When Picasso replaces pin-ups

Last May, I flew out of the Baltimore airport and into San Francisco to see my aunt and uncle… Last May, I flew out of the Baltimore airport and into San Francisco to see my aunt and uncle in their sunny, happy hometown. While visiting, we did a bunch of fun stuff. We visited my uncle at work at the gorgeous Adobe headquarters in San Jose, and we shopped around cute Californian boutiques. We marveled at the fact that their fridge and my bulletin board back home are both adorned with the same fortune-cookie fortunes, “You have an unusually magnetic personality.” Nice.

But most memorably, we attended this marvelous festival of nakedness, near-nakedness, ridiculous costumes, running, strolling and screaming known as “Bay to Breakers.” I’m not sure how to explain or describe it. Basically, Bay to Breakers is a 7.46-mile footrace from downtown San Fran (near the Bay) to the part of the city near the Pacific Coast (and ocean breakers). First organized to uplift the city after the earthquake in 1906, the race has since become a fun excuse for San Francisco’s boldest and bravest to dress up in crazy outfits and pretty much just wander their way through the city.

For Hanukkah, my uncle made me a great calendar of photos from the event. There are people in feathery Santa beards. There’s a guy in a bloody lab coat reading “Doctor: Psycho Ward.” There’s another guy in a tight white shirt reading “myGoodies” to parody the “mrGoodbar” logo, the yellow candy wrapper with the slanty red writing. My personal favorite picture of all 12 months is December, which features a young woman standing with her mouth half-smiling, eyes half-shut, like someone’s shining a bright light at her, as she nurses a beer. She’s wearing a bright green shirt that reads “Coffee, Cigarettes, Alcohol.” As if we couldn’t tell she’s a fan.

This calendar makes me think of more pleasant times than the time I was up at 1:43 a.m. doing work, which was one minute ago. I’m now up at 1:44 a.m. doing work. Sigh.

Anyway, bunches of other photos adorn my dorm room walls: family, friends, dog, camp, travels. That time I pretended to propose to my roommate. Shabbat, a Jewish holiday, being celebrated at camp. Love, love, love. Since I’m pseudo-artsy, some of these photos are black-and-white and even sepia.

Why do we like photographs so much? They make us happy, duh. But I also have a giant reproduction of Guernica by Picasso on the wall, a painting that looks like a bunch of meaningless shapes and animals but really represents the horrific Nazi bombing of the town Guernica, Spain, in 1937. In fact, this is the second biggest “photograph” in my room, and it definitely doesn’t make me happy. Not the way it makes me happy to see my sister smiling next to my mom in Yellowstone, for sure.

Do I – gulp – appreciate the fine arts?

Shocking. But I bet I’m not even the only one. I think as college students, we need to admit that sometimes we’re a little bit grown up inside. (Yeah, yeah. I said sometimes.)

That kind of maturity should be taken advantage of. Barack Obama has shown the world the power of college students banded together, so I know the potential is there. Let’s bring fine taste to Pitt.

Be gone, posters of lanky sunbathing chicks and silly signs reading “Beer Pong: Heroes Are Made One Cup at a Time.” Be gone, pictures of Marilyn Monroe and Paul Walker’s abdomen. I get the appeal, but we’re better than that.

Yes, we are. Don’t raise those eyebrows.

Those of us who have made the jump from our worship of the interior-decorating tactics of 15-year-olds have an obligation to rescue our brothers and sisters.

Those of us suppressing our love for the classic Leonardos and Ansel Adams in favor of cutouts from the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue or Cosmopolitan, step out of the closet.

I wrote a column earlier this year about decorating dorm rooms inexpensively, because we all like to decorate and we all hate to spend money. But this column isn’t advice. It is a plea.

I didn’t have a quest for maturity in mind when I purchased that Guernica reproduction last fall, and I doubt my uncle created that calendar of oddballs for me in of order to encourage the onset of adulthood. But all this stuff on my walls has achieved those goals.

It makes me feel grown up anyway. I put up the front. It’s a start.

We all have an appreciation of fine arts beyond beer pong within us. I was surprised when I realized I did, but now I’m spreading the word.

Take that nonsense down. You’ll embrace your newfound maturity like I did.

Now, where’s my coloring book? E-mail Carolyn about your dorm room decs at ceg36@pitt.edu.