Art for your Mamma

Mother's day is less than 48 hours away and you haven't bought a card yet. ooops. Just like I did for Valentine's Day, I have scanned the collections of major museums and print makers and rustled up a handful of artworks worthy of a home-made mother's day card.

Mary Cassatt was famous for her images of mother and her child. Of Cassatt's painted portraits, these tend to be my least favorite. But none the less, their tenderness and the atmospheric effect of Cassatt's brushwork makes these heart warming Hallmark worthy scenes. My favorite is the Banjo Lesson. Mother is a teacher and the daughter leans over her shoulder eager to lean. Give this one to a mom who's taught you everything you know.

If this Cassatt doesn't do it for you, google her and you'll find dozens of prints and paintings that depict mother and child (her most famous center around bath time).

Adam Shattuck's 1850 painting, The Shattuck Family, Mother, Grandmother and Baby William is a beautiful image of ideal 19th century femininity but also of the timelessness of motherhood. Corsets may go in and out of style, but motherhood is always in. I think this is a great one to give to both your mother and her mother. (The actual painting is in the permanent collection at the Brooklyn Museum -- a place worth taking your mum if you have the day)


Blessed art thou among Women is a beautiful photograph from the turn of the century. A mother's tender kiss, the doorway and image of the annunciation on the wall referencing the western world's ideal mother (a Virgin named Mary), the soft glow around the subjects -- it's just beautiful. The photograph lives at the Met and is the work of an American Photographer, Gertrude Käsebier.


When Edward Curtis traveled across the US photographing Native Americans in the first quarter of the 20th century, he captured several dual portraits of mothers with their infants. Assiniboin mother and child ranks as my favorite -- beautiful natural light, the forest blurring in the background. For Curtis, this was an image of the next, and most likely last, generation of a disappearing race. For today's viewer, it's a warm vintage photograph of a new born and its loving parent.


For the mother to be? How about Demi Moore's famous cover shot for Vanity Fair? Her stomach is huge (she looks like she's about to pop at any second) but she's still as sexy as can be -- and you know your favorite pregnant friend is feeling pretty far from sexy right now as she watches her butt expand.


The last is my favorite -- a New Yorker cover by Danny Shanahan published in 1992 for mothers day. It's cute and reminds us that motherhood is universal among earth's creatures (as should be an appreciation of mothers!). This is going on my card.

I wish more people would wear feathers

I have a crush on Craig Ferguson. I have for a while, actually. I think he's funny, which makes him cute. And he's Scottish, which just makes him cuter. If I were a celebrity, I'd want to appear on the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson.

Tonight, he opened with a brief rant that started with "More people should wear feathers." Women used to wear them in their hair. They used to do dances with feathered fans. etc etc. I agree, the feather needs to make a comeback. Remember Carrie's unconventional veil in the S&TC movie -- it emerged from this fantastic peacock feather hair clip? It was stunning. More hats with feathers. I'm all for it.

He also started talking about Bravo's replacement for Project Runway: The Fashion Show, which debuted tonight.

The Fashion Show is lame. Issac Mizrahi is no Tim Gunn. I want Tim Gunn to be my best friend. I want Issac Mizrahi to go back to Target and stay there. Gunn, as the head of the Parson's design program, is a real-life mentor to developing designers. Mizrahi was in Unzipped. I don't know what that qualifies him to do. There's very little I like about Mizrahi on The Fashion Show (though I do like what he does for Target and what he did with that Newspaper). His attempts at a developing a catch phrase on par with "make it work" or "in fashion, one day you're in, the next day you're out... you're out" are especially lame.

Kelly Roland is also pretty lame. She lacks the fashion credibility of knockout mamma Heidi Klum and her over all manner is too reserved. She's a limp noodle. A pretty noodle, but a limp one none the less.

But at least someone on that show was wearing a feather in his hat.

Scenes in a Cafe, 1

A lot of life happens over a Latte.

I was sitting in Starbucks the other afternoon, waiting for a friend and catching up on some old New Yorkers. It was around 5:30 -- caffeine rush hour, second only to the 8:45AM pre work cappuccino run -- and the rain had finally subsided. A girl was sitting next to me in a white blouse and skirt, hair down and a bit unkempt. She wore solid frye boots over black stockings that lead up to a short skirt. That was her day outfit. As she sipped her ventie iced latte, she pulled her hair up, teasing out a poof and pinning it carefully. Her frye boots were traded in for knee-high black patent stilettos and the top button of her blouse was quickly undone. Her makeupless face now was adorned with rosey blush and glossy pink lipstick. Her crackberry started shaking on the cafe table and she picked it up, threw her oversized purse over her shoulder grabbed her plastic cup and iced beverage and was off. 10 minutes and 8 fl. oz had passed during her transformation. Now that's a new yorker.

Why do I have 3 South Beach Diet Books? Or, Spring Cleaning Discoveries 2009

May 3rd was the kind of rainy spring Sunday that demanded getting stuck in and tackling that annual chore of spring cleaning. I made lots of discoveries... like my missing pink sock, a gallon ziplock bag filled with crayons and my lost red patent loafers. Perhaps the most interesting, if not the most telling discovery was that I have in my house 20 diet books. Yes, 20... that I can find.

The 20 does not include the 5 books hidden behind the 2003 Frommer's Guide to Florida and the 2006 Rick Steve's Guide to Paris that outline exercise programs guaranteed to help you tone-up and trim down in 2 weeks. I feel like I bought at least 2 of those in June 2003... 2 weeks before my senior prom.

Actually, to lose weight for my prom and my prom dress (the same dress I wore 4 years later for my CC senior dinner -- the dress was that good) I went on Atkins. This accounts for the 2 Atkins books on the shelves. Yes, I have Dr. Atkins' New Diet Revolution and The Complete Dr. Atkins (all three books in one volume for the B&N value price of $9.98 -- how could I pass that up!) I stayed on the diet through my first month in college and then I discovered chocolate covered espresso beans... and chocolate covered raisins...oops.

I have two copies of the South Beach Diet -- a hard edition for the Westchester house and a soft-cover version for the college dorm/graduate apartment. There are post-its sticking out of them and food stains on the pages, which I take as a good sign. And to go with the weathered pair, I have the ever important The South Beach Diet Parties and Holidays Cookbook. Clearly, I was launching headlong into the South Beach way of life just before the holiday food rush and I needed some sort of alternative to the mashed potato (the greatest sacrifice on any low carb diet).

