Drinking on a Budget

Blurg. Except for the crunch around finals, I try to post something every week. But here it is, a full fortnight since my last post. Last weekend my parents were here, so I guess my official excuse was that I was running around with them. It was a good weekend. We went to two Broadway shows: La Cage Aux Folles and Wicked which were both delightful (Kelsey Grammar can't sing btw). Of course there were also the requisite museum visits and nice meals at restaurants. It was quite lovely.

Anyway, I can’t think of some kind of theme for this week, so I’m just going to tell you a story.

About two weeks ago I went out with two of my housemates to a bar. I was loving it because we had walked there, and walking with friends to a neighborhood bar was one of the things I missed when living in Park Slope. The place was crowded and noisy. At one point the lights turned off for a minute but then came back on. Then they went off again. Then we heard someone saying “Everybody OUT.” The way they said it, it registered more as angry “Party is over, guys” shouts than anything being wrong. We shuffled toward the door, moving slowly because there were so many people in front of us. Behind us was a woman screaming “GET OUT! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!” She kept screaming and pushing, which was obnoxious because we couldn’t go any faster than the person in front of us. She seemed like the pedestrian version of a driver than leans on his horn in gridlock traffic.

When we finally got out we heard someone say something about a fire. Then a fire truck pulled up. Then another. Then another. Eventually there were five. A few guys suited up and went in to the bar, but there didn’t seem to be much urgency. We saw no flames or smoke. Just for kicks, one fireman opened up the hydrant and let it run into the street for a while. We stuck around because one of my friends had left her sweater and the other had opened a bar tab. Eventually the one with the lost sweater was able to talk the bouncer into retrieving it (confirming the fact that the bar was not consumed with fire) but he refused to return any credit cards. Eventually they told us that the bar would be closed for the rest of the night so we went home.

It was all very strange. While I don’t think that I was ever in any real danger, it was weird that there had been some sort of legitimate fire in the bar and that we weren’t told until we had exited. Of course yelling “fire” in a crowded space could cause panic, but since we didn’t know what was going on, everyone just ambled toward the door. Is there a medium between panic and annoyed indifference?

Anyway, the friend with the open bar tab went back the next day (at the time they had told her to return) and found the place still closed. She cancelled the card and so all our drinks that night ended up being free.

The end.

Mannequins and DDR

Amid the hubbub of moving I started all my classes for fall. Here is what my semester looks like:

Exhibit: Plan & Interpretation—This is a big one. Every spring the second year students in my program put on an exhibition at the Museum at FIT. We’ve all been looking forward to it with a mix of excitement and fear. As rewarding and valuable as it is to create a real museum exhibit, the project also has a history of creating exhaustion, frustration, and bitterness. One of the points of tension is the assignment of jobs. A few positions (the curators mainly) do the majority of the work. They learn the most and get the most credit, but the commitment of time and effort is brutal. Those with smaller jobs are less stressed out, but resent how little they are getting out of the experience.

I put my name in for curator, and part of me really wanted it. It is a huge honor, and it must feel great at the end to look at the exhibit and say, “I did this.” However with my 21 hour per week job I was worried about the time commitment. My nervousness only increased when we met for the first day of class. Something about the way the project was presented filled me with nervousness and dread (I can’t go into much detail, but the term “dictator” was used in positive context). That Friday we each got phone calls announcing our positions. At first I was disappointed to get a small job, but the more I think about it the more I realize it is the best thing that could have happened. If I were curator I'd be looking forward to six months of unparalleled stress and pressure. I'll still be busy with school, but I'll have breathing room to pay attention to my other classes, hang out with my housemates, and sleep regularly. I’m in charge of PR. So far I’ve read examples of press releases and picked out a dress to wear for the media preview in March.

History of American Men’s Wear—Pretty much what it says on the tin.

Costume & Textile Mounting Skills—This is, in essence, mannequin dressing. Sound easy and lame? It is actually one of the best and most valuable courses offered in the program.

The class is taught by a woman who worked for years at the Met and is something of a legend in the field. Her approach requires that we read books on anatomy in order to understand the human body and how it is modified by clothes in various periods. Over the course of the semester we have to diagram 10 period garments (from a study collection) and show exactly how they are proportioned and how they are put together. How are the seams finished? How are the shoulders cut? How is the skirt pleated? This is our chance to really get into the details of clothing. With an understanding of construction and anatomy, we can start to understand how people stood and held their bodies in various periods. Each garment expects a certain structure underneath. You just need to know how to create the right one.

Special Topics—also known as “DDR.” Last semester we got to vote on the topic for this seminar. We settled on an awesome one: Deconstruction, Destruction, and Reconstruction. We are exploring the recent tendency in fashion to have clothes that look like they are missing pieces, falling apart, or crudely put together. The most familiar examples are jeans that come pre-torn or shirts that are made to look like they are inside-out. This is heavy fashion theory. On our first day our professor explained that this phenomenon first appeared right before the fall of the Berlin Wall and then gained strength again in the wake of September 11. What does it say about our society that we seem drawn to dressing like we’ve been through some violent or earth-shattering event? Last week we read a book called Structuralism and Post-Structuralism for Beginners. It was awesome. I love it when my supposedly vapid and superficial field becomes mind-bendingly thought provoking.

I Moved!

I did it! I successfully moved from Brooklyn to Manhattan! Once my room looks less like I dumped the contents of my suitcases on the floor (which I miiiiight have done) I will post pictures. In the meantime, I’ll share some tidbits from the move.

In terms of doing the actual move, I was sort of lost. I had just enough stuff to make it hard to do on my own (on the subway or with taxis), but not enough to make it worthwhile to hire movers. Someone suggested renting a U-haul, but driving a giant van in New York sounded worse that taking 50 trips on the subway. So for a while I was planning to go with the subway method. But then I had a lucky break--someone moving out of Menno House was renting a U-haul and wanted to share. When she explained that she had to drive it the whole time for insurance purposes, I became very enthusiastic. So on Monday I put on my running clothes and spent a hot, sweaty day moving.

Once I had the U-haul planned, I realized I didn’t have enough boxes. I mentioned this to one of my coworkers, and she had a quick answer. “Just go to the liquor store,” she said, “They always have boxes.” Hmm. Interesting. So I approached my local store, and said, “This might be an odd request, but I am moving soon and…” “Yeah, sure, boxes.” The guy said. He called over another employee and they brought me what they had. Amazing! So I moved into Menno House with my stuff packed in containers for rum and Jack Daniels.

The U-haul day was Monday, but I didn’t officially start living at Menno House until Wednesday (the bulk of my stuff hung out in the MH basement in the meantime). On Wednesday it was sort of sad to say goodbye to John. We had a good rapport, and I think he was sorry to see me go. His new roommate seems cool, but he is bringing another older cat into the apartment. That means that there will be two 16 year old cats and one 10 year old without teeth. I can’t help but think that I got out just before the apartment became a geriatric kitty ward. (Just before I left, John had to ban one of the cats from his bed because she was getting into the habit of pooping there instead of going all the way to the litter box.)

I had one class on Wednesday, and through most of it I kept thinking about how exciting it would be to walk home when class was over. If my first night is anything to go by, I think my time at Menno House will be pretty great. We shared a delicious house dinner and then had a Beyoncé dance party while cleaning the kitchen. Then, when I mentioned that I owned seasons 1-5 of Project Runway on DVD, half the house got super excited and wanted to get started on season 1 right away.

By the way, to give you an update from my last post, Thailand apparently won the costume contest.