Wednesday, December 29, 2010

"Gol-LEE!" That's Dad-ish for "You're spending too much money or being ridiculous"

If you were to bug our house and start listening to the melodious sounds of our post-Christmas, week long hang-out session, here are a few of the things you would hear. (You might need a few things translated for you. We here on Alamosa Way are very good at expressing ourselves in veiled phrases.)

"Jeepers!" -Mom when she is overwhelmed by modern superfluity. Used when she is introduced to things like smart phones and the entire Band of Brothers DVD collection... or Lady GaGa.

"QUIT TALKING TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND START THINKING ABOUT MONEY!" -Dad gets really into family Monopoly games.

"HMPH!" Marcus says this a lot and just listening to him, you'd probably think he was a caveman. But he says this with an impish grin and it is his way of saying "I disagree with you/You're stupid/you're funny/WHHHYYYY did I land on the space with a hotel on it??/Hi Bob!/I'm righter than you."

"REEHN!"  There aren't really enough letters to actually encapsulate the sound Marie makes when she issues her patented flying hug. Sometimes it's accompanied by the clarion call, "PANDA ATTACK!" Giggling ensues.

You'll know Katie's in the house because the beautiful sounds of Wicked on the piano or violin go trailing through the house.

"Look Lindsey, these are my NAME-BRAND jeans." What you won't see is the sight of Spencer wiggling his better side back and forth in front of me.

My sounds? I have two this season: a munching one (brownies and cookies and candy OH MY. Our kitchen is STILL overflowing this year with good things, no matter how may times I sally forth and try to get rid of the whole plate of Oatmeal Cinnamon cookies in one sitting. They just keep multiplying.) My other sound? "QAT! TRIPLE WORD SCORE! LOOK IT UP IN THE DICTIONARY, IT'S TOTALLY THERE! BOOYAH! I WIN I WIN I WIN!"

.... my dad is not the only one who gets into games.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

I'd like to thank my sponsors...

As my school muse Hermione says in a bad American accent, "Booyah!"

3 brilliant theses and 58 pages later, my finals are finished, and I have emerged out of my sweatpants-draped room, gone on a bright, snowy run, and returned to the real world (aka Harris Teeter the grocery store).

Last finals week I showed you this:

My old school "posulating" about the religious overtures of Frederick Edwin Church's Aurora Borealis

This finals week I present to you my more technologically advanced method of composing big fat essays:

Copious research notes and a laptop. Old school might be better...

I really feel the need to thank those entities that have gotten me through this week. In no particular order, I heartily express my gratitude to:

-NOVA Institute choir (Beautiful concert Tuesday night!)

- (Holy shiz.SO unbelievably happy to now avoid hour-long hunts for the original place of publication!)

-Spike Mendelsohn and his lovely The Good Stuff Cookbook (concocting  his raspberry sugar cookies and red velvet brownies with white chocolate icing helps ease whatever ails ya)., particularly the entries on Christine de Pizan and Emperor Menelik II of Ethiopia. Even my professors admit to popping over to Wiki to read a few facts about their subjects translated kindly from academic gargle into English. No shame. Only love. I hate you, always. But I did enjoy browing my friends' pics when I was really stuck. Nothing like a baby in a Bumbo to make you realize everything's gonna be ok. :)

And now, dash away HOME!!!!!!!!!!! Christmas in Vegas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Theme Song for Finals

8 days left of finals, and what am I doing this morning? Dancing around my kitchen in the same exact dumb way the lead singer of One Republic does throughout this video (particularly at the 3:12 mark. That's my move!). I'm strangely proud of this video, because I remember during the heyday of "Apologize" thinking that the lead singer of this band TOTALLY lacked in star power (as in, he looked like the kid I was assigned to sit next to in Algebra class who tried to cheat off me, whose life was devoted to Xbox). Look how far he's come! Watch me/us go:

The fro-headed boy going nuts with the snare drum in this video kills me. And is also kind of my muse. In some future life, after my lives where I'm a surgeon, a member of the Medici family, Alicia Keys, a pioneer, and someone who understands chemistry, I'm going to be a crazy drummer in a rock band.

