the Holy Family, then and now

"Rest on the Flight Into Egypt" by Aert de Gelder, c. 1690. MFA Boston 57.182.

Did you ever notice how paintings from the Renaissance and after often depict Bible characters in contemporary clothing? This Holy Family is lovely, but they sure resemble 1690s Dutch people too. Of course to us, images like this just look old-timey. Would a Holy Family in modern dress seem jarring?

At Midnight Mass I started imaging what a contemporary Nativity scene would look like. A parking garage would be a good stable equivalent - if you can't find a hotel room, you have to sleep in the car. There would have to be some stray cats running around, and the shepherds could be construction workers doing some night paving. Then the magi would be oil sheiks who fund science research, and would fly in from Bahrain on their private jet.

Welcome, baby Jesus!

Merry Christmas! I hope you have a wonderful celebration with people you love. 

There are going to be lots of "O Holy Night" diva moments in the next 24 hours, so here's a more understated song: "Welcome to Our World" by Chris Rice. I much prefer this original version's simple sincerity to Michael W. Smith's schmaltzy remake. The lyrics describe the Incarnation so beautifully.

Fragile finger sent to heal us
Tender brow prepared for thorn
Tiny heart whose blood will save us
Unto us is born
Unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around You
Breathe our air and walk our sod
Rob our sin and make us holy
Perfect Son of God
Perfect Son of God

Material Culture Alert: The man in the big red suit

Last week my class had the wonderful opportunity to take a short end-of-semester field trip to the Boston area.  Part of the time was spent in the Museum of Fine Arts' new Art of the Americas wing, which is absolutely glorious. I couldn't help noticing a common theme throughout the portraits : the red suit.  In the eighteenth century textiles were costly, and so clothing in portraits could show off one's gentility and status. I was amazed how many examples there were of men in an outfit that is today reserved for Santa Claus. 

Here's Nathanial Sparhawk, painted by John Singleton Copley in 1768. He was a successful merchant in Maine, but his house was nowhere near as grand as this backdrop.

 

John Singleton Copley also painted Samuel Adams in a red suit around 1772.

 

Across the pond in England, Thomas Gainsborough painted this portrait of hospital benefactor John Eld of Seighford Hall, Stafford in 1775.

Here's French artist JeanJacques Caffieri, painted by Swede Adolf Ulric Werftmuller in 1784.

 

The red suit persisted through several decades, as this1793 painting of Bostonians Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Russell by John Trumbull. Their arm-in-arm pose was the latest trend from England.

I wonder what portrait fads will look funny to future generations. Maybe jumping photos of entire wedding parties?

A Wacky English Christmas

Source

I finally finished that history paper after working on it several hours a day for a solid week. It was an uphill battle. To keep sane during my last late night session, I rewatched About a Boy on Netflix while I worked.The movie definitely grew on me the second time around, especially because it shared my hatred for terrible Christmas songs. In case you didn't remember either, Hugh Grant's character Will is a selfish bum living off the royalties from his dad's hit song "Santa's Super Sleigh." The song haunts Will throughout the film, including in a grocery store where he thinks:

"It can't be. November the sodding 19th... Six weeks before Christmas and already they were playing the bloody thing." 

Griping about Christmas music is so much more fun with British words!  Here's my favorite cheeky holiday song from another Hugh Grant movie, Love Actually. Brilliant!

Gaudete!

Today is Gaudete Sunday, when we light the pink candle and rejoice that Christmas is near. I for one am really excited to give some special people their presents! They are pretty great, if I do say so myself. I can't wait to see everyone's reactions.I'm also rejoicing because tonight my Dad helped me fix my computer after it had been attacked by spyware.

Another local parish, St. Mary Magdalene, has a tiered Advent wreath. (They are unfortunately also fond of banners, the art form that 1970s and 80s Catholics worshiped instead of statues.) 

I'm also warming up to listening to Christmas music. Here's The Cherry Tree Carol, a quirky Christmas ballad that I grew up hearing on the Peter, Paul, and Mary Christmas album. It's a 15th century tune that gets quite poignant about Joseph's confusion at Mary's pregnancy. I always thought asking for some fruit was a slightly awkward way to announce there's a baby on the way, but I hear snacks are pretty crucial when you are preggers. Either way, it's a sweet and lovely song.

"A nation so conceived and so dedicated"

"But, my dear Sebastian, you can't seriously believe it all..I mean about Christmas and the star and the three kings and the ox and the ass."
"Oh yes, I believe that, it's a lovely idea."
"But you can't believe things because they're lovely ideas."
"But I do. That's how I believe." - Brideshead Revisited, p. 87

Today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception, under which title Mary is the patroness of the United States. Ironically, I am up to my eyeballs in a paper about how the United States was founded by a bunch of rationalist, skeptic Deists. I seriously doubt they would be fans of the mystical, supernatural, and often-confused concept that Mary was free from original sin from the first moment of her life.Well, too bad, Thomas Jefferson. A bunch of Americans like that non-scientific, lovely idea very much.

I need to get back to my paper, so I'll leave you with this video encapsulating the religion/secularism debate that's been raging in America since the 1700s.

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Blitzkrieg On Grinchitude - Atheist Billboard & Capitol Christmas Tree
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor & Satire Blog March to Keep Fear Alive

Museums in movies: When In Rome

Ever since I've seen the trailer for When in Rome, I've been curious about the fact that it stars Kristen Bell as a curator at the Guggenheim museum. Could a chick flick present the job accurately?. Now that it's on Netflix I figured I should give it a try and see how realistic Bell was as curator Beth. Here's what the film got right:

• The Guggenheim website lists 15 curators, not all of whom have PhDs, so its not entirely improbable that Beth could get an assistant position with just an M.A.(Although the film makes no comments on her credentials.)
• A major part of Beth's job involves extracting large donations from wealthy patrons on the board of trustees. 
• Beth seems quite familiar with the museum's permanent collection, and gives private tours to potential investors.  
• Beth fell in love with the Guggenheim visiting it as a child. If you ask any of my classmates they can tell you about fond childhood memories of museums or antiquing. 
• Beth's boss, a Miranda Priestly clone played by Anjelica Huston, wears statement jewelry and does not tolerate personal lives interfering in work. This uber-curator scowls at the prospect of Beth being out of town for her sister's wedding.
• Unlike her angelic sister, Beth has not been lucky in love, no doubt because her manic career goals in graduate school sapped her emotional energy and will to be normal. 

Okay, that's about it. Sadly, there's a lot more that doesn't make any sense. This character might as well be a journalist or fashion designer or other generic chick flick job.

• Despite her low ranking position, Beth makes enough money for a sizable Manhattan apartment. So does her suitor, who works in the even more financially doomed field of print media. 
• Beth doesn't believe in magic, despite that fact that she has her dream job at the museum she loved as a child. Don't make me hurt you, blonde girl. 
• Beth does curate an exhibition, but her job really seems to be more event planning than scholarship. Why the heck is she assembling gala programs at her home? That's the development department's job! I also doubt anyone would think 3Oh!3 songs as the soundtrack to an exhibit opening is a good idea .
• For someone with at least an M.A. in art history, Beth seems pretty oblivious about Europe. In her staff meeting, she has to specify that her sister's warp speed wedding will occur in Rome, Italy. (So... not the one in Texas?) The fact that the Guggenheim has a branch in Venice makes this really inexcusable.
• To make matters worse, once she gets herself off a plane and into a Roman taxi, Beth takes no interest in scenic views of architecture or statuary. PUH-LEASE. Even my most iPhone addicted colleagues would stop checking email to, I dunno, gawk at the art they have chosen as their life's work. 

 So, you're probably thinking, whatever Sarah, is this still a fun movie? Um no. It's horrible. It's an accidental satire of romantic comedies. Characters say lines like "He didn't really love you, he was just under a magic spell!"; "I just realized I love Nick more than my job!"; and in the "I love you" reveal - "No, no, you go ahead and say it." Just when I thought things might not be completely predictable, there were both a race through traffic at a critical moment and a runaway bride. What, you didn't have time for someone to dash through an airport?

In the end, I decided to enjoy When In Rome by accepting it as a total slapstick farce, kind of like a really bad Marx brothers movie. After all, Beth's four magic fountain stalkers are like a Chico and three Harpos. Also, the scenes in Italy are about as authentic as this number from the Marx's A Night at the Opera. Hmm, the Marx brothers at the Guggenheim - now there's an exhibit I would curate.

A Kiss from God

Happy Second Sunday of Advent! My local church, St. Joseph on the Brandywine,  is doing a nifty banner/candle wreath thing this year.

Of course, now that I'm about to leave Delaware in 6 months, I'm finally getting connected to the parish. I've introduced myself to the pastor, and on Saturday I attended a morning advent retreat.  It was just what I needed. Not only did I get to meet some very nice parishioners, I learned about Salesian spirituality.  I have a more Vincentian background, thanks to my service year, and I've never really understood what all the fuss was about St. Francis de Sales. Turns out he's kind of awesome and not stodgy at all. In fact, he combated the Jansenist heresy and its hatred of human nature.

I especially liked one St. Francis de Sales quote that the priest shared:

The Incarnation is God's kiss to the world. 

It's a lovely thought, but that statement's implications are deeper than just sentimentality. A kiss implies love and spontaneous affection.   A kiss can also signify forgiveness and reconciliation. Between parents and children, it's a sign of trust and protection. It also means wordless communication, and a strong physical connection, and that's exactly what Jesus' incarnation was. God loved us so much, he wanted to physically, tangibly show us, and so He took on our image and likeness. St. Francis de Sales believed that this would have happened even if Christ didn't need to save us from original sin.

You don't even know

So yesterday a professor had us over to her house for an end-of-semester shindig. Not only did she not make us talk about syllabus additions, she also provided tons of food - ham salad, cookies, tea in adorable tea pots, even GF biscuits and chocolate cake. A+, Professor H. I'm always touched when professors act like they want to spend time with their students and are interested in their lives. Prof. H especially wanted to hear all about us girls' love lives, which was fun. 

Everyone hung around for hours, long enough to quit talking about next year's courses and start telling interesting stories. Since my volunteer year was the last time I did anything uniquely exciting, I kept referring to that. When I started out "So my house in St. Louis was a former convent next to a school..." I saw Prof. H's religious-historian eyes get wide. Oh, Prof. H, you don't even know. 

You don't even know what hard, fun work it is for 8 strangers to live in a former convent and try to create a modern spiritual community together. You have no idea how it was the most adventurous, challenging, weird, random year of my life, and how I am still figuring out what it all meant. In fact, yesterday was the first time I've been able to talk about one my negative experiences that year and not relive its emotional impact. I miss the service focus my life had then, and I'm still not sure how to stay connected to that as a grad student.

