Do Mermaids Lay Eggs?

Movin' On Up!

2011-03-22T15:12:00.002-06:00

To my dear readers, the few and the faithful, I'm here to inform you with a fair amount of sadness that I will no longer be updating this blog.

The reason for this, as you may have guessed, is that I've made the shift from text blogging over to video blogging which, frankly, I find much more enjoyable--perhaps because it's so much more self-indulgent. And I'm so vain, I probably think this song is about me.

For a while when I started making videos, I thought that I'd just post all of my videos here, but that got to be time-consuming, and it felt a bit pointless when you all could just as easily visit my YouTube channel and watch to your heart's content.

I'd bid you all farewell, except I'm not really leaving. It's more like I'm just moving to a nicer house in the same neighborhood.

So, uh, bye for now!

Bad Advice for Women: Part VII

2011-01-24T20:24:00.000-07:00

Bad Advice for Women: Part VI

2011-01-24T06:28:00.000-07:00

Bad Advice for Women: Part V

2011-01-21T15:22:00.001-07:00

Bad Advice for Women: Part IV

2011-01-18T19:42:00.000-07:00

Bad Advice for Women: Part III

2011-01-14T19:07:00.000-07:00

Bad Advice for Women: Part II

2011-01-10T22:49:00.001-07:00

Bad Advice for Women: Part I

2011-01-06T17:41:00.001-07:00

Regarding Modern Art

2010-12-12T08:27:00.001-07:00

I can breathe again!

2010-12-02T11:24:00.007-07:00

So, yesterday, I gave a gallery talk at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I'd never given one before, and I was scared to death, but I think it went well enough. Of course, that may have just been because my tour group consisted mostly of sweet old ladies. But the point remains.

I'm currently taking a curatorial studies class from Dr. Maryan Ainsworth, the curator of European paintings at the Met. (When I first met her, I didn't realize just how big of a deal she was, and looking back, that's probably a good thing. I tend to lose my composure around famous art historians. Just ask Linda Nochlin.) The class is being taught in conjunction with an exhibition currently on show at the Met called Man, Myth, and Sensual Pleasures: Jan Gossart's Renaissance. If you have a chance to go see this show, I'd encourage you to do so if only because Gossart is a very important artist in the development of northern Renaissance painting, and he's been frequently overlooked over the centuries.

My main project for this class was to give a presentation to a group of museum patrons, taking them through the exhibition and highlighting (more or less) whatever I felt was interesting enough to talk about, for one hour. I decided to speak primarily on Gossart's tendency to incorporate elements of Italian sculpture and architecture into his paintings as well as his affinity for the erotic. If that sounds remotely interesting to you, you should ask me about it some time. I don't really feel like explaining it here. I'm a bit Gossart-ed out right now.

Anyhow, just thought I'd share. I've been preparing this talk for quite some time, and that's why I've been so boring and unavailable lately. But now it's over, so, yay!

The Food Chronicles #4: It's the American Way! Part II

2010-11-03T19:48:00.005-06:00

Look. At. That.

Would you just look at that!

Just came out of the oven, a caramel apple pie. I hope it tastes as good as it looks.

UPDATE! This pie came out beautifully, flavor-wise. I used the same crust as I did before (a simple all-butter recipe) because it came out so supple and flaky the last time. The recipe called for all gala apples, but I mixed it up and used McIntosh, Granny Smith, Fuji, and Golden Delicious apples instead. (There are those who insist that one of the secrets to good apple pie is using at least three kinds of apples.) The method was quite different from the first recipe. Instead of tossing the apples in the sugar/cornstarch/spices etc., you boil all of those things into a syrup and then pour it over the already-filled, already-latticed pie. The sauce drips through the lattice and seasons all of the apples.

This pie was much more sauce-heavy than the other one. That meant that, on one hand, the apples were more flavorful and cooked much more evenly. On the other hand, this pie was quite syrupy, more than I would have preferred. It was more difficult to cut and serve, but it was nice to serve it with a bit of the sauce drizzled over the top. Overall, very nice pie. I'm sure I'll make it again.

The Food Chronicles #4: It's the American Way!

2010-10-09T09:26:00.016-06:00

Now, I've made pies before, but the other day I decided that I was really going to push myself and make a pie without taking any shortcuts. That is, I made my own crust for the first time ever.

Everyone says making a crust is easy, but it's actually pretty difficult if you don't have a food processor, which I don't. I was going to borrow one from a friend, but she lives several blocks away and her food processor is really heavy, so I decided not to bother with it and borrowed her pastry blender instead. (For those of you who don't know, a pastry blender isn't really a blender, but a handheld tool that they used to use back in old timey times.)

