Be Careful What You Wish For

This has been a terrible week for homework. A total disaster as far as getting work done and working ahead on upcoming projects. My fears about Menno House have come true: I’m having too much fun with my housemates. Here is how it played out:

Monday: I discover that several of my housemates have not seen my favorite movie Strictly Ballroom. Watching commences immediately.

Tuesday: “What? You haven’t seen Romy and Michele’s High School Reunion either? Sit down.”

Wednesday: “Hey Clara, you went to college in the Midwest. Do you know how to play Euchre?”

“I love Euchre! Deal me in!”

“By the way, what are you doing Thursday night?”

“Menswear class.”

“Oh, because I was going to stand in line for rush tickets to the Opera. I’ll get two tickets and it is the Met’s new production of Rheingold.”

[Jaw drops]

Thursday: Dear menswear professor, I will not be able to attend class this evening due to an unexpected conflict…

Yeah, so the trade off for not getting any work done was the AWESOME experience of paying $20 to see Met’s new production of Rheingold—featuring the much-hyped set by Robert Lepage. Last year I was offered a free ticket to Siegfried but I had to give up another event in order to go. Choosing the opera ended up being 100% the right decision, so I now understand that when life offers you Wagner, you drop everything and go. We had great seats and the music was fantastic. Truth be told, I was a bit underwhelmed by the set and the staging (Of course Seattle's production is better), but I got to be a real New Yorker and snobbishly discuss the pros and cons of the performance on the subway ride home.

All in all, this has been a great week. I feel like I'm enjoying life here and taking advantage of what the city has to offer.

Oh wait. Aren’t I in grad school or something?

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.

Miss Universe National Confusion Contest!

When I first started this blog, I thought that maybe it would be a mix of stories about my life, and funny commentary on various other things (in the vein of Go Fug Yourself and Project Rungay). As it turned out, there has been very little of the latter. But I'm going to change that right now. Why? Because this is one of my favorite times of the year: the week where the pictures are released for the Miss Universe National Costume contest.

The ridiculous awesomeness of these costumes cannot be overstated. No one knows how to interpret the assignment. Here are some highlights from this year.

First there is the "screw this, I'm going full on showgirl" route:

Aruba, Bahamas

Or the showgirl's ancient predecessor, the loincloth wearing warrior princess:

Columbia

I see your golden loincloth and raise you a cow head:

Kosovo

Or you can pick a relevant topic. Like...tennis:

Belgium

I don't know if I should run in fear from this, or put in on the top of my Christmas Tree:

Kazakhstan

You can cover yourself in bizarre crap: Angola , Guam , Panama

A bunch of countries got a memo about wings: Albania, Jamaica, U.S. Virgin Islands, USA

At first glance the headdress is all you notice, but on closer examination...is that a whip she is holding? What?

Dominican Republic

A few just heard "costume" and not "national." Here we have the pirate wench of Ireland and the Ren Faire maiden of Lebanon

Oh crap. We need a national costume? Ok, stay calm. I've got an extra bikini and a whole bunch of beads:

Croatia

Neutrality or Death! Switzerland

Fills me with inexplicable sadness: Slovenia

Fills me with an inexplicable urge for wheat. Sexy, sexy wheat: Ukraine

Battling it out in the Lady Gaga Category: Turkey and Venezuela

C'mon Finland, Norway, and Singapore! You can't just buy a pretty dress! That's cheating!

See, some of the Asian countries look fierce!

Korea, Malaysia, Sri Lanka, and Thailand

And a few of the African countries look damn fine as well:

Ghana, Nigeria

Never Mind: Zambia

One Year

On this day one year ago, I boarded a train bound for New York City. I've been thinking about this anniversary for weeks now and have had ideas for all sort of "one year assessment" posts for this blog. Maybe that will still happen, but at the moment I'm finding myself at a loss. One year ago I was frantically packing and trying not to let on that I was more nervous than excited about my big move. I feel like the best summary is to describe what I did today, one year later:

-In the morning I went to my internship at the Met

-When asked about my recent trip to Seattle, I glowed and told them that I had a wonderful time

-At lunch I chatted with a classmate and griped about all the drama that was already involved in our exhibition class for next year

-After the Met, I hurried over to FIT to squeeze in an hour of work

-At my library job at FIT, I met with my boss to catch up on what I had missed last week. She was particularly intrigued when I told her "I like New York, but I feel an incredible sense of place in Seattle."

-After work I headed upstairs to watch Pret-a-Porter, the last movie in my professor's Fashion in Film series

-I went to bed in my apartment in Brooklyn, and tried not to stress out about my move to Manhattan

Blind Item: Internship at the Met

I realized that other than posting a picture of my ID, I haven’t written anything about my internship at the Met. The thing is, I’ve been a little nervous to do so. On the first day we were told that some of what we do and see is confidential, and that past interns have gotten in trouble for posting things on the internet. The problem is, they weren’t very clear about what was off limits. I can sort of guess, but since I’m not sure, I’m going to do it like a gossip column. Sometimes a reporter has a really juicy piece of news, but can’t reveal it for whatever reason. So they post a frustratingly useless “blind item” that is something like “a famous married actor with a big summer movie was recently spotted smooching a certain famous blonde.”

So here is a totally un-informative rundown of my time at the Met:

- I’ve seen some really amazing objects

- One time, there was a famous photographer taking pictures of some clothes

- A designer from a well-known fashion house came to look at some pieces from the house’s history.

- Some of the work I do involves a typewriter, scotch tape, and an aerosol spray can.

- A separate task involves a heat gun, a letter opener, and some metal clamps

- The staff is nice and approachable instead of snobby like I expected

- The employee café is awesome

- Something I did involved this:

If you want to hear more, just ask me in person. So long as I sweep the room for recording devices, I think it will be safe to give you more details.