The Apprentice. He was the only voice in the dialogue.

Until Saturday night. 

Although Trump begrudgingly played along earlier in the evening while Obama gave him a good, solid ribbing, when Seth Meyers got started? Whoa. I dare you to find a more picture-perfect example of "seething." It was a thing of beauty.

The SNL head-writer didn't pull any punches, leading with:

"Donald Trump has said he's running for president as a Republican -- which is surprising because I thought he was running as a joke."

Meyers proposed some GOP procedural tactics:

"Donald Trump owns the Miss USA pageant. Which is great for Republicans because it will streamline their search for a vice-president."

And commented on race-relations:

"Donald Trump said recently he has a great relationship with the blacks. Though unless the Blacks are a family of white people, I bet he's mistaken."

I couldn't breathe. My already-considerable love of Seth Meyers grew exponentially. Finally...someone was giving Trump exactly what he deserved...all while he sat there looking like an angry Fred Fintstone, the situation not allowing him to utter a retort.

It must have killed him.

Schadenfreude. Sometimes it truly is a beautiful thing. I know I should experience some guilt for how warm and fuzzy The Donald's rage made me feel...but I don't.

Do you think you can find it in your heart to forgive me?

_____________________

To enjoy all of Meyers' brilliance, watch the video below...brought to you by the Washington Post...the same people who brought Trump to the Correspondents' Dinner. At least we know who to thank.

Shiba Inu Puppy Cam

Today was a monster day at work. Long and stressful and hectic. I had two major events that I'd been planning (or planning in conjunction with others) for months and months. It was the culmination of pretty much everything I've done since January. Or at least it felt like it.

So today being over was no small relief. Things went just fine. Nothing to complain about. Much to celebrate. But coming home at the end of the day? Whew. I've been looking forward to that moment for weeks.

Turn around Linda...

As I transformed from suit to sweatpants (think Wonder Woman in reverse), I mapped out the rest of my evening: "I'm gonna watch tonight's episode of Chuck followed by the rest of the Twins game. That's it! That's all I'm doing! You can't make me do anything else."

Except...

Chuck was a rerun. And the Twins had the night off.

What do they always say about best laid plans? Blargh.

Just as I was realizing this, the phone rang. It was my mother. God love that woman, calling me back for like our fourth conversation inside 24 minutes. (Sometimes we have a lot of ground to cover, and it spans multiple conversations...albeit in a very short amount of time.)

"I have three things to tell you," she said, without so much as a hello. "One: something-something-something about cell phone reception in rural Wisconsin. Two: Something-something-something about [shoot, I can't remember anymore...does that make me a bad daughter?]. And three: You know those puppies you love? They're back."

"THE SHIBAS?!?!?!" I screamed. "OMG, OMG! Thank you for telling me!"

Mr. Buster!

"Don't thank me," she said. "Thank Brian Williams. ... Okay, Buster wants to go outside. Love you."

And like that, she was gone.

So much for falling asleep on the couch. On went the computer. Up came the live-streaming feed. Out came the blog.

Why? All because the third litter of Shiba Inu puppies was recently born in San Francisco.

We are here to melt your heart!

 Do you know about the SF Shibas? The backstory is this:

Once upon a time, a dutiful family of Shiba owners set up a video feed so they could watch their newborn puppies while they were at work. The link went viral (and if ever there was a link that should go viral, this is the one), and we all turned into a bunch of blithering idiots who spent the entirety of our days sitting in front of our computers giggling at precious little Shiba Inu pups as they slept and played and ate and wrestled...until after about 8 weeks when they left the e-nest to go live with their forever-families.

The people who live-stream this stuff? The folks who are responsible for this? They should win some sort of Nobel Prize...for e-peace...for chilling us all the hell out! For making such a personal part of their lives accessible to all of us. Talk about public good!

Dinner time! Milk truck!

Since I've started writing this post I've witnessed a puppy --or at least the bottom half of him-- nursing underneath his mother (and one of his siblings) with his hind legs kicking straight up in the air the entire time. I saw another pup make her way across the kennel, waddling with her butt waaaaaay up in the air...while her face was smashed flat against the cushion. I've stared and the screen for what seems like many, many minutes and have seen virtually no movement (save a twitch or an itch). And then I look away...for like a nanosecond. Upon returning my gaze to the computer, there is an entirely different constellation of puppies. How did they get there?! How did they end up like that?! AH!

Seriously, I think their sleeping configurations are the true entertainment:

Sleepy puppies!

