Monet to Picasso

So we went to the Museum of Fine Arts on Friday to see the Monet to Picasso exhibit. We had attempted to do so last Friday, but we found out it was sold out when we got there. Luckily, we purchased our ticktets early for this Friday, because it sold out as well. I have to admit that the fact that an art exhibit in Utah could sell out on multiple nights, even with extended hours, does improve my view of humanity (a tiny bit). It hopefully proves that not every person in the world is completely devoid of culture and an appreciation for art (in some form or another).

They had pieces from Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Cezanne, Rodin, Renoir, Dali—so many famous artists! Although it’s cliché, I have to say that it was just amazing to see their actual canvasses and brush strokes. It’s incredible to see the thick paint on Van Gogh’s paintings, the brush strokes on others, the actual colors. I love art in general, so I of course was in heaven. But even for those who don’t love art (especially impressionism to surrealism), it seems that it would be pretty great to see an item that is over 150 years old that has been preserved and has traveled around the world.

I do have a few tips for museum goers (not that I’m an expert on the subject, per se, but these things will enhance the experience for everyone involved).

1. Don’t bring your children. I understand the reasoning behind bringing them—you want them to be cultured and to appreciate the fact that these famous pieces came through Utah. However, 99.9% of children will not appreciate it like the art-loving adults that are excited to spend our evening in a museum. There were multiple times when I could barely see the pieces because some 11-year-old was standing directly in front of it, blankly staring at the painting with a bored look on her face. Or worse yet, in an attempt to force culture down their children’s throat, the parent and the child stood directly in front of the piece as the parent tried to explain the significance of Rodin’s Thinker to his 12-year-old son (speaking quite loudly to prove to the rest of us that he is an expert on the subject, of course). Not to mention the puzzled stares on the children's faces any time they noticed a nude painting or sculpture (one boy's response to a nude: "A-roo-ga!!). If they're too young to handle nudity, you probably shouldn't expose them to multiple nudes in one night.
2. Don’t go to an exhibit just because you’ve heard that famous names are associated with it. If the famous name, such as Van Gogh, doesn't actually mean anything to you, don't go just so you can say you went. Many people last night acted annoyed when they’d come to the Van Gogh paintings and realize that they weren’t his most famous pieces. It seems pointless to spend time and money on something that you don’t actually enjoy just because you feel like you’re cooler for having seen something by a famous person.
3. As you’re looking at paintings, or any work of art for that matter, you don’t have to prove to the entire room that you’re an expert on the topic. Even if you are an expert, keep your mouth shut and enjoy the works for what they are. You can analyze them later if you must, but the rest of us don’t want to listen to your self-gratifying rants the whole night.
4. Finally, if you find yourself at any sort of exhibit with impressionistic/modern/surrealist art, never, ever, ever say “My 3-year-old could paint that.” Or “I could paint that, and I’m not even an artist.” If you or your 3-year-old can do it, then buy yourselves some paint and go crazy. I would dare say that you won't become rich or famous for it. If you don’t understand/appreciate conceptual art, don’t go see it. To those of us who do "get it," we think you're a dummy for piping in with some lame comment about your 3-year-old. No one is forcing you to stare at paintings you don't understand or appreciate. If you ask me, it seems quite ridiculous to spend time/money on something that you don't like.

I suppose I’ll stop there. I’m sure I've just outed myself as the snob that I am. I do have to say, though, that we ended an already-great night with dinner and dessert at Gourmandise. I love to watch people's faces when they first notice the dessert counter--there are tarts, cakes, creme puffs, cookies, puddings, you name it. It's one of our favorite places for treats, favorites including the raspberry tartlets, strawberry creme puffs, napoleans, and fudge cups! Here are a couple silly pictures of our treats I took last time we were there. We take our treats very seriously!

Too Much Editing--No Time for Blogging

So, as it turns out, I'm really not cut out for this whole blogging thing, unless semi-annual posts are acceptable. As of late, I barely have time to think, let alone write blog posts...

I've deeply immersed myself into a world of insanity-- commuting, working, editing. Any time left over is then dedicated to homework or a few hours of sleep. In fact, I found this week that I now edit stories in my sleep, which doesn't equate to a restful night. In my dreams, I find myself reading newspaper and magazine articles, finding grammatical errors and rewording awkward phrases. In fact, I think I came up with some pretty great edits the other night, but I forgot about them when I woke up.