Using a pastry blender instead of a food processor makes the pie dough making process much harder and much more time consuming, but it seems to have worked out. (It may have been easier if I hadn't been told to use frozen butter, but all of the advice I got said that cold ingredients are the key to a good crust.)

I chose to do an apple pie this time because I'd never made one before, and I figured that, as an American favorite, I wouldn't have to dump my leftovers on anyone. Also, I'm starting to get really excited for the holidays (For me, the holiday season begins in September.), and it still seems too early to make pumpkin pie. It's not even cold outside yet. (I realize that there are two schools of thought as to when apple pie is most appropriate. Some believe that it is an autumn pie because apples are in season in autumn, but many others thing it's best to eat it in summer because of its association with America and Independence Day. As for myself, I think it's an autumn pie because it has cinnamon in it, and that makes my house smell all autumn-y.)

Here's the pie right out of the oven! It looked fabulous for a first try.

We invited some friends over to share our pie with us, and it was a great success. I may have taken it out of the oven a bit too soon as the apples were still a bit firm, but the flavor was phenomenal.

Before I close, in honor of this momentus occasion, I shall share the pie song with you all. Enjoy!

I'm here!

2010-09-20T23:20:00.013-06:00

This is gonna be a long one, but it's mostly pictures, so hang in there.

I must offer my apologies for having been out of the loop over the past few months, but a crapload of stuff has happened to me since you heard from me last.

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up . . .

Took classes and worked through the summer. Graduated from BYU with a BA in Art History. (Whoo!) Prepared for moving, packing up the apartment into twelve suitcases and selling/donating/storing the rest. Took a train from Salt Lake City to New York. Moved into Riverside Drive apartment. Started graduate school at the Institute of Fine Arts at NYU. Got a job working in the slide library at school. Trying very hard to keep up with my reading homework while soaking up the city as much as I can. Turned 22.

Here we are in our old apartment at 720 N 800 E in Provo. We took these just as we were just about to lock the place up and leave for the train station. It was kind of emotional. We were more than ready to leave Provo, but we'd gotten attached to the apartment. It was our first home together, and it really felt like ours since we had spent so much effort in fixing it up.

Here are a few pictures from our three-day train trip. These were all taken from the train window.

Colorado was our favorite part of the journey just because of the sun, the canyons, and the woods. Consequently, it's also where we took the most pictures.

The Colorado River.

I'll just say right off the bat that New York is incredible. I love knowing that there's lots to do and discover without having to drive for an hour to get to a larger city (as was the case in Provo and Salem). Oh, and I get into the Met for free!*

*Well, technically, everyone can get in for free, but not without dirty looks from the staff. The Met has a sign above the ticket counter that says "Admission $20", but if you look again, this is followed by the word "Recommended" in much smaller print. What you're paying for is not really admission. It's a donation, and as such, it is not required that you pay it. You can pay whatever you want to get into the Met. You can hand them $100 or just a buck and you'll get the same ticket. However, the less you pay, the more likely the staff members are to use an annoyed tone of voice with you. But my school gave me a special card that just allows me to bypass the ticket counter and walk right in, dirty-look free! (Maybe it's not that special, but there you have it.)

A lot of what you hear about New York is true. The city is remarkably diverse, you can get fantastic food out here, and you always see very fashionable people walking around. But there are also homeless people everywhere, rats in the subway, and garbage piled up on the sidewalks. The architecture is much older than it is out west, and the buildings never seem to end. Drivers are aggressive, parking is impossible, and pedestrians do whatever they want in spite of who has the right-of-way. The sidewalks are bustling with people, even in the middle of the night. Groceries are expensive. Apartments are tiny and rent is high. Summer is hot and sticky. You hear heavy Brooklyn accents now and then.

And I think I'm going to love it here.

Here are some pictures that we've taken since we arrived.

Here's the bedroom of our new place at 528 Riverside Dr., before we had unpacked.

Here's the view out our bedroom window.

The following are a few pictures of the building where I go to school and work. The Institute of Fine Arts is not in Greenwich Village with the main NYU campus; it has a satellite campus on the Upper East Side. The building is an old mansion on 5th Ave. that was converted into a school.

This is the lunch room. (I know!)

This room is mostly only used for events, interviews, and anything else they might need an intimidating room for.

Here's the lecture room where I take two of my three classes. (I go the Met, which is a block down the street, for the other.) You can't see it here, but the room has five crystal chandeliers.