What's really crazy about living in a former convent with 7 strangers-turned-friends is that you are just one year of the house's life. Other groups will keep making new histories after you're gone, and you'll never really know how their community functioned. The groups that came before you have left all sorts of random stuff lying around and you have no idea what it means. At your moment in the house, you just make the best of what you can find. 

Like making an Advent wreath out of plastic greens and candles stuck in sand-filled shot glasses. I don't think God minded.

You know you're in grad school when...

• You discover that typing words like "eighteenth century" and "constitution" require too many keyboard gymnastics. Thanks, auto-correct. 
• You accumulate so many library books you run out of shelf space and have to turn them into living room decor. 
• The National Tire and Battery guy assures you their mechanics are so good, they can judge fuel levels by sight and touch - and you think "great connoisseurship skills!"
• Your grad student beau complains that the palace guards in that new Rapunzel movie are wearing nineteenth century Prussian cavalry uniforms, and you justify it as a pastiche of monarchies throughout history. 
• Next semester's syllabi are the hot item to have this season.
• Touring three D.C. museums in one day is perfectly normal, and you have to get up before 6 am tomorrow to drive over 100 miles to do so. It'll be worth it, though!

Happy New Year!

or, Happy First Sunday of Advent.

Inspired by The Crescat's month of rosaries feature, I've decided to look at different styles of Advent wreaths during the season. Let's consider it a survey of religious material culture, and thus a totally legit distraction from thesis work. So please email or comment about what kind of Advent wreath you've used!

When I was a kid, we had a brown ceramic one my parents bought when they were newlyweds living in Arizona. Here's the dorm-and-apartment sized, votive-candle-powered wreath I have now.


This photo marks a renewed attempt at Photoshop Elements. I used ideas from this tutorial by The Pioneer Woman.

Yuletide Tunes: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was a fun several days of not thinking about homework, but it had its own stress. Turns out having 20 people over for dinner is indeed loud and hectic - I feel like I barely got to chat with anyone! I'm sorry if anyone feels like I ignored them.

Also, I'm continuing to ponder the bittersweet reality that I no longer live in my parents' house. Most of my stuff is gone, and I was barely there this summer. Sometimes it's tricky to figure out how my adult life should mesh with my family's continuing evolution, especially since I have no idea where I will be working next year.

Still, I'm grateful for the chance to re-connect with family and friends. Here's a song that pretty much sums it all up. This is hands-down one of my favorite hymns, and it's been in my head all weekend since hearing it at Mass on Thanksgiving day. The tune comes from composer Gustav Holt's Op. 32, "The Planets," and the lyrics are lovely.

and whether our tomorrows
be filled with good or ill,
we'll triumph through our sorrows
and rise to bless you still

Get your pilgrim on

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! The Beau and I are off in Virginia celebrating with my family; my aunt and two cousins; and my dear friend K along with her husband, mom, sisters, and three little ones.

Like any loyal Virginian, I know that the first formal Thanksgiving celebration was actually in 1619 at Berkeley Plantation in Virginia. That's right, before the Mayflower even landed. Take that, underwhelming Plymouth Rock in a cage.

Still, I really enjoyed my class' visit to Plymouth, Mass. this summer, so I thought I'd share a few photos of the museums there. The re-constructed village was almost as fun as I imaged it would be as a child.

At the Pilgrim Hall museum, we learned that the 1620 settlers probably dressed like this - no black hats with buckles.


For all my regional rivalry, I do respect all the hardships that the Pilgrims, and all settlers, faced to come to America. Here's a sobering image from Pilgrim Hall of the first year's death toll.

I'm thankful that we no longer live in a world where you could lose your loved ones to disease or famine at any moment. I'm also grateful that I'm close enough to VA to spend the holidays with family and friends - Brother #2 is in grad school in Illinois, so he'll be an ambassador to the Chicago relatives this year. On a more mundane level, I am grateful all the books I needed this week were available on library shelves.

What are you thankful for this year?

Bad holiday songs make me want to bust a cap...

Okay, God must be trying to teach me patience or something because the horrid holiday music keeps finding me. Looking back, I should have expected it in a store named "Christmas Tree Shops." They have lots of cheap homegoods ok? I even got some decoration ideas for my apartment.

BUT they were playing the most horrendous version of Baby It's Cold Outside known to man. If done well, this song is a charming duet and listeners ignore the date-rapey sound of some lines. ("Say, what's in this drink?") In this version, Tom Jones and some dame escalated into off-key shrieking that honestly made me nauseous.

Phew. To cleanse your palate, here are some clever Thanksgiving raps from this weekend's SNL. One of my classmates was in New York and found his way into the episode after party. He got to meet Anne Hathaway, and is now my hero.

Introducing Yuletide Tunes (that don't make me want to scream)

True confession time: I hate December's non-stop barrage of Christmas music. To me, the heart-tugging crescendos of O, Holy Night and Silent Night are the hymnodic equivalent of a movie heroine realizing that she does love that guy and must now chase him through an airport. Aww, it's sweet to see and hear once in a while. It's also a tired cliche and totally unrepresentative of what love means to most people's daily lives. My relationship with God is not a constant emotional high, so I'd rather not live through a month of monotonous sentimentality. I don't want to be sick of Christmas by the time December 25 rolls around.

