Sunday, October 07, 2007
Night at the Museum
Ben Stiller plays Larry Daley, the new night watchman. He's replacing three older security guards played by Dick Van Dyke, Mickey Rooney, and Bill Cobbs, all of whom give stellar performances. There's a bit of predictability in the plot in that Larry is a dreamer who can't seem to get anything accomplished, but he must because he's the non-custodial parent in a divorce situation and has to provide security for his kid. The creators of the movie did a seamless job in bringing the museum exhibits to life, especially the T-Rex installation. Owen Wilson and Robin Williams are hilarious and lend to the credibility. The only thing that seemed weird is that certain exhibits caused all sorts of chaos, but others just seemed to wander around aimlessly in the background - like that giant jade Chinese dog. I wasn't keen on the museum director, who was a stuffy fuddy-duddy. That's not what most museum directors are like, but we still have to deal with the reputation because it keeps getting played that way in movies.
All-in-all, "Night at the Museum" was a good movie and plays well with kids.
As an aside, Dick Van Dyke has always reminded me of my dad, especially when he was younger. It's the jaw. My dad has the same strong jaw Dick Van Dyke has.
Labels: ben stiller, bill cobbs, dad, dick van dyke, husband, mickey rooney, movie, museum, owen wilson, robin williams, young son
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Karlos
Let's turn to southern hospitality. I have to say that everyone we interacted with in Atlanta was kind and helpful, from the lady who helped us purchase our Breeze passes for the MARTA train, to the concierge who recommended the restaurant Thrive, to the Italian waiter at Thrive (his name was Erjon (pronounced Aaron) - he's been in the United States three years and is in school) to the police officers who helped us with directions to the bus driver who took us to the Atlanta Botanical Garden (he told us the secret to the good life is to never go into debt - pay cash for everything) to the man who took our admission fee at the Atlanta Botanical Garden who informed us that he's seen evidence of global warming in Atlanta. Even the panhandlers were soft-spoken and helpful while attempting to pry cash out of us unsuspecting tourists.
Far and away my favorite of all was Karlos, our waiter at the Omni Hotel. We first met Karlos at a small museums luncheon on Thursday. He stood out immediately because of his skill at his job and his regal bearing. He was attentive beyond belief. If he saw anyone hesitate or look in need of something, he was immediately at the table to offer his assistance. Watching him was like watching professional ballet, he was so smooth in his movements. I did not catch his name at the small museums luncheon, but found it out later during the awards banquet on Saturday night. When Hubby and I got seated, Karlos suddenly appeared and I was so surprised and pleased to see him that I blurted out, "Oh, goody! We get you again tonight!" I was delighted to be able to watch him work again. It's pure joy to see someone perform a job so well, and especially a job as hard as waiting tables. At the end of the banquet, Hubby and I saw him clearing tables and I was determined to go shake his hand, which I did. I complimented him on his work and he said that hearing that was better than getting a tip. He asked if Hubby and I were married and when we answered in the affirmative, he asked how long. We said eighteen years and his eyes grew wide and he gave us a smile and said he hoped his upcoming marriage would last that long. He is due to get married in December. We congratulated him and wished him well. If he is anywhere near as attentive to his future wife as he was to us, his marriage will indeed be long and fruitful.
Labels: atlanta, atlanta botanical garden, hotel, hubby, karlos, museum, southern hospitality, thrive, trip, waiter
Monday, July 23, 2007
Get a Hobby, But Make It Ancient
The other trouble with hobbies from a resources standpoint is that most of them involve making things - turning one thing, or a variety of things, into another. Behold! CREATION!
Being an artist, I understand the thrill of creation. It's addictive. It's also caused no end of introspection along the lines of: How many wall hangings & paintings & useless knick-knacks does this planet need? I've long been attracted to the idea of the art of utility - making useful things beautiful. I also like small art, which uses fewer resources because of size. Many artists in general are scavengers, turning junk into art and building the concept of recycling into their work. My husband's motorcycle table is a great example. Then, there's slow art - where it might take years to complete one work. Think of all of these suggestions as the RUSS method of artistic resource conservation. R - ecycled art, U - seful art, S - mall art, S - low art.