Remember Barry Sears, PhD and his Zone Diet? Probably a fad diet a little before most of our times. But regardless, there are 3 zone books on my bookshelf. There's "Mastering the Zone," which is in pristine condition (the Zone was not mastered clearly... probably never even entered). There's the more recent and slightly longer "The Anti-Inflammation Zone," which gets rid of poultry and other foods that apparently cause inflammation in the joints and arteries. It is likewise in pristine condition. However, A Week in the Zone, the small pocket sized version, is nicely worn in. phew. Diets aren't meant to last more than a week anyway. Ask any runway model... she'll tell you.

There's also the Sonoma Diet, the Cardio-Free Diet, The McDougall Program, Doctor McDougall's Health-Enhancing Recipe Book and Strong Women Eat Well. I liked the Cardio-Free Diet... it told me I didn't have to go to the gym as much. I gained 3 pounds on the Cardio-Free Diet. The Sonoma Diet was probably the best... I lost 5 lbs in the first week. It told me to drink wine.


There was a handful of books advocating one form of fuel intake over the other: The Carbohydrate Addicts Lifespan Program, Protein Power, and The Alpha Lipoic acid Breakthrough. Then there were the ones with gurus on the front promising 30 days or 2 months to a healthier, happier you.

It was kind of amazing. I knew I had been on a diet since I was 13 and had since those first days on weight watchers been through every major fad diet promoted by Joan Hamburg, but I never realized just how many diet books I had acquired. As I stared at the massive pile of books, I thought to myself: Kathleen, you have an unhealthy obsession with your weight. In high school, I wrote a piece in the style of John Steinbeck for my AP English Language class on "a good, effective diet." Am I seeing a trend here?

I blame Dr. Solomon -- about a month ago, after losing 5 lbs, I went in for a vit B shot and the visit proceeded as it has for the last 10 years: "Do you have a boyfriend?" "No yet." "When was your last period?" "A week ago." "You're such a pretty girl, but you really need to stop eating Carbohydrates." "But Dr. Solomon, I'm a vegetarian. What am I supposed to eat." To my mother: "Don't let her in the kitchen."

Luckily, the number of diet books I own is dwarfed by the number of recipe books on my shelves, in my drawers and on my counter top. Keep me out of the kitchen, Dr. Solomon? Yea, not likely.

And Now What?

My thesis is done! Woooooot. 100 pages, 20 illustrations, 60 sources and over two years worth of tears, sweat, barnes and noble bills and overdue library books. I confess -- there are two typos. Bugger. None the less, Columbia's art history department now has in its possession, "A Painter's Print: Ellen Day Hale and the American Lady Painter Etchers" by Kathleen Reckling. I can clear my shelf in Avery and relish the joy in having the freedom that follows a life without deadlines. I graduate on May 20th, yet that inevitable question that chases a pending grad has already reared its ugly head: you have a masters, now what?

You have a bachelors in Economics and a master's in art history from Columbia. What are you doing next?

You've written a thesis on the professionalization of women artists in the 19th century and the revival of the painter-etcher in the 1880s. Whaccha gonna do with that?

It's an economic recessions. What are your options?

You're 23 going on 24. What now?

It's a question that can be phrased in a thousand ways. Often it's coupled with further queries into my personal life, usually "is there a boyfriend?" (I've gotten particularly good at dealing with the second one! "No, not yet it's on my to do list... but they're just so much work and I already have 3 dogs!") The pair of questions are not new to me -- I went through graduating two years ago. Then I was fortunate enough to have the master's program lined up and thus an easy and credible explanation about my future. It's a little different this time round.

When people ask me "now what," I respond honestly but with hesitation: I'm taking the next year or two to write a book. About what? It's an expansion of my thesis -- my advisor wants me to do it. (paraphrased: "You're a wonderful writer," she said over breakfast, "really this [thesis] is just a page turner, and Hale is such a rebel, oh and the circle of women around her! You just have to do it.") It sounds impressive doesn't it? "I'm writing a book." And if I'm wearing my glasses and when I tell you this, it's even more impressive because I look like a legitimate intellectual.

But there are a few other things I could say, and have said that are also equally honest. I'm doing what all the cool people are doing -- being unemployed for a while. That usually elicits a good laugh, and if not a laugh starts a serious conversation about the current state of the job market and looks of wonderment at the idea that a girl with 2 ivy league degrees is still not qualified for anything more than an unpaid internship in the present economic environment. I tell them I need a Rhodes -- that's the masters degree that promises legitimate jobs, PhD program acceptances and big-time book deals. If you have a Rhodes, everyone assumes you're the next Bill Clinton, regardless of what that degree is in. If you have a master's in art history, everyone assumes you're going to be the next star of The Real Housewives of New York...

Which brings me to my other response to all those who ask, "what now."

Trophy Wife.

Two years ago as a weapon against those puzzled faces that appeared when I told people I was doing graduate work in art history, I pulled out the "but it's really a practical degree in Trophy Wifedom and cocktail party conversation." Of course, I wasn't serious. Art History is fantastic as a discipline because it forces you to deal with a broad range of topics and fields as well as with the visual world. So yes, it does make you a fantastic conversationalist at cocktail parties and does lend you an air of sophistication (when required). But I aspire for a career in academia or as a museum curator... wife to a trophy husband or not.

Ya.. well that was before the economic crash. I have a fatal addiction to shoes and DVF dresses, and my little book on Ellen Day Hale ain't going to pay those credit card bills. So, surely there's some financially stable guy out there who's just pining for an art historian wife? Did I mention I can cook too?

My Brand of Optimism, or How I Practically Find the Silver Lining

Blind optimism is sickening. Yes, it is true, it can always be worse... but when you're having a bad day, or a bad month, or a bad year it's hard not to be selfish and think that what you're going through is as bad as it gets. I've had a reasonable does of ups-and-downs in the last few months, events that have been serious blows to my ego and have made me question just about everything I'm doing/have done/intend to do. Onward and upward is an easy mantra to say, but not always the easiest to follow. Yet, despite being kicked around by moody admissions boards, fickle fencing tournaments and a handful of other unpleasant events, I remain generally optimistic. How? No, it's not through some path to enlightenment found through meditation and happy phrases. Instead, I have a far simpler solution for getting over life's hiccups.

I believe nothing helps you get over something like a good laugh -- find a friend, rent a movie, whatever, just get yourself laughing. Then get a cup of tea and a cookie.

If the laugh, tea and cookie don't do it, well then head for the gin and open up a box of Annie's Mac and Cheese and fill up to your heart's content. Fat and alcohol usually make up for what a good laugh and sugar can't do.

