sleep

how the Musee d’Orsay is like an unexpected vagina, and other adventures

January 24, 2009 by krisis

I know I’m still down about three Louvre posts as well as the Eiffel and Latin quarter, but if I don’t keep up with the new stuff none of it will ever get written.

So, today.

After our amazing day yesterday, which ended in giggles and me seeing how much crepe I could fit into my mouth at one time, Elise and I concur that today has been our one crappy day of the honeymoon thus far.

We woke up early and I made the best scrambled eggs ever made, with gouda, brie, chevre, and maybe manchego? It was really cheese with eggs as connective tissue. Best ever.

Afterwards, perhaps as a result of the 3000% increase in my dairy intake over the last few days, I fell back into a deep slumber from which I could not be roused. Even after I was finally dragged back out of bed at noon I was in a complete haze, and kept drifting off on the couch while Elise counted out our coins for the ticket machine. My grump had mostly lifted by the time we were off the Metro, but I was still sluggish.

Today’s big adventure was Musee d’Orsay, which is the modern art museum. With apologies to my sister-in-law and our dear friend Francesca, d’Orsay blew. In a word, Elise describes it as “ungratifying.”

Rather than a word, I choose to describe it in an illustrative allegory:

In the ground floor gallery I was looking from one room into the next, and I thought I spotted a Munch. It was pretty far away, but it was in the general shape of a Munch I recalled.

I approached the gallery, and as I neared the painting it became apparent it was not the Munch in question, but a massive, close study of a disembodied vagina.

That captures my feelings on Musee d’Orsay exactly: not the thing you thought it was, but actually some other thing, which in other settings is an awesome thing, but in this instance not awesome in the manner in which it is presented.

The main sculpture hall is magnificent to look at from afar, but the actual rooms were claustrophobic, especially on the fifth level. I realized as we jostled our way through (and on a Saturday – without any groups!) how much I really appreciated that Louvre had seating in every gallery.

Also, the collections were simply overwhelming – like, not in the sense of “the Louvre is so large; it’s overwhelming,” but in the sense of, “there is too much Degas in this room to focus on any one of them; it’s overwhelming.”

D’orsay features a lot of impressionism, including pre- and post-, and it’s not really my favorite period. There’s only so many times I can appreciate that something looks like its subject in a subjective way before it all just comes off like a torturous, never-ending labyrinth of Magic Eye (which is not meant as a dig on pointillism, which I actually do appreciate).

I was excited for Room 60, which included a Munch and a Klimt, who are two of my top artists in general, and especially from this period. All through the impressionists I was like, “it’s okay, I’m going to get to see a Munch, it will be so cool.” Lo, we arrived in 60 to find that neither painting was on display. (Thus, the vagina incident is revealed to be even more painful.)

Also, the major special exhibit at the moment is basically just about how Picasso was a twisted psychotic and spent two years copying Manet’s Le déjeuner sur l’herbe over and over again in increasingly abstract ways until he was literally creating cardboard cutouts of the deconstructed characters.

There were a few high points.

Even though the volume of Degas was tiring, I enjoyed watching the evolution of his work. I was endlessly fascinated by The Pedicure, because it has a very specific, photographic depth of field. It’s quite fascinating – Elise and I had a lengthy discussion about how he might have conceived of the technique, as it’s not something easily observed with the naked eye.

I’m sure Jenny can explain it to us.

I also loved the dance class, which has a similar specific focus along the shoulders of the girls (plus, the tutus are incredible).

I also delighted in my discoveries of Gustave Caillebotte, and I say “discoveries” because three times I found paintings that I loved and subsequently realized they were by him.

I’ll definitely be buying a book as soon as we can find one (D’orsay puzzlingly, had nothing to speak of, even though they have two of his major works on display).

The upper restaurant was fantastic, and may merit its own post. There was also an appropriately-sized section of beautiful art nouveau furnishings that I would have killed to have Francesca guide me through.

Finally, there was one room of “symbolism,” a period/style that neither of us were especially familiar with. From what I could discern on a brief pass it’s an allegorical style that casts modern situations with clear historic or mythological analogues. I loved the entire room, but my favorite was a painting that claimed to be about some sort of pastoral school yard, but that I have retitled, (and all the apostles sang) Rock Me, Sexy Jesus, for obvious reasons. Behold:

(I implore you to click through for a closer look. The allegorical only begotten son homoeroticism is unparalleled.)

Okay, one last point of suckitude: d’Orsay claims to be open until six, but shortly before five thirty they rope off many of the individual exhibits and start shooing you towards the exits.

Like I said, it blew. I’m thankful for being introduced to Caillebotte and symbolism, but otherwise would have preferred a second day in Louvre.

Afterwards we walked along the river for a bit, terminating in my ideal shot of Eiffel (it’s on Elise’s camera, so you’ll have to wait), and then we detoured past Grand & Petit Palais (which will have Warhol from March to Bastille) to get to Champs-Élysées.