For those who are unfamiliar with the world of editing, mine works like this. For the newspaper, all of the stories for the next day are sitting in a folder in the computer. I go through them one by one, along with a couple other editors. On the most basic level I check for misspellings and grammatical mistakes. I then fact check every name, statistic and fact in the story. After which, I cut out needless words, rewrite awkward passages, etc., etc. It's almost the same with the magazine I work for, but I have a bit more time on each story, and I'm the only official copy editor reading it, so I'm a bit more thorough. Discussions with fellow copy editors may include the following topics: spelling "adviser" with an "e" instead of an "o," "vice president" is not hyphenated, whether or not the term "honky" is offensive, "spokeswoman" or "spokesman" is always preferred over "spokesperson." I realize these things seem boring, but I spend hours each day poring over stories, looking for these things, asking myself these exact questions.

Which is also the reason I've decided that editing is the perfect career for know-it-alls. You not only have to know everything about language usage, you have to know about the topics you're reading so you can catch factual errors. In editing different stories, I've learned about the tallest trees in Utah, the tallest trees in the world, the Spiral Jetty in the Great Salt Lake, the Utah Symphony's upcoming season, just to name a few. So give me a few years, and I think I will be completely unbeatable in games like Trivial Pursuit and Scrabble. Although I have to admit that I'm already pretty good at both :)

Do I Smell like Sausage?

Working at the downtown farmers' market for my internship on Saturday brought two things to my attention. One, dogs are really quite repulsive. Two, sausage seems to have a mystical power over people. Apparently a penchant for buying local goes hand in hand with loving dogs. I will never appreciate the latter -- dogs, that is. Maybe I'm the weird one, but I had a hard time watching "Swayze" sniff another dog's butt while the two owners discussed the sniffee's "prance." "Beautiful dog. Is she a show dog? She almost prances when she walks," Swayze's owner says. "Oh, does she prance? I've never noticed," the other owner responds (though I have a feeling she probably practiced the prance before they left that morning). I seemed to be the only one hugely disgusted by the deeply engaged butt sniffing that was going on between Swayze and the prancer. I was almost more disgusted with myself, though, because I caught myself with my hands pulled up in front of me like paws -- unconsciously mimicking the dog's prance for its owner.
I also watched three dogs pee on the tree in front of my booth without their owners even noticing. The only explanation for the owners' complete disregard for the poor tree was that they were hypnotized by the scent of sausage coming from the booth across from me. Siegfried's sausage, to be exact. Bratwurst, weisswurst, polish, wienerschnitzel. I think the smell of sausage must have some sort of magical power over people because virtually every person that walked past that booth couldn't help but order a plate of wienerschnitzel or a bratwurst sandwich. I'm convinced that if I dangled a string of linked sausage in front of people, I could get them to do anything I wanted. Ridiculous, you say? You didn't see the way people stopped dead in their tracks when the scent hit their noses. When I saw the employee pull a 4-foot strand of linked sausage out of a plastic yellow bucket, I half expected a crowd of people to lunge at her -- growling, drooling, and snapping at the links. Or I at least expected a dog to break loose from its owner and run away with the sausages in its teeth -- soon to be chased by every other dog in the park, like I'm sure I've seen in numerous Disney "made for TV" Saturday afternoon movies. Unfortunately, it wasn't that exciting. I just watched one person after another belly up to a sausage sandwich for breakfast (I was gone by 11:00). Some added mustard, others sauerkraut. And I just sat there among stacks of magazines, wondering "am I gonna smell like sausage?"

I'll Have a Rose and a Notebook

Now I've done it. I told myself I would never jump on the blogging bandwagon, and here I am. My main motivation, though, is not to keep the world abreast of my daily comings and goings. I am really just a serious know-it-all with opinions about everything. What better way to fill the world with my extensive insight than the good-ol' Internet?? Also, I have a funny story to start out with: it all started a couple weeks ago with a phone call. I'm a journalism student at the U, so many of my assignments center around reporting. I scheduled an interview with a super nice lady for a class assignment. I agreed to meet her over lunch at one of her favorite eateries: Gourmandise (The Bakery) downtown (which deserves an entire blog of its own, not just a post -- a blog). Upon arriving at the restaurant a few minutes early, I realized I had no idea what she looked like. The entire building was filled with people, and as I started looking around, there seemed to be about a dozen women sitting by themselves at different tables. I felt like I was on a blind date -- a lesbian blind date. I would look at each lone woman and think, "Does she match the voice I heard on the phone?" If they didn't seem to be looking for a mysterious college reporter, I moved on to the next. After waiting at a table with my notebook in my hand, she showed up. Our eyes met. We smiled. "Angie?" she asked. "You must be Roberta," I replied. To the horror of the table of men next to us, we hugged and sat down for lunch. I say horror because by the look on their faces, I am sure they thought they had just witnessed the first impression of a lesbian blind date. It probably didn't help that I said to her, "I should have told you that I would have a rose at the table or something." I tend to assume everyone has my same weird sense of humor, and more often, I am more long-winded than the situation calls for (as is evident in this first rambling post)...