Dining Out in Portland

The Nines Hotel
525 SW Morrison
There are two restaurants in this super-posh boutique hotel on 4th Ave. On the 8th Floor is Urban Farmer, a modern steak house that does just about everything on its menu superbly. The beet salad is actually comprised of heirloom beets (rather than a heap of packaged lettuce with a few shaved beets on the bottom) and is beautifully dressed. Like many Portland restaurants, the emphasis here is on Local and organic, and the chef knows how to bring out the best in his ingredients. Featuring simple decor, a video art installation (it's kinda cool) and leafy palms, the ambience is cool and hip. Because it's set in the atrium of the Nines hotel, the noise level is a little high, but somehow the tables manage to maintain a sense of privacy. This one is a five starer fo shizzle.

Three weeks ago, the Nines opened Departures -- a trendy, lounge-like, Portland knock-off version of Nobu with a futuristic air-travel themed design. The decor takes advantage of the restaurant's position on the 15th floor of the hotel and large windows overlook the Willamette River. This is where all the pretty people in Portland serve and are served (best look bartenders I've seen anywhere, hands down). Purple, white, silver and black are the colors and the entrance way is like a set from the film Gattaca. Overall, I loved the ambience -- it was bright (though watch out for a few tabled crowded into cubby holes near the bar -- they're hot, dark and cramped), and easy to talk. While the service, sake menu, and decor score a 10, the food leaves a little to be desired. The kitchen is clearly still working out the chinks in the menu. Apparently the executive chef, Bryan Emperor worked under the famous Nobu and he is clearly trying to recreate the immensely successful modern Japanese fare that made the master chef and the restaurants that bear his name so famous. But it does fall a bit short. The menu looks fantastic with things like savory pork buns and calamari tenpura (a reinterpretation of Nobu's super yummy rock-shrimp tenpura) and the idea of a sort of pan-Asian tapas restaurant is very appealing. Everything is well presented but I would be honest in saying that nothing is memorable, except the Liquid Gold Sake which really is just incredible. The prices are more than reasonable, way more modest that Nobu, and I highly recommend stopping in at the bar for a drink, a few appetizer dishes and the view then head down stairs for dinner.

SouthPark Seafood Grill and Wine Bar
SouthPark is a place for an easy dinner. Featuring fresh, local, wild fish and a great selection of wines, it's a good choice for a quality meal without a lot of frills (with good proximity to the theater and museum). I really enjoyed the Local Organic Roasted Beets with Shaved Fennel,Watercress and Pistachio Pesto salad and my rock fish was well cooked with crisp grilled asparagus and a lovely tapendade that was not overpowering. A safe bet but not necessarily a splurge dinner.

Everett Street Bistro
Nestled in the heart of the Pearl district and only a stone's throw from Powell's Books, Everett Street Bistro is a great place to grab lunch between gallery tours and book browsing. It feels tres Parisian and is light and airy. good food and a casual atmosphere (though the sandwiches are a little over sized -- forget about trying to get your mouth around them). The pomme frites are a must.

The Red Star Tavern and Roast House
Attached to the Hotel Monaco this is where I got breakfast most mornings. The Red Star has a great menu and an earthy, Northwest feel with its large wood tables, ruff-n-tumble earthenware table settings and sturdy silverware. The housemade granola is delicious and the vegetable frittata hearty and tastey. There is nothing more dissapointing than bad breakfast potatoes, and the Red Star's homefries are about as good as they get. Being a tea snob, I love the fact my English Breakfast came as loose-leaf in its own pot -- they take their caffiene seriously (the coffee is free trade and smelled delicious). Apparently, they have a great happy hour, which I would believe and they also have a wood-burning brick oven which i would imagine produces some pretty flavourful lunch/dinner dishes.

Portland City Grill
Perched on the 30th floor of a 43 story building on SW 5th Ave, Portland City Grill offers spectacular views of Portland and the surrounding Cascade Mountains, Mount St. Helens and Mt. Hood. The food is average or just above. The kitchen paired wild salmon with a heavy risotto -- a big mistake, since the risotto, in both texture and taste, overwhelmed the fish (which was also slightly over cooked). However the drinks are tasty as are the appetizers -- go here for Happy Hour, watch the sun go down and enjoy a 10 Sage (a drink made with tanqueray 10 and sage).

A New York Yankee in Portland's Downtown, or Why a New Yorker would actually like this crunchy town

There are a lot of things about Portland New Yorkers might find unnerving. First, people in Portland are friendly -- Portlanders are just determined to help you. They will give you directions to your destination, they will help you with your groceries and they will have a conversation with you, about anything. They're just so gregarious and so ready to talk that for the more solitary New Yorker, so much niceness might seem smothering. Second, there are no cabs to be seen and no subways. There's a light rail that runs all through the city, but it lacks the grime, mystery and free music performances of New York City's metro system. Portland is also absurdly clean -- there is not a cigarette butt to be found on the streets. Of course New Yorkers are used to a bit of a pollution. Despite Portland's lack of the few things that New Yorkers deem as truly essential for daily living,and despite Portland's overwhelming friendliness and eco-consciousness, even the most New York of New Yorkers can find themselves at home in this Northwest city. And here's why:

1. Dogs
New Yorkers love their dogs and take them everywhere with them. Luckily so do Portlanders, and perhaps Oregonians in general. Portland dogs can be found in hotels, in the park, on the street, on the beach and in the restaurants. From big scruffy dogs to little purse size dogs (though, I'd say the majority are capable of chasing sticks, as opposed to toothpicks).


2. Happy Hour
Every bar in Portland has happy hour from 4-6PM, at way more reasonable prices than in New York. The Hotel Monaco has free wine tasting everyday except Sunday (and they don't check room #s... insider's tip >>wink, wink<<). The Portland City Grill has Happy Hour all night on Sunday. Way to start the week!! wooot.

3. Restaurants
Portland is teeming with good places to eat and the value is fantastic. The restaurants tend to feature local providers -- which means super fresh and yummy.

4. Districts
New Yorkers are used to their neighborhoods -- we've got the village and chelsea, chinatown, and SoHo. Well Portland has the Pearl,Nob Hill, Downtown, Chinatown... etc. Oh, and did I mention the whole city is on a grid system!

5. Homeless People
There are not too many people on the streets in Portland, but there are a healthy number of homeless people on the corners. They're cleaner looking than New York homeless people which might throw a visitor off -- they are easily confused with leftover hippies.

6. Coffee Shops and Voodoo Doughnuts
There is no shortage of caffeine refueling stations in Portland. Starbucks, local coffeehouses, tea shops -- yea, the city has a place to fill up your cuppa on practically every corner. And did I mention that all the coffee is actually delicious and not bitter. Then there's Voodoo Doughnuts, the greatest doughnut on the planet, to go with your free-trade coffee. Bagels pale in comparison.

