Our mutual mural dislike

Sunday was a momentous day, not only because Hook and I ran a 5K* but also because the weather was summery. Non-Californians, I'm sorry: I know you're up to your navels in snow. Minor wars are being waged over shoveled-out parking spots, and Seasonal Affective Disorder is striking down all but the most robust souls. On Sunday, it was 72 and sunny here. After we'd run and collected our swag and walked back through the park to get showered and dressed, Hook and I had lunch at Magnolia. Magnolia is, at best, average: their beers are solid, but their menu lacks and lacks and lacks! I'll explain it like this: most of the dishes on the menu seem alright, but for one (or two) ingredients that are totally offputting. Arugula, baby beets, goat cheese, candied pecans, and dressing? Sure! Oh, with a poached egg? NO! I cannot wait for the poached egg trend to fizzle, let me tell you. Scrambled, fried, even over-medium -- fine. Poached eggs have the texture of mucous.

Back to the story. H. and I sat outside to capitalize on the summery weather, and what did we see but a mural in the process of being painted. How interesting, is what I would have liked to think. Instead, I thought, How douchey.


"I hate murals," said Hook, verbalizing my judgmental inner monologue.

But wait! Before you pigeonhole us as a bunch of asshole haters of public art, hear me out! During the course of our brunch, Hook and I compiled our list of reasons why MURALS SUCK:

1) They incorporate lame themes. This qualm is a tricky one to articulate, so let me say this: I like diversity, friendship, togetherness, cooperation, compassion, empathy, etc. as much as the next lady, but I hate hackneyed representations of these here abstractions. It's not so much that I mind murals' tendency to depict Themes of Unity, but the means in which they do. Really, do you think it's clever to slap up a rainbow of kid-sized palmprints meant to signify the exuberance and joy of Kids Working Together? How many of you really feel that compassion is personified by a lopsided caretaker reaching out to a grandmother whose face sags under waves of bloodhoundlike wrinkles? If you're going to create a piece around a Big Theme, move away from well-established symbolism and make your own meaning. This leads into justification two, which is...

2) The quality of the "art" is middling to poor. When was the last time you saw a mural that made you think, "Whoa! That's awesome -- I'd like to have a print of that!" Or even, "Hey, that's pretty good -- props to the dude [or lady] who painted that." What's that? Never? In my 1.5 years here, I've seen exactly two murals that I've liked enough to considering hanging reproductions thereof in my own home. TWO. It seems to me that many mural artists, carried away by the grandiosity of theme they're stretching to depict, lose focus and let slide their artistic skillz. Or maybe the skillz weren't there in the first place.

3) Mural artists can be self-satisfied. This really only applies to the Mural Artiste we saw on Sunday, who was swigging from a can of PBR and fist-bumping passersby, even though the "face" he'd outlined looked like it had been drawn by a child. A PBR-swilling child.

I wrote this post at the risk of sounding like a massive asshole: I'm aware of this. And as I said, it's not that I don't like what murals (in many ways) represent -- community unification, kids working on projects, togetherness, what have you. I just wish that, in their quest to promote Positive Values, murals could look nicer. Pretty things are what we respond to best, and the only two murals I've seen here and loved are not at all related to unity. One depicts a series of woodland creatures, and the other features a robot. I'm pretty sure that "Unity" > robots, but I want public art to confirm this suspicion. Step it up, mural artists.


***

*And I'd be lying if I told anyone my performance was momentous, unless "momentous" euphemizes "pretty fucking bad."

Tiny tiny

Last night, Hook took me on an impromptu date to see "Tiny Furniture." OK: I knew [almost] nothing about the movie before I got to the theater, but am I glad I went? So very glad. Lena Dunham's conceptualization of post-graduate life is schlumpy, monochromatic, and startlingly accurate. Her dialogue is sharp without seeming like a total artifice; her hair is pleasantly unruly. I was impressed by the casting decisions made here and even more impressed by the characters' shoes. Related to shoes (and mostly unrelated to other aspects of the movie), I loved Aura's wardrobe and wanted to reappropriate it all for myself. That blue v-neck dress with the white rick-rack along the hems? Mine. Those oversized, hammered-silver hoops? Mine. And that white blouse with the multicolored trimmings along the edge of the collar -- oh, yes! "Tiny Furniture" made me want to be a better man. Scratch that: it made me want to wear nothing but 3.1 Phillip Lim.

I'm pretty sure it's a "girl thing," but sometimes, I have the feeling that I want to jettison my entire wardrobe and start fresh. Hook doesn't know what I'm talking about. "But I like your wardrobe," he says. "You always dress well." Hook is a good boyfriend, and I am glad he feels this way about my sartorial choices, even when I do not! Lately, though, the urge to discard and reamass has been strong. Like, planetary gravitational pull strong. I don't even know what that means, but it sounds about right.

Late-week good news: I got a promotion! I'm starting in my new position on Tuesday and am the most excited! I just hope my new desk has an accessible outlet and room for my coffeemaker.

Buttons and bows

I went for a haircut today, considering drastic change -- think bangs, heavy and angled. I envisioned myself with spidery lashes, dramatic blush, aglow in the awesomeness of My New Haircut. Much to my disappointment (though not to my surprise), my stylist told me that dramatic change is hard to achieve when one is growing one's hair to Maximum Length.

"Wear braids," she suggested, "or get a new headband."

By means of compromise, Betsy cut my bangs so that they fall straighter and heavier. Eager to uphold my end of the bargain, I got two headbands: one leopard, and one black with an oblong plume of iridescent feathers. Oh, how I wish I could be one of those girls who look [somehow] normal while donning the most outlandish crepe flowers and bejeweled bobby pins! Alas. I'll start small and work my way up. I've got my eye on a golden headband with a trio of enameled blossoms, each with a rhinestone in place of the pollen, but that would be too much too soon.

The importance of REM sleep.

When my alarm went off at five, I was deep in the middle of prime REM sleep. How do I know? Because I was also deep in a dream. I dreamed that I was commissioned to write a review of the latest Lorrie Moore novel. I'd just begun reading the novel, the female protagonist of which was complaining about her clumsy but well-meaning boyfriend (a cement mixer -- that's what I dreamed: that this man was a "cement mixer."). The boyfriend, aiming for creativity, embroidered on the ass of a pair of sweatpants the phrase "Annie's Mannies." Annie was the novel's female protagonist, and "mannies," in my dream world, was British slang for ladyparts. "Annie's Mannies" amused me ALL DAY LONG.

Can we please start referring to ladyparts as "Mannies?"

I am glad that I got my ass out of bed in time to hit the gym, but I am bummed that 1) I could not continue the above-described dream; and 2) I was so fucking tired all day long due to my truncated REM sleep. Ah, well. It's nearly bedtime. Hook brought me some flourless mocha chocolate cake (eff yeah!), I volunteered at the Bike Coalition, and I've got half a gallon of OJ in the fridge. Life is good.

Striking vs. Standard: Continued Examination of Why Striking-Looking Women are More Attractive Than Their Standardly-Beautiful Counterparts

This article (er, blog post from OKCupid, via The Hairpin) corroborates what I've maintained for a long time: that striking-looking people are perceived as more attractive than their still-attractive-but-more-conventionally-so peers. Funny that I encountered the post this morning, just hours after Hook and I had a conversation about practically the same thing.

The scenario was this: it was post-Jeopardy time and Hook and I failed to turn off the TV. "The Bachelor" came on, at which point H. and I started speculating about the female contestants' motives and looks.

"How weird," I said, "that some of these people QUIT THEIR JOBS for a shot at a dude they have not met IRL."

"No shit," said Hook. "Also, most of them are not that attractive."

In keeping with my NY's resolution to be more positive, I played the role of Devil's Advocate and tried to defend the looks of some of the ladies. "They're not terrible," I said. "They're conventionally-good looking." That is, they all have long hair and symmetrical features. They're universally thin, and they seem to shop at the exact same mall. Who knew that attractiveness so relied on the ability to snag a bunch of shit from BCBG? Moreover, who knew that actually bucking the attractiveness norm set for us by shows like "The Bachelor" may actually have a more positive impact than adhering rigidly to it?

Anyway, my coffee break is almost over, and I digress. Know this, ladies: not all dudes are into flat-ironed hair and spray tans and knockoff Tiffany jewelry! At least my dude isn't, and this is just one reason I love him.

MINITRIP!

Yes, it's that time again: minitrip time. Hook and I are heading to LA tonight for a weekend of Jandek, Pinkberry, and [not too much] general debauchery. True fact: I have lived in California for one year, five months and I have never been to LA. How is possible? Eh, I don't like to leave the city like, ever. That is a lie. I actually don't know how I've never been to LA, but this situation will be rectified in mere hours!

Project ROC is going well in the sense that I 1) bought the product; and 2) have used it consistently since purchasing it. The package claimed that positive results will be seen (in most users) in four weeks. FOUR WEEKS? Do I look like I'm made of time, or something? In four weeks, I'll likely have forgotten all about this Very Important Self-Beautification Initiative (VISBI).

Until I start seeing miraclework on ma face, I can distract myself with this, which will make my face shiny in all the right places (and in a non-sweaty, ungross way).

For real, though, you guys.

Heh @ my inability to start Roc Plan ("RP") yesterday -- instead of hitting the drugstore on my afternoon break, AS and I went to Safeway so I could get an apple, she an Odwalla bar. (Note: I realize that these details aren't critical to your understanding that I failed to buy Roc cream, but a concrete excuse makes me feel better about failing to fulfill my own expectations.) Am I perhaps dragging my heels because I do not want to acknowledge the possibility of crows' feet on my gd face? Might this be the vainest blog on the In-ter-netz?

I've decided that any skirts I buy henceforth must be biking compatible. What makes a skirt biking compatible, you ask? It must be machine washable, cut wide enough to allow for leg motion, and preferably not too short. It must not be made of a fabric easily torn, snagged, or marked with indentations. I realize that this buying strategy markedly limits my potential wardrobe, but it's cool. Biking > pencil skirts, for real. Pencil skirts are the enemy.

This blog is fast becoming a true Chronicle of Consumerism.