We've been trying to get out and see as much of the city as we can before our school workload gets too heavy. (More pictures coming soon.)

Here's the fountain at Rockefeller Center. I had to get a picture of it because it's in the movie "On The Town" starring Gene Kelly and Frank Sinatra.

We took a whole day to see Central Park, starting at the northernmost and working our way all the way south. It's a wonderful park, and it was a glorious day, so it was full of people.

Oh! And Chris and I went out to see a Broadway show for my birthday! We saw Memphis, a new musical that won the Tony this year. It's about a white DJ who wants to play black music on the radio in the 1950's and the emergence of rock 'n' roll from R & B. I can't say enough good things about this show. The dancing is spectacular, the design is clever, the music is soulful, and it just made me feel all happy inside. Seriously, if you have a chance to go see this show, do so. It's fabulous!

That's all for now!

I resisted the urge to use an egg-related pun in the title. You're welcome.

2010-06-24T09:29:00.011-06:00

When Christopher and I are finally finished with school, we'll settle down somewhere permenant in a house with a backyard. And in that backyard, I'm going to raise my own chickens.

Not an enormous legion of them. Just three or four hens.

You may think this an odd declaration considering I grew up in the suburbs where most people have cats and dogs and pets rarely get more interesting than guinea pigs. The thing is that this interest didn't spring from an interest in animals, but in an interest in good food.

Last Christmas, my parents gave me this book.

You may recognize the book if you are a foodie or if you saw the movie Julie and Julia. I was delighted to receive this book as I was just learning to cook good, flavorful food, and French food is my absolute favorite. Immediately, I started trying out recipes that I had never made before but that were simple enough to pull off in an afternoon. (By the way, just for the record, most of the recipes in Julia's book are very time-consuming. If the book says it'll take 90 minutes, plan on three hours or more.)

One of the first things I tried was poached eggs. All the instructions called for were eggs and a pot of simmering water. Easy enough, right?

My eggs completely fell apart every time I tried it. I even tried "trick methods" (courtesy of the internets) like putting a bit of vinegar in the water and swirling the water around so the white wraps around the yolk. Still, no success.

In her book, Julia Child recommends that you use fresh eggs for poaching because they hold their shape better. By fresh, she really means fresh, i.e. no more than four days old. By contrast, the eggs you get at the grocery store might be days or even weeks old. The only way to be sure to get fresh eggs is from local chickens, and if you live in the suburbs, that means you have to drive out to the country to buy them from a farmer, or raise the chickens yourself.

It turns out that this practice is not all that difficult, and it's a growing trend in urban and suburban areas among those interested in sustainable living. All you need is a secure coop (to protect your hens from predators and keep them warm at night), enough space for them to run around outside, a feed box and water station, food, and enough commitment to collect the eggs daily and clean the coop every now and then.

Urban dwellers are starting to keep chickens for several reasons. Some raise them for their eggs and their meat because they can get those things fresher, but there are other benefits as well. Chickens will eat nearly anything, especially bugs, and they are remarkably efficient at keeping backyard pests at bay. Chicken droppings are one of the most effective natural fertilizers available, and it can easily be collected for garden use. Also, according to my sources, fresh eggs from homegrown, free range hens are more flavorful and nutritious (more vitamin A, vitamin E, beta carotene, and omega-3 fatty acids) than eggs laid by factory-farm hens. Furthermore, according to every source that I've consulted, chickens are relatively quiet (unless you have a rooster) and low-maintenance pets.

I only wish this idea had come to me later in life. You know, when I actually had a backyard to keep chickens in.

Anniversary Number One

2010-06-01T13:22:00.011-06:00

As of this past Saturday, Chris and I have been married one year. I'm not too crazy about blogging about gushy personal stuff, but I thought this was a big enough deal to merit a post.

Everyone says the first year of marriage is the hardest. After saying that, they often follow it up with, "You're still getting to know each other, but it only gets better." This statement baffles me. If you're committed enough to be married, shouldn't you already know each other pretty thoroughly? Maybe they just say that because they assume, because Chris and I are Mormons and we go to BYU, that we only knew each other for four or five months before we were married. Lots of people do that. But Chris and I had a reasonably long courtship, so, diving into marriage, we didn't really have that problem.