I realized this was a problem on Friday, when I had some business at Bank of America. There were some scarecrow decorations in the teller's window - A+ for seasonal appropriateness. Then I noticed the boom box radio under a lobby table. It was blaring - you guessed it - O Holy Night. The Celine Dion version.

I had to wait in line for 10 minutes, so I heard the whole song, plus some Johnny Mathis. I was really mad the onslaught had started so early this year.Was anyone really listening to this stuff anyway? If there are any non-Christian employees how do they tolerate this for the next month? I thought to myself "If this were a Coen brothers movie I'd up and turn the music off. Better yet, I'd drop-kick that boom box across the room and somehow connect the Advent season to my buddies who died in 'Nam." (The Big Lebowski is currently streaming on Netflix. Clearly I am too impressionable to watch movies.)

So, to help me keep my sanity this December and enjoy the season, I'm going to post Advent and Christmas songs that I actually like. There will be no emotionally manipulative lyrics about believing in magic or kids buying shoes for their dying mothers. There will be hymns, chants, and even some classic 1990s pop. There will be an Advent focus at the beginning.

To start, here's a fanfare for today's feast of Christ the King, which is the end of the Church year. I learned today that Pope Pius XI established the day in 1925, so it was more a reaction against totalitarianism than a celebration of medieval politics. This feast was a big deal at my high school, and I always loved when the choir sang this song. Many thanks to my friend Steve for leading me to the title and MP3 download.

Choral Fanfare for Christ the King by H. Hamilton Smith

Pressure Cooker

"Don't make fun of the grad students, Bart. They just made a terrible life choice."- Marge Simpson

Last week was really icky. Grad school can sure mess with your head. Suddenly I found myself doubting and questioning pretty much everything in which I thought I believed. It was like there was a demon whispering in my ear that my life was pathetic and boring, and that there was nothing on this earth that could make me happy. Thank the Lord there were lots of good things on the horizon to cheer me up and give me a reality check. Here's the top ten in chronological order.

1. My grad prgram had a career panel consisting entirely of alumnae who are married with kids but also employed in museums. They all emphasized work/life balance and not neglecting your family for a stressful, high power job.

2. On my way out of town on Saturday, I ran to confession at a nearby church. The priest was a wonderful grandfatherly man who told me not to be too hard on myself. "You're just in a pressure cooker right now, gearing up for the next thing." Kind advice plus sacramental forgiveness = why I am glad to be Catholic.

3. When I arrived in New Jersey, I discovered The Beau had bought me flowers the color of autumn leaves :-)

4. After talking about it for ages, we finally cooked gumbo combining gluten-free roux (1/2 sourghum, 1/2 brown rice flour) with vegtables and stock

and chicken, andouille and rice. It was delicious.

5. On Sunday I tagged along to a choir concert/evening prayer at the Diocese of Metuchen cathedral. Why yes, I photographed the architecture.

6. On Monday I took another thesis field trip to New Tork, this time to Trinity Wall Street (the church at the end of National Treasure. Nicholas Cage did not actually find a fortune there.) The Trinity archivists were super nice and I even found some records of vestment purchases. A friendly security guard offered to take my picture while I was exploring the church.

7. I met my friend Laura for lunch uptown, emerging from the subway at yet another Anglo-Catholic church, St. Bart's.

8. After lunch, I went looking for a restroom. Laura suggested I try the Waldorf Astoria lobby. Good call!

9. The Trinity rector diaries were fun but not useful, so I cut out early and visited the Statue of Liberty instead. Hey lady, I'm tired and poor over here!

10.When I got off my train back to Jersey, I could look out from the platform and see where The Beau was doing homework and waiting for me. And when I got back to Delaware, my aunt was in town on business and we went out to dinner! It's nice to come home to people you love. Maybe I'll make it out of this pressure cooker after all.

Book review: Two Anne Rinaldi stories about slavery

Now that I have a public library card, I figure I should start writing about the "fun" books I am reading. So, although I have been reading some thought-provoking books for class about slavery and race in American history, I'm going to post about young adult fiction instead.

Somehow I missed out on Anne Rinaldi when I was a historical-fiction loving tween. How did this happen? No matter, I am making up for lost time now. Recently I read two of her novels that deal with slave uprisings and the uneasy relationship white Americans had with their slaves. She did a good job of capturing the paternalism, friendship, rationalization, and fear that went through slave owners' minds. Her slave characters also inhabit a complex social network with conflicting ideas about loyalty, obedience, and freedom. These books offer young readers a more nuanced view of early American society than I have seen in a long time.

That being said, their plots could be better. The spunky young heroines have life-altering adventures in convoluted ways. Oh, and the use of very modern phrases startled me. (Maybe I am just a grad student snob ;-)
Here's a brief summary of each.

In The Letter Writer, young orphan Harriet Whitehead is growing up on her relatives' Virginia plantation. She spends her days writing dictated letters for her aunt and being BFFs with her maidservant. Nat Turner is an enslaved preacher in the area, and her interest in his work leads her to be an unwitting accomplice to his violent plans. The scenes of his uprising's killing spree are truly horrifying. But once the dust settles, we get a completely contrived fairy-tale ending involving some surprise paternity. BFF maidservant gets freedom, but Harriet's opinions on slavery are otherwise unchanged. At the novel's end, her staff assure her she has the makings of a fine plantation mistress. As repulsive as this arrangement might be to us readers, it is more historically probable than Harriet becoming an abolitionist.