Reasons Why I Love Portland

1. Powell's Books
Touted as the world's largest independent bookseller, Powell's is the word-lover's El Dorado. Seriously, they have everything. I've also decided this is the best place in North America to pick up an intellectual for a drink-date.

2. The People
Soooo friendly! And I've decided also very educated. All the employees at our hotel list their favorite artist on their name tag. One of the women who works the front desk has listed William Hogarth -- now to name Hogarth as your favorite artist means you have had more art history than art hum and are very likely a print nerd. And then everyone wants to talk to you when they meet you. It's almost a little unnerving how nice everyone is... especially when you're a new yorker. So far, I've had more lengthy conversations with strangers in two days than I have in Manhattan in a year. I swear, we almost hug before we say good-bye.

3.The Hotel Monaco
Whimsical and comfy, boutique but not snobby, this has fast become one of my favorite hotels in the US (and I'm a frequent frequenter of Fairmonts, Four Seasons and Ritz Carltons). The decorators are not afraid of highly-saturated hues, particularly in the public spaces which invoke 19th century orientalism but with a sleek, modern finish that prevents it from feeling garish or ornate. The staff is typical Portland friendly and extremely knowledgeable. A small bureau in our room was faced with the portrait busts of the West's greatest philosophers -- basically, the Core's greatest hits list. Every day from 4-6, there is a complimentary wine tasting in the lobby area that features local Oregonian vintages. The hotel is also pet friendly.

4. Art
Portlanders love art and are proud of their artists. It's everywhere -- even the public drinking fountains are sculptural. Portland has an active gallery scene and a well-respected museum. In NYC, "art lovers" are hipsters who love to be seen, who sport skinny jeans/tights with rayban sunglasses and wear layered haircuts with oversized 5-year-old style bangs. In Portland, it seems everyone is an art lover -- hipster jeans or no.

5. James Lavadour
This is really a follow up to #4, but Lavadour is so amazing that he requires his own number. He is my favorite contemporary artist, hands down. I had the opportunity to hear him speak about his work at an artist's symposium back when I was working at the NMAI in 2007. Luminous and organic, his ephemeral landscape paintings depict no specific locations. The geological structures appear out of the veil of paint like ghosts.

I just Shelled out another $100 grand and I don't even get a stripe.

I just bought my cap and gown for Columbia Commencement, Redux 2009: The Master's Edition. It cost $54 + 4 semesters at 23,000 a pop. Like the CU BA cap and gown, it's a powder blue with two black flaps encrusted with the Columbia Crown on the chest. Now, you would think that as a graduate earning a Master's degree there would be a hood, or a stripe or some other embellishment that would distinguish me from the bachelor degree recipients who will be standing to my left at commencement.

Ya... no.

The sleeves are longer? Yea... That's it. The sleeves are longer. I think I can store an apple in them in case I get hungry during Prez Bo's speech. Thanks Columbia.

I'm standing here holding this hideous construction of cheap periwinkle fabric, packaging strewn on the floor, and all i can think is "i should have cut an inch off the bottom of my undergrad gown and tacked it on to the sleeves." What the hell am I going to do with TWO identical caps and gowns? At least when I graduated in 2007 i was a class marshall, so I had one of those gold ropes on my shoulders.

Seriously Columbia, I love you, but really, don't you think I deserve a stripe or something? I mean you refused to fund my MA... in the very least give me the cap and gown for free?

If I were a song writer...

I definitely wouldn't win a Grammy... but maybe a CMA?
Here's evidence for why this is not a viable career option for me in these disembodied lyrics that pop into my head while on the tredmill:

----

that guy at the gym, in the Yankee shirt, looked just like you/ he reminded me how long it took to get over all we'd been through/ damn those biceps because they just won't let me forget the way I loved you

-----

Maybe we could leave tonight, my bags are already packed. It's a round trip ticket with a return date in the corner. But I know I wouldn't mind if we decided to stay a lifetime.

-----

I said I wanted fame and red hot corvette/ some Gucci sandals and a house on the beach/ I said I wanted Oprah eating out the palm of my hand and Letterman lined up for a one night stand/ but I forgot how I said I'd get there/ the doors are closed and I just don't have the key/ just an old guitar and some broken down dreams

----

he wears his polo shirt second hand and a size too big/ but can you blame him when his favorite designer is the Good Will?/ he ain't got game or a swagger to kill/ but behind those spectacles he's got the kind of hazel eyes that just won't let me say good-bye

----

I need a Whole Foods Bag full of money aight?

Planting a Change Garden

During the First and Second World Wars, Americans were forced to deal with food rationing and limited accessibility to items that had, for the entirety of their lifetimes, been used on a daily basis. "Working your own little patch of ground is part of the home front fighter's front-line assignment," wrote horticulturist Dr. Frank Thorne in 1943, "Chief weapon should be tomatoes."

Today, we're at war in Iraq but more devastating is the war we face at home -- the one against a crumbling economy. Then there's the war against global warming. Might it be time again to resurrect the Victory Garden?

Alice Waters and the group behind Revive the Victory Garden certainly think so. The farm to table trend in food doesn't have to be limited to high-end restaurants, or the economically sound who can afford all organic produce all the time. Plant a vegetable garden, and your home can be the next Blue Hill at Stone Barns.

As someone who is so very into organic and local produce, this is now my new project. I have a half acre of empty property (that had once been a highly productive apple orchard) and as of May 3rd, an indeterminate amount of time to tend to my tomatoes, lettuces, herbs, and zucchinis.

So anyone out there know how to work a plow?

Recession? Apparently not in South Beach

Every day the New York Times tells me we're in the midst of a financial crisis. In case I forget, the radio news, the television news, the homeless guy on the corner, the schools I applied to for my PhD and my bank account all find ways to remind me that money is scarce, a depression has hit us and it's going to take a while to get back up.

But if you ask the Ritz Carlton South Beach, or anyone in South Beach right now, they'll tell you something different. Money is flowing there -- thick and quickly, right out of the pockets of well-dressed men in Prada sunglasses and Ferragamo loafers. The high end bars of the Shore Club and the Delano, where martinis are $16 a pop, haven't yet felt the pull of tightening belts. Sitting outside of Nobu at the Shore Club, sipping sake, I watched Rolex Submariner clad wrists drop Benjamin Franklins and Amex Black cards on the wooden bar in front of me. There wasn't an ounce of concern in their eyes. As they wrapped their tanned arms around the under-dressed, well-bejeweled women at their side, it was clear -- there was more of that where that came from.