Champs-Élysées was a bit of a paradox. We were expecting faire du shopping to net some of the wonderful fashions we’ve been encountering on the Metro all week. However, despite a few browses in both French and international stores, we didn’t settle on anything. I felt like we kept seeing the designer versions of indie trends, which I suppose is entirely the point of Champs-Élysées? I’m certainly happy to have walked the street, especially since I finally got to see Arc de Triomphe up close, and it was definitely a sight to be seen. I just thought I’d buy more stuff.

By the end Elise was barely standing, and we rode an assortment of Metros to get back home.

Maybe we were just predisposed to grumpiness, but today just didn’t bring the awesome of yesterday, despite a similar slate of activities. I hold out hope that we’re heading back out for a late night jaunt to the Moulin Rouge, but Elise may be down for the count – and she has all of our money.

La Matrice

January 23, 2009 by krisis

On our first night Cèline showed us the DVD player and indicated a modest pile of movies. We managed to get out to a brief dinner, but when we returned we were out of steam and decided to watch a bit of Matrix, en Francais. We were asleep before they broke Neo out.

Our day of sleeping in terminated in a long walk, and when we got back we settled in for some more Matrix. We nodded off just before Neo watched the kid bend the spoon.

Last night after Louvre and our homemade dinner I didn’t even make it to Matrix – I fell asleep watching BBC news.

Tonight, after the Jeu de Paume we walked to (and up) Eiffel, and then took the Metro to Latin Quarter, where we went around and around, before finally Metroing back to the flat. We are watching the Matrix before going to bed.

I don’t know if we’re ever going to watch this movie in English again.

I’m not tired, I just sleep.

February 20, 2008 by krisis

I must engineer a perfect storm of daily routine in order to go to bed – or, more accurately, to fall asleep – at a reasonable hour.

I half-joke that my circadian rhythm runs long, but its pulses run short. Left to my own devices (i.e., an interpersonal “constant dark) I will tend to regulate to a roughly 26 hour day with sleep in multiples of just over three hours, and my intellectual pursuits don’t tend to peak until somewhere in hour fifteen – relatively late in a 26 hour day, and prohibitively insomniac in an actual earth day.

That natural state isn’t especially agreeable with a five-day work week. It used to be that on Sundays I’d have to beat my body into submission with a heavy dose of benadryl, which left me leaden in Monday morning meetings. Lately I’ve attempted to coordinate an intricate assemblage of coincident events – a sunrise clock, regular meals and exercise, a balance of heavy thinking and fun – distributed to the appropriate hours to leave me pleasantly drowsy somewhere prior to midnight.

The ultimate irony is that even if I get to sleep at a so-called “reasonable hour” and wake up appropriately early for a responsible business person my resulting day will be devastated – I’ll either drift off too early, or be jazzed and awake much too late. Either way, two “normal” days in a row are few and exceedingly far between in my life.

In discussing this issue recently I fielded several recommendations for Melatonin supplements.

Melatonin is a naturally occurring hormone that – amongst other roles – helps to regulate circadian rhythms. Its production is hindered by exposure to light, which means if you live in a constantly illuminated environment (i.e., offices at home and at work, stages awash in spotlight … you know, all the places I live) your bodily levels are most likely out of whack.

Curiously, its sale as a supplement is illegal in some locations, such as Germany and New Zealand. Even more curiously from a body chemistry standpoint, it’s synthesized from tryptophan (AKA, the thing about turkey that makes you sleepy), which is in turn synthesized via of serotonin (AKA, the euphoria-causing agent that LSD mimics, and that heavy use of MDMA/ecstacy depletes). Supplemental users report that heavy doses can induce vivid and/or lucid dream states.

(I went through this whole “brain chemistry of drugs” phase when I first read The Electric Kool Aid Acid Test and Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas, especially the latter, because Hunter kept taking drugs I had never heard of before, let alone understood the effects of.)

Knowing all of this about Melatonin before it ever hit my tongue lent it a certain air of panacea, even if it was to be a placebic panacea. And, sure enough, every night that I’ve taken it I’ve been to bed before midnight and awake before 7:30 – yes, it’s induced multiple “normal” days in a row!

However, it has also had a certain side effect – maybe also placebic, but no less curious if that’s the case.

Though shorter, in a circadian sense, my days are definitely longer. Or, maybe just the hours.

I don’t really know how to explain it appropriately. It’s not so simple as time going by slower, or that I’m moving more quickly.

For example, today I finished my usual amount of work, and went to my usual amount of meetings, and when I sat down to pack up I realized it was 2 p.m. rather than 5 p.m.. I had arrived around my typical time, and I didn’t feel exhausted, or restless – I simply felt as if I had lived an entire workday of life already. Except, most typical workdays don’t come equipped with a spare set of three bonus hours to get a jump on the to-do list of the next day.

