Tag: life

Some Call it Art. Some Call it Just Another Day at the Office. I call it Training for the Amazing Race.

On By KathleenIn Adventure, Bio Pics, Career, Uncategorized2 Comments

Without fail, every season on the Amazing Race, there’s a challenge in which teams have to carry heavy, awkward things over long distances. I’ve always wanted to be on the Amazing Race and so I watch each episode with half a mind focused on how to prepare for when it’s my turn. But carrying heavy awkward thing over long distances is not the kind of thing you can easily train for.

Living as an art handler is like training to be an elite athlete.

Unless of course you’re an art handler.

Standing in the storage area of my gallery Tuesday morning were two 6-foot canvases. They were awaiting transport to an off-site location where my team was installing an affiliated exhibition. Given that I have a compact SUV with moving blankets in the back, I was the designated transport.

“Are you going to bring your car around?” my assistant asked.

My car was parked half a mile away. Down a hill.

“No. I’ll just carry them to the car.”

I ignored her doubtful/cautionary expression as she handed me the white gloves.

Curating and art handling develop good forearms. Thanks in large part to a power drill.

I had only walked five feet from the gallery when a gust of wind and a traffic light made me realize that this might have been one of those lapse of judgement moments. The canvas under each arm had transformed me into an urban sailboat, with only forearms for rudders. My floaty skirt that was keen to pull a Marilyn Monroe over the subway at any moment had to be ignored.

The old man who sits with his walker on the street corner and calls me “Cupcake” was, thankfully, enjoying the early bird special at the Legion.

With each block the canvases grew heavier. The wind, wilder. And all I could think is: Why, oh why did I insist on the extra set of bicep curls!?! The half mile to my car was the longest half mile of my life.

waiting for my life line.

People paused to gawk. Others dove out of my way. A few got bashed with the frames of the canvases’ stretcher. A beautiful man in a Mercedes convertible pulled over to ask if I needed a ride. He was wearing a Rolex… and a wedding band. I artfully (haha!) declined.

When I finally arrived at my car, I folded the seats down. Laid out the moving blankets. And proceed to attempt to fit a square peg into a round hole.

Neither canvas fit.

I sat down on the parking lot asphalt. My arms were shaking — there was no way I was carrying these back to the gallery.

Eventually, thanks to a “phone a friend” lifeline, I found a solution. The paintings did not have to be abandoned in the parking lot — a threat I had thrown at them as they leaned against the side of my car, mocking me.

When I arrived at the satellite site, I expected to find a world map welcome mat and Phil Keoghan waiting for me. Instead, it was just a series of white walls and another Road Block — a very large picture puzzle.

I expected to find Phil and the map waiting for me at the off-site location. Instead, it was just another Road Block.

Inside the Mind of an Online Dater on a First Date, Part 2: The Countdown

On By KathleenIn DatingLeave a comment

The following post was written by the exceedingly funny and insightful Brooklyn-based guy behind the blog “Datestable” (apparently, there are some good things happening in Brooklyn.) You can read about his dating experiences by clicking HERE or following him on Twitter: @datestable.

Enjoy!

___________________________________________________________________________________________

T-Minus 1 hour... better make sure to get that out spinach of there

In the sometimes too-predictable world of online dating, there are those pleasant surprises when the script gets thrown out the window, and two people enjoy a totally spontaneous, organic connection full of laughs, meaningful glances, and prolonged silences pregnant with ineffable feeling…Unfortunately, most online dates are nothing like that. Instead, they go something like this, at least for me:

