To come

We bought a new house. The process has utterly consumed me for the past 2+ months. It will continue to do so for months and months to come. But I'm to the point now where I'm almost ready to start chronicling that consumption! So, this blog which has sometimes been almost exclusively devoted to my children, at others an outlet for my random thoughts, and of late totally ignored, will be all about house renovation for quite a while--with random thoughts thrown in as well, I'm sure. Because a house is really about the people who live in it.

Cleaning off the desktop

Cilantro sauce .over rice, beans, tomatoes, and avacados . . yum. 

A color coordinated dinner of carrot soup and green beans. 

A rare picture of me with Nico--shot by Zoe!

Twins.

Sleepwalk with Me

 There was one movie at Sundance this year that I just had to see: Mike Birbiglia's Sleepwalk with Me. He's one of my favorite comics, and I've heard many of the stories that were in the movie on This American Life. So, I went up a few hours early and was like number 4 in the wait line. The way the wait line works is you wait in line to get a number, then you come back no later than 45 minutes before the movie starts, get in line in the order your number indicates, and then then sell as many tickets as they have left over, starting with number one. If you're even one minute late, you lose your place in line.

I found out that Josh had received an invitation to go to the "red carpet event" prior to the screening. He didn't really want to go because he was there to cover docs and, though the film was based on mostly true stuff, it had been fictionalized to some extent. But I helped him think of some doc-related questions he could ask and he agreed to go.

The red carpet event was much less glamorous than it sounds. Instead of picturing the Oscars, think of a small tent (maybe the size of a double garage?) with me ("the photographer") and Josh (with his sound recording equipment) and maybe two or three other photographers/videographers separated from "the talent" by metal gates.

But Josh was soon glad he had come. One of the first people to walk in was Marc Maron. It turns out that unbeknownst to us, he had a small role in the film. Josh is a huge fan of his podcast and I was glad that, as it turned out, my Ira Glass obsession wasn't the only thing keeping us there (because we were cutting it dangerously close to the wait line deadline).

My blurry I'm-trying-to-sneak-a picture of Josh talking to Marc Maron.

The problem with me posing as a photographer (well besides my totally inadequate camera) was the fact that I was much more interested in the stuff happening on my side of the metal dividers. I was sort of hanging on Ira's every word (this is the second time I've seen him in person, and it's still so weird to hear that voice come out of an actual human being) instead of taking pictures of the actors, etc. Josh had to remind me that I was supposedly there to photograph them!

That's Mike Birbiglia on the left--way different than I pictured him (shorter for one thing). Recognize the actor on the right from The Princess Bride? That's Carol Kane, and she played Mike's mom.

A less sneaky shot of Marc Maron.

A somewhat sneaky shot of me in front of the Sundance background. (If you haven't seen me with bangs yet, yes they are too short here.)

It was fun eavesdropping on Josh's interview of Mike. But then I abandoned him because my wait list number was way before his and I didn't want to risk not getting a ticket!

As it turned out, Josh get a ticket just barely, but then they said they couldn't find him and a few other people seats (even though there was one right by me!), so they didn't let him in. Total bummer, but I did still really enjoy myself. The movie was hilarious, and it was lots of fun to attend the QA afterwards--most of the crew and many of the cast were there.

Good Sundance times!

Snow

"The snow is dancing!"

Super Tutu

Nico's blog going private

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Taste as currency, commodity, and pins

The subject of taste is one that's been rattling around in my head for a long while now, and even though I'm not close to ready to give it the treatment it deserves (there are so many philosophers I read in grad school and have subsequently forgotten that would apply!), the rise of Pinterest means that I can no longer delay addressing the topic at least in a rough manner. It's a cultural phenomenon calling out for analysis (indeed, I'm sure there have been and will be more than one paper on it at the PCA/ACA conference). So here, off the top of my head, are some thoughts on taste in general and Pinterest in particular. Bear with me. 

