Living The Dream

There are a lot of things that are unpleasant about a career in museums. Tough job market, low pay, and the constant stress of caring way too much about one weird institution in one tiny corner of this fragile earth of ours.

(I thought it was time to end the Hiddleston gif drought on this blog)

But we do it because IT IS THE BEST.

(might as well have another)

The weirdest, but also the best.

This week presented two cases where a career in museum work allows you to take strange shortcuts and do things that other people only dream about. Things like:

Hold Major Sports Trophies

When a sports team wins a championship, there is that inevitable moment when the trophy is handed out and all the players want to hold/touch/kiss said trophy. It represents a tangible connection to the win, and there is no doubt something viscerally satisfying about caressing such a symbolic artifact.

But why waste all those years of physical exertion? Take the shortcut and work in a museum.

MOHAI is the current caretaker of the 1979 Sonics championship trophy and I have had the experience of holding it and carrying it around. The first time it happened, I thought to myself "Huh, there are basketball players who dream of holding one of these, but for me it only took a degree in fashion history."

This week my coworker Kristin, who has handled the Sonics trophy several times, got to add one more to her list:

mohai.tumblr.com

In case you don't know, that is the Lombardi trophy which is a thing handed out to the winners of a little contest known as the SUPER BOWL. 

On tuesday the Seattle Storm (women's basketball) had a "championship night," celebrating four of Seattle's five championship wins. (The only one left out was our 1917 NHL Stanley Cup win, which is understandable since that team hasn't been around since the 20s). Kristin was the handler for the Sonics trophy, which means she got to schmooze with the other trophy handlers and take the above pic. 

Side note (and an excuse to use an great Tina Fey/Amy Poehler gif) the other two trophies on display belonged to the Seattle Storm themselves, the only professional team in Seattle to win TWO trophies. 

And now onto our second weird fantasy situation, in a museum job you might...

Have Bags Of Weed Openly Sitting Around Your Office

In case you haven't heard (and there is a high likelihood you HAVE heard because this story was picked up by the AP and made it into national and international news sites) this happened: 

MOHAI got a super cool donation this week when the woman who bought Seattle's first legal marijuana donated some items to commemorate the historic event. Among the acquisition was part of her purchase: one little state-sactioned packet of pot. And for about a day it was just sitting with a pile of stuff in the middle of my office. WHICH IS SO WEIRD. 

Also among the items were the hat and shirt she was wearing to wait in line overnight--which are, of course, under my jurisdiction now. If you want an idea of my level of cannabis familiarity prior to this point, let me only say that when the shirt arrived I had to google the word "Sativa" to realize that the message on her shirt had something to do with the herb in question. 

Anyway museum work is strange and wonderful. Although I should clarify that if you actually want to touch the trophies with your bare, oily hands, you are out of luck. And if you think that we actually get to consume marijuana in the office, you are dreaming. 

Lord knows what kinds of bugs that would attract. 

Inventory Progress, Successful Human Interactions and SPMWDH

I had it pretty good this week.

On Monday I got to put up a very exciting sign:

BOOM! The inventory project is on a ROLL.

Later that day I had a bit of a reality check. A former volunteer (who is moving back to the East Coast- *sob*) had brought her husband in to show where she had been working all this time. She asked about the inventory and I gleefully walked her back…into this giant room…past rows and rows of tall shelving bays….to point out…ONE tiny shelf.

Well, it's a start.

On Tuesday I got to be the collections representative at a meeting about a future exhibit in the Community Gallery-- a partnership with the Washington State Jewish Historical Society. The registrar Kristin (who usually gets recruited for meetings like that) was happy to hand over the reins but also rather apprehensive. As a longtime museum employee, she has mastered the art of the diplomatic "no." I have not. I think she was a little worried that my enthusiasm and inexperience would result in me somehow agreeing to plan, organize, and install the entire show.

