tuckova

Yesterday we went to the Frida Kahlo exhibit in Vienna, because hey, we live in Europe and they have museums and stuff. As preparation we watched Julie Taymor's Frida, which turns out to be a bit more sexytimes than I remember, and that was sort of awkward and funny. Hey, thirteen-year-old son, come sit down with mama and watch fiery Mexicans getting it on. Whourps. The movie was good, though, and I think it helped Squire with appreciating the art a bit more. I do wish that museums were more like IKEA, where you have to walk up and down every aisle but then you see everything. I mean, go faster or slower if stuff interests you or doesn't, but I like that you have to walk by everything. I feel like the standard model of a bunch of rooms, where you walk through some rooms multiple times and others you can miss, is not effective. Particularly not when there are crowds that are coming in bunches – some people are like me, and want to go "in order" (I assume the museum curators did put it in some kind of order, right?) and others dart from picture to picture. So I got shoved some, and spent some time having the back of someone's head put itself in front of the painting, and also there were children touching the art, which is like: wow, parents. This is not an interactive exhibit. BUT the show itself was well arranged for the space, I thought, and I liked seeing her early drawings, so rough, and then you sort of watch her come into herself, and then there's a sort of deterioration at the end that is understandable but sad. Drugs, you are not actually a friend to art, despite how it sometimes feels like you are at the time. Also they had films and photographs and some of her actual dresses. Also I really liked the explanations, even though it meant I spent at least half the time reading instead of absorbing the visuals, but that is the curse of being me. I did think they went a little far with some of the explanations on the still lifes, but otherwise I came out feeling quite a lot better informed and even a bit more in love than I was, which was a lot. My goodness, are you still reading this? Let's move on, shall we.

It is not yet snowing here. I am going on a trip next week so I expect it will bust out the snow more or less on the very day I am leaving, to ensure some drama. Oh, drama, where would I be without you? I like to imagine I would be in a musical. I do so like it when people burst into song, as long as it is not me bursting, because nobody needs to hear that.

What else? Yesterday I ate a lunch so salty that my hands swelled and I thought I was having an allergic reaction to something. It is entertaining to think about the size of your tongue and whether it it is swelling. Mine was not, it turns out. Uh. Today I remembered to buy everything I needed at the grocery store without having remembered to take my shopping list. None of the eggs broke on the way home. So basically I rock. Except, all of my fingernails are splitting at the cuticles and it hurts. I painted them to try and cheer them up a little.

Workwise… I'm feeling a little challenged with work, but also enjoying a great deal of smug superiority over the Cooks Source editor. About fictional media, I know the more popular thing is to be mad as hell and not taking it anymore, but I feel more and more like Jane Craig in Broadcast News. I should watch that again; I have a feeling it influenced me more than just a little, and I don't mean just the baggy sweaters.

How are you doing? Things I thought were really terrible are turning out to be… not easy, but less difficult than I had imagined. I wish the same for you.