I'm not Catholic, but...

After 6 months of being that-> girl, I have decided to give up sweets for Lent. 18ish hours in, and my head is splitting!!! It's going to be a long 42 days, wish me luck. The last time I tried to give up sugar I made it to 10 am, when I walked into work and found a box of donut holes sitting on a table. Self-control, not my forte.

I'm not Catholic, but I gave up facebook for Lent last year with a friend from school and I found it a really rewarding experience; giving up something you love, er, use all the time, and thinking about the Savior when you want to cave. Cupcake-the-size-of-my-head, I'll see you at Easter! We shall rejoice!

Still. Life.

I've woken up to this pretty vase of roses every morning since Valentine's day (it was the parents' wonderful little gift from afar off), and I have really, REALLY enjoyed the act of sitting (er, laying) and contemplating the roses. My thoughts turn to the art of the still-life inevitably, every time. Still-lifes, as we art historians are allowed to misspell them, are a little like landscapes to me. I know I don't give them the time and attention and reverence they deserve, and I am ashamed. But they're notably on the shelf of things to get obsessed with later in my studies. Still-lifes can be just about the most ridiculously beautiful and thought-provoking paintings out there. My prejudice stems from the fact that I am always befuddled when I look at them. The same question always comes up: "Did the artist paint this for him/herself, or for me?"

Paul Cezanne. Still Life with Apples and Peaches. 1905. NGA.
This artist's simple, slightly jarred and blocky still-lifes inspired
modernism as we know it. Can you see the glimmer in there?
The force that changed art forever?

The glory of a still-life is that it captures an object, its contours and colors, in all their mundanity or magnificence, and holds them there for eternity. I always am disturbed by the thought that it must have been ten times more stimulating to create a still life than to look at one. I've seen an artist's studio when it's still-life time. The whole room, every single thing in it, seems to revolve around that simple table with fruit on it, or set of dishes. Lights shine in that direction. Chairs are arranged just so around that central place. And the artist's canvas is invariably located somewhere nearby, propped on an easel, prepped and ready to contain the artist's best efforts to replicate what lies at center stage. A plant, or a banana, or a dead goose. Or a hammer, or a sculputre, or a goldfish. The possibilities for still-life subjects are endless.

Some of the world's most lovely things are to be found all around us, commonplace yet stately. Giorgio Morandi (1890-1960) knew this secret well. Living in Italy during the turn of the last century, a quiet man amidst the raging fascist movement that consumed his country, Morandi spent his time and energy on something so ordinary yet riveting that his works have earned a permanent place in art history. Morandi spent forty+ years painting the same set of familiar bottles and pitchers, rearranged in various positions. Forty years. But oh, how his works shimmer, in their stately greys and pale tans, day after day, painting after painting:

Giorgio Morandi. Still Life. 1955. Oil on canvas.

Giorgio Morandi. Still Life. 1956. Oil on canvas.

It's not only the bottles, their curves and coloring, their shadows (or lack thereof) that is to be contemplated in these works. It's the composition of the paintings, the balance of tall and thin, short and squat, near and far, that we find the artist has deftly manipulated. It's in the sheer magnitude of creativity that the artist could sustain with such a limited set of models. Morandi: in a word, thoughtful. (a second word would be: bottle.)

In case you're wondering, all still-lifes do NOT originate in the artist's peaceful contemplation of their surroundings. Most definitely not. I talked on M.C.'s blog about the potentially unnerving qualities of Wayne Thiebaud's paintings of pies, and here is another example of a still life that is far from peaceful:

Henri Matisse, The Goldfish, oil on canvas, 1912

This is one of my personal favorites paintings, not because of its mysterious aura of calm, but because of it's ENERGY! The thing I probably love most about still-lifes is how they get you to compare paint with real objects. No, that's not real glass up there, but it looks pretty darn close. How did Matisse do that?? Through black lines, placed really close to white lines, can you see them? Carefully observe your drinking glasses today. See if you can see the lines there, too.

If you ever want to sound REALLY artsy, start mentioning Dutch still-lifes. The Dutch artists from the 1600s are art history's premiere still-life geniuses. You just can NOT get better than this, agreed?

Willem Claesz Heda. Banquest Piece with Mince Pie, 1635. NGA.

The pewter pot! The satin sheen! The spiraling orange peel! And it's all an illusory trick of paint on paint! Those Dutch. They were magical. Let's get a little bit bigger image, shall we?

Willem Claesz Heda, Still Life with Oysters, a Silver Tazza, and Glass Ware, 1635. The Met.