Noses to noses or butts to butts. All lined up like six orderly, little hot dog buns. Or in cuddly yin-yang puppy circles. Or in ridiculous doggie piles where there's no telling whose tail is whose...except for that one little gal who always lays off to the side on her own...until she somehow rolls herself over and comes crashing back into the middle of the mutt mountain.

They're killing me. I can't stop watching. I've completely forgotten all the busy-ness and all the stress of my day. I no longer want (nor need) to go to bed. These pups, man...they've taken over my night!

Watching them as sleepy little fuzzballs actually physically hurts my heart, it's so cute. I keep slapping my hands to the side of my face and gasping. I honestly can't stand it. Currently, they're all squinty-eyed and wobbly, staggering around the kennel, rolling over and getting stuck, splaying and contorting their furry little bodies into positions that couldn't possibly be comfortable.

Click us for a larger photo!

But before we know it, their eyes will be open and their personalities will be in full effect. I can't wait until we get to the part where it all turns into Romper Room...where five of them are totally zonked out, and then one little bastard decides to stir shit up...and then there is no sleep for any of the rest of them. This is the part where the biting and wrestling and toy-tearing and head-butting begins. They all get sucked into the mayhem, whether they want to be part of it or not. Until they all completely crash from exhaustion and fall back to sleep...until the cycle starts all over again.

I think there is something particularly heart-warming about shared human experiences...even (and sort of especially) when we're having them completely separate from one another. I like knowing that all sorts of people are freaking out in front of their computers over these six little Shibas. I like knowing that we are all howling in unison at their antics...miles and miles and miles apart. I like knowing that for just a moment...or an hour...or an evening...we all get to escape whatever it is from which we need a little space.

And our diversion? It's not alcohol or ridiculous Hollywood escapism. It's not an expensive vacation or unecessary risks. It's not video games or listless web browsing. It's not even a book...or a 3/5/10-mile run.

It's puppies. Cute, furry, pure, awesome puppies.

We get to tune in for the next 6-8 weeks. We get to see them grow. We get to watch them, raucous at play...peaceful at sleep.

This is the stuff that is good for our souls.

So pop the streaming video out into it's own little window, put it up in the corner of your monitor and give your work-day a little extra sunshine. Or go ahead and check in on these little buddies before bedtime. Tired puppies are even more adorable than regular puppies...I'm certain there is empirical evidence to support this claim. Even better, call someone you love (who you don't talk to often enough, as it is) and watch the puppies with them, cooing in unison at their scrumptiousness. It'll be the most delightful conversation you've had in quite some time...I doggone guarantee it!

Stream videos at Ustream

Incremental Progress

I remember sitting in geometry class my sophomore year of high school. The teacher was talking about points and lines and planes...about how points have no length or width...about how they take up no space...about how one point, all by itself, basically accomplishes nothing (math people, go ahead and debate me on this...this class was like 20 years ago, so I'm sure I've messed this lesson up somehow).

But, the teacher (I believe his name was Mr. Munson) said that if you take a whole bunch of points and you put them one by one by one byonebyonebyone next to each other, you get a line. All those points that are insignificant in and of themselves? If you mash them up in succession, you actually get something. Something you can measure. Something that counts.

Today I found out that I have something that counts.

After more syntax files and mocked-up tables and reams of output than I can even bear to imagine...

This is but a fraction...

...I have a regression model. I have variables that work. I have statistical significance (at least a little).

I have a dissertation.

I'd like to tell you that I feel proud. Or excited. Or even just relieved. But honestly, the only thing I feel?

It's about fucking time.

Don't get me wrong...this is some damn good and hard-won (if only emotional) progress. And I am proud...and excited...and relieved. The end is actually in sight (my advisor said so...so it must be true). But it was a long time coming. Too long.

Some people rocket through graduate school. They are academic hot-shots who come in, soak it all up, crank it all out and are done in 4 years. I thought I was going to be one of those people. I intended to be one of those people. I may have even started out as one of those people. I was going to be a faculty member. I was going to write and present and publish. I was going to live the life of an academic.

For too many reasons--some valid, some fallacious--this was not my journey. Maybe I chickened out. Maybe I was (am?) lazy. Maybe my heart knew something that my over-reaching head would not admit, and I was cut out for a different life. I wish I had more peace about this decision (was it even a decision?)...but I'm not sure that I do. I'm not sure that I ever will. I honestly don't know right now.

Those of you who know me well know that I do not believe in regret. I think regret is a wasted emotion, and I try not to spend much time mucking around in it. I think it's important to learn from our decisions and experiences and then live with them. I think it's important to appreciate the moment. I think it's important to move forward.