On a personal level, this use of resources issue has caused me to cut back on my artistic creation and contributed somewhat to my increase in writing. The creativity has to come out somehow and writing, at its most essential (read: without computer), is not more than pen to paper, which results in an infinite number of potential creative outcomes.
Lose a hobby was my suggestion after Live Earth. Better yet, don't start one unless you're darn sure it's one you're going to stick with or you're sure you'll die if you don't have this outlet. (Don't, however, let this stop you from taking a class or several in order to try something out. Just don't spend money on resources you're not going to use.)
After reading Terry Glavin's "The Sixth Extinction," I've changed my mind. Get a hobby, but make it an ancient one. According to Pat Mooney, who is quoted in Glavin's book, "Our generation may be the first in the history of the world to lose more knowledge than we gain." (pg. 222)
Not only are we losing biological diversity in the form of plants and animals, we are also losing cultural diversity, which includes language and ways of life. The only way we're going to keep some of these things alive is to learn what our forebears knew and keep transmitting it to interested youngsters.
Show of hands. How many people tat anymore? How many of you speak Ojibwe? Can you turn flax into linen? Brew a batch of beer? Play a children's game from two generations ago? These are things that were still commonly being done only a very short while ago. Think of all the cultural activities we've already lost that are from before that time.
If you're interested in finding an ancient hobby, check out your local museum. Small museums are a great repository of books and other information that can lead you to what came before. Sometimes, they'll even contain artifacts that relate to that old hobby, so you can see what tools were used. If you decide to adopt an ancient hobby, make sure to share what you learn, either by writing or teaching. We've got information to save.
Labels: album art, biology, creation, extinction, hobbies, live earth, museum, ojibwe, terry glavin
Monday, July 16, 2007
Eastern Standard Tribe
I recently read Cory Doctorow's book "Eastern Standard Tribe" and tried very hard not to like it. Very hard. I was predisposing myself not to like it because of something Doctorow wrote in his BoingBoing blog. He was talking about the National Spy Museum's no-photography policy and said:
"Christ this stuff bugs me, especially from museums. These places are supposed to be about preserving and disseminating human culture -- but no taking any pictures or we might not be able to sell as many picture postcards!"
Having worked in a museum for eleven years, I took umbrage with the statement and wrote to Doctorow to explain exactly why museums have no-photography policies. The short version is that we can't expose our collections to the flash of multiple cameras. Some museums allow for the use of cameras with the flash off, but I can understand a no-photography-period policy, as well. If you give some people an inch, they'll take a mile and if you read the BoingBoing post linked above, you'll see that someone took photos at the National Spy Museum with a camera phone. There's another reason for the no-photo policy. Museums collect items that are still under copyright. By law, we are supposed to uphold that copyright. From Doctorow's response back to me, it's obvious that he sees any explanation of museum restrictions to be nothing more than wimpy excuses. We're to give everything away, by golly, and that's that.
That's the short version of why I was predisposed not to like Doctorow's book. Childish, yes. But, I had wanted to read something of Doctorow's prior to the little tiff and decided it was time to get another view of the man. I checked out "Eastern Standard Tribe" and thought, "Well, mister, just show me what you've got." Despite my best intentions, I liked the book. It's got a great premise. With the digital age, people start grouping up with those of similar interest, no matter where they are, no matter what the time zone. Art, the main character, is from the Eastern Standard Tribe, and it's his job to screw up the inner workings of companies in other time zones. The tale swings around, battering poor Art with treachery. The opening scene is of him stuck on a roof with a pencil in his nose, ready to push it into his brain. The story is a bit choppy at first, but stick with it. It's part of the overall flow and it'll make sense after a while. Once in a while I found myself fogging off after some new tech idea was introduced, thinking how could this be pushed further? That's probably just me, though.