That isn’t the only example, either. I’ve been more productive at home, and I’ve been waking up feeling more fully rested – even hang time between slams of the alarm button feel distended. The situation is rendered all the more unusual because I am typically an innately good judge of the passage of time – Elise used to jokingly use me to reset stopped clocks because I was so on-the-mark in my elapsed-time estimates in the absence of common giveaways like television shows or church bells.

It’s quite palpable for a placebo effect, and if it isn’t one then it’s certainly difficult to quantify effectively. If my prior days were 26.5 hours long and have now been scaled down to fit into an actual day then each of my prior hours are now compressed into less than 55 minutes, which still would only have yielded a nearly imperceptible bonus of a half hour by 2 p.m., and certainly would be hardly noticeable in the eight-minute interval of my snooze button.

So, what’s the answer? Am I just well-rested, and as a result experiencing a higher quality of life? Is it completely a placebo effect, soon to be followed by incredibly lucid dreams (though, actually, I’ve always had those)? Or, is it truly some subtle form of hallucination wherein I perceive myself to be moving at a completely speed than time itself?

And, more alarmingly, if the latter is true does that mean that everyone else has been moving at this speed all along and I am just now catching up? Or was I previously moving at a normal speed within my extended day, and am now dashing to and fro with an apparent sense of urgency to all who surround me?

January 8, 2002 by krisis

I don’t know that it’s an idea, so much as simply how my body tends to balance itself out. Left to my own devices during the summer of 2000 i actually split each day in half, sleeping from five to nine in both the morning and evening. This sounds ridiculous, but given a healthy and active list daily schedule it actually suited my needs perfectly and kept me highly energized through my grueling turn as an Orientation Leader.

Of course, there are problems with giving the body exactly what it seems to be asking for. With the exception of my magical two weeks of two-in-one days, my body tends to operate on a clock that is much nearer to 30hour days than 24hour ones, which means if i don’t have a set time to sleep i’ll stay up a handful of hours later every night until finally i’m sleeping the day away because i’m so locked in to my overly long internal clock. Furthermore, my attempts to correct my own sleeping habits tend to make the situation worse; for example, i should have never gone back to sleep this morning rather than do my best to stay awake all day — and here i am blogging about it past 2am.

The solution that has had a larger impact on my days than my quirky sleeping habits (which are endlessly remarked upon in derisive fashion by my roommates) is that i really just don’t waste time anymore. Sure, you could argue that i’m wasting time right now, but i mean something closer to not spending time idly. If i’m on the internet, i’m either writing or catching up on my daily reading … not aimlessly wandering from link to link. If i’m playing guitar i’m either writing or practicing … no idle ad-libbing for hours on end. I tend to break this rule just as much as i follow it, but keeping the idea of maximizing my resources stuck in the back of my head somehow netted me all A’s last semester — something i’ve never accomplished with such a rigorous course load Sure, it involved putting some thing off until the last minute (and stressing my way into the hospital), but somewhere along the way i finally learned to cut down on time-wasting (and unsatisfying) activities like reorganizing my cd collection and rereading my archives when i could be cooking dinner or writing a paper instead..

This semester has an even more ridiculous free-time to work-time ratio than last, and so i’m interested to see how i fare. Also, it would be nice if i could factor actually working into the equation somewhere between sleep and cd reviews, because money is never as evil as they say it is ;)

https://crushingkrisis.com/2002/01/8505261/

January 7, 2002 by krisis

I fell asleep sometime between the last vignette of Futurama and the beginning of Malcom in the Middle, mostly because i wasn’t especially interested in the squawing of the FOX network or the pointless Eagles game. So, i wound up in bed with headphones on seeing if i could figure out the chords to every song on This Way before Jewel found her way through the second repletion of a chorus (and was largely succeeding). Eventually this dissolved into my half-heartedly fretting a C-chord on my electric guitar while lying flat on my back in bed with Jewel cooing something in my ear. And then there was sleep, desperate clinging sleep during which i subconsciously decided that a nap would be deadly for my daily schedule, and so i had to turn a two-hour rest of the eyes into an all-nighter.

Nine hours later, lying huddled underneath two blankets trying my best to keep my eyes shut against the incessant glow of my monitor, it suddenly occurred to me: why bother? I’ve become a stickler for sleep recently, trying to get back onto the steady schedule i had last semester, but no amount of benadryll and warm milk is going to change the fact that i like to stay up very late and wake up early — which typically involves a nap somewhere in the middle. A quick foray into the kitchen for left-over pizza suddenly turned into an hour-long cruise of my favourite weblogs, and now i’m up and wired for a day free of academic offerings; all i have to do is look handsome around six to attract the attention of certain people at rehearsal. So, i should just Let It Be because i can … because i don’t have anything to do today until past sunset, and i can nap plenty of times between now and then.

https://crushingkrisis.com/2002/01/8479394/