That's more like it. Again, magic. Often, Dutch still-lifes have quite a heavy hidden content to convey. The Dutch still-lifes capture things ephemeral and temporary, such as cut flowers, ripe fruit, bubbles, and candles, which are meant to remind viewers that not everything lasts (so you'd better be obedient!). It's a poignant and often sobering thought, that those things which may on canvas appear eternal and valuable, will, in reality, wither away, just as human life will. There's a word for these types of still-lifes: Vanitas. As in, do not be vain like the silly flowers, their value lasts only a day.

400 years later, Ori Gersht, a photographer from Israel, chose to resurrect this concept in his still-lifes. I've talked about Gersht before: he sets up elaborate still-life arrangements (dead goose, cut flowers, ripe fruit, etc., all the classics), but then he rigs them with explosives and detonates them, capturing their untimely destruction with a high speed camera. Voila Ori Gersht:

Ori Gersht. Blow Up: Untitled 4. 2007. 

He also does the same thing in videos (putting the video in a framed flatscreen so it LOOKS like a painting, seen here). His works a beautiful and eerie reminder of what kinds of destruction modern man can wreak upon even his most favorite sources of beauty and comfort.

 Carel Fabritius. The Goldfinch.1654. The Mauritshuis. 

So, I've seen hundreds of still-lifes in my studies. Possibly thousands. I've seen this little guy to the right in its hometown in the Hague. It's an image beloved by an entire nation. This type of painting also has it's own name: Trompe l'oeil, or trick of the eye. It's not that much bigger than the size you see in on your screen, and was intended to trick people into thinking there were seeing a real bird perched on the wall on which the painting was hung. This painting is absolutely beloved by the people of the Netherlands, such is the peculiar lure of the still-life. Why do you think that is? 

There's one final still-life I want to show you, not remarkable so much for its thoughtful portrayal nor its hidden meanings, but rather, the story behind it:

Edouard Manet created Bunch of Asparagus in 1880 for his friend Charles Ephrussi; he sold it to him for 800 francs yet Charles, knowing Manet was rather impoverished, paid him 1,000. Manet, humbled and touched by the gift, sent this little painting:

A single asparagus leaf. As a thank-you to his generous friend :)

Probably the most self-indulgent post I'll ever write, but it's Vday. Love me.

I love love.

Everyone does, it's magical, so that's NBD.

I love dating!

Not so many concur with that one.

I really do. Getting dressed up, daydreaming about them before the date and after the date if it goes well, giving someone your full attention, seeing how they put their best foot forward (or don't :), etc. It's all great stuff! Sure, there's the whole three-day-agony when he doesn't respond to your text, and of course, breaking up or being rejected absolutely sucks, but such is life. Dating's so worth it, getting to know someone one-on-one. Such a great thing.

Whenever any downtime occurs, I just tell myself he obviously isn't worth the worry and move my focus elsewhere. Being 25 1/2, almost a decade into my dating career, I've done that quite a few times now, just as I have broken a few hearts, brightened a few boys' weekends, and even gotten to change a few lives, and be changed myself, for the better.

In Institute last week our teacher challenged us to think about all of our best and worst decisions, and what made them so. Both my best and worst decisions involve relationships (and charity and pride, respectively). I can say with confidence, though, that there's only been a single date in the almost TEN years I've been dating that I regret going on. That's a really good track record I think.

It sounds cheesy, but I really do feel like I've learned from each boy/guy/man I've dated, even if none of them have become my true love quite yet. I remember when I was a sophomore in college I made a list of every boy I'd ever been on a date with. There's no way I can recreate that list now, five years later, I can't remember them all... but I do have some highlights. :) The following is a grossly, unfairly, stereotyped survey of select guys I've gone out with, because it's V-day and I'd like to remember that it's not because I haven't given things a shot with a variety of fantastic and not-so-fantastic menfolk. We all nickname our crushes: "Library boy," "volleyball boy," "motorcycle man," etc., please don't judge me for having had this list in such a format in the back of my head. Is your list really any different? (Especially you marrieds??) How do you feel about YOUR list? I hope you can take pride in it, it's a pretty important thing to be content with.