That said, this last year was a tough one for us, but for different reasons. At school, we had the hardest course load we've ever had. We had to deal with a terrible landlord, causing months of tears and rage (. . . toward the landlord, not each other). My health went into a frenzy in more ways than I care to enumerate. We had a hard time being social with other married people because nobody seemed to be like us. On top of that, Chris and I had to frantically decide what we were going to do with the next several years of our lives. Therefore, I'd be lying if I said it was all cherries and bliss. (By the way, whenever a married couple acts like their lives are all cherries and bliss, I'm skeptical.)

I'm sure you already know where this is going, so I'll spare you the contrived transition into optimism.

The fact is that, despite all of the new challenges that have popped up since our marriage, I'm happier now. Now that Chris is a permanent part of my life, I feel that my life has more purpose than it did before--like it's finally begun. I no longer feel like I'm just stalling, waiting for something wonderful to happen to me. I'm no longer afraid. I'm more confident, more secure, and more assured in the choices I make for myself. He supports me in becoming the person I want to be, and that's more than I could ask for in a partner.

He's also devastatingly attractive and has excellent taste in movies. I like that, too!

So, Chris, thank you for a wonderful year, even though it was a bumpy ride. Thanks you for always being so supportive, so appreciative, and so kind to me. Thank you for loving me the way I am. I'm excited for the next chapter in our adventures together.

Also, thanks for splitting your cupcake with me.

A Small Request

2010-05-17T11:03:00.007-06:00

Dear residents of every town I ever have or ever will live in,

Please stop spitting in public. Seriously, stop. It's disgusting. I know you probably think that it doesn't matter because it will evaporate off the pavement or be washed away by the rain. I know you've probably seen others do it and therefore think it's socially acceptable, maybe even cool, but you are wrong. What you don't understand is that there are many who share this fine country with you who like to imagine that the outdoors is a clean, happy place where one shouldn't be afraid to walk barefoot or roll around in the grass. When you spit, it shatters that fantasy of a germ-free wonderland. Furthermore, the sound of you spitting makes the rest of us want to gag. The sound is really the kicker for me. I'm not here to tell you what to do, but just know that every time you spit on the pavement as you're walking home from work, I, the girl walking ten feet behind you, will be judging you.

Regards,
Allie

Regarding the Eternal Nature of Gender

2010-05-17T01:08:00.008-06:00

This is a piece I wrote and posted a few days ago on Feminist Mormon Housewives.

I’m interested in what Latter-day Saint readers think about the issue of intersex children. The cases are rare, but they happen, probably more often than most people realize. Some genetic glitch takes place during conception and a baby is born with one testicle and one ovary, for example. It was during one of those Discovery Channel specials when the The Family: A Proclamation to the World came to mind.

“All human beings—male and female—are created in the image of God. Each is a beloved spirit son or daughter of heavenly parents, and, as such, each has a divine nature and destiny. Gender is an essential characteristic of individual premortal, mortal, and eternal identity and purpose.”

Therefore, it is LDS Church doctrine that maleness and femaleness are not arbitrarily assigned at birth but are instead part of our eternal souls. But what about these babies who are born without a clear assigned gender? How can the parents handle the burden of having to choose the gender that the child will have in this life?

I asked one of my seminary teachers this question when I was in high school, and he simply replied that, usually, it’s easy to tell which one it’s supposed to be. For instance, the female parts might be severely atrophied while the male parts are healthy or vice versa. Therefore, deciding which gender the baby will be is not usually an issue.* But what if you chose the wrong one?

*I have since learned that this is not the case.

Imagine for a second that you had a baby. This baby, you always assumed, would be a girl because nobody could see a penis in the ultrasound images. The baby is born beautiful and healthy, but shortly after the birth, the doctors inform you that the child has two slightly atrophied testicles inside the vulval tissue. You now have to choose whether your baby will be a son or a daughter. Either way, the baby will have to undergo surgery and hormone replacement therapy. You decide, under the advice of the doctor, to make this baby into a girl. (Most doctors will recommend this because female gender assignment surgery is easier and safer than the alternative.)

Your daughter grows up into a lovely young woman. Aside from her periodical hormone treatments, there is no memory of any gender ambiguity. She is an accomplished student and gymnast. She gets called to be Mia Maid president. She completes her Personal Progress. She loves getting all dolled up for school and church. She eventually goes off to college and falls in love with a wonderful young priesthood holder. They get sealed for time and all eternity in the holy temple. She cannot have children of her own, and so she and her husband adopt three children and have them sealed together as a family.

But what if, after that girl died and was received into Heavenly Father’s presence, she was told that she was supposed to be male all along? What of the life she lived? What of the family she built with her husband? Is it null and void because her soul, all along, was invariable male? Or what if the reverse happened? Would that boy’s priesthood not count?