Poolside at the Ritz, a group of 5 people rented one of the luxury lounge beds for two days at $400 a day. The lounge beds included a fruit plate and some champagne. But that wasn't enough for them. They proceeded to order champagne and margaritas like they were tap water. I suspected they were there with the Miami Film Festival. Only Hollywood wannabes would think that kind of spending was a good idea... recession or no recession. And apparently, the film industry is the only one making money right now. No one wants to watch CNN anymore and hear about how their entire savings, which is invested in Citigroup Stock, has vanished, so they're spending what income they have in the theaters on depressing movies about broken marriages and the Holocaust. Go figure.

It was a bit surprising. You would think with companies cutting back the high roller hotels and restaurants would be suffering a bit. But not in the slightest. The people that have the kind of money that buys you cars like most people buy chewing gum, always have money. And those people were all in South Beach with me.

Clearly all the other under-30 women who were there knew about these and neglected to send me the memo that said: If you want to land one of these titanium amex toting gents, or just go out in Miami, whip out the 5-inch cork-heel sandals, mico minis and double padded pushup bras, straighten your hair and apply enough eyeliner so you look like a raccoon. I haven't seen so many average looking women so over made-up, so under dressed and so unbalanced on their feet since the last Miss America Pageant. I guess they had all taken a page out of Patti Stanger's book. There I was at the Shore Club bar, minimalist makeup, dressed in a high-waisted knee-length black Cynthia Steffe skirt with a black lace top I had bought in 2000 (no joke) and flat sandals, surrounded by boobs, bad Pucci knockoff minidresses and skyscraper espadrilles feeling like a mushroom. Apparently, New York chic doesn't get you sake refills in Miami Beach.

Ladies Love Country Boys: The Truth About Country

Country is an under-appreciated over mocked genre.

Okay, sure there are a lot of songs with super corny moralizing stories about the wrongs of drinking and driving or about God's mysterious ways. But if there's two things Country know how to do it's make fun of itself and how to lay one mean guitar riff.

Country believes in paying homage to its legends. Everyone that won an award at the CMAs this year thanked the musicians who came before and inspired them. There's something nice about a genre of music that openly acknowledges that it has a past that has shaped its present. I also love the way sooo many country songs today reference the Greats in their lyrics. Here's a handful:
Kid Rock -- All Summer long
Jason Alden -- Johnny Cash
Trace Adkins -- Ladies Love Country Boys
Taylor Swift -- Tim McGraw

Country is a genre that limits the amount of ass-wiggling in its videos. Take Lady Antebellum's "Lookin' for a Good Time." It's a song about a one-night stand but the video is a 1960s, American Bandstand type concert. It's so nice to see people singing in music videos for a change. And then there's Trace Adkins' "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" -- a song about ass wiggling, but one that effectively makes fun of all those rap videos with under-clad gyrating females. It's my favorite answer to Sir Mix Alot's I like Big Butts.

Country is a music of images and of serious guitar. Listen to the lyrics (in songs other than the one's i've linked to): they do more than tell stories, they actually create vivid photograph snapshot scenes.It's actually hard for me to understand Tom Petty and Jimi Hendrix fans who say they hate country. Or old school rock n' roll fans for that matter. As far as I can tell, it's the only popular genre left today that still emphasizes the singer-musician and multilayer instrumentals. Timberland wouldn't survive a minute in Nashville... and I think that's a wondrous thing.

Please, Sir, Will You Stop Tapping... It's interfering with my blogging

I'm currently sitting in Columbia's Art and Architectural Library -- Avery. It's a lovely, cavernous, old-world sort of place with grottoes of books, iron railings around the second level of shelves, and huge wooden tables with proportionately huge wooden armchairs. On days like today, when the outside temperature is in the 60s and the sun is shining, the big floor to ceiling windows illuminate the marble columns and recessed white ceiling, making it a warm and cheerful place to get some writing done.

Across the table from me at this very moment is one very STRESSED business schooler. Or maybe he's an undergrad in economics -- I don't know, neither do I care. His book bag and coat are both on the table, intruding into my work space. He has a venti starbucks cup, which must have once contained a non-fat, extra-shot iced latte. Now all it contains is ice, which at evenly spaced intervals he feels the need to shake and tip into his mouth and then CRUNCHING on them. He has a lot of ice cubes still to go. I hope they turn the heating on soon...

In between the ice-rattling, he rotates among "spider push-ups" (this is the name my parents have given to the act of spreading out one's fingers, holding the two hands in front of your face and then pushing them together so that the fingers tap and spring off one another... it makes a tap-tap-tap-tap-tap sound... especially when the fingernails need a good trimming), face scratching, pen chewing, head scratching, frenzied writing, watch checking and over-zealous page turning.

Oh! Oh! Oh! He just picked his nose and looked at it... now he's resuming the writing. Back to the nose now... now the ice.. now the writing... page flipping... face scratching...

Now he's standing, finger twitting, page tapping, sneezing (I am not gonna say gablessyou), page sorting... he hasn't stopped moving and noise making.

I've decided this man shouldn't drink coffee. Not only is he red in the face, clearly HE HAS A LOW CAFFEINE TOLERANCE... so low in fact it makes him act like he's on crack.

Typically, when I'm working in Avery, I find it counterproductive to listen to my i-pod -- it just ruins the ambiance. Except for today. Today, the ear buds are in and Stevie Ray is cranked up all the way.

This fellow has just confirmed my belief that B-Schoolers should stick to their own library. There they can crunch ice, hell, even talk on their blackberries. Once upon a time I was all for cruising for future CEOs in Uris, but I think my tablemate (did I mention we're the only two people at the table... the other end is totally empty) has officially made me change my mind... that and the increased number of architectural students now making use of the art history study room... did I mention how very sexy architects can be? ;)

Floriography Just In Time For V-Day Floral Shopping

Another variation on the Victorian-Valentine's Day Theme. This time on the Language of Flowers.

In the 1800s, floriography, or the sending of messages via floral emblems, was hugely popular -- especially between young lovers (or at least, that's what all my Victorian novels lead me to believe). There were numerous volumes published in the middle part of the century that detailed the meaning of many a popular flower. An 1850 Glasgow published book called The Language of Flowers; Or Garden Telegraphs for Ladies and Gentlemen: a complete dictionary of floral emblems was a go-to guide for men and women looking to send messages of love, of empathy, of sympathy, and of Fuck You without writing one of those lengthy handwritten letters. Floriography "manuals" that featured illustrations and some verse were special editions and probably given as gifts. In 1847, John S. Adams published a 128page book with COLOR PLATES (how exciting!!) entitled The Language of Flower, Poetically Expressed.