The Color of Fire, on the other hand, is written from the view of young slave girl Phoebe. Her story is set during panics about slave rebellion in 1750s New York, events that I had never heard of. Phoebe's wealthy master trusts her, and so she has some mobility to get involved in the drama of mob violence and helping victims of the "witch hunt." The ensuing dilemmas and dangers are gripping, but there is just too much happening too fast. In a few short chapters, readers abruptly encounter secret priests, possible euthanasia, the grotesqueness of burning at the stake, and slaves seeking freedom as indentured servants to the Indians. Rinaldi drops readers into the action, leaving them without a mooring.

Just chillin' with the Rolls again

"The motor car is the property of a man called Hardcastle. Return the bits to him if I kill myself; I'm not very good at driving." Beyond the gate ... stood an open, two-seater Morris-Cowley. Sebastian's Teddy-bear sat at the wheel.
~ BR page 23

Last weekend and the week following were completely insane with preparing presentations and then catching up on other work. Luckily I was rewarding for my hard work with a ride around the museum grounds in the Rolls Royce.


Please don't hate me. I only got to do it because my classmate T. has managed to finagle rides twice already, and we told him to share the fun. Luckily, the car's caretaker, "Mr. Greg" is one of the kindest men you will ever meet, and is always thrilled to show off "The Empress." We even got to see the model car workshop diorama Mr. Greg built for Collector's Circle weekend. How it used to work is that Rolls would make the chassis, and then contract out the car body to other companies. Our museum's Phantom 1 model was built by the Brewster company.


We discovered that The Empress seats four comfortably, five cozily, and six in a pinch. She has a roof, unlike the car Sebastian borrowed to visit Nanny Hawkins, but it was still a pretty chilly ride.

Modernist Monday - Conference Edition

While I was sanely attending conference panels instead of rallies this weekend, I learned about some awesomely crazy modern architecture. A few years ago Chanel decided to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the classic 2.55 bag with a mobile art exhibit. The resulting UFO-like building was designed by celebrity architect Zaha Hadid. I had never heard of her before I went to grad school, but now I find her work very entertaining. Just say her name out - even that sounds fun.

So here she is with Karl Lagerfeld in her fashion-inspired building that can be dis-assembled into 56 crates of materials. Apparently it was the hot place to be in Central Park for a while. Note how the lines on the walls look like the seams on the iconic quilted handbag.



Isn't that fabulous? It makes me imagine Karl and Zaha in one of the Fug Girls' imagined dialogues. Karl would say something like "Fashion is architecture for the body. BUILD." or "Your presence decorates the walls of your creation. CONNOISE."

Conferences rock my socks

They really do. I know that there will come a day when they feel like a tired, boring, routine, but for I now I love having an excuse stay in a hotel and share my work with other scholars. It's really encouraging to see that there are other people out there who care about nerdy things. It's even better to present a paper and prove to yourself that there can be a final product from all that research. Extra bonus: I got to meet up with two dear friends from high school, and pretty much hang out in Old Town Alexandria in some perfect fall weather.

My presentation was about a project I did years ago on 20th century Catholic churches. It had been a while since I looked at the material, and then I realized all over again what a monstrous pile of information it was. I also realized my undergrad-quality writing was a little clunky - I guess that's a good sign for my current abilities? After two days of editing, I am proud of what I wrote. At my panel I was pleased to find that there are at least 2 professors out there who are interesting in similar topics and liked what I had to say. Should I let this topic die or think about publication?

The conference as a whole was a pretty mixed bag; it was large and varied like the aisles of Costco. There was a pop culture focus, so many papers were about movies and tv. At first this seemed fun, but after 1 hour of scholarly buzzwords mixed with analysis of Twilight, I realized there is a reason academics tend to look down on such things. From what I saw, there were some intelligent points mixed with a lot of things anyone with internet access already knows.

Then again, I can't judge every talk. Here are a few other titles that looked, um, interesting.

"You don't even look Italian!": Counting Italian-Americans on Reality TV
Philosophy from a Pineapple Under the Sea
(Re)presentation of the Body in Pain on Survivor
Mayhem in Motherhood: Working Class Representations on The George Lopez Show
From Genesis to Torah: The Harry Potter "Such a Person" Happening

Oh, and there were 5 Twilight papers, 4 on Harry Potter, 3 on American Psycho, 2 on Avatar, but only 1 about Lady Gaga.

Deadlines

This pretty much sums up my life right now. Tomorrow a classmate and I head to the DC area to present at a conference, and right now I am up to my eyeballs in PowerPoint slides of 1970s church architecture. Oh, and I need to also be working on a thesis seminar presentation that I will give in 5 days. EEEEEK!

At 2:30am last night I hit the point where I usually ask "why do I do this to myself?" But I realized something - maybe I need this adrenaline rush of panic to get my brain to fire on all cylinders. I've been thinking about my thesis for weeks, but have had trouble making a concise argument. Likewise, it took a looming deadline to inspire some serious presentation editing, which was a hard decision to make.

How about you, 2.5 readers? How do you think through a project?

My feminism is acting up again

Today in my awesome history seminar we discussed a really dense, intimidating, intelligent book that is in many ways a diatribe about how other historians got things wrong. A couple of guys in my class really didn't like it. Before discussion started I overheard them wondering how the female author pulled it off. "She must have been like, sitting in the library for hours every day. Geez, she needed to get a boyfriend or something."
Really? Really? When you read her mentor's equally intense tome you didn't question his love life. Is it so painful to have your small mind challenged by a woman, Mr. Sweatpants and energy drink?