But it's hard with this...because some days it feels embarrassing...because it feels like I've failed...because I didn't do what I said I was going to do...what I set out to do.

I remember during graduate school orientation, we heard stories of how it takes people 6 or 7...or 10 or 12...years to finish. I scoffed at those people. "Six years? Please. I'll be done in 4...maybe 5 if some really interesting project presents itself...one that will give me crap-loads of publications. But 10? 12? These people aren't even trying, are they?" And now here I am...at the end of my 7th year. Some days that number humiliates me. Other days, I try to convince myself I must just be doing the math wrong..."2004-05 (that's one year)...2005-06 (that's two)..."

What happened?

Getting married happened. The St. Clair Broiler happened. Sewing cute little wallets happened. Being there for my husband and my parents and my siblings and my friends happened. A job in institutional research happened. Bejeweled happened. Teaching and advising twenty enthusiastic, first-year college students happened. Trips to New York and Seattle and Star Prairie happened. Chuck and Bones and Justified and 30 Rock happened. An opportunity to come back to a big, public research institution happened. This blog happened.

Nothing happened.

Life happened.

Dissertations, like every other damn thing in life, are journeys of incremental progress. Sometimes you look at where you've come from, and it doesn't seem like you've moved at all. Other times, it seems like you take a huge leap in just a fleeting moment. Some days, you are completely energized for the voyage. Other days, the smallest step feels completely unreasonable and impossible. There is rarely rhyme or reason to it.

At least that has been my experience.

I've finally reached the point where progress is rhythmic and significant. Every day (or week), I get closer to being done. The last 7 years have been a series of points that make a line...and even lines that have intersected into planes...planes that have become the terrain that makes up the very substance of my life.

I can look back and see how I've grown...as a person, as a professional, and as a scholar. My life is richer for this experience. But at the same time, it's hard to remember who I was before it all started. It feels like this process has always been with me...and has always been a part of me.

So there is light at the end of the tunnel. I'm gathering steam...coming down the home stretch. Go ahead, choose your own analogy. The point is, I'm almost there.

It took a long time. Much longer than it should have.

But I'm doing it...and I've done it...

Point by point by point by.................

Made My Day: Seattle Public Library + Facebook = WINNING!

You all know how I love the Seattle Public Library. And you know how I love public agencies/organizations/institutions that maximize their social media presence. 

So today, the Seattle Public Library posts this on Facebook:

Get there! Quick! Before it's too late!

As you might imagine, the bibliophiles are going crazy! There are dozens and dozens of posts already, and the librarians are making their way through the lists of books slowly but surely. In fact the entire SPL wall has turned into a big ol' e-book club, with people validating and suggesting and liking and chatting. It's pretty flippin' cool.

I love the community (however short-lived it may be) that this e-event built. I love how spontaneous is was. I love how passionate and "helpful" people get when it comes to book recommendations. It was just an all-around great use of social media. Stuff like this is why we should always remember to celebrate librarians...this week, and all weeks.

So if you're not yet a friend of SPL, now is the time! Click on over there! If you get there soon enough, you might even be rewarded with a couple new book recommendations.

Librarians! Reading! WINNING!

Made My Day: St. Paul Corner Drug

Sorry to say it, but spring sucks.

I don't know about the rest of you, but seasonal allergies are kicking my ass today. Hard.

My sinuses are sloshing around like a waterbed. I feel like I got bonked over the head by a big, pollen-laden flower. Speaking of pollen, weather.com says tree pollen levels are only moderate today, but I beg to differ. And it all seems a little sudden...since we've only had about 2.73 nice days so far this spring, right?

Oh well. Allegra/Sudafed cocktails, here I come!

Locally-owned businesses, FTW!

It is times like this when I love having a handy-dandy, sweet-as-pie, neighborhood pharmacy at which to do my pharma-business the most. The folks at St. Paul Corner Drug? So knowledgeable...so kind...so quick.

When I called them to ask a couple questions today, I was put through to a pharmacist immediately. And whoever transferred me, also pulled up my prescription history. So before I could even repeat my questions, the pharmacist was telling me what I took last year and what he'd recommend for this year (YAY for over-the-counter allergy meds!). The whole thing couldn't have been easier. They couldn't have been more helpful.

You know what else they were besides so knowledgeable, kind and quick? So funny. Here was the conversation that topped off the whole experience:

Pharmacy Clerk: Can I see your driver's license?
Me: (brightly) Sure thing. Is that to make sure I don't have a meth lab in my basement?
Pharmacy Clerk: (very seriously) Exactly.
Me: (very seriously) Well, I don't even have a basement, so there you go.
Pharmacy Clerk: (totally deadpan) So where do you keep your meth lab?