  • T minus 3 days: Date/location set.
  • T minus 2 days: Phone numbers/other means of contact exchanged.
  • T minus 1 day: A text confirmation is dispatched. Hopefully the other party confirms.
  • T minus 12 hours: I make sure my teeth and hair are brushed, hygienic products and olfactory enhancements are applied, presentable clothes are worn.
  • T minus 6 hours: I remind myself to resist that pile of onions in my Halal cart order lest I risk social suicide.
  • T minus 1 hour: I look in the mirror to make sure there’s not a giant booger hanging out of my nose, or a big splotch of toothpaste on my chin. If there’s toothpaste, I remind myself to check that at T-12 hours and curse all the people who have seen me throughout the date who chose not to point this out.
  • T minus 5-10 minutes: I arrive on location comfortably but not pointlessly early. If I’m at a bar that fills up quickly after work or on a weekend, I have time to grab some seats, which she is sure to appreciate (or, at least it solves a minor but unnecessary first-date problem of awkwardly waiting for comfort).
  • T minus 2 minutes: I peruse the beer/wine list, preparing myself to wow her with my vast knowledge of spirits. At this point I may also start to wonder if those weird angles in her photos were intentional.
  • T plus 2 minutes: I glance at my watch and a few at the door, curious about how she will make her entrance and how I will look to her. This might also be a good time to check on a few near-certainties (is my fly zipped, etc.).
  • T plus 5 minutes (pre-smart phone era): I start to get annoyed, checking my watch and phone more frequently.
  • T plus 5 minutes (post-smart phone era): I feel slightly more relaxed, launch Words with Friends or Draw Something.

Date Late

  • T plus 15 minutes (pre-smart phone era): I am now fully annoyed at not getting a heads-up, wonder if this will finally be the time I get completely stood up, start to get annoyed when I’m asked if I want to order a drink for the 3rd time, contemplate passive-aggressive text, decide against it and end up calling or texting to voice my concern.
  • T plus 15 minutes (post-smart phone era): Getting frustrated with a bad board in WWF or not being able to guess what my friend’s squiggly lines are supposed to be. Forget all about date, fail to register vibrating/ringing of phone as she sends an SOS after being mugged in the adjacent alley.

Date On Time
Showtime: You size each other up nervously, hug or awkwardly shake hands, and proceed to judge one another physically for a few seconds while ignoring what the other person is saying. If you’re both satisfied, a lovely evening may commence. If one of you is much happier than the other, one of you will be really frustrated very soon and the other will have some grievances to air with the friend who thought this was a good idea. If both of you are equally dissatisfied, you might be on to a beautiful friendship.


Inside the Mind of an Online Dater on a First Date

On By KathleenIn Dating, New York City2 Comments
The shoes a guy picks for a first date say a lot.

Okay. Here we go. I’m early. Should I text him? No, I’ll just wait. Well, what if he’s early too and already inside? I don’t want to be waiting out here like an asshole.

I’ll text him. Okay. done.

He’s running a little late. I’ll go inside. I hope they have bar snacks at this place. I haven’t eaten all day and I swear, I’ll eat my purse if they don’t have bar snacks and he’s much later.

Is my lipstick still on? God, I hate lipstick. Especially lipstick marks on my glass, from my own lips. Where’s my compact?

I hope he’s not shorter than me. He said he was 5’11, but that probably means he’s really 5’8, because if he was really 5’11 then he’d probably say he’s 6-foot. I mean, if I were 5’11, I’d say I was 6-foot. But then again, I’m 5’6 and I say I’m 5’5… but that’s because I’m a girl, and I wear heels. Technically, my height is adjustable. I don’t want to date a man who wears heels, I mean, this is not Louis XIV France. Then again, I like a man in cowboy boots and cowboy boots have heels.

I hope he’s not wearing cowboy boots. Unless he has a ranch. I don’t think he has a ranch. He’s from Brooklyn.

Okay, there he is. He’s walking right at me. He looks like he’s taller than me. Phew.

But I can’t make out his face. He was ruggedly handsome in his profile picture. Oh, no. His hairline –it’s not only receding, he’s practically bald.  Dammit! I should have known when he had hats on in EVERY SINGLE picture.

They’re always balding.

Always.

But hey! No big deal. Prince William’s going bald, and he’s still a catch. So let that one go.

