I Looked Through 292 Photos So You Wouldn't Have To.

Snapshots of the first 100 days, via the Official White House Photo Stream. 

My thoughts are this: it's a good sign when mixed groups of people surrounding the president are smiling in candid photos, I like having a president who is young, healthy, and active (you hope the stress is being channeled constructively), and everyone wants to hug Michelle Obama, especially me.

Blog Envy: Maira Kalman

Check out illustrator Maira Kalman's And the Pursuit of Happiness Blog with the New York Times. Not only am I envious of her beautiful and truly original blog, my jealousy extends all the way to her successful career. 

It never occurred to me you could be what Maira Kalman is. (I would put Christopher Niemann in the same category.) Actually, that's a lie. When I was in elementary school, I was going to be a painter. But once I got a little older, and I discovered that I was really good at school,  I stopped believing that the art that comes out of me naturally could be pursued as a career. 

No, not could, should. You have one bad experience scooping ice cream and you make bee-line to a stable and profitable professional identity.

I have several friends who are pursuing graduate degrees in the arts. It strikes me as impractical. Upon graduation, are there recruiters waiting to hire painters, photographers, and filmmakers? I mean, you kind of have to have a plan to pay off the tens of thousands of dollars you've spent on credits, right? I suppose that is not the spirit in which this particular form of higher education is pursued. 

I still wonder what it is I want to be when I grow up, and I still have a hard time pinning down the answer. I think it's because, truly, I want to be an artist, but I don't yet know how to reconcile that with my intense drive to be successful, and let's face it, remunerated. 

But one thing is taken care of: I already have my studio picked out. It's in an old factory building in Rahway: fifth floor, corner office, wall of windows, over looking a little green space. I pass it every day on the train home, and wonder how it is I'll end up arriving there.

Tulip Update

The combination of pink cherry blossoms and tulips at their peak is almost too much to bear. NYU even took down the unsightly chain link fence for our more perfect enjoyment. As I took this photo with my cell phone, I stood next to a fellow doing the same.

Internet Recipes Are Always An Adventure

I am a new and feverish devotee to Design*Sponge, and since I'm not ready to do my house overhaul yet, I did the next best thing and tried the muffin recipe they posted.  I volunteered to bring food to our biweekly office meeting, so I have a good way to get the baked goods out of the house, which is very important, else I eat all the goodies and stop baking things for fear of my lack of self control.

Two things about this recipe made it worth a try. One: I have more than a half gallon of pure maple syrup in my house from various trips to New England, and I don't like real maple syrup, I like diet Aunt Jemima. Two: the recipe involves sour cream, which I have always found makes for a very light and spongy cake. I want my muffins to rise to the top of my coworker's bellies, not sink to the bottom like a stone. The finished product looks pretty good, is pretty delicious, and is not at all a belly bomb, which is important when you are choosing snacks for an office meeting. 

I have a few very important notes on this recipe, though, in case you're interested in trying it out. First, this made 18 muffins baked in my standard sized cupcake tin, not 12. Also, you should probably fill your the batter up further than half way. Next, when she says "generously spoon topping over muffin batter," I'd say it's more like "make sure the topping runneth over your cup." I was appalled at the amount of topping I spooned on, going back several times more than I thought wise, and I still had about a third of the stuff left over. But when they came out of the oven, I saw that the cupcakes could have even used a bit more. Lastly, and very importantly, these little puppies took waaaaay longer than 10-12 minutes. It was more like 17-20 minutes... I don't know how to explain that, except that maybe the author of the recipe has a very hot oven? To balance out her her very cool baking sheets and fancy paper baking cups?

Still they were delicious, and a happy departure from the usually blueberry muffin or coffee cake. I would recommend them for a food to bring to a brunch, since they are they are so easy to transport -- no anxiety over crushed cupcake icing necessary!

I think I'll store them in the microwave until I need to bring them to work on Wednesday. Don't want them to dry out, or get too soggy. Mr. SevPrez used to tease me for keeping the good bread in the microwave, but now he does it too. It's like the ultimate tupperware!

Sharing A Poem About Poems

I love this poem, because I abhor having to determine what a poem "means." I will never forget being shut down by a teacher when I offered my interpretation of the poem  "When I Am Old I Shall Wear Purple". I thought it was one woman's depressing and morose statement on life and aging. The teacher quickly moved to another student who offered the widely agreed upon interpretation that it was defiant and jubilant, etc. I felt like an idiot, but having just read it again, and I stand by my original take. I guess I will never be a red hat.

For me, reading a poem is like being in the path of a gust of wind, or fording a large, shiny puddle: a natural thing of beauty that you step through on your way to the rest of your life. 

Introduction to Poetry

by Billy Collins

I ask them to take a poem

and hold it up to the light

like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem

and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room

and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski

across the surface of a poem

waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with rope

and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose

to find out what it really means.

From The Apple That Astonished Paris, 1996.