A survey of Lindsey's love interests (Future husband, you get to feel proud that you bested all of the following):

Eldorado HS soccer player (my first date :)

I stayed good friends with all these guys,
I don't think they'll mind being the
visual content of today's post :)

HS prom date who moved into my singles ward 5 years later and announced over the pulpit that I made a great date
The Hobbit (he was 5'5"... and VERY confident, so manly!)
BYU football players 1, 2, and 3
BYU Swimmer
Harvard Tennis Player
Utah Football player
BYU Rugby player (the most gentlemanly of all the athletes)
Guy who got married and became the 1st counselor in my singles ward bishopbric... AWKWARD.
Skiier Boy
Guy who introduced me to Jack Johnson (my very favorite boy of all time... sigh. Win some, lose some.)
Guy who studied Computers at the Y and had zero social skills (worst date EVER)
BYU Mascot ( he didn't know I knew!)
Harvard MBA
Afghanistan EOD Officer, (owner of the most interesting boy award).
BYU JD
BYU MACC
BYU MBA
Yale JD
Boy who gave me the extra set of keys to his car (schwing!)
Drummer in a jazz band
Future prophet
Princeton Prepster
African do-gooder save-the-world type
Hill staffers 1, 2, and 3
Most beautiful guy I've ever seen (congrats to his new wife :)
Boy who liked techno and wanted to wear a Batman suit the first night of his marriage
Shakespearean actor
Guy who let me drive his dad's Corvette
Rich surfer boy from the OC, sweetest guy ever
Orthopedic surgeon
My second cousin (JK... although my best friend tried to set me up with him once :)
FBI Agent
Dental students 1, 2, and 3 (GO UNLV!!!!!)
Florida boy (I'll always wonder what happened to him...)

I'm still missing a collegiate lacrosse player. They've always topped my list of boys I wanted to date. Well, them, and THE ONE of course, whoever the heck he may turn out to be. I've still got time!

I need to end this post on a less braggy, more V-day appropriate note. My friends and I were recently talking about our "types," and I was surprised to find that the other girls had no idea what their types were; the men they've dated vary too widely. I was surprised because my type has remained consistent since high school, maybe even junior high, when I first began to love boys.

I'm going to tell you what I told these girls, the same thing I told my stake president in 12th grade when he wanted to set me up, the same thing I thought to myself at age 11 when the class clown asked quiet little me about the necklace I was wearing: I love funny men, the kind that can entertain a roomful of people but especially the girls. The ones that like asking girls questions. He can even be a little high maintenance, I like maintaining someone :). Find me one of those, universe, make sure he loves God and family and learning about the big wide world, and we'll be in business. Thank you in advance, so much.

Happy Valentine's Day, my friends. If you have someone to love, do so with all your heart. Such is the sweetest gift life has to offer.

Lord Frederic Leighton. The Painter's Honeymoon. 1864. MFA Boston.

Elie Wiesel

"'Man comes closer to God through the questions he asks Him,' he liked to say. Therein lies true dialogue. Man asks and God replies. but we don't understand His replies. We cannot understand them. Because they dwell in the depths of our souls and remain there until we die. The real answers, Eliezer, you will find only within yourself."

"And why do you pray, Moise?" I asked him.

"I pray to the God within me for the strength to ask Him the real questions."

I cheated on you.

I guest-posted on my friend M.C.'s blog, wrote about art history and baking. Enjoy!

Best picture I could find of M.C. and I:

She's the one in the sunglasses, I am the one rocking bangs, on a wakeboarding trip right before the BYU v. UNLV football game, 2007. Good times :)

What I like about a winter sleet storm

1. Sitting in bed watching a lot of movies on my laptop
2. Opening a new tab and making this list

This is me, at work, on a bad hair day (thank heavens for bandana!), with Flat Stanley and some sample size Red Velvet Cupcakes:

Please note that silver espresso machine in the back. It probably cost more than your new car.

This is me, going to church, on a good hair day:

The end.

The Wednesday that was a Saturday

Bakery schedules are funny:  I work the late shift this whole month, meaning my job goes from 2:30 pm to about 11:45 pm (cleaning bakeries takes FOREVER!). Thus, my mornings have become my evening relaxing time, and they are filled with breakfasts in bed and Season 2 of Bones on Netflix. Also, today (Wednesday) is my only day off this week besides Sunday, which means it is my new Saturday. Second load of laundry's in the dryer, I found a great new Pilates workout on Hulu, and I slept in til 11:45. I love Saturdays. 

Sometimes I worry my blog isn't very funny. Most of my friends have AWESOME funniness in their lives and that comes through in theirs (Erin, I'm mostly talking to you :). Mine seems to be all about seriousness and learning and values. Snore. (I'm blaming it on the soul-sucking Washington venue.)

The following made me laugh, so I'm sharing it with you. If you don't think it's funny, just humor me (haha.... I've never understood that phrase so well as just now). So, one of my favorite blogs ended last year. The four authors all moved and decided to let the blog go. I was not too sad when theapronstage.com passed into the void known as Internet history, but I kept it on my Google Reader list out of sheer nostalgia, and GUESS WHAT? Yesterday it came back in all its blazing glory, though I'm pretty sure it is not run by the same people. I clicked on its link eagerly, only to be reading this:

"Warrior Jared of Warehaven was once Lea's betrothed. Now that Lea's future is under threat she can't become emotionally involved with Jared again. But he has plans of his own, and he intends to use every seductive trick he knows to get Lea to comply...."

And it only costs 90 cents to keep reading. HEY-O!!!!!

[OPEN]

“You have a right to experiment with your life. You will make mistakes. And they are right, too.” Anaïs Nin

For those that balk at this quote because we should be all about continual self-improvement: I'm usually right there with you. But the fact is, we learn best through our mistakes. That's why we're on earth. My cousin David once gave a succinct real-life illustration of this when he described his years of high school wrestling. He said he learned more about wrestling in one lost match than he did in ten matches that ended in success and glory. That was always, always the way it was.

 In Man's Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl (which I lifted from Dad's bookshelf in Vegas over break), the author, a psychologist and a survivor of the Auschwitz Death Camp, preaches much the same message:

Live as if you were living for the second time and had acted as wrongly the first time as you are about to act now.

Think about that for a little bit. I know I had to. Think about where you were five years ago. If you're like me, you will be able to pick out a bunch of things you just want to hit yourself in the head for- and if you're like me, most of them are things I DIDN'T do... not the things I did. What can you do today that will enable you to look back with pride and whimsy, laughter and satisfaction in five years, and ten, and eighty?

I thought about this a lot over Christmas break. One of my least favorite and most prevalent mistakes in 2010 was in fact being afraid to make mistakes, and being too strict or stubborn with myself or others. As a result, my relationships suffered, I didn't apply to that conference in San Diego that I had a PERFECT research topic for, and worst of all, I didn't have any FUN.

NOT. Anymore.
2011 comes with no real resolutions. Just a motto:

open heart, open mind.

Because the people I love and admire the most accept others at whatever stage they're in, and they also accept new ideas and can form better, more persuasive thoughts about them than those who make snap judgments. I want to be like that. Motto will help get me there. (And by the way, PROPS to all my friends writing about their new year's resolutions this month. Normally this topic is really mundane- "Read books, run, etc." But everyone was really thoughtful and honest, I loved it!)


I took this semester off of school. I needed a personal break, I want to be there for my family more often, and I want to save money so that when I go back for my final year of my Master's studies, it will be everything I want it to be. I've always dreamed of being a scholar, I love the feeling of walking through bright and storied campuses with books in my arms and a multitude of eccentric thoughts and theories whistling around my head. I believe I have what it takes to come up with new research projects, to see things in late 19th-century art that no one has seen before, and to learn how to impart those things to other open, eager minds. (Small sidenote: I also find it delicious to discuss artwork with people who are NOT open to it. Thank you, freshman year BYU-football-player boyfriend for being my first challenge in that arena).


Don't call my decision a mistake, or do, I guess, if you'd like. I'm doing the best I can here and I have high, HIGH hopes for the next few months (as a baker :). Viktor Frankl says that there are three ways man finds meaning in his or her life: 1. by creating something or doing a deed 2. by experiencing something or encountering someone (highest form: family love!) 3. by enfashioning the correct attitude towards unavoidable suffering. I think I've talked about all three of those on this blog, so I can feel confident that I am continuously finding new meaning in my life. But I want to find more. I want to do more, see more, love more. Outside the library, at least for the next little while. At the close of 2010, all I could think to do was try to open my mind and heart to the people, ideas, and opportunities that come my way. And try not to worry about all the possibilities and potentials that might or might not (usually might NOT) come along.


Here goes nothing! Happy New Year! (I can write that today because it's the two year anniversary of my move to Virginia, and almost the 6-month mark since I've moved to this house. My how time flies.)

Because I like to have pictures on my admittedly art-themed blog, here's just a few things I've seen and thought about lately:

(From my dear friend Mariya- how beautiful! Click for the bigger image to read a William Blake poem that fits right along with today's discussion)

"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.

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!)

-http://www.bibme.org/ (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).

-Wikipedia.org, 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.

-Facebook.com- 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!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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:

WE'RE MARSHIN ON!

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,

Yours,

LC the Intrepid

(Pictures taken from the DCist group Flickr pool)