There were tons more but today these Victorian standbys are pretty hard to lay your hands on. Barnes and Nobles does have a contemporary printing of Kate Greenway's illustrated manual, which is pretty awesome. Given the fact that Columbia only has copies of these in their Rare Book collection, I have consulted Google's results to compile the following list to help you lovebirds assemble those last minute bouquets. I've left out some of the cliched V-day varieties to help you think outside the box. Might I suggest an assemblage of baby's breath, blue violets, forget-me-nots and some red and white roses? Georgia O'Keefe certainly knew flowers had a (pretty sexy) language all their own.

~~~~~~~~~~

Baby's breath: Everlasting love

Carnations (pink): I'll never forget you
(white): Sweet and lovely; pure love
(avoid yellow, purple and striped -- those are all emblematic of bad feelings towards the receiver)

Forget-me-not: True love

Gladiolus: Love at first sight

Iris: faith; hope; wisdom and valor

Orchid: love, beauty, refinement, beautiful lady

primrose: I can't live without you
(avoid evening variety)

Roses: Yellow- Friendship
red & white together - unity
red & yellow - joy, happiness
thornless -- love at first sight

tea rose: I'll always remember

Tulips: Red -- declaration of love
yellow -- hopeless love
general -- perfect lover

Purple Lilac: first emotions of love

Acacia: secret love

Arbor Vitae: everlasting friendship

Morning glory: love in vain

sunflower: pure and lofty thoughts

Blue Violet: faithfulness

And what to give to the person who just broke your heart? Try a head of lettuce, which symbolizes cold-heartedness.

Can't Buy Me Love

I've never really understood the phenomenon of gift giving on Valentine's Day. I used to get coloring books or heart-shaped cookies as a kid. In college, my mother gave me a heart-shaped necklace from the Metropolitan Museum of Art collection. She wanted me to wear it when I hung out with this guy I liked and tell him a "special friend" gave it to me. She's a clever woman, my mother.

I remember one year my roommate's boyfriend gave her a rose and a watch while another of my friends received a box of chocolates and was taken out for a "romantic" over-priced candlelight dinner. My folks gave me $200. I think I won.

There's the gift of lingerie, which I find really troubling. I mean, if I wanted to wear a lace bra with peek-a-boo holes for my nipples, I'd buy myself one. It's mind boggling to think that guys consider it a good idea to give their girlfriends clothes they intend to whip off their ladies faster than it took for them to pick them out. And don't get me started on pearl thongs. Talk about conspicuous consumption. (Can I also say that this is entirely impractical.)

I actually love going to Victoria's Secret on February 13th. It's one of the most entertaining experiences of the year. The clientele has turned entirely male (with the exception of the few of us females who want to take advantage of the annual Pink sale) and every single one of them is confused. There's always the rush of female employees, "Can I help you find anything?" "errr, uuumm... I think I'll just take a look around?" Then off they go, into the "Sexy Little Things Section" rummaging through the piles & racks, drooling over the leopard print bras and the itsy bitsy thongs. Thoughts of comfort and practicality and even taste? Yea, totally not on the radar.

Also, it's absurd the way florists jack up the prices of roses this time of year. Whole Foods sells organic roses, one dozen, for like $24, while other places are pricing them near $100. Lame. I love roses, but I'd prefer to have them at deflated prices S.V.P.

Now, if I were in one of those relationships where the fella just felt it absolutely necessary to buy me something for this silly day of presents (and if he had the disposable income to do something better than a Hersey's chocolate bar) I would fully endorse the following: click here, because it says a lot more than a lace baby doll nightie and sure as hell makes a better investment.

Homage a William Kentridge and Sergeo Leone???

So like any properly procrastinating student attempting to get work done on an icy Friday night, I've just been cruising around YouTube where I stumbled on this video, a homage to Sergeo Leone's famous spaghetti western, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. The animation is actually done with sand on a light table. I found the finished product to look remarkably similar to the animated drawings of South African artist William Kentridge. His short animated films, like History of the Main Complaint, are actually only one drawing, photographed, edited and photographed and edited and photographed on and on continuously -- you can see the erasure marks. It's a phenomenal layering and morphing process -- a process of continual erasure and addition. While I'm not a fan of the dark content, I can't help but be captivated by Kentridge's process (oh artists and their processes!). For a lighter Kentridge film, watch this homage to George Melies' 1902 Voyage dans la Lune.

Victorians Imaging Love

I'm a confessed Victorianophile -- yes, I love all things Victorian: the clothes, the books, the art, the royal families, the economic climate, the scientific advancements, the neuroses, the philosophers &c. Of course I'm also a print-fanatic (see my thesis proposal), and funnily enough, Valentine's Day gives me yet another opportunity to discuss Victorians and art/prints/visual culture. WOOOT!

The way we celebrate Valentine's Day, with Hallmark cards and lace and pink and hearts, pretty much began in the 1800s. Esther A. Howland was the first to mass produce fancy Valentines here in the states -- in 1850, she set up an assembly line of ladies all armed with lace, lithograph cupids, lines of verse and other necessary romantic addons. Meanwhile, the first machine-produced, and thus reproduced, Valentine was printed around the same time in the UK.

Here are some prints about Love just in time for a holiday that celebrates love. (I saved my favorite for last) So Right Click, Save As, Open, and Print these out for your sweetheart come February 14. Hey, it's a recession and those Hallmark cards are overpriced.

Art for a Valentine

St. Valentine's Day -- a cold day in mid February dedicated to the warmth and cheerfulness of romance and love (and lusty one night stands). This is the first of two posts intended to help those in need of those little details that make the day really meaningful. This one is about Valentine-appropriate art. For those with significant others, many of these images will make fantastic Valentine cards. For those that intend to spend the day with chocolate/alcohol, some of these images will hopefully remind you that love is possible (or, in modern times, is over rated)


Sacred and Profane Love (1514), Titian (pictured above)
This is an interesting one. On one side stands "Profane Love" -- lust, one night stands, promiscuity, etc. On the other is "Sacred Love" -- true, eternal, romantic, spiritual, soul mate kind of love. But which is which? As it turns out, Sacred Love is the beautiful nude to the right of the central stone table. She is Venus incarnate. Vouluptous, yes. But ultimately modest (look at her avert gaze) and divine.

The Kiss (1907-1908), Gustav Klimt
I've always found this one a little troubling. It is generally accepted that this is the image of two lovers in an embrace -- of a woman submitting to her lover's touch and submitting to ecstasy. Though there's something about the way her head is tilted that makes me think otherwise. But for the sake of Valentine's Day, let's stick to the popular interpretation.


Olympia (1863), Edouard Manet
This famous painting is a late 19th century modernization of Titian's Venus of Urbino. How is it a modernization? Manet's Venus is a prostitute who sells love as a commodity. So, this isn't exactly the image you want to present to your lover. It's more of a reminder how impersonal love in the modern era often is.

At Père Lathuille's (1879), Edouard Manet
This scene is so full of light and joy -- who wouldn't want to be one half of the couple at Pere Lathuille's?


Cupid and Psyche (1783), Canova
Canova's Cupid and Psyche is one of the most arresting sculptures at the Louvre. Delecate and pure, it is an image of that moment Love awakens you to the world.


The Kiss (1889), Auguste Rodin
Seriously, this sculpture is the reason I'm an art historian (and Rodin's the Burghesses of Calais). Pure passion, pure romance, a pure moment. This is what a kiss should be.


The Swing (1766), Jean-Honore Fragonard
Valentine's Day almost requires a bit of Baroque-over-the-topness. So the fella is looking up her skirt and all those petticoats. She knows what she's doing. And I think we all get the inuendo implied in the swing. Those dirty 18th Century Frenchmen ;) All the dripping sexiness aside, it is a pretty image -- very chocolate box or Card with doily appropriate.


At a New York Restaurant (1922), Edward Hopper
A little less joyful than Manet's cafe scene. However, unlike many of Hopper's other paintings of individuals in American cities, there is a greater sense of intimacy, or perhaps a lesser sense of isolation and loneliness. I really like the painting -- we're given a glance into a private moment, in a public place, between a man and woman and it's up to us to tell their story.



Lovers in a small cafe in the Latin Quarter (1932), Brassaï
Romance only the way the French can picture it -- making out in a corner of a small cafe in Paris. It's a cliche we hold dear to this day.



Coronado Beach (c. 1930), Unknown photographer
Joy. Bliss. and Beach. Just a lovely scene of a lovely couple. And there's something immortal about black and white images... dontcha think?



stay tuned for Valentine's Day appropriate playlists.

The Progression of Away Messages

Today's series of Away Messages:

Kathleen is having a very Irish lunch with her very Irish cousins at a very Irish pub.

Kathleen ate too much corned beef and cabbage

Corned beef and Cabbage makes me sleepy.

Kathleen is never eating meat again.

Arizona vs. Pittsburgh vs. Austen

Superbowl Sunday: The most male day in the American year. Football jerseys, buffalo wings, chili, nachos, indigestion, smashing, bashing, neck braces, etc. Yes, you couldn't possibly get anymore uber-male than Superbowl Sunday.


Which is why I found it particularly awesome that PBS and Masterpiece Theater put up Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility" opposite the testosterone fest. So, while the men are off chest-bumping with their posse, the ladies can indulge in the most feminine of female entertainments -- romance a la Georgian England. For, there really is no game more entertaining than the one played between men and women for love and money.

The Ultimate Literary Crush: Mr. Thornton v. Mr. Darcy

My dearest Darcy,

I fear I find myself the victim of a handsome face and an iron sense of integrity. I fear that my once constant heart, a heart so dedicated to one man, to you, has found itself longing for another. I fear, my darling Fitzwilliam Darcy, that I no longer "ardently admire and love you." I like you, rather a lot, but I can't say Love -- at least not since I met the heir to your character. Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, but Mr. John Thornton of Milton has wooed my heart and I don't believe there is any going back.

Darcy, when we first met you were rude and prideful -- you put down my dear friend Elizabeth Bennet and dismissed her family as silly, wealth-obsessed, and generally beneath your social and personal standards. Your prejudices against those less fortunate than you were made painfully evident. Indeed, I misjudged you. Charmed by his affections towards Lizzy, I took Wickham's side when it was really you who were wronged. By the end of our acquaintance, Miss Bennet had come to realize your inner kindness, yet, let us be honest, your Pride and your Prejudices still remained. Let us consider the famous moment of your proposal...you claimed to admire and love Lizzy, but still put down her family and still acted as the agent of her sister's misery. Furthermore, you retained your sense of class superiority. You were born with your wealth and status, Mr. Darcy; you were not its maker.

I do not wish to dismiss all your heroic acts, all your subtle and genuine declarations of affections for Lizzy, but i have to wonder if you are really the hero for a modern woman?

John Thornton may be many years your junior, his story coming into being in the mid 1850s, and he is not a gentleman by your standards -- he did not inherit wealth, he made it in trade. He ran a mill in Milton, a rapidly industrializing town, and he ruled it with an iron fist. When I met him, he was beating up a worker who's carelessness with a smoking pipe might have set the mill ablaze. His response seemed cruel and beast-like. But I can understand his anger -- one flame and hundreds of workers would have lost their lives. Miss Margaret Hale didn't like Mr. Thornton at first, neither for his temper nor his modern, business-like ways. Yet, throughout our knowing one another, he was consistent in his admiration of her character and her ethics. When he proposed, he said simply that he loved her -- no put downs, no dismissals. Only heartbreak at her initial refusal. He too was an ethical man, ensuring always that his workers were protected and properly cared for. And regardless of the hurt he felt at Miss Hale's rejection of him, he was always willing to put himself on the line to save her. He refused to engage in a risky speculation because he refused to play with his workers' livelihoods. He has a temper and is prideful, but he is not selfish.

Mr. Darcy, forgive me. For you shall always be my first love, but Mr. Thornton has stolen my heart. He is a bit darker than you, a bit gruffer than you, for sure. He has no Pemberly, just a mill and a large house in a gloomy Northern town. But he is the man of the future, off his high horse and Byronically handsome in a Richard Armitage sort of way.

Forever partly yours,
Kathleen

In Case You were Wondering...

what I was writing my thesis on, here's a slightly abbreviated version of my proposal...

Born in 1855 to a prominent and pious Boston family, Ellen Day Hale was one of thousands of girls who enrolled in art schools in the latter half of the nineteenth century. She was one of a handful of these girls who made art-making their lifelong profession. She lived through the American Civil War and the First World War, the 17th Amendment and the 19th Amendment, the Roaring Twenties and the Great Depression. She died in 1940 on the eve of a Second World War and the rise of Rosie the Riveter. Her life and artistic career straddled two centuries and two opposing feminine personas -- that of the “Ideal” Victorian Woman and of the “New” enfranchised twentieth century woman.

Hale was a prolific artist, who besides a number of less formal portraits and still-lives, amassed a large portfolio of etchings and earned several commissions to paint portraits of Washington, D.C.’s most prominent residents including the President and Vice-President. Today, Hale is best known for a handful of her paintings. However, during her lifetime, Hale was as well known, if not more celebrated for her etching. I believe it is her work as an etcher and her involvement in the painter-etcher movement of the late nineteenth century that offer the most new insights into Hale’s biography, and furthermore, offer insight into the position of women in the American artistic community.