Granted, I'm not crazy about her style either. She seems like the kind of person who is such a Type A overachiever they give everyone around them hypertension. If she put work over family, I pity her decision to ignore the important things in life. Being a woman in academia is an especially hard balance - all of us aspiring girl professors worry at times when, if, and how having a family will fit into the equation. (Not gonna lie, at times I feel like I am waiting out grad school until I can just get married and have babies.)

But don't you dare imply that girls can't be or shouldn't be intense scholars. Whether we have boyfriends has nothing to do with it.

The Finale

This weekend I went to my college's ballroom club Homecoming social. Getting back on the floor, I was reminded of what I loved about it. At one point, I danced with a guy a few years my junior who is an excellent lead. I'm not even sure what we were dancing to Michael Buble - Silver Smooth Foxtrot? - but it worked. His effortlessly light but firm directions kept me in line and from stepping on his toes. Drawing on my own dormant skills, I could spin, rise, and fall elegantly. I know we looked good, and it felt like flying.

And then the dance was over, and I remembered everything I disliked about that club.

I am grateful for what it gave me as a freshman - comfort with my own body; awareness of muscles and movement I didn't know I had; confident self-expression; and even *gasp* physical contact with boys; albeit highly structured. Sadly, it failed to give me the close friendships I saw among other members. The dance world can be full of cattiness, judgment, vain preening, and obnoxious cutesiness.

There were three true friends there this weekend who were genuinely interested in hearing about my post-grad life. Otherwise, I looked around the room and realized I am only interested in what these people can give me physically - a fun dance experience. We have no deep personal connections, or really even superficial ones for that matter. And that's no basis for a healthy relationship. This Sunday, I told them goodbye for the last time. I don't think anyone even noticed I was gone.

Off to Colonial Fantasyland!

From 30 Rock, episode 205: “Greenzo” (Via the splendid Kirsten.)

Ohhh CW. It's not an actual time capsule, but rather a conversation about "suspension of disbelief," "public history and memory," and the Colonial Revival. When anthropologists write a book that discusses the decision to leave horse poop in the streets, you know you are in an alternate universe.

This August The Beau was a trooper and let me drag him all over town, but I could tell part of him was skeptical. Why on earth were my college friends and I so excited to walk down a street of not-actually-historic buildings in 90 degree heat?

I think because we are happily brainwashed by our experiences there. No matter how much time I have spent in Williamsburg, it never disappoints. Part of my heart will always reside in that little colonial hamlet-turned college town and haven for retirees. That is where I first lived on my own, where I became an adult, where my life changed dramatically. It's where my friends and I made tons of memories that we'll relive at Homecoming this weekend.

Plus, my little sister is now a costumed interpreter intern in CW! So we'll frolic down the pseudo-historic street singing this song.

Modernist Monday - Kids Edition

The other day I had the TV on as I was getting ready to head to school, and a show called Willa's Wildlife came on. It seemed like a generic cartoon about a girl and talking animals, but then I got a look at her house. Wow! The home was full of angular, clean lines and furniture with mid 20th century flair. It was a little reminiscent of the Brady Bunch home, but it was also unique and fun. There was much more attention to detail than in some other animated shows. (As the oldest of five kids I have seen plenty of programming rated Y.)


I did a little Googling and discovered that Willa's Wildlife is a relatively new show that originated in Canada and Australia. Kids book An Octopus Followed Me Home by Dan Yaccarino is the basis for the concept. The fun architecture and interiors are the work of artist Adrian Thatcher, whose blog provided these images. He recently won a daytime Emmy Award for his art direction. I say, keep up the great work, and keep exposing kids to good design!

Material Culture Alert: Rosary stories

October is the month of the rosary, and in honor of that some Catholic bloggers are sharing their own rosaries and the stories behind them. For instance, the always-entertaining Kat is featuring rosaries all month on The Crescat. So here's my contribution.

First of all, I should confess that the Rosary and I have not always been super close. When you are a kid it can seem endlessly boring. I've had my share of not-great rosary experiences: kneeling on the cafeteria floor in middle school; late at night in the living room when none of my siblings managed to stay awake past the first decade; or those parking lot May Crowning procession that never, ever work, no matter how hard you try to keep your Hail Marys on pace with the people in front of you.

A turning point for me was Pope John Paul II's apostolic letter Rosarium Virginis Mariae. He explained that the whole point is not how piously you enunciate each bead, but rather how you contemplate the face of Christ. It's not mindless repetition, it's tuning out the world to meditate on events in scripture.

Since then, I've been finding new ways to incorporate the Rosary into my life. Keeping one near my bed has helped me through many a night of insomnia. Road trips are another good opportunity. Lately, I've prayed through workouts, challenging myself to jog for just one more decade. Although, I learned the hard way today that even though prayer and running are zen, and treadmills technically keep you on a stationary path, you should still not close your eyes!

I have owned numerous rosaries over the the years - agate, pearl, faceted, plastic, Our Father medallions depicting the four Roman basilicas, made out of colored cord on a Jamaica service trip. One was blessed with a relic of Padre Pio, and another was given by a crush at World Youth Day who was bound for the seminary. But the one I want to talk about is the one on my rear view mirror that I see every day. It represents one of my fantastic rosary moments.