What kind of shoes is he wearing? Remember that guy that wore the beat-up sneakers on the first date? The ones with the holes? What made him think that was a good idea?

He’s here.

Oh. Shit. He’s going in for the hug. Aim right!

Phew! He’s definitely taller than me. And he smells good. And those are nice shoes.

The bar didn’t have snacks. I probably shouldn’t order the bourbon. But I want a Manhattan. And, boy, am I gonna need it….

 

A Catholic Confesses: Father, Forgive Me, I’m Addicited to Matzo

On By KathleenIn Bio Pics2 Comments
Matzo -- the perfect vehicle for anything you want to eat.

“Planning a big Seder dinner?” Ivane, my favorite check-out lady at Whole Foods asked as I unloaded the 10 boxes of matzo from my shopping cart.

The pound of pork tenderloin, the 5-lb ham, and the 2 packages of bacon which I also unloaded were a clear tell that no, I was not celebrating Passover. I was merely stocking up on my favorite seasonal cracker before the lack of demand would take away my supply.

“You only like matzo because you don’t have to eat it every day,” my Jewish friends always tell me.

Maybe. Arguably, us Catholics get off easy. “No bread” is one of the many paths to self-denial we can chose from during the Lent season. And since I’m an “Only When She Flies” Catholic, giving up bread for 40 days is less about religious doctrine and more about getting ready for beach season.

For me, giving up bread for Lent is less about religion and more about beach season.

Then again, if Catholics had to replace every slice of bread with communion wafers during the 40 days of Lent, and I saw a friend willingly consume the tasteless disk of starch, I’d probably think she was crazy too. But a communion wafer doesn’t come close to matzo on the utility scale.

Matzo’s chalky tastelessness and sturdy physical presence make it a great vehicle for anything you could possibly want to stack on top of something before you eat it. Peanut butter and honey. Chocolate and caramel. Smoked salmon and chives. Aged Gouda and ham. A slab of butter.

Or you can crumble it into stuff, like soup.

Matzo’s lack of flavor means it doesn’t interfere with what you really want to eat. Its crunch is an appealing bonus characteristic.

As I unpacked my groceries and tried to make space in my pantry, it occurred to me that 10 boxes might have been excessive. Apparently, besides making a lot of crumbs, the big drawback to matzo is that it’s packaging doesn’t fit in a breadbox.

Maybe if the boxes of matzo fit in my breadbox, it'd be less obtrusive in my kitchen.

Friendly Persuasion, or an Ephinany about Online Dating

On By KathleenIn Dating3 Comments

“You know, I’d totally forgotten we’d met on OkCupid.”

So had I. The relationship we had forged over a handful of pleasant outings and months of texts and emails was so unlike anything that had come out of my foray into online dating, that I was convinced we had been introduced by old friends. Or better yet, that we were old friends.

My love life is more like a Woody Allen film than "The Notebook."

He confessed: “The truth is, I’m ambivalent about dating right now. I just want to find someone whose company I enjoy.”

We were standing chest to chest in the atrium of our favorite Museum. The lights were dim and for the most part, we were on our own. Had it been another couple and another night, the scene would have ended differently.

But my life is more like a Woody Allen film than a Nicholas Sparks-inspired Ryan Gosling flick — all the ambiance is there, but in the end, so are all the neuroses.

And all the greater life insights.

It's hard to find someone who will willingly spend an afternoon looking at Cindy Sherman portraits with you -- male or female.

Someone whose company I enjoy was all I was after too, and in the museum I was in the very enjoyable company of a new friend.

Up until this point, OkCupid had been a general disappointment. I shut down my profile. It’s not that I hadn’t met good-looking or smart or affable men. The problem, I came to understand, was the context in which we met.