Let's see what this does!

Damn, do I love making (mildly) inappropriate jokes right in the middle of the situations in which it would likely be deemed inappropriate. Why is that? While I would still never mouth-off about shoes or 3oz. bottles of liquid in the middle of a TSA security check-point, it sure was awfully refreshing to joke about meth labs at the pharmacy...especially while I was honking into a tissue and trying not to sneeze all over the cash register.

Nothing like a little humor to cut through all this pollen. Now let's hope those drugs kick in!

Lighting Candles: "Being A Humanizing Force"

I went out to lunch today (back off, I've been eating at my desk for weeks) and had a remarkably heartfelt conversation with a pal of mine. I thought it was just going to be burritos and gossip. Instead, we ended up in a serious and soul-searching exchange about our concern for our country. We talked about bridging the political divide. We talked about battling the en vogue nature of cynicism. We talked about finding common ground.

We weren't hyperbolic or vitriolic. We refrained from name-calling and generalizations. We presumed and intended good will. Granted, we are both on the same side of most political/ideological spectra...but I guess my point is that we weren't sitting there raging about what idiots everyone else is, pretending we have a corner on truth. We were wondering about how and where we, as a society, can find common ground. We were talking about our role in all of this. Is there anything we can do to help? Can we make the world a better place? Especially when it seems so amazingly messed up?

I wouldn't say we left lunch disheartened. But I would say that the world felt a little heavy as we walked back to the office...in spite of the sunshine and bright, blue, Toy Story-esque sky. I think we left one another with mutual appreciation for the conversation, but also with a shared sense of doubt. When the problems seem so huge, it's hard to know where to start...and how to help.

Thanks to the powers of the interwebs (and the Facebooks), I came back to this video (posted below) in my news feed. Wow. It was just what I needed...and at exactly the right time. In the video, Courtney Martin (writer, teacher, speaker, activist) talks about wanting to make a difference in the world...and how it feels when it seems like we cannot. She does this within the context of being a feminist and an activist, but really, the crux of her talk is this (and I'm changing the tense/qualifiers of her words just a bit...watch the video for her exact thoughts):

We can't judge ourselves based on our failures to meet very lofty goals...we need to be a humanizing force in the world. At the end of the day, what could be more important than that?

She goes on to say:

This isn't to say that we give up on our wildest dreams, it's to say we operate on two levels. On one, we really go after changing these broken systems of which we find ourselves a part. But on the other, we root our self-esteem in the daily acts of trying to make one person's day more kind and more just.

Recently, I've talked to so many people who feel disheartened by the heaviness of life. Maybe it's the long winters. Maybe it's the political discord. Maybe it's the frequency and magnitude of natural disasters...or the warring actions by groups of humans against one another. Whatever it is, it feels like a lot. It feels like too much.

Such sage wisdom...

I don't think we want to dislike one another. I don't think we want to be in conflict. But sometimes, as I look around, it feels like that's all there is. How do we find middle ground? How do we forge a path together? Maya Angelou reminds us, "We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike."

Being a humanizing force in the world...that's where I'm going to start. I hope you will too.

Infinite Variety: Three Centuries of Red and White Quilts

Architectural icons...yawn.

I went to New York City for quilts.

Not for Broadway. Not for The Met. Not for Ellis Island nor the Empire State Building. Actually, we've experienced all of these things before, so it's not exactly an apt comparison...but I think you still catch my drift, yes?

I went to New York City for quilts.

But not for just any old quilts. And not for just any old quilt show.

I went to New York City for this:

Infinite Variety - New York City  3/25-30/11

Infinite Variety: Three Centuries of Red and White Quilts was a collaboration between Ms. Joanna S. Rose, the American Folk Art Museum, the Park Avenue Armory, and Thinc Design. This one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime exhibition of 651 antique quilts from the private collection of Ms. Rose is stunning example of confluence, generosity, and innovation. The story goes something like this:

Ms. Rose, when asked (by her husband) what she wanted for her 80th birthday, replied “I told him, two things: something I had never seen before, and a gift for New York City. I thought, one thing I’ve never seen is these quilts all at once.”

Everywhere you look...infinite variety.

So the trustees of the American Folk Art Museum found the folks at Thinc Design, who put together the most marvelously arranged and brilliantly lit display you could ever imagine. And then they all decided to house the event at the Park Avenue Armory, a stately and historic relic that has recently been converted into a performing arts venue.