When I was a senior in high school, I was sure that I should go to Catholic University in D.C. I had a great time visiting, some friends were going there, and why wouldn't God want me to further my Catholic education? In the end, though, it came down to money, and I had to settle for my second-choice state school.

The week my parents and I made the decision, I was devastated and confused. How could this be the way God wanted it? Happily, there was a chapel at my school with the Blessed Sacrament, so I went there during a free period. In the dim light, I grabbed a plastic rosary from the basket by the door and plopped myself down at the altar rail to demand some answers. One decade along, I looked down at my hands - the rosary had green and yellow beads. The colors of my state school.

That state school ended up being one of the best decisions I ever made. I didn't know then how much it would make me learn and grow. But God knew, and I like to think that He and His Mom decided to send me a little hug of encouragement about it that day.
The rosary in my car is not the original from that story, but it's close. It put it there to remind me that God's providence is never far away, even if it can be mysterious.

What about you, my very few readers? What is your favorite rosary? Do you have any good rosary-related stories?

Cooking on a budget

Lately I've been a little short on cash, due in part to my own stupidity and in part to the perils of being a Poor Grad Student. ($350 student activity fee when I am on campus 3 hours a week? Really?) Since groceries are a flexible budget item, I've tried to spend as little as possible. Actually, it's been a good experience and has made me get more creative. Nostalgia for rice and beans night in the VSC house led me to cooking dried beans in my crock pot, which was possibly the easiest cooking method ever.

Given my current situation, I was thrilled to discover the recipe blog Budget Bytes. I absolutely love how Beth gives prices for ingredients and per serving. This is a nice contrast to Food Network magazine, which has pretty pictures but often requires me to buy some random ingredient I'll barely use.

So last week or so I tried this recipe from the blog, and it was very tasty. Here is how mine turned out:Pasta, protein, and veggies - yum! And yes, I made it gluten free. A word about GF pasta: Trader Joe's sells brown rice spaghetti and fusilli for less than $2. It's very similar to pricier Tinkyada rice pasta, and even my gluten-full friends have eaten it happily. Personally, I don't mess with that goofy stuff made of corn and quinoa. It basically tastes like bland corn, and that is not pasta, my friends.

Modernist Monday - Shakespeare edition

I'm not opposed to a well done modern adaptation of Shakespeare plays; they can help you see the timeless language in a new light. This weekend I watched the 1995 film of Richard III starring Ian McKellen. It was amazing! The 1930s setting had great costumes and music, plus it gave Richard's tyranny a fascist feel. The best moment was Richard at the wheel of a stalled jeep shouting "A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!" If that weren't enough, this movie stars just about every British actor you've ever heard of, plus Robert Downey Jr. for good measure.

There were some great modernist buildings used as sets, particularly old power stations. The Tower of London was re-imagined as the Tate Modern gallery building, which is itself an adapted power station. Richard's office headquarters also had striking clean lines. There were even a few art deco touches, like a candy bowl with cobra handles.

What made this modernity even more effective was its contrast with older styles of buildings. I got really excited when I recognized some of our stops on the London trip! King Edward's last days were filmed at the rockin' Brighton Pavilion. Not gonna lie, the best part of the king's deathbed was the overhead shot of the lotus chandeliers. Other royal spaces featured a lot of Gothic revival elements - even the bathroom. Yes, at Horace Walpole's Strawberry Bank estate, there are urinals with Gothic borders. Crazy! Definitely check this movie out if you are interested in historical intrigue in dramatic settings.

Source for view of the Tate Modern

Material Culture Alert: Pants are evil!

Pants are evil. At least that's what my classmate N-slice and I have decided. Pants never do what you want. If you fail to conform to their shape, they either sag and droop or compress your internal organs. Skirts, on the other hand, are forgiving and flexible. Skirts are our friends, especially in a fancy-pants museum school.

Now, you may be aware that there are some conservative religious groups wherein pants on women are evil. My fave Arkansas family the Duggars are an example of this, as are some Catholic homeschooling factions. In their eyes, pants undermine modesty, chastity, the role of women in the family, and the natural complementary differences between the sexes. Those are big issues, so I respect their worrying about them. The worry can lead to some extreme ideas, though. Naturally, if you look around the internet, you can find people in crazy arguements about this topic. For instance:

This article I found today is well meaning, heartfelt ... and totally nuts. When the author suggested that you take your husband shopping with you so he can pick out your clothes, I had to laugh out loud. It also seems to imply that pants simultaneously make you look too fat, too sexual, and too "cheap." Dude, which is it?

This post in response is snarky, skeptical, and full of female common sense. I laughed out loud more than once. Basically it says "I am a busy mom chasing after my kids - PANTS!"

All day I've been hashing out what I would write in response to these ideas about modesty and gender roles. Why can't I stop thinking about it? Here's my own itemized pants/skirt manifesto.

1. This is a material culture issue - clothing has both individual and social meaning. Clothing can assert control, reinforce a group affiliation, express individual creativity, and yes, offend those around you.
2. Longing for the "good old days" of modest clothing is bad history scholarship. Have you ever seen a Hogarth engraving from the 1700s? Not much modesty there. Granted, immodesty may be much more visible and diverse now, but it always existed within the social constructs of its time. That's another thing - clothing culture is a language that evolves. In Jesus' time, everyone wore long robes. Was that blurring the sexes too much?
3. There is extreme immodesty in our culture, but you don't have to go to opposite extremes to combat the cultural poison of, say, Jersey Shore.
   