In the late 19th century, women who sought economic independence through art-making benefited greatly from a burgeoning publishing industry that demanded illustrators and printers (wood engravers, lithographers, and photographers). As printmakers, women could enter the work force and earn an income without radically rebelling against societal norms. Many women, including Hale, sought formal education in painting and proceeded to have successful careers as painters, domestically and abroad. Hale and a number of these women would venture beyond the canvas to take part in the etching revival that migrated across the Atlantic from France and took hold in America in 1877. These women looked to etching not only for its commercial viability but also for its appeal as an alternative artistic outlet.

Before examining Hale’s turn to printmaking, it is important to understand the context under which she made this move. What was the etching revival, known as the painter-etcher movement? What was its impetus and who was at the forefront? What distinguished the painter-etchers from others who employed the printing technique? A number of important and influential American artists tried their hand at etching, including Mary Cassatt and James Abbott McNeil Whistler. Some gave up painting and centered their careers entirely on etchings. What was the appeal of medium to American artists like Whistler, Thomas Moran and Ellen Day Hale?

In 1887, hot off the heels of hosting the first major exhibition of etching in the US, the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston opened the Exhibition of the Work of the Women Etchers. This 400+-work exhibit sought to carve out a place for women in the etching world while also further promoting the art form. Yet, in the same year, the New York Etching Club, the country’s most well-known etching club and the group that launched the etching revival in America, still only boasted one female on its membership roster. Only a few years earlier, art critic and author Mariana Griswold van Rensselaer called the painter-etchers “our men.” Additionally, the language critics employed to describe the revival’s artists echoes the rhetoric found in the speeches of Frederick Jackson Turner and President Theodore Roosevelt – rhetoric that ultimately characterized the American national identity as male. Thus, while printmaking might have been a traditionally female art form, the painter-etcher movement was decidedly male. The critics and exhibitions present conflicting views on the activeness of women in the painter-etcher movement and beg the question: what was the role of women in the etching revival of the 1880s and 1890s?

More specifically, what was Ellen Day Hale’s place within the painter-etcher movement? How much of her oeuvre is made up of etching and what were her motivations for exploring the medium? What does her biography and work tell us about the painter-etchers broadly speaking, and particularly, about the women painter-etchers? Finally, what does her long career as an artist – as a painter as well as an etcher -- tell us about Ellen Day Hale? Academics in the last decade have frequently invoked her life and work in discussions of women artists in ¬fin-de-siècle America, yet there seems to be little understanding of the character of the woman whose biography has made her an art historian’s artist. This is something I hope to remedy while also challenging earlier writings that establish 1907 as the end of Hale’s career.

Advice from Women of Centuries Past for Women of the Present Century on Procuring a Valentine

From the ever wise Jane Austen via the ever pragmatic Miss Lucas in Pride and Prejudice (1813):
"A slight preference is natural enough; but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better shew more affection than she feels."

In other words: If you like the fella, you'd better whip out the marquee, because he's so dense he'll miss your subtle hints. And while you're trying to let him know through telepathy, some other hussy will flaunt cleavage and steal you man.



From the first edition of Godey's Lady's Book (Jul. 1830):
"WHEN we are in the company of sensible men, we ought to be doubly cautious of talking too much, lest we lose two good things - their good opinions, and our improvement; and disclose one thing which had better have been concealed - our self-sufficiency; for what we have to say we know, but what they have to say we know not."

The bottom line: Don't let men know you're an independent thinker and smarter than them, because they're just not interested in women that know more than they do.


Following in a similar vein, Truman Capote's ever wonderful Holly Golighty of Breakfast at Tiffany's (1950) tells us exactly what women should learn to talk about if they want to impress a man with their intellect:
"There's so few things men can talk about. If a man doesn't like baseball, then he must like horses, and if he doesn't like either of them, well, I'm in trouble anyway: he don't like girls."

Okay, so Capote wasn't a female author, but I think he got this one just about right. Keep it simple girls -- sports, men get sports. Pick a team, learn a few stats (yes, stats -- don't just say you think Derek Jeter is the best player in baseball with out a number to back it up) and buy a cap.



And just remember, when romance doesn't seem to be blooming take Elizabeth Gaskell's words to heart: "A man... is so in the way in a house."

Looking back on 2008... a few Things I've Learned

It pays to be a humanities student when the stock market crashes -- While many of my wall street friends have to worry about whether or not they'll still have a job in 2009, I'm applying for fellowships which means people will be paying me to be a student and write about art for the next 7 years (hopefully, this will be just enough time for the economy to get back on track and for millionaires to start investing in paintings again)

Believe -- Watching the US Olympians in Beijing was incredibly inspiring. In the end, the lesson I learned watching our fencers bring home a historic 6 medals (oh and Michael Phelps winning those lovely 8 golds) is that you have to believe in yourself. As someone who so often lacks self confidence and so often doubts herself, BELIEVE is my new mantra for 2009.

3. Keep Fighting -- Last fall, my mother had her hip replaced. In less than a year, she was walking better than ever and made her way onto the US Veterans Fencing World Championship Team. She proceeded to be the best finisher from the US in her age category. A year before she couldn't bend to touch her knees. It's pretty amazing what we can get through if we refuse to give up.

Cellulite Creams don't work -- They don't and in learning this, I also learned to embrace my thighs and accept the fact they are what they are because they work hard and because they belong to an athlete (or at least, to someone who spends a minimum of two hours a day at the gym, whether she looks it or not).

My Irish Gene is dominant -- One of my childhood fantasies was fulfilled this Christmas when my parents gave me a pasta maker. I had visions of rolling out piles and piles of fresh fettucinni with an expert hand in a matter of minutes. Yea, right. Try several hours of kneading, rolling, re hydrating, and kneading. Now, give me a potato and I'm an ace. But this whole pasta from scratch thing is a little more work than Giadi de Laurentis would have us believe.

I've read too much Jane Austen -- at some point this year I realized Mr. Darcy "lived" in the 19th century and I should bloody well get over it.

I'm really just a country girl at heart -- For a long time I had this idea I was a city girl a la Carrie Bradshaw (but with half a heart belonging to the Rockies). My trip to Limoges, FRA and my extended stays at home made it clear to me that I like my rolling hills and fields, my small farm-style houses and long walks.

Country Music is the only place where the Guitar still lives -- contemporary pop killed the guitar solo. But listen to groups like Big and Rich and you'll find there's still a lil Stevie Ray on today's charts.