I understand that this is a wildly speculative post, but I’m interested to see what you all think about the issue.

I Want One

2010-05-13T20:04:00.002-06:00

I'd like to encourage you . . .

2010-04-28T08:40:00.008-06:00

Can I just say that I hate those words?

I hate those words because I feel that, in a church setting, they are used as a tool of intimidation and power over those not in authority. Let me explain. LDS church culture as it is practiced in the western United States, and especially in Utah, has distinct and concrete norms. Young men and women date in hopes that they will marry early in life and start a family relatively quickly. At church, men wear white dress shirts and ties while women wear skirts or dresses. Men are clean shaven with short haircuts and women always shave their legs. Large families are common. Divorce is rare. Priesthood holders (i.e. men) are the voices of authority and women are the support system for that authority. I could go on.

Generally, there is nothing wrong with these norms in and of themselves. The problem is when they do not happen on their own but instead are achieved through subtle manipulation.

Let me illustrate a familiar situation. An LDS woman decides one snowy Sunday that it is too cold outside to wear a skirt, and so she decides to wear a tasteful pantsuit to church instead. All in all, the pantsuit is infinitely more practical. It keeps her body warm, it eliminates the need for uncomfortable pantyhose, it can't get accidentally pulled down by little kids, and it makes her feel more secure and modest since she won't accidenally flash someone when she stands up. But after the service, the woman's bishop summons her into his office. He mentions that he has noticed that she is wearing pants to church and kindly reminds her that that's not what most women do. He makes some reference to the divinity of womanhood and how this woman should not be ashamed to be feminine. The then says something along the lines of, "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but I'd like to encourage you to wear a skirt to church."

This scenario could be applied to many situations, nearly all of them involving a breach of the norm. The person in authority cannot mandate that this woman wears a skirt because he probably knows, if subconsciously, that wearing a ladies pantsuit to church is not inherently wrong. He cannot directly say, "don't do it, " because that would be overstepping his boundaries. The message that is delivered instead through the word encourage is, "You can do what you want, but we are going to judge you for it."

I find this method to be especially problematic because it turns these norms into a convenient way to judge one another, thus causing guilt where guilt is not warranted. The woman who wears a pantsuit is not a sinner, nor is she a child who can't make appropriate decisions for herself. And yet, because this statement of disapproval came from a voice of authority, this woman is now made to feel guilt for not choosing for herself what her bishop might have chosen for her. Because this judgement comes from a voice of priesthood authority, it begs the question as to whether or not God will judge her for wearing a pantsuit to church. Furthermore, even if the pantsuit ends up not being a big deal to God, will God judge her for being disobedient to her priesthood leader? As you can see, this sort of "encouragement" can lead to all sorts of tension and self-doubt.

I understand that many LDS church leaders want to encourage these norms because they send a message of conservative unity to the rest of the world. The LDS church is concerned with its image, and church leaders want outsiders to think that Mormons are uniformly clean-cut and wholesome. But the problem with enforcing a uniform image is that it creates a false pretense that the church, and the gospel of Jesus Christ by extension, is not for everyone. For a church that so adamently sends missionaries all over the world to bring as many people as possible into the fold, it seems backwards to encourage a norm of sameness. It sends the message that not all of God's children belong in this church, and that those who come seeking a way to become closer to Jesus Christ will not be accepted into the church community with full fellowship and love.

If the gospel of Jesus Christ is for everyone, why do we perpetuate this idea that you can only be in the church if you look or behave a certain way, even if the alternatives are not sinful? Have we become such pharisees that we have forgotten the Jesus preached to everyone and not just the conservative elites? Have we forgotten that he preached to sinners, to men and women, gentiles and Jews, to the afflicted, the poor, the lonely, and those in need of His comfort and love? Why do we then decide to judge those who are different from us? Why do we send out the message that you don't belong if you're not like us? Are we followers of Jesus Christ, or aren't we?

I feel like we all should re-think this.

On Contemporary Racism

2010-04-23T09:58:00.010-06:00

I'm going to put my neck on the line and talk about an uncomfortable subject for a bit.

I've been thinking a lot about race relations lately. This might seem strange considering I'm a white woman living in a predominately white area and attending a predominately white school. I've never lived in a very large city. The most diverse city I've ever lived in was Paris which does have substantial black and Middle Eastern populations, but even in Paris I never had much contact with people that weren't white. But this August, I'll be moving to New York City, one of the largest and most diverse cities in the world. The city is less than 40% white.