Since at least the rise of the middle-class, the concept of taste has been central to creating and maintaining social hierarchies. It is no surprise then that in an age of unmatched, internet-driven consumer proliferation, an age in which objects threaten to utterly overwhelm us, taste has become both currency and commodity.  

People who cull the depths of the web for nuggets that can be strung together into something like a unified narrative are valued, often more so than the creators of the individual nuggets themselves. And their value increases in some incalculable ratio to the ever expanding web. Theirs is a currency our story-loving minds crave when confronted with the near infinite range of choices we can access online. That currency buys us time,  peace of mind, reassurance, and pleasure.

Taste as currency explains the existence and popularity of countless blogs that simply link to other people's products  or posts, seemingly without adding any value to the original because, of course, the value is in the selection: it's in the unified whole of a coordinated living room created from dozens of globally-made products sold by as many retailers with just the right touch of Etsy DIY flavor, and it's in the perfect summer backyard party meal composed of recipes, ingredients, and place settings snatched from all corners of the web. But interior designers and chefs, you say, have been with us for centuries. True, but Pinterest's "My Style" boards have not.

That My Style is a default board for all new Pinterest users--as is the choice to follow various "Tastemakers"--speaks to the extent to which taste is a commodity, not just a currency, in American culture today. Its value is intrinsic, not merely exchange-based. Why else should the average Joe (or Jane, when it comes to Pinterest) have an interest in developing and broadcasting her style? Perhaps the better question is why Pinterest would be designed to imply that every user should have such an interest? It is because that user's style--her ability to make human a collection of commercial objects--is not only the logic behind the site but also the engine that creates both social and economic capital in the electronic age. Even Google's search algorithm is based on human-curated links to websites. 

When I started Pinning (and yes, I Pin!) at first it felt odd to share images that  I otherwise would have saved for my own private reference. It felt a bit like yelling out loud snippets of daydreams I had previously only whispered to myself and loved ones. I also felt like I was engaging in patterns of conspicuous consumption without ever purchasing a Veblen good. In fact, Pinterest has the power to turn objects in the most private of spaces--a bedroom or a bathroom--into a Veblen good. The publicly broadcasted taste of a Pinner knows no spatial or relationship-based boundaries. All consumption is visible. Glass houses all around.

The site also neatly encapsulates the homogenizing nature of the web and what appears to be the urge against such homogenization, the DIY movement. I have a friend who prides herself on a fancy dessert she makes from the most low-brow mass-produced ingredients that exist, purchased from her favorite big-box store. The thing that gives snooty value to the dessert is the creativity with which it is presented (and it's a trick she shares with only a select few, whom she swears to secrecy). On Pinterest, the value of that dish--that creativity--would be swapped out for the value of curation. The genius of the recipe is not worth much if everyone else has access to that genius too. The value instead becomes about selecting that recipe and pairing it with the right dishes and decor. We may all have access to the same things, but we're only defined by the combinations we choose to consume, or Pin. 

And make no mistake--Pinning is consumption in all the ways that matter to us as social beings. Anyone can inherit a lot of money and spend it. But only those worthy of admiration can spend it well. And, in fact, the actual spending part of spending well isn't even necessary--just the taste required to do so and the public record of that taste. The fact that at least a segment of an object's Repinning history is preserved on the site speaks to the importance of giving credit not just to the originator of an idea or item but also to the "original" curator. In fact, if it weren't for copyright laws, I have little doubt that the original creator would be cut out completely (rather than just monetarily).

In some ways, Pinterest represents a Marxian nightmare, with the consumer ultimately the only thing worth consuming.  In this context, the popularity of DIY Pins are nothing more than a feeble attempt to resist the inevitable tsunami of sameness. Pinterest becomes not unlike a factory that mass produces (or at least is theoretically capable of mass producing) that which used to be exclusively individual and private--DIY projects, or the creative ways humans manipulate objects around them to get them to function in manners not intended by their creators. By becoming one of thousands to follow step-by-step instructions for how to turn an IKEA magazine file into a corner shelf-charging station (yes, I plan to do this tomorrow), I become an (unpaid!) cog in the factory wheel myself.

And on that note, I think I'll go do some Pinning. But you'll notice that My Style board is still blank. That's one space too fraught for me to touch for now.

A hilarious conversation

The other night, I was cooking, Josh was working on his computer, and Zoe was . . . well getting married and giving birth, apparently. Luckily, since Josh was at his computer, he was able to transcribe the hilariousness while it happened. I love this record of the exact way she says everything!


ZOE

I'm going to Jenifa's wedding. She's getting married.

JOSH

Who's Jenifa?

ZOE

My daughter.

We're going to her wedding.

She's marrying Elizabeth. A Boy.

Jaden. His name is Jaden.

I didn't get married yet.

I'm going to get married right now but--

We both need to get married right now.

RACHEL

Why don't you both go to college too?

ZOE

You have to go to college before you get married?

RACHEL

Yes, you do.

ZOE

Hmmm…we're going to go to college right now!

Zoe runs in her room and starts rummaging through dress up clothes

She shouts from the other room…

ZOE

I'm going to college!

She finds a ring and runs back in.

ZOE

I went to college.

RACHEL

What did you study?

ZOE

I wanted to be a mom and a doctor and this is my wedding ring.

Let's dance because, turn on some music because, I want to dance because I want to have a wedding!

JOSH

Hold on just a second.

ZOE

Come on dad, I just want to get married!

Then Josh and Zoe faux swing dance to Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon. Nico joins in on Almost Like Being In Love. Then, Josh and Zoe exchanged rings.

ZOE

We got married, right?

JOSH

Right.

ZOE

Is there is a baby in my tummy?

JOSH

No!

ZOE

But it's still in heaven, right? Because I need some milk.

Zoe goes into her room and gets a stuffed animal wrapped in a bandana.

ZOE

This is my baby. Her name is Limba. She's a girl.

A few minutes pass. Zoe brings the stuffed animal to Josh.

ZOE

Could you hold the baby because I am tired of being married. I can't do everything. I'm pregnant. I am so tired.

Zoe walks up to Rachel.

ZOE

I'm pregnant to dad.

JOSH

Would you stop talking about being pregnant.

ZOE

Why?

JOSH

That's for adults.

ZOE

But I am a dolt. Because I'm a mom. And I got married.

Josh gets a kick out of the "dolt because I'm a Mom" line.

Zoe walks up to Josh.

ZOE

It's okay. We're married. Keep it focused.

The cutest cowboy in the west

Bangs from the 80s

I recently reverted to the hairstyle I had in 1985. Zoë is fascinated by my newly cut bangs. She thinks I brushed them into existence and repeatedly wonders about their permanence. She keeps asking whether they'll still be there the next day. Upon waking this morning, she asked:

"Are your bangs dead?!"

(After looking in the mirror, I decided that was an apt question.)

The CD player in her room broke a little while ago. Actually, the passive voice is all wrong there--Nico actively broke the CD player by opening it, fiddling with it, and climbing on it at every opportunity (we should have put it out of his reach, but there are limited options in that room). Anyway, the point is that Josh has been substituting Zoë's nighttime CDs with her favorite playlist on his iPod: 80s.

Hence, her second question this morning:

"Were you in the 80s?"

"Yes, I was born in the 80s."

"You were born in the 80s?!"

"Yeah, in 1981."

"Did your mom take you there? Where was it?"

"No, it was a time period."

"Oh, they just played the music when you were getting born?"

Considering the fact that my parents' response to The Wedding Singer was "that movie looked kind of old or something," I think it's safe to say that they definitely weren't playing music of the 80s--a decade they somehow skipped--at my birth.


On second thought, maybe the 80s are a place, a place where my bangs have been resurrected (thanks to a shower and blow dry) and the music that was not played at my birth lulls (rocks?) my daughter to sleep at night. More importantly, this house feels a lot like the one I inhabited during that decade--small, cozy, and filled with four people struggling, growing, and ultimately enjoying the space they share together.