The Life of the Temporarily Unemployed

This past week I've only gone back to visit where I used to work twice, and have only baked for those people once. The latter was only accomplished by superhuman restraint, as you can tell from the contents of my refrigerator that it took effort to actually get normal food in there and not just use up the ingredients I had to make a million batches of muffins or blueberry cheesecake. It is hard to be a woman and a baker, but it's even harder to be a woman and not a baker.

During one of those days at around 9 PM it dawned on me that I had not yet talked to a human that day. That is when I decided it would be the perfect time to call up Dell technical support and order a new keyboard to replace the one that's been broken for over a year, a phone call which required me to be on hold longer than I talked to an actually person. Which means that my spacebar no longer has to be pounded with a hammer to do its job, and my "Ctrl" and "Alt" keys each have designated coverings.

I think it was about one year ago where I was stuck on my island and dealing with a similar situation: namely, being entirely alone after daily being surrounded by people. It's odd. But definitely welcome.

My roommate left me for Nashville

Within the past 2 days I have been entirely soaked in the rain 3 times. Only one of those times I didn't really mind because I could go home right away, and ironically that was the only time I should have minded, as that was when I went out to run a quick errand without a bag and an exposed cell phone. I don't think I need to finish that story.

This past Wednesday was my last day working at the Art Institute. I have until next Monday to figure out a way to deal with all this extra time on my hands. I guess with all the extra time on my hands I should go grocery shopping, seeing as I had a serious, almost deadly baking bug in me for the past 2 weeks during which I actually spent parts of the night on the kitchen floor, and the edibles in my apartment consist of remarkably sustaining things like powdered sugar and cake flour. And LOTS of blueberries. However, I did not realize this until I was actually in my apartment for more than 3 waking hours and I wanted to eat something. I opened the fridge and was confronted with this:



Promising, yes? But then I decided to clean it, along with a spill that has been there since the very first day I moved in, and was left with this:




There are three boxes of blueberries and three different jams there. 2.5 packs of cream cheese, and different things. And after cleaning, I didn't even have the stain anymore. Dinner, yes. And it took me about 10 weeks to realize that I did not have food, and that Michal Lynn evidently subsists on air as well.

Interning at the Art Institute has been a bit like my fridge, only the opposite. I've realized I've been left a bunch of great things, like some pasta or chicken, instead of bare bones, or rather, cream cheese. Excellent! I have carried over the metaphor! There were those days I felt like I was wading, where I wondered what it was that I was doing, but that comes with every job I think. So overall, it's been an entirely different summer from what I normally have done, but it's been enjoyable nonetheless. I learned a lot more than I did in sosc, that's certain.

And pictures:


The west vault. You pull drawings from here, but on occasion it's nice to just go in there and sit in the dark.



One of the cakes I made for Prints and Drawings. I was going to reproduce a Degas pastel with blueberries on there, but one can only do so much with blueberries.
The study room, where all the action happens



View.

I can't really make a proper, coherent review of my time at the Art Institute, because right now all that goes through me when I try to talk about it is "wowireallymissitthere" but one day it will come.

That might also be the day when my spacebar gets fixed.

A matter of odds and evens

I don't normally get excited over music concerts. I rarely plan on going to one months in advance, I have no clue what the actions of the bands are out there, what venues they play in, or they will play in. I do not own a single shirt with the name of some band written across it, nor do I own posters of bands. This is due in large part to growing up in a household where one could not listen to anything but classical music, and even Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald were frowned upon.

(By the way, what is hip-hop? Rock and roll?)

So this is why it was an absolutely new sensation for me to realize I was hankering after going to a Gipsy Kings concert. My version of rock and roll. They are playing at Ravinia, the outdoor theater, as we speak, and will be playing tomorrow as well.

Because this is such a new feeling, I didn't know how to deal with it. My first instinct was to go online to see how much tickets were. Do you realize what the situation is? Because my love for them runs quite deep, my pocket might as well, but the tickets that are reasonably priced are only sold in pairs. While I would possibly consider paying an exorbitant amount for the tickets, how much fun would I really have? The point of going to Ravinia is to sit on the lawn with friends and a few bottles of wine and snacks while talking or, once the bottles get emptier, wild dancing. And who do you know you likes the Gipsy Kings who would pay for tickets? (That actually might not be a rhetorical question, because I still really want to go.) Since I have no unconditional love of a significant other who would follow me around anywhere my heart desired, saying "I wouldn't normally do this, but since it makes you happy, I will do it for you," and since I also do not I have a friend who would turn a blind eye to the ticket price, even the lower priced ones, I am left to contemplate the hard life of solitary fans. Maybe this means I am friends with the wrong people. Which would definitely not make my previous inquiry of who knows Gipsy Kings fans merely rhetorical, because maybe I should do a serious end-of-the-season cleaning out of the figurative closet of my friends so that I'm not stuck in meaning-of-life-questioning dilemmas like this.

This afternoon I went to Trader Joe's and my cashier asked if I had any big plans for the weekend. After a moment's deliberation I launched into this story. At the end, he just asked "Dixie Kings?" Which, I suppose, means I should nix the plan of striking up friendships with complete strangers in the hopes they also have an unadvertised love for the Gipsy Kings.

I finally went to Hollywood Video

My recent life can be divided into a series of failures and successes. Not that my life in the past years couldn't be, but it just so happens that lately it lends itself to this sort of analysis particularly well. So here's a short rundown:


Success: getting ALL the lights on the upright wireless device to work. Nay, actually getting the upright wireless thing in the mail at all is considered a paramount accomplishment.



Failure: not getting the 4th box with the midbeam at IKEA on the first trip because of extremely poor prioritizing on the part of IKEA directions.


Success: Putting together the bed after a late-night visit to IKEA and getting a brand! new! mattress! The novelty of the mattress affected me in such a way that I was 45 minutes late to work the morning after I slept on it for the first time.


Success: putting together a nightstand


Failure: what in God's name are all those pictures suggesting?

So as you can see, life is sort of putting itself together despite the failures while continuing to be rather haphazard in spite of the successes. This upcoming week is my last week at work. A major success or failure is in order.