4. Last night I read Ira Levin's novel The Stepford Wives. That book is a worst case scenario of caricatured gender relations, but the first article has some similarities. In both worlds, men admire women for their beauty, and want to direct how that beauty is displayed and idealized. The Stepford husbands wanted impossible women who would do endless chores with no personal needs; the other author appears to want the impossibility of never remembering that women are sexually attractive.
   
5. I'm the kind of person who takes spiritual advice much too seriously, especially when it is strict. Last year I read Colleen Hammond's Dressing With Dignity, and it troubled me for weeks. Was I really buying into a modern conspiracy of Marxism, Freemasonry, and the downfall of civilization as we know it? Padre Pio, a profoundly holy man, wouldn't even hear the confessions of women in pants. Was he looking down from heaven ashamed of me and my wide leg dress trousers? But then I remembered - that was one holy man's opinion. He was not infallible and he was influenced by the context of his time.
   
6. Lastly, having itemized lists of rules or forbidding entire genres of garments outright is not an adult moral approach. This is a lesson I'm learning myself, since I tend to like structure and direction. But I'm not in my high school anymore with its regulation of shirt collars and prom dress straps. There is no papal checklist approving or condemning every item of clothing you might ever try on in a store. As adults in a mature relationship with God, we must take our properly formed consciences and apply them to the unpredictability and diversity of daily life.
   

So that's my rant. No, I don't think skirts are evil signs of patriarchal oppression. I like wearing skirts and how they make me feel feminine and polished. I like when The Beau tells me I look pretty or my female classmates compliment me on a new dress. Some colleagues are bigger fans of pants, but they still look feminine.

Muli-dimensionality

This weekend I got to visit The Beau up in New Jersey, where he is a history grad student. There was particular cause for celebration because he had finished his first qualifying exam! Huzzah!

One of my favorite parts of New Jersey weekends is brunch after Sunday Mass. Our usual diner instinctively asks "How many this week?" when we show up. In Delaware I don't have a close church community, so I relish the chance to talk about my faith with people my age.

Sometimes conversation only deal with pop culture and the appeal of bacon, but this week we had a weighty discussion of metaphysics and the dimensions of reality. Does God exist in time, or in an outside fourth of fifth dimension? How does our concept of reality's dimensions affect our understanding of heaven, the Mass, and free will? I'm not sure I understood it all, but it was a welcome break from intense material culture research. Objects have meaning, but there is an entire universe of intangible concepts that is equally important.

Anyway, all these metaphysics got me thinking about the dimensions of my own life. Most of the time, I'm in the museum dimension. I fit in there with the colorful books, field trips, and endless conversations about material culture. But every few weeks, I inhabit another dimension up north. Over the past year I have gotten to know The Beau's church friends and his life there. Now I feel like I fit in there, with the Jersey diners, Sunday hymns, walks in the park, and endless conversations about what it means to be a Catholic academic. I am grateful for the opportunity to inhabit both worlds, I just wish they weren't so far apart.

Art and womanhood

You can call me a feminist. Granted, I am not the bra-burning kind, or the abortion rights kind, but I'm a feminist. I believe that women are just as valuable to society as men, and that we have the same rights as human beings. We deserve the same opportunities to use the gifts and talents God gave us.

Today some of the first years in my program told me about the Guerilla Girls, who are feminist artists and activists. Apparently they protest in front of The Metropolitan Museum of Art wearing gorilla masks. (Get it?) It's a little ridiculous, but I love the sentiment of this ad they created.

Women are not objects to admire or ogle. They are people with ideas, creativity, contributions to make.

Trial and error of an INTJ/ melancholic/ phlegmatic

Lately I've been working on finding my voice. What do I truly think and feel about things? When I was a little kid, I was pretty outspoken and opinionated. I was right, my classmates were ignorant, and that's how it had to be. Over time, I realized that I didn't know everything (duh!) and that being closed minded alienated a lot of people. In college especially, I went through some personal and family hardships that required a lot of patience and flexibility. In my social life, I found myself in the center of conflicts, able to see both sides and wishing they would quit fighting already. Navigating post-grad life, my strategy has been not to openly disagree with others, because then they won't like me and goodness knows it's hard to meet new people out of college.

Patience and meekness are good things, but lately I've been missing the outspoken, principled me of yesteryear. Am I so understanding that I have no original opinions of my own? Do I give a genuine witness to my faith? Can I suggest what to do this weekend instead of waiting for other people to call the shots? Can I at least ask restaurant staff to give me the ingredient info I need to stay gluten free?

So I'm working on that.

Well, today it backfired a little. My history seminar class is amazing and I love it. The professor is fantastic and funny and I really like her. Today's political history discussion was a mental workout. I made a lengthy comment, and this conversation resulted.

Fantastic Prof: "So, what you're saying here is abcdefg. Is that right?"
Me: "I think so" pondering pause (Do I really mean abcdefg? or is it hijklmnop?)
Fantastic Prof: "Are you sure? Do you need to pray about it?"
Me: "What's that supposed to mean??"

Now, if one of my classmates -who know I am the praying sort- had made that comment, I would have a right to be offended. But Fantastic Prof does not know that. She was just trying to make a joke, drawing on her religious history studies. And stupid me had to pick this moment to make a stand, instead of a funny comeback like "Let me say a couple novenas and I'll get back to you." I apologized later, she laughed it off, but still. Oy vey. My voice still needs training. Maybe novenas too.