Every online date had more or less followed the same course: hello hug, beverage consumption, laughter, good-night, kiss, let’s do this again soon. In between those mile markers the terrain varied, but generally I could expect to meet the same conversational obstacles — why did you sign up for OkCupid, what kind of relationship are you looking for, have you ever been in love.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” I remember saying once when I was on a date and, thanks to a drink, was feeling particularly candid.

“I believe in playing a relationship as it lays. Some begin and end as friendships. Some, as disasters. Maybe one as happily ever after. We’ll figure ‘us’ out as we go.”

The guy didn’t like my response very much. He was looking for a mother to his children. I couldn’t promise I was ready or willing to go minivan shopping with him. But we had met on an online dating site — a place people go with the expressed purpose of finding a romantic connection.

How could I say that we might only ever amount to friends?!?!

How could I say that we might never have sex!?!!?

how often does a match light on a first strike?

The problem with online dating is that it forces you to evaluate a person along a specific set of parameters — namely, do I want to get romantically involved with this person. Physical attraction and adherence to an idealized wish-list dominate. We sit across a table from someone waiting for a spark to fly. If there’s no spark, then we’re quick to dismiss the candidate.

But how often does a match light on a first strike?

Online dating hasn’t brought me a boyfriend. Someone might argue it’s been a failed experiment. But looking back, I’d say I beg to differ. Just don’t expect to find me transferring my account to match.com anytime soon.

Sculpting Opportunities

On By KathleenIn Bio Pics, Career1 Comment
Installing an exhibition of sculpture is hard physical work. It's good thing I work out.

I stood in the gallery, bent over backwards staring up blankly into my 50-foot ceiling, trying to assess the durability of my lighting tracks.

“How the hell am I going to suspend an 8-foot winged sculpture from up there?! Fairy dust?”

If that had been my only concern with this exhibition, my nerves would have been easily quelled with one stiff drink and a reassuring “no problem, boss” from my assistant. But no, the weighty sculpture flying 30 feet over the heads of visitors from uncertain supports was, believe it or not, the least of my worries.

I looked down at my floor plan. Up at my ceiling. Back at my floor plan. I spun around the gallery, mentally measuring the walls and open space, counting the number of works I had selected. I had 5 installation days ahead of me and at this point, all I could do is hope that it would all come neatly and elegantly together.

It’s a rare moment when life hands you the opportunity you’ve always wanted. Rarer when you’re young and relatively new to the big leagues. It’s your moment to turn into your greatest success or to fall, face first, into the pile of shit you’ve dug-up along the way.

When I was handed the curatorial reins of our gallery’s biggest exhibition of the season, I realized this was that opportunity for me.  And it was giving me heart palpitations.

Our PR department had confirmed an interview with and a feature in the New York Times. No. Pressure.

My team mounts the wall vinyl -- it's officially an exhibition.

Being 26 and standing at the helm of what was already being heralded as a landmark exhibition is daunting. Youth grants me energy. Passion mandates confidence. But youth, energy, passion and confidence doesn’t guarantee success — just sleepless nights and aching muscles.

“I don’t understand why I’m talking to you,” the writer from the Time said to me as I sat down with her the hour before the opening. “I was expecting to speak with the curators.”

“I am the curator.”

“Oh!”

My youth belied my position of authority. An hour later, my boss popped in to see how things were going on our walk through of the show.

I imagine I felt the way a bride does on her wedding day.Painting: "After the Reception" by Douglas Volk.

“This is a fabulous exhibition! I’m having a great time!”

Could it be that I had just won over the New York Times?

At 6PM, only minutes after the final wall label had gone up on the wall, the doors swung open, a crowd poured in and the champagne bottles were popped. I can’t exactly tell you what happened over the next two hours — it was a whirlwind of hellos, of press interviews, of congratulations.

I imagine the way I felt is very much how a bride feels on her wedding day: exhausted from all the planning and preparations, unsure of the durability of her lipstick and full-body-ness of her hair, but excited because she knows she’s just launched herself happily head-long into a brand new life.