In the meantime, three more papers. As the singer of One Republic (who prominently sports a wedding ring- way to be!) pronounces for some unknowable artistic reason:


Thursday, December 2, 2010

Love Note to _. _.

Can I just say how much I am in love with my city right now? No, not Arlington, that's just where I house my shoes and go running. The District of Columbia. Where I work, study, and play. Home of the National Cathedral, National Archives, the Capitol, and a dozen other prominent and lovable buildings arranged neatly along the skyline. The place I spend almost $5 a day to get to and from, riding on a booming, crowded metro. This normally snooty city has set aside its obnoxious wonky persona for a season and become a real, thriving, metropolis... with PEOPLE in it! Sigh. All for me, the summer-loving, token art girl from the West. How did I come to be in love with you, overcrowded, overcoat-ed, early winter Washington? There's just no explanation for taste!

And yet, there are a thousand and one reasons why I love you, city. Any given day, you are so much better than New York; more J. Crew, less Marc Jacobs. More fog, less wind. More history, same amount of mystery. Less expensive, less crazy, just the right amount of energy. Everywhere I look, you've spawned whimsical, department-store-caliber Christmas decorations. Your homeless musicians, parked on milk crates by the metro entrances, trail a peppy "It Came Upon a Midight Clear" with their saxaphones. One even accompanied my walk home today with a French melody on the accordian- merci! (That doesn't mean I'm any less of a grinch than I used to be. One of my supreme delights each day is having a bakery music station that ROCKS all day long. It only plays Christmas music from 6 to 7 am, when I'm too sleepy/too busy setting up the counter displays to notice. Then it switches to a mix that has included Journey, Taylor Swift, Linkin Park, and Savage Garden. Radom and awesome! Hallelujah!) 

Let me tell you about The Washingtonites I've been meeting and serving carbs and coffee. I love them all. They come in wearing dark but chic coats and sporting the ubiquitous scarf. They disseminate business cards, squeal over our gorgeous cupcakes, croissants, etc., announce the end of their diets with gleeful joy, and round it up by buying each other sugar and going back to work/getting on a plane/metro'ing back to Maryland. I am smiling and running back and forth ringing up sales all day long (Finals? 11 days away. TTFN).

This isn't him, but you get the idea.

This week the city introduced me to a wall-eyed homeless man, who keeps wandering into the bakery. He asks to see "the lady with dark hair" and mutters something about "investments." He never takes a sample cupcake, but I like to harness my inner Ana Pascal and make him feel welcome. The first time he came in, he requested pen and paper and proceeded to write a 7 inch long message to said unnamed dark-haired lady, which was absolutely undecipherable (I tried). He hunched over it for a full ten minutes, using a minutre, scrawled script that looked exactly as you expect a crazy homeless man's note to a bakery owner to look. Thoroughly enjoyable.

City, maybe I'm romanticizing you, maybe I'm not. When I'm with you, the hours seem like minutes, and when I metro away from you, the minutes drag into hours. Things are never as serendipitous in the West, or in Virginia, for that matter. There, things make sense, they have their place, they are contained. Life with you, of course, is anything but. I think about you when I go to sleep. I bless your leaf-strewn, rain-washed streets when I set out in the morning.

National Museum of African Art on the Mall. Where I study.
I don't know how long you and I will last, city, because truthfully, I've been thinking about leaving you in the next few months. But just know that you've been my constant companion, and some days my only source of beauty and joy, these two long years. I can only think to attribute this to the fact that I am an architect's daughter- I was raised to see and connect to humanity best through the structures it builds. In that way, then, we were meant for each other.

Sometimes you stifle me, city, often you baffle me, on occasion you enrage me, but then again, many times you throw open your museum doors and introduce me to artists like Alexis Rockman at SAAM (gorgeous!), or sketch out the allure of Ethiopian processional crosses and Rastafarianism. And thus, our affair continues on. What's going to happen to us in the end, city? You're right. It's a question that need not be answered now. It's Christmas time, and you're taking care of me like no place ever has. I am happy on your streets, in your museums, with your people. And I think you are happy to have me, too- bundled up bright, passing through your midst and working hard in your businesses and at one of your schools. So, for the moment, District, I guess I remain, most sincerely,


LC the Intrepid

(Pictures taken from the DCist group Flickr pool)