Race is one of those things that wasn't talked about much in my household growing up. I'm not sure if this is my parents didn't feel comfortable talking about it or simply because it wasn't immediately relevant considering where we lived. In school, I learned about slavery, the Civil War, discrimination against the Chinese during the California gold rush, and Martin Luther King Jr., but very little was said about the contemporary applications of this knowledge. It was as though racism was a thing of the past, and that we should be grateful to live in such an enlightened age where race isn't a big deal any more.

And yet, I was still prejudiced, if mildly, against black people as a child. It's not that I didn't make friends with and black kids at school. I did have a few good black friends. (Dionne, if you're out there, hi.) But there were too few of them to counter an experience I had when I was five or six. I had wandered out of the house and around the neighborhood without telling my mom, and I came home an hour or two later with my hair clips all ripped out after having been beat up by a black girl. I don't remember if I had done anything to provoke it. All I remember was that I felt scared and powerless.

Civil rights were always taught in such a convoluted way when I was a kid. Racial discrimination in the 1950's and 1960's was taught as though white people were just mean and didn't like black people just because they were black--that is, for no reason at all. The lesson to be learned, then, was not to judge people just because they look different. I understood the message, but I don't think that got to the root of the problem for me. I wasn't afraid of black people because they looked different from me. I was afraid because they looked like that girl that had hurt me. I didn't assume all black people were violent, but from that time up until I was probably in junior high, I was cautious whenever I met a black girl, just in case it was the same girl.

This caution compounded with stereotypes that were always present, if nuanced. On TV (except, notably, the Cosby Show), black people were nearly always shown as culturally removed from white people. They talked differently. They had different sorts of names. They were better athletes and dancers. They associated mostly with other black people. Most importantly, they always featured an episode every once in a while where they would show how they were looked down on by some white people. From this limited information, I started to get the idea, not that black people were somehow lesser than white people, but that black people and white people were so different that they should probably remain separated. How was I supposed to associate with black people when they were culturally nothing like me and would probably assume I was racist anyway?

As I got a little older, I was nice to black people, but I wouldn't have called any of them real friends. I was self-conscious of my white-ness around people of color as though they would look down on my perceived cultural differences or assume I was racist, and I therefore figured it was best to talk to them as little as possible.

I'm inclined to say that this is what a lot of contemporary racism comes down to. It's not the same thing as bigotry. It's not usually a belief that people that are different are lesser. It's a belief that they somehow can't fit in with the culture you are comfortable with. I read an article in the New York Times last November, for instance, saying that, in the current scramble for jobs, black applicants with equal credentials are often passed up for job offers on the grounds of "cultural fit". A company can justify not hiring a black applicant because of the supposition that the company's culture and the applicant's race are irreconcilable. Therefore, many black applicants nationwide change their resumes to omit anything that would reveal their race.

I do believe that people should celebrate their cultural heritage, but when it comes down to denying a job to someone based on cultural heritage, that's just a convenient loophole for plain ol' discrimination.

Of course, an individual may dismiss this information by saying that they are not the ones denying jobs, housing, or basic dignity to people of color. But a book I'm currently reading called Why are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? by Beverly Tatum points out that by just being white, or a member of any group that maintains dominance over another (e.g. those who are wealthy, male, heterosexual, etc.), we take advantage of a discriminatory system. For instance, if a black woman is denied a job because of her race, that is one more job available to a white person. The white person who gets that job may not have asked for the advantage, nor may he even realize it, but the advantage to being white in this country is real.

Tatum goes on to say that this is the way racism usually works in the United States right now. Injustice exists, and no one wants to acknowledge it, so it ends up being easy to ignore. She says that most people belonging to advantaged groups are not bigots, at it isn't necessarily their fault, but that doesn't mean it isn't their responsibility to try to fix the problem.

I've been thinking about this a lot because I don't want to go to New York and have the same sorts of biases and racial anxieties that I had as a child and naive young adult. It's going to be a substantial change for me, but it's one I'm eager to make.

I'm anxious to know what you all think on the subject and how your opinion is influenced by your personal experiences, where you grew up, etc.

The Food Chronicles #3: Easter Edition

2010-04-05T08:38:00.006-06:00

This last weekend, Chris and I spent our first Easter together as a married couple. Now, since I grew up in a religious Mormon family while he grew up in a secular one, our Easter customs differ quite a bit. Or rather, my family has Easter traditions while his really doesn't. This being the case, I had assumed that we'd be doing Easter the Harris way--that is lots of chocolate, egg hunts, potato salad, and ham.

But a few days before Easter, on Good Friday, one of my dear friends over at Feminist Mormon Housewives posted this photo essay documenting various Catholic Easter customs around the world.

This essay inspired me, I suppose. I was amazed at how cathartic these people's Easter rituals were. And why shouldn't they be? If Jesus Christ really did pay the consequences of sin and sorrow for all people who ever lived, and out of a want to save the children of God from hell, that is the greatest singular moment in human history. Why shouldn't it be given a bit of gravitas?

Mormon customs, in comparison, are so . . . pleasant. I guess I shouldn't single out Mormons (I only do because it's all I know.) because this seems to be part of mainstream American Protestant practice. American Protestants, for all I've observed, don't make such a big deal of Easter because all of the pageantry and ritual seems too pagan. Therefore, Easter, the most important holiday in Christendom, gets reduced to fluffy bunnies and colored eggs. It becomes more about springtime than about Jesus. That's fine if you're a secular or non-Christian type, but I feel the American Protestant Christians should really give Easter a bit more attention. I mean, for heaven's sake, fellow Mormons, why can't we at least do some special service for Easter instead of just a "Happy Easter" at the beginning of the service and then business as usual?

I have problems with Catholicism, but I like their style.

So, this whole thing culminated in Chris and me starting our own Easter tradition. Instead of doing the ham and potato salad thing, we had all Israeli food for Easter dinner. When I first got the idea, I thought that I would replicate the traditional Passover meal, but there simply wasn't time to put that together on such short notice, so a general Israeli meal would have to do. We had hummus with flatbread and labeneh (Greek-style yogurt), tilapia (or St. Peter's fish) with rosemary and thyme, an olive salad, grape juice (since we don't drink wine), and baklava for dessert. It was fabulous. Maybe next time I'll have the courage to make the baklava from scratch.

When Easter rolls around again, Chris and I will be in New York, and that's exciting to me because it means that we'll be able to attend a Catholic Easter service. (You just can't do that in Utah Valley. It's either Mormons, Krishnas, or nothing.) Say what you want about the Catholics, but they do Easter right.

Lighting the Moustache

2010-03-21T18:58:00.003-06:00

I figured it was high time I posted a video of this.

Again, this is Andrew Sexton's Self-Portrait, 2006. Steel, rubber tubing, propane, and fire.

A Turn for the Awesome

2010-03-21T17:23:00.005-06:00

This past week has been, to use a cliche, an emotional rollercoaster. A lot has happened, both good and bad, but mostly very, very good.

First, my thesis is finished! Now I'm just working on condensing it down for my presentation on April 9th. (You should come. It'll be in the BYU Museum of Art at about noon.) It shouldn't be too hard to do, but I've suddenly gotten really concerned about what I'm going to wear for it. I'm a little hard to fit and I hate shopping, and therefore my wardrobe is rather minimal--a bunch of unremarkable jeans, a few skirts and dresses for church, and enough nondescript shirts to last a week. I'm going to need to look sharp for this presentation, but that means shopping for new clothes. Blech.

Second, my phone stopped working for no fault of mine. It just gave out. I swear that they design cell phones to break down the moment your warranty runs out. I was two months out of warranty and so I had to pay a large fee to replace my phone. The new one still hasn't come in the mail, so I'm out of phone service until further notice.

Third, and most importantly, I've begun to receive my letters back from graduate schools. (It took them long enough!) Last week, BYU accepted me, but since Chris didn't apply in the area, and because I'm sick of Utah, it isn't really an option for us. This week, however, I received a letter from the Institute of Fine Arts at NYU (my first choice) that read as follows:

Dear Ms. Harris
I regret to inform you that you have not been admitted to the Institute of Fine Arts for academic year 2010-2011.
Please be aware that the Institute is petitioned by many more excellent applicants than it is possible to include in each year's entering class and that the decision of our Admissions Committee in no way reflects upon your ability to do successful graduate work elsewhere.
Thank you for your interest in our program. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
Sincerely yours, (etc.)

I was devastated. Since Chris had not been accepted in Chicago and the School of the Art Institute of Chicago had therefore fallen through, NYU had been my first choice. It was a very prestigious program, one of the very best in the nation, and it had turned me down, just like that. I was sorely depressed for a few days after that until I received the following email from a member of the NYU graduate committee:

Dear Ms. Harris,
First of all, let me apologize for the mistaken letter that you have received or will soon receive saying that you have not been admitted into the IFA. In fact, we would like to welcome you into our program. Let me be the first to congratulate you.
(And so on and so forth regarding the highlights of the program)
Please email if there is anything I can help you with in your graduate school decisions. Feel free to visit us any time. Again, congratulations.
Sincerely yours, (etc.)

How often does that happen!?
So, I was accepted into the Institute of Fine Arts at NYU. It was the best option available to me, and since Chris was accepted into a Columbia, it looks like we're moving to New York. What an adventure for us! I'm so happy, I don't even know what to say! I guess I'll just say WOOT WOOT!!

The "Giant Sleeping Head" Project

2010-03-07T04:07:00.002-07:00

Chris and I will be graduating this coming August, and we are both ecstatic that our long stint (maybe it wasn't that long, but it felt like an eternity) in Utah will finally be coming to a close. In preparation for that glorious day, I've been working on my senior thesis which I will be presenting this April. Since most of my friends and family don't know much about the project, I'll explain.

I study art history, and I intend to further my studies in preparation for a career in museum curatorship. I'm particularly interested in recent developments in contemporary art and how these new innovations can be adapted for the museum setting. That said, my project concerns an Australian sculptor by the name of Ron Mueck and his famous sculpture Mask II, shown below.
As you can plainly see, it is a giant sleeping head.

If you think this piece is freaky, that's good, because that's pretty much what my project is about in layman's terms. I'm exploring the complications of bringing incredibly realistic art into the museum setting. The viewer's experience is overall fascinating and disturbing because we, as museum visitors, are not accustomed to art being so realistic.

Mueck came to the art world from an unusual angle. Before he was a sculptor, he worked in special effects and animatronics with Jim Henson's studio. (He was also the voice of Ludo in Labyrinth if that means anything to anyone.) Because animatronic figures in film are supposed to look alive and convincing, Mueck is very skilled at making his figures appear very real. But in putting those almost-real bodies in a museum where people look at them for long periods of time, they starts to confuse the facial-recognition mechanism in the brain. This causes people to experience the uncanny, a feeling of fear and anxiety, at subconsciously not being able to distiguish whether the sculpture is a body or an object. It becomes simultaneously alive, dead, and non-living.

As you might have guessed, this causes a lot of complications in the museum setting. Realistic art works, over the centuries, have generally been considered pleasing to to eye. But extreme levels of realism, as in Mask II, breaks the subconscious expectations that art cannot really replicate nature, but can only suggest it. It makes the art not feel like art, but instead like something mysterious and sinister.

There's a lot more I could say, but I'd rather not do so here on the blog. If you'd like to hear my presentation, it'll be on April 9th. You should come. It'll be fun!

The Waiting Game

2010-03-05T12:58:00.005-07:00

It makes me feel like this!

Graduate school applications are in. I've applied to several Master of Arts programs, all in art history. This is the moment we've been waiting for--a letter telling me that I can finally move out of Utah and start studying at a more prominent university in a more exciting city. The players are New York University, UC Riverside, The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, City College of New York, and Brigham Young University (just in case).

I haven't heard from a single one yet, and it's starting to freak me out.

Chris is starting to hear back from schools, which is good for our sanity. He applied to several different doctoral programs in English, and frankly, any school would be lucky to have him. (You may think I'm just saying that because I'm his wife, but I'm not. The kid's a prodigy.) As of now, he has been accepted with full funding to programs at UCLA and Columbia, both top-notch schools. He's still waiting to hear back from New York University and the University of Chicago. (He was not accepted to Northwestern university, but who needs 'em!?) I've very proud of Chris, and I know he'll do well wherever he end up. That kid is going places, make no mistake!

But now I'm in a bit of a pickle. I have no idea where I'm going to live in six months, and it's making me anxious to the point of pacing around the apartment, pulling my own hair, and getting nervous when the mail comes. Having Chris receive acceptances is nice, but it's hard when we have no idea where I will be accepted, or if I will be accepted anywhere. I put in a strong application, or at least I thought I did. Not hearing back has thrown me into a whirlwind of doubt.

So I've developed this nervous habit of looking up real estate listings around all of the schools we've applied to, namely in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. I know it's stupid to do so since those listings will be gone once we know where we're going, but I can't really help myself. I need some sense of direction and an outlet for my anxiety.

We could end up in New York, Los Angeles, Or Chicago. All of them would have great opportunities for us, and we'd be living in far more exciting places than we are now. We'll probably choose where we go largely by which has the best programs, but I've never been to any of those cities, so I can't even say which city I'd rather live in. If you could live in any of those cities, where would you go?