Fortunately I kept my mouth shut for most of the meeting (a major feat for a chatterbox like me) which accomplished both my goals of 1) not signing on for projects I have no business doing and 2) not going off on a tangent about Joanna Eckstein and her couture wardrobe WHICH WE HAVE IN THE MOHAI COLLECTION

The week was a bit rougher for my roommate Olivia, who was housebound and miserable due to her broken ankle. Each evening I would come home and try to cheer her up and pick something silly to watch. When we discovered that the new Thor movie was coming out on DVD this week, I actually went to the video store and put my name on the wait list so that we could spend the evening having out lives brightened by Tom Hiddleston. 

(Yes, there is an actual independent video store in our neighborhood and it is totally intimidating to ask the super-cool hipster clerks for things like "Thor" and "Miss Congeniality." When I managed to talk to one of them and somehow come across as funny and normal, I totally felt like:

)

Anyway, we watched Thor 2 and decided that it was basically a gibberish movie except when Tom Hiddleston was on screen. 

It was all like BLAH BLAH BLAH evil guys with braids BLAH guys with swords BLAH also spaceships and lasers somehow BLAH BLAH BLAH Natalie Portman kissing some magical dude on a fantasy planet thinking "Wasn't I already in this movie? It was called Star Wars and it was also kind of bad" BLAH BLAH BLAH Subtitles for weird fake elf language BLAH BLAH BLAH Is that Idris Elba? Why would you put someone so aggressively good looking in a costume where you can barely see his face?!?!?! BLAH BLAH BLAH EXPLOSIONS

And then Loki has a scene and it is like you are watching some sort of nuanced Shakespearean drama.

Other than museum work, fashion, and Seattle, I'm realizing one of the sub-themes emerging on this blog is Sassy Pale Men With Dark Hair. In fact, I think I am going to make that a tag right now. That way you can have easy access to all my posts which mention Tom Hiddleston as Loki, Benedict Cumberbatch as Sherlock, skating fashion plate Johnny Weir, and Dmitry Sholokhov from Project Runway.

(The fact that all of the above are either fashionable gay men or emotionally unavailable sociopaths makes me think that tag is going to get used a lot with "single life.")

Some People Work In Mines

In her book Bossypants and in interviews, Tina Fey will qualify her comments about how exhausting her work life is by saying "but some people work in mines." Meaning: she acknowledges that there is a difference between the stress she experiences and, you know, the stress of knowing that at any moment you could be buried alive.

Which is basically to say, that in a week when Kiev burned and protests erupted in Venezuela, I'm going to start complaining about how difficult and intense my week has been.

So let's dive right in. On Tuesday, I was putting some boxes away and saw this:

That's right: our brand-new storage facility betrayed us and water was SEEPING IN THROUGH THE WALLS. Fortunately the raised shelving did its job and no artifacts got wet. So I was able to downgrade my freakout level a little and at least pretend to be calm.

We got it all sopped up and the problem has yet to reappear. But then the continuing drama for the week was communicating with our building company and getting them to come and take a look. And of course, they always seemed to call or show up at the exact moment when something else was going on.

And there just always seemed to be a lot going on. I had to manage volunteers for a coworker who was out of town, had extra volunteers of my own in to make padded hangers, donation inquiry calls that always seemed to materialize into long conversations, and a request from our museum director to come in and work a bit on Saturday.

The Saturday thing ended up being fun, but I was just sooooo ready to begin the weekend and relax. But then, on the way home I got a text that my roommate had fallen at the climbing gym and was in urgent care at the hospital.

So poor Olivia has a broken ankle and needs basic assistance moving around the apartment. This is obviously much worse for her than it is for me, but it just sucks to see a friend suffer.

But to summarize, where Olivia faced a legit trauma this week, most of my woes can be happily classified as first world problems. And the best thing about FWP is that they are easily remedied by first world solutions. And for me, the best remedy this week has been pictures of Johnny Weir and Tara Lipinski in Sochi. While I wasn't able to watch their live commentary, the photos of them were full of enough transcendent fabulousness to ease all my woes.

screencap via senanyc

BEST WEEK EVER.

2013 Holiday Card

Dear Devoted Readers,

Thank you so much for your laughs and appreciation in 2013.

Next week at this time I'll be busy bridesmaiding at a wedding, so this is likely my last post for the year. 

So I just wanted to wish you...

...and a Hiddleston New Year!

Things I'm Thankful For

Dispite the occasional outburst of rage directed at decade-old NYT articles, I'm a pretty happy person. In the spirit of the season, I thought I would do a post about things I am thankful for. But I quickly realized I would have to limit it, because there is too much to pack in. All my friends are awesome, my parents and extended family are cool, and I have a super-sweet job. Gushing about all that would be boring for everyone but me. So here is a short list of highly specific things that have been giving me the happy feels recently.


Museum Volunteers Who Love Things That I Love

Despite the title of this blog, I actually haven't been doing a lot of vacuuming lately. I do a lot of delegating. So, much like a pop star who has a team of people to make her look fabulous, I am a museum diva who has a team of people who help me get my work done.

In this metaphor: Great hair = A perfect padded hanger

I have volunteers who make padded hangers, dress mannequins, sew garment covers, and help vacuum the acres of clothes that we brought from the old storage space.

Besides the fact that they help me do what it would take 20 years to do alone, what I love about  my volunteers is that they are super into into. When I take people back into storage or pick out a rack for them to clean, I never tire of getting the grown-up approximation of this face:

Everyday is like a birthday when vintage clothing is involved

The vacuuming volunteers have a particularly infectious brand of enthusiasm. Initially I was worried I would have trouble recruiting people for this mostly tedious task. They have to carefully check the garment (every seam, every pocket, every crevice) for dust, lint, and signs of bug activity, make notes about the condition, and then vacuum out any particulate matter. But the schedule filled up right away and the people who do it are really dedicated. They like it because they get to see the garments up close.  Many of my volunteers have sewing experience or have a particular interest in historical dress. They will often call me over just to show me how a seam is finished or wax rhapsodic the construction of some pleating.


Evensong. Realness.

I am in a tiny church choir. We wear giant polyester blue robes and usually sing for a congregation of about 8. And it is the best.  Rehearsals usually involve irreverent religious jokes, sight-reading meltdowns, our director singing "Born Free" every time we have trouble with a downward fourth, and of course-- beautiful sacred music.

Last Sunday we sang a set of music by Nico Muhly and I am obsessed with it. You can hear a recording of it here. I don't really have a follow-up joke here. I just really love my choir.

The Deep, Cosmic, Pop-Culture Connection That I Share With My Roommate 

A few weeks ago, Olivia went out of town and left to my own devices. What started with a simple search for gifs to use on this blog, ended with me getting lost down a deep internet rabbit hole. You might not realize it, but searching for the perfect gif can be an arduous and confusing process. As one searches, one finds lots of things from unfamiliar shows and movies. And one thinks-- Who is this "Loki" character? What is this strange power enticing me to watch a movie that has fights and explosions in it?

By the time Olivia returned from the trip, I felt like I had to make an embarrassing confession. Barely able to look her in the eye, I started, "So...I somehow spent an entire evening watching TWO action movies on Netflix..."

"Wait. Stop," she said, "Does this in some way involve Tom Hiddleston? Because I feel like that is a thing we should be into."

And all was right with the world.

Confusing Project Runway-Based Emotions

For the two of you who follow this blog and watch Project Runway, I feel compelled to comment on the finale. 

 

A few weeks ago I declared Dmitry's fashion week collection to be ugly, despite my love for his vampire good looks and bitchy commentary.

Well...that ugly collection just won him the season. I was thrilled to see him win, but I stand behind my previous comments. The collection was well made but it was overworked, weirdly styled, and minimally innovative. Many are saying that hippie Fabio deserved the win, and I'm fine with that, but his didn't excite me at all either. I wish I could take credit for this quip, but I read somewhere that Fabio's clothes looked like they were for a woman who lives in New Mexico and buys a lot of Georgia O'Keefe prints. Stacked up against the best collections of years past, there wasn't anyone this year who deserved the win.

The bottom line is that the designers were given a mere five weeks to put their collections together. In seasons past they have had four or five months. OF COURSE the entire output was lackluster.

Let Me See Your Quaker Face

I couldn't think of one story worth a long post this week, so here are several short stories, resulting in one giant post.

Quaker Face

Yesterday I did something I've never done before: I went to a high school football game. My roommate (a teacher) invited me, and I was strangely intrigued by the prospect. My high school didn't have a football team, so everything I knew about the experience was from TV and movies. Admittedly, the Seattle HS football scene isn't exactly like small-town Texas (probably 'cause, you know, there are other things to do here on a Friday night) but it was pretty fascinating nonetheless. There were cheerleaders, a marching band, and the team even charged through a big piece of paper when they came out after halftime. I was watching the Franklin Quakers, so the only thing missing was some sort of terrifying Ben Franklin mascot.

Or maybe just the skeezy one from that episode of The Office

Near the end of the third quarter, the cheerleaders started this cheer that everyone seemed really excited about. They chanted something, and then said "let me see your alligator!" and everyone did snapping jaw motion with their arms. Next they said "let me see your dougie" and then some little dance move thing happened. And last they said "let me see your QUAKER FACE" and then time stood still as my brain was like "What is happening right now? What is Quaker Face? What could it possibly be??" All my Quaker friends from Earlham materialized in an apparition before me as I threw up my hands in confusion.

Then time started again. It turned out to be some sort of motion with hands on the side of the face. WHAT DOES IT MEAN, CHEERLEADERS? WHAT DOES IT MEAN??

Welcome to Bellevue

On the other side of Lake Washington stands a city called Bellevue, which is a strange land that Seattleites make fun of. The feeling is mutual.

As I crossed the bridge and took the first exit, right away I saw something I had never seen before.

"Huh," I thought. "So THAT is what a Mitt Romney yard sign looks like."

Girl. No. 

This week I bought an awesome vintage dress that I had tried on a few days earlier and came back for because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Seriously, this dress is going to blow everyone's minds when I wear it. Get ready.

Anyway, while I had it on, the woman at the store was, of course, trying to convince me to buy it. That's what salespeople do. At one point she pointed to the beading and said, "This is very nice workmanship. It is definitely couture." I was like:

Girl. No. That does not work on me. Don't use words you don't understand.

Things Dmitry Said Today

Yeah, you saw it coming. I still want to talk about Dmitry. The problem is, I usually watch Project Runway either Friday night or Saturday morning, so when I blog on Saturday, it is all I can think about.  

Remember when I was excited for him to serve up sequins for the Rockette challenge? Well, it was awesome. First of all, we got treated to hearing him say "Rahkyette" about 10 times, and then he started snarking to the camera about how boring another designer's dress was. He actually said this: 

Hilarious. I'm going to make that a daily affirmation. 

This week they had a sort of dumb challenge to design baby clothes, and as part of it they gave them all baby dolls that cried constantly. They even made them take them home to their apartments that night. In the morning, they showed the babies all screaming, and the bleary-eyed designers scrambling to calm them. Dmitry was glaring at his baby over his pillow, and then said to the camera:

"I forgot. I am a father now."

When they made it to the workroom, Tim came in and said, "Good morning designers. How was your evening and night?"

Dmitry responded: "I barely had time to put my pants on."

Yeah, So I Figured Out How To Add GIFs To The Blog

I think it is really going to spice things up around here. 

Thanks, Michael. 

Dmitry Update

Thanks for all your kind words about the various traumas I endured last week. I'm doing better. The work thing will probably haunt me for a long time, but the actual event is over so at least I can sleep at night. Love continues to be dead, but a reasonable facsimile is still available in the form of Jane Austen novels.

As for Project Runway, I tried to seal up my heart and start separating myself from this season, but then this happened:

That would be a childhood photo of Dmitry, dressed up in what appears to be a drum major uniform with extra rickrack. As part of a challenge about personal and cultural heritage, the designers were surprised by visits from loved ones and shown photos from their past. Dmitry started crying when his friend Irina played him a video of his father in Belarus, offering words of encouragement. It was a heart-melting moment. 

Look! He already has an affinity for blonde ladies!

(For the record I'm aware that Dmitry is probably gay. Not to make blanket judgments about opposite-sex friendships, but the presence of a lifelong, female best friend is a possibly an indicator. His low V-neck t-shirts are another. But who cares? He also probably doesn't live in a Dracula castle either.)

THEN not only did Dreamy Dmitry go on to win the challenge, but we found out that next week they were going to be dressing the Rockettes. At first I was worried for him, but then another blog pointed out that Dmitry "Strictly Ballroom" Sholokov might have this one in the bag. Oh yeah. He used to be a ballroom dancer and probably learned to sew by making his own costumes. I bet he practically grew up in stretch polyester. 

Contemplating this, Olivia and I proceeded to have the following offensive conversation:

"Yeah, I feel like Eastern Europeans love their sparkles."

"For all I know sequins are the national currency of Belarus."

"In old country we put sequin on everything."

"But then we have great sequin drought of 1987."

"Yes, it was very difficult time. Is why I come to America."

Ah Dmitry, you know I'm just jealous because if I ever had to turn to my family heritage for a fashion challenge, I'd be stuck trying to reinvent the Mennonite head covering. 

Everything is Terrible.

Here is why this week really sucked, in reverse order of suckitude:

3. Dreamy Dmitry made an ugly finale collection

If you know me, you know I love Project Runway. I own the first five seasons on DVD and used to clear my schedule whenever it was on. But the move to Lifetime has been rough, and I thought a low point had been reached when Gretchen won instead of Mondo in Season 8. But the real low point was when I just stopped watching Season 9 because I realized I was dreading each episode and I felt actively anxious and unhappy while watching. I made it through All-Stars but it felt like a chore. 

So I was pretty sure I was going to watch little, if any, of Season 10. But Olivia and I ended up watching a few and got hooked, mainly because we fell in love with Dmitry Sholokov, the hilarious, ballroom dancing Belarusian who looks like younger, hotter incarnation of Professer Snape. His thick-accented quips have single-handedly brought the joy of Project Runway back into my life. 

So far, he has made some great dresses but hasn't won a challenge. I was hoping his "always the bridesmaid never the bride" story would be similar to that of Jay McCarroll, who uttered that line just before producing one of the best finale collections to date and winning Season 1. But this week the remaining designers showed at fashion week and Dmitry's was...kinda bad. Which means he won't win. Then again none of the collections were particularly exciting, so once again, a season of Project Runway is destined to collapse into one giant letdown. 

2. Love Is Dead

I probably shouldn't be dreaming of moving to Eastern Europe so I can live in a castle and have pale babies with Dmitry because the news came this week that love is dead and we should all give up.  

If you have been wondering why people are sobbing openly in the streets or why pints of Ben & Jerry's are sold out at your local grocery store, you must not have heard that all-time awesome couple Amy Poehler and Will Arnett are breaking up. 

Every time I chuckled with schadenfreude over some overexposed celebrity couple going bust, I wondered if I was just hard-hearted toward love and if I would ever be upset to hear about the break up of two people I don't know. And for years the answer was obvious: Amy and Will. Besides both being two of the funniest people I can think of, they seemed like they really had a loving, respectful, fun, equal marriage. 

So if they can't make it work, it means that love must be broken and that we should all just crawl into bed with a box of doughnuts and commence eating our feelings. 

1. Ugh

This week something very, very frustrating happened at work and it appears that there is nothing I can do about it. Since this is a public blog, I can't tell you about it, but I can tell you that my level of sheer rage on the subject has had me listening to Mozart's Queen of the Night aria on repeat for cathartic comfort. If you're not familiar, here is a clip. 

Yep. That is pretty much how I feel.