Imagine quilts that are decades, if not centuries, old looking modern and mobile. Imagine enough lights to brighten an entire stage shining down on a single column of quilts. Imagine spinning in circles and never seeing the same sight twice. Imagine infinite variety.

Oh, and the whole thing? Free to the public.

Sometimes it seems there are few moments in life that surpass our expectations. Life is, in many ways, supremely standardized. We set our preferences on our computers and gadgets. Our baristas know our drinks. Our bus drivers recognize our schedules. We visit the same websites and the same restaurants. We settle into routines...and then we fall into ruts.

Until something jars us awake. Until something steals our breath and moves us to tears. Until we find ourselves inexplicably and inescapably mired in a truly unique experience.

This was how my experience felt.

I know I've shared my love of Six Degrees of Separation with you before. In my humble opinion, one of the most rumination-worthy concepts advanced in that story is the idea of keeping a tight hold on the meaning of our life experiences. How do we avoid punchlines and anecdotes? How do we hold on to the sincerity of the moment? In Six Degrees, the protagonist is referring to encounters with other human beings. But I think that as we go about our daily lives, we are looking for this same sort of meaning.We are looking for novel, vital, indescribable, unrepeatable, experiences.

That's what Infinite Variety was to me. Like nothing I have ever experienced, it was a completely innovative and modern rendering of a common household item. It was a deconstruction and reconstruction of the notion of quilts and quilting. It was not just a quilt show. It was not just an exhibit. It was an experience.

It was like maplessly roaming through a forest of towering Sequoias grown from red and white fabrics. The enormity of the displays made me feel delightfully tiny. Wandering through puddles of light and columns of quilts without a path or a plan, not worried about who was waiting for me or when they expected me, was liberating and joyful.

It was like rattling around in a snow globe full of giant flakes in every conceivable quilted pattern.  No two seemed to be alike. And if you actually thought you saw a duplicate dancing through the air, by the time you went to look for its twin, you'd never remember what pattern you were in search of in the first place.

It was like being one of the virtual cameras capturing bullet time in a Wachowski Brothers film...minus all the dystopian angst, of course. No matter which way you turned, your eyes couldn't help but capture the breathtaking beauty fluttering and frozen in mid-air, panoramas shifting and exploding with every step. Just when you thought you'd found the best angle or perspective, something more staggering presented itself.

Heavy-handed metaphors and analogies aside, it was an experience that was full of vitality. It was an exhibit that was palpably alive. Within moments of arriving, I stammered to Jay that I couldn't believe that it hadn't always been there...and that it wouldn't always be there. The thought of taking this exhibit down (which happened about a week ago) seemed like robbing the world of an actual living organism.

Even though I talked to very few people during this experience, it was decidedly communal. We wove in and out of each others' paths. We bumped into one another. We paused, mid-stride, so as not to interrupt photos or conversations. In a huge drill hall full of hundreds of people, there was but a murmur of voices. Women stood  mere centimeters from the quilts--careful not to touch--pointing out the beauty of tiny stitches and perfectly aligned seams.

I think one of my favorite moments happened as I was exiting the drill hall after my first visit. I happened to catch the expression of a woman just as she caught sight, for the very first time, of what she was about to encounter. Her eyes widened and lit up instantaneously. She exhaled an audible gasp and the corners of her mouth slowly curled into a smile. She stopped. Right in the busy hallway of people. Frozen by the site of what was to come.

It was the first moment of her experience. It was beautiful. I almost feel guilty for witnessing it, it seemed that personal.

Infinite Variety will live on through my photos (and my tote bag and magnets and postcards). Supposedly, a book is in the works as well. But the actual, lived experience was so stunning and so acute, I know it will stay with me longer than many other things tend to do.

There are not words to convey my gratitude to the people who made this possible. This was an act of generosity. An act of love. And the people reveling in the experience? We could feel it.

______________________

If you forced me to pick a favorite, this would be it...

A few links and resources for you:

• Spirited piece from the Financial Times
• Cool article from 1stdibs zine
• Even the Wall Street Journal got in on the action
• Free app downloads for iPads and Droids
• Flickr photo stream.
• Nice list of many links about Infinite Variety from quilter, Pat Sloan. Includes a photo of Joanna S. Rose.
• Photos from the Park Ave. Armory
• An interview with the curator, Elizabeth V. Warren
• An interview with the designer, Tom Hennes

A time-lapse video of the installation process:



Wonderful video narrated by curator Elizabeth Warren: