Week 1

Week One of my new life is over.  This is what I've done so far:

• Visited the ICA, JFK and MFA
  
• Went Rock Climbing for the first time since August
• Signed up for a Cambridge Library card - visited the library twice
• Started by new job as a receptionist
• Spent time with both P. and H.

Today I trained at my new job.  I'm a receptionist at a hair salon.  One of the stylists S. gave me a tip:  To be very friendly.  This was before I had the chance to be friendly.  I had a slight out of body experience as she was describing how to be friendly, receiving and professional to me.  I tried very hard not to be insulted.  I know she was just trying to help.  She's a little bit of an odd bird.  The other two stylists A. and M. I love.  They are fun, funky and totally trust me.  The other receptionist, L. is someone I don't think I could be friends with. The poor thing is very territorial, and I think a little threatened by my presence on the scene.  She talks way too much and gets easily flustered by customers.  She doesn't exercise patience very well.  I think S. needs to give her a lesson on professionalism.  The job is super easy, and I think I'll be able to read a few novels while there, write a few novels, and be better than L. in 10 hours.

Sweet.

ICA

Shepard Fairey's exhibition at the ICA should be seen by your eyes. 

JFK

The JFK Museum is located at the end of one of the many tiny peninsulas that make up the inner perimeters of the Boston Harbor.  As you look from inside the museum out the large glass windows, you feel as if you're on a ship at sea.  The turbulent waters crashed against the sides of the walkways surrounding the building.  Snow dust danced on deck before being swept away to sea.  It was an exceptionally beautiful sight.  

The Museum chronicles the life of the 35th President of the United States, from childhood through college to his time abroad in Europe, and his decision to run for office.  As you walk throughout the museum, you are greeted time and again by the voice of the president.  Many videos survive of his time in the office and the museum curators have carefully edited these stills into an enjoyable narrative of his short life.  Although a narrative, it is never eery, but instead hopeful and helps carry with exceptional consistency the personal and ethical code of JFK:  service, courage, family and a love for American culture, style and the arts.  Leaving the museum, I feel as if I have stepped into the intimate story of the life of a great man.

I also feel as if I understand myself a bit better.  I have always felt an incredible connection with JFK.  Visiting the museum, and seeing this intimate portrait of him, I understand a little more as to why.  I see in him, a person I aspire to be.  Serious and smart, business minded but at the end of it incredibly passionate and not afraid to encourage expansion of knowledge and culture.  I see in him a joy of life, a love of his country and a real work ethic:  there is an entire room dedicated to the many drafts of his inauguration speech! A man to admire, unlike the cowboys and indians of Reagan and the Bushes.  JFK was an activist, an academic and an artist - the three A's that help make up my identity. 

Although I'm too young to have experienced the days of Camelot, I still feel the loss of the assassination of JFK.  I turn to him for guidance when I am lost.  I caught my breath as I entered into the dark hallway labeled November 22, 1963.  Small screens in the wall run the Cronkite broadcast announcing the death of the president.  Cronkite holds back tears as he announces that "some 38 minutes ago" the president received fatal wounds by an unknown assassin.

The gravity of the situation is further compounded by the rooms proceeding this one:  showcasing promise and greatness in the 1000 + odd days JFK served as president to this nation.  So much life taken away in the blink of the eye.  In the museum, you're not ready for it to end and it gives reason to the question, "Where were you when you heard the news?"  I could try to eloquently put the situation into perspective, but really heartbreak is the feeling I was left with. As I exited the exhibit halls into the great glass patio overlooking the ocean the reality of the situation enveloped me. Emotionally exhausted, I quietly sat on a marble bench with my hands crossed on my lap.

Visiting the museum today was a truly holy experience.

Day 2: MIA no MFA

Nothing says retirement like the Museum of Fine Arts.  The MFA is packed on a Tuesday morning with three types of people:  retired women taking drawing classes in the Roman arts collection, junior high school students on a field trip staring blank eyed at their teacher in the Japanese drawing room, and college level art students hiding in corners drawing something.  If you peak over their shoulder it's sometimes hard to tell what that something is.  This is by no means a jab at their talent, in fact their images are quite good - just not at all what they seem to be focused on.  Really, I just think the MFA is a safe space to be creative and express for these folks.  A place to day dream and fancy about one day looking at your own piece of art on the wall.

My favorite rooms were not what I expected them to be.  I'm not a love the impressionists kind of gal.  I'm typically a modern and photography person.  I also like to stroll along in the big salons and revel in the dwarfing affect that fifteen foot canvasses of the baby Jesus have on me.  Today as I strolled along I fell in love with two special exhibits:  The Japanese home exhibit and the Indian bed curtains in England exhibit.  Other favorites items were: the large statue of Shiva in the Indian Gallery, the French bed in the French salon, and the Greek warrior gear (of which I learned that the Persian war lasted 20 years).  I think my love of furniture and space may be a sign that I need to be an interior decorator. I also came across several real columns, which were big, fat and decorative and could / did hold weight in present / antiquity.  I wanted to hug them.  I decided not to for what I hope is obvious reasons.

I did get somewhat lost in the exhibits forgetting about myself and really just being present with the objects.  What are these things?  How do they relate to one another?  Who commissioned this?  Who curated this exhibit?  Do I believe in this interpretation?  How well do the pieces communicate with one another?  Is information accessible to the general public but also still challenging to the not so general public?  All these questions popped in and out of my mind - but in the end I really just enjoyed being there and took in many things just as they were.  Kind of like my trips to the Goodwill, where I stand in front of the bric-a-brac and observe:  most times things are just a jumble, but sometimes something awesome really speaks to me.

Tomorrow is the JFK museum.  I can't wait. 

Day 1, reporting live on location: Cambridge, MA

I've spent the last several years, and in particular the last several months, reporting daily.  Not having to report today is .... different.  It's kind of ironic, that while walking home from the library I decide to write a blog and call it "Reporting Live from KDU News."  Well I'm poking fun and taking a piss out of myself.  I think there are a lot of ironic things in this world, and in particular things about me.  Take for example this:  I would gladly bend over backwards for my employer to collect data and information for them verses do the same for myself.  Sound familiar?  I doubt I am alone.  So as I close one chapter of my life and move onto writing the next, why not start reporting live, from my own field for myself.  I've got my reasons.

Day 1:  Started with 15 minutes of sun salutations, 15 minutes of core exercise and a wonderful breakfast of organic coffee, organic corn flakes, organic milk, organic banana, and organic cherries.  My new years resolution is to eat organic foods.  I find it absolutely ridiculous that I have to put "organic" in front of all these items.  I mean, come on food should be organic.  Food (should) = from the earth, thus = organic.  Remember:  If a = b and b= c, then a=c.  Well someone messed this up big time.  Really big.  If I could write a letter calling on a resignation, I would on this.   After breakfast, conversation with the roommate M. I jumped into the shower and pressed play on my snazzy iPod boom box (best Christmas present ever, besides that coffee mug that I accidently left in Longmont, CO).  I shower ever morning to Bill Withers: Lovely Day.  Pause.  Yes, you read that correctly.  I also brush my teeth everyday to Bill Withers: Lean on Me.  And I like to sing to both songs, which is difficult because I don't know all the words and on the latter song (which I did sing in a quartet in 4th grade), I do know, but typically have a toothbrush in my way so singing is really difficult and comes out all gargled and what not.

Leaving the homestead I headed downtown to a temp agency where I met with two women that spoke too quickly and must really hate their jobs right now.  Finding people jobs in this economy seems tough.  I was sympathetic.  My resume needs to be dumbed down, was their feedback.  I saw that one coming a mile away.  They were also a little shocked that I wasn't interested in a career.  Nope, no gracias. I know what I want to do.  Temping is not it.  Being the president, yes.  I guess they are not use to that kind of honesty.  Oh, the office was hilarious.  I studied art in college.  Art History to be exact.  Their office building was designed to look like an add on to Versailles.  Yes, the French Versailles.  I think it could have been the mother in law quarters or something.  The very last room built on in the very back of the house, next to the slave quarters or something.

It was constructed with modern materials, with lots of landscaped corporate art hanging on the walls, chandeliers, elevator music, "gold" framed mirrors and decorative columns in the corinthian order (Thank-You Prof. Hewling).  One of my biggest pet peeves is the usage of decorative columns.  Let's be clear here: columns are a structural devise.  They should be used for this purpose.  Let's take it to the next level even: They were designed to carry weight.  A column on the wall, is just I don't know - ironic?  Insulting?  Hollywood fake?

In the end, it just is in poor taste to slap fake columns up inside of a gilded room.  Let me think of a modern day analogy.  Okay, let's use the iPod.  It's function is to play music.  Now it would be really strange to walk into a club, or bar and see many iPods taped to the wall with musical notes drawn around them.  Not the best parallel, but I think I've made my point.  It was cheesy, I tried not to laugh (and had to bite down on my bottom lip) as Pachelbel's Cannon in D came on.  I'm sorry Vitruvious, this staffing group is not a master of space.

After le tour de temp agency I headed on over to a great establishment on Charles Street where I bought new running shoes.  I ran a 5K on Sunday.  I am a runner.  Get the picture of Lance Armstrong or Jesse Owens out of your mind.  I'm more like the Katie Holmes of runners.  I will finish the race. Afterwards I'll wear heels and drink at a party.  Actually, that's only partially true as well.  Whatever, I run.  I want to be better, and I run everyday.  These are the important things to note.  I have needed new shoes for awhile.  I've had a pair of Nike's that have been killing my right foot.  I ran this race on Sunday, and decided that there was/is something different about my feet and I need them professionally checked out (especially if I'm going to take my running up to the next level).  Come to find out, I'm over pronated in my right foot.  Surprise!  You've given birth to a half - mexican, half-straight, goofy boarding, half - pronated baby girl.  I should put that on a personal ad.  I wasn't shocked.  But I have some sweet new Asics as a result.  Took em out for 2.0 miles at Bally's and no hurting feet!  Yes!   Oh, over pronation means my foot rolls in as I run.  I think it also may mean that I'm flat footed in my right foot, but I'm not ready to accept that yet, so I'm going to ignore it for now.  

I then took a trip to Whole Foods, to stock up on some free samples and a Neti Pot.  I ate my pre-packed all organic sandwich and clementines with the other lunchers (read, I spent $1.00 on my lunch, they spent $6.99 / pound on theirs), and headed back to the other side of the river where I got my first Cambridge library card.

Library's are awesome.   I will need to report live from there at some point.  They attract a diverse crowd, and librarians are precious.  I have glasses that make me look like a librarian.  I worked in a library for four years.  I know more about the library than the library staff care to have the public know.  For instance, I've got the dewey decimal system memorized.  If I want to check out the Joy of Sex, I know exactly where it is: 323.5.  Let's just say my parent's didn't want to give me the birds and the bees conversation and I didn't want to hear it from them either.  Oh the library!  Anyhow, I checked out a few DVDs, CDs, books and two museum passes: MFA and JFK here I come!

The man at the circulation desk was precious and dear, yellow cable knit sweater, rounded glasses, sixty five ish.  He didn't have the best communication and customer service skills, but I forgave him for it because he was just so darn cute.  It broke my heart to see him leave the library for a smoke break after he helped me.  He's the kind of person I want to stick around for longer than a date with lung cancer.  Oh my way back from the library I decided to create this.  

Now here I am, with lots of options of things to do, and I couldn't be a happier camper.