...in a nutshell.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
This weekend Walker and I explored some of the promising exhibits at the Oklahoma City Museum of Art.
The big drawl was Passages which, despite having the foundation of an awesome historical bible collection, turned out to be a really creepy experience. Think Hobby Lobby background with animatronic figures coming to life at every corner - a lot like Lester's Possum Park from The Goofy Movie.
There was Faded Elegance, an exhibit that featured photography from Havana, Cuba. Neat photographs, but nothing new.
The surprising favorite was Poodles & Pastries, the exhibit featuring the quirky high class meets low culture art of Franco Mondini-Ruiz.
I've included some quick snaps I illegally took with my iPhone, because I found everything just so darn delightful.
And it turns out Mondini-Ruiz is a lawyer.
Which was kind of a nice wake-up call for me: there's never an excuse to not have an imagination.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
The Country Music issue of Oklahoma Today is out - collect all six covers (wink, wink)!
Now that it's hit newsstands and I'm writing my final post on the phenomena, I feel my delve into Oklahoma country music has truly come full circle. Like the watching YouTube videos of Roy Clark to visiting a Hee Haw exhibit to interviewing Roy Clark in Tulsa to attending a Roy Clark concert kind of full circle.
I learned a lot working on this issue.
Fact: Garth Brooks is the third greatest selling musician of all time - just below the Beatles and Elvis.
Fact: Toby Keith has performed for troops overseas 9+ times and voted for Obama.
Fact: I couldn't stop thinking about the essay in Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs where Klosterman discusses the merits of Wal-Mart country artists like Trisha Yearwood - arguing that their ability to convey the human condition in simple terms, makes them more authentic and relateable to the masses.
Top Yourself, The Raconteurs.
- motorcycle boots.
- perfect carry-all.
When it comes to being a culinary adventurer, Walker Ilovecheesepizza Robins has me beat in the sushi department.
He'll order crazy rolls topped with eel sauce - while what I crave is straight philly rolls. I try to push myself to order one "edgier" roll, but really all I want is that salmon, cream cheese, and asparagus combo.
...the small part of me that believes I have what it takes to hang with Anthony Bourdain cries tears of shame every time I order.
Future career goals include:
a) Being able to afford Madewell.
b) Being able to afford sushi.
I was just discussing this the other day - that 20-something women waste a lot of effort and energy on wanting things that they can't afford yet (home decor, wardrobe, etc.) - if ever. Which might explain the popularity of Pinterest...
The observation hit home a little more than I'd like to admit. I don't want to define these years (or my life) as wanting things I can't/don't have. A perpetual state of want - no thanks.
To quote Sheryl Crowe - it's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Walker, William and Brian in Waynoka - many more on flicka.
- Decide that stocking my backpack with licorice and pistachios are as essential to law school as highlighters.
- Head to my section mixer - arriving solo and fashionably late, of course. Dear God I find these things excruciating. But I want friends. I want to be moderately involved. I want to care. So I force myself to go. The first 15 or so minutes are always terrible, the internal panic about where to sit/prop myself up against and who to start a conversation with - somebody get me a drink stat! We all only know each other's last names instead of firsts.
But by the end of the mixer we've all gotten to know each other a little bit better, establishing the inevitable camaraderie that comes with sharing the experience of fielding impossible-to-anticipate questions at random. But then people start making plans to head to the next bar and my extreme indecisiveness hits. In my head the schedule of events stopped promptly at 7. It's been a long day and all I want to do is head back to the city and hang out with my boyfriend. But was all the energy I expended obsessing about this thing for naught - does the real bonding happen afterwards? Am I lame? Boring? Old? Actually not at all that interested in expanding my world - my life is fine as is, thank you very much?
- Call Paige in the parking lot for reassurance.
- Decide on the drive home that the feelings of guilt, indecisiveness, and missing out are completely silly. To be replaced with balance, perspective, and prioritizing.
- Walker and I pick-up a pizza and scarf it while somehow getting sucked into a September 11th television special - Walker attempts to do homework while I cry over families and firefighters in his arms. It turns out to be exactly the night I wanted.
I WANT TO TAKE A BATH IN THIS WEATHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I made really good whiskey sours from scratch for a little birthday party at our house last weekend - the pride this gave me is still palpable.
Biking around the city, I found my MeMe's old house. Homemade ice cream and eggs on toast and dial-up telephones and California-shaped notepads and backyard lawn chairs flooded me with nostalgia. Our life together before the nursing home - it hit me like a ton of bricks.
True Blood is soooooo good.
So are ice cubes in red wine.
New Day, Jay-Z and Kanye.
Pumped Up Kicks, Foster the People. I love that this has become a nonstop radio fixture as it reminds me of California and Jenna's wedding, i.e. happy thoughts.
Blood, The Middle East.
Butterfly, CrazyTown - ohhhhhhh yes.
This video makes my heart swell.
I really love the Thunder and have developed feelings for the Titans, but nothing feels as ingrained into your skin as the team your dad taught you to love (truesooner1 = Kelley Callahan's new email address).
Thursday, September 1, 2011
To not include that I ate at Tacos San Pedro on the Southside and at Stables in Guthrie would be remiss and an inaccurate depiction of my summer.
Stables was totally summer as we went there straight from the swimming pool, dripping wet on the country road drive out to a burger land complete with perfect onion rings.
I also, maybe somewhat perversely, thought my iPhone pic would be a good segue into an analysis of two people I've decided represent my conscience - personal Jimminy Crickets if you will, both cooks at The Wedge, both originally from Mexico.
(I actually have no idea how to correctly spell it, but it's pronounced sigh-yule).
Pudgy and smiling with puffer fish cheeks - imagine a little Mexican teddy bear.
Complete sweetheart - as in, sweet heart.
Works mornings at Jimmy's Egg and nights at The Wedge (and "nights" at The Wedge for cooks begin at 3 and go until 10 or later, so I can't imagine what "mornings" at Jimmy's Egg mean) every single day of the week.
I can hear him saying, "Buenos días chica bonita" in my head any time I need to smile. What a way to be greeted on a daily basis.
Speaks perfect English - the kind that makes you ashamed to admit you took mandatory Spanish classes in middle school and high school.
The type of person that has unrealized potential so obviously beyond his current occupation.
And I will never forget him telling a couple of us that his girlfriend was pregnant and he was going to be a father. It was more a confession than an announcement, and I couldn't get the image out of my head of those dads in old movies and television shows who have to sit out in the waiting room: smoking, pacing the floor, trying desperately to read a newspaper. And then the nurse walks in with a pale blue "It's a Boy!" cigar or something - resulting in a look on their face as if they've just fully realized the responsibility of being a man: part wonder, part relief, and part daunting fear. From that moment on, he pretty much began working every possible shift.
So if things are hard and I feel like whining, I'm trying to think of my personal pillars of integrity: Saul and Jesus. What would they do in my over-educated white girl shoes? Work hard. Kick ass and take names - while wishing you a good day, of course.
(p.s. I totally don't mean to make this political, but anyone who can justify not supporting the DREAM Act obviously never worked in a restaurant).
(p.p.s. My Dad used to tell me and my sisters to "Kick ass and take names" every day before school - which used to embarrass me beyond belief. I now realize it was a really cool way to start us off on our day. There's nothing like a good semi-curse word on the way to second grade).