So, then, this was the thing I was waffling about. Liked the book, didn't care for the blog statement. Had to think about how to delicately tie the two together. Now the chips can fall where they may.
Labels: book, cory doctorow, eastern standard tribe, museum, photography, songs, spy museum
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Observations from Away
While at MHS, workshop participants were given a chance to go through the exhibits, which were interesting to me not just from a content perspective, but from a design and construction perspective. I had three favorites. One was the exhibit on our State Capitol. The Capitol can be seen from a large window in the central hall, where the exhibit is located. MHS has kindly provided those tourist viewer glasses/binoculars so that visitors can peek at the details. People always talk about the golden horses and the golden peak on the Capitol, but I was thrilled to find that there are eagles encircling the dome - looking very much like friendly gargoyles. The Capitol was designed by Minnesota architect Cass Gilbert, who not only designed the building, but the furnishings as well.
Another favorite exhibit was Camera Ojibwe, which is a compliment to a new book by historian Bruce White. The book is called "We Are at Home: Pictures of the Ojibwe People". The exhibit, which was mounted in three months, if I'm remembering correctly, shows photographs of the Ojibwe in posed shots and in every day shots. There are also bandolier bags and other related artifacts on display in the exhibit. It will only be up until early August, so if this interests you, high-tail it to MHS.
The other exhibit I loved, especially from a holy-crap, how'd they do that perspective, was Open House: If These Walls Could Talk, an exhibit that shows the history of one particular St. Paul house and the people who lived there. The exhibit is set up like a house, with a parlor, bedroom, bathroom, den, attic, living room, basement, hallways, and garden. As you walk through, there are all sorts of interactive features that enhance your knowledge about the house. There's a bed that has the words "Sit Here" shining on it. When you sit, the voice of a woman who lived in the house explains how the bed kept breaking - and then the bed breaks. Whomp! While you're on it. The really impressive part of the exhibit was the basement, which can be seen through a small window near the floor. When you look in, you see a staircase with boots and a thermos on the stairs, and below, a record player and suitcases and what looks like a child's scooter/bike. Here's the kicker. If this were truly a basement, the room would be hanging down in the MHS library below. It isn't. Can you guess how they accomplished this room? This exhibit recently won an award from the American Association for State and Local History and I'd like to think that basement had a little something to do with it.
On my last day of the workshop, I decided to walk around the outside of the History Center, which is gorgeous inside, but I'd already seen much of the inside and the day was too beautiful not to enjoy. When I got to John Ireland Boulevard, I saw the Capitol, and then looked over my shoulder and saw St. Paul's Cathedral. The two buildings are ornate and domed and book-end the boulevard most purposefully. I asked Marcia Anderson, Head of Museum Collections of MHS, which building was constructed first. She said that the Capitol was and indicated that the church didn't want to be outdone as far as view and grandeur, so they built the cathedral. Marcia assisted in mounting the Camera Ojibwe exhibit and has been studying Ojibwe bandolier bags and other handcrafts for years. She's very knowledgeable and gracious.
Obviously, there was a lot to observe at MHS, but the observations didn't end there. On the evening of July 11, there was a reception for an art show called Reworks at The Minneapolis Foundation in the IDS Center. My husband's motorcycle table was accepted into this show of art made from recycled stuff. I'm so proud! His table fit right into the scheme of the office, so much so that we caught people setting their glasses on it. The food was to die for and all organic; we were introduced to the music of Ron Cheese; and there were loads of people in attendance. It was fun to be the wife of an artist, rather than to be the artist myself for a change.
And then there was the hotel . . . the Holiday Inn River Centre, which is a few blocks down the hill from MHS, kitty-corner from the Excel Energy Center. Have you ever noticed that you can feel entirely alone in a hotel, not seeing a soul on your floor while coming and going? You can hear 'em, but you can't see 'em. Spooky. Also, there's the issue of bathroom tile. After having tiled our own bathroom and kitchen, I'm forever checking out tile jobs. Hotel bathrooms are notorious for having poorly executed tile jobs, where tiles are cut unevenly, or don't match up quite right at the corners.
On the opposite end of the block from the hotel is Cossetta's restaurant, which serves pizza and Italian food. I ate a chicken penne and asparagus salad the first night, and my husband and I had pizza the second night. Delish! In between the hotel and Cossetta's is this quirky pop culture shop called Maharaja's. Music, smokes, posters, incense, a replica of Han Solo in carbonite (can be yours for only $4999 plus tax!), Buddha statues, KISS dolls, and a black light room filled with fuzzy posters are just a few of the wondrous things that can be found at Maharaja's. While there, I found an old Dave Matthews Band album - real vinyl in the 12" square jacket, folks. I couldn't check the price because it was in a locked cabinet behind a 45 rpm record. When the hubby and I walked back to the hotel from Maharaja's, I looked at the Excel Energy Center and wondered in a half-formed fashion if Dave Matthews Band had ever played there. While online yesterday, playing catch-up, I found a little item on Weekly Dave Speak that was oh so coincidental. Turns out that DMB had played a private concert at the Excel a mere two days before I was ensconced in the River Centre with a lovely view of St. Paul's Cathedral. How's that for weird?
Okay, one more thing and I'll give you a rest. While we (me, the hubby, our children, and hubby's folks and sister) were waiting in the IDS Center for the art show to begin, one of the children had to use the bathroom. There is not a single public restroom in the public areas of the IDS Center. We had to go through the Skyway to the next building to use the restrooms in Barnes and Noble. While I was waiting for the restroom brigade, I found a book on artist trading cards, little hand-made one-of-a-kind cards that artists make and trade with each other. I was taken by the form and now must simply try my hand at it.
Labels: artist trading cards, books, capitol, cathedral, dave matthews band, dmb, exhibits, family, history, hotel, husband, minnesota, museum, workshop
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Hard-Boiled Eggs
How many things in life are like hard-boiled eggs?
Labels: books, class, hard boiled eggs, library, museum, yolks, young son
Saturday, May 05, 2007
More on Magical Thinking
Erich Vieth, of the Dangerous Intersection blog, posted about his “trip to the neighborhood psychic store” with his daughters recently. His posts are always quite thoughtful, and this one is no different; however, this particular post left me feeling as though the only enlightened people on earth are those who don’t fall for all that woo-woo stuff like tarot readings, astrology, psychic readings, aura photography, Reiki, and etc. Well, okay . . . .
Let’s just start at the beginning, shall we? I have long been interested in the various woo-woo aspects of life. In elementary school I was checking books out of the library on ESP and my brother and I would conduct tests, one sending thoughts, the other trying to receive them. The results were inconclusive.
My dad, a man who has a chemistry degree, was forever watching programs on the Loch Ness monster and Big Foot and alien encounters. As Catholics, my mom and her mother were equally entranced with the woo-woo. (If you believe in transubstantiation, and a man literally rising from the dead, I think you’re a shoe-in for woo-woo belief.) There was a crystal ball in the house that my sister and I used to try to read. Never could get that thing to work. There was also a deck of cards in the game closet with a witch tending a cauldron and fortune-type sayings on the other side. I now have these cards at my desk.
In high school I went through my astrology phase. I still have the first astrology book that I bought; it’s all marked up with my chart and the charts of friends. I also sprung for an “official” astrology reading, a print-out showing the planets in their various houses and the conjunctions between the planets at the time of my birth. It’s from the American Astrological Association and, if I remember correctly, it cost me the unholy sum of $11 (it was definitely under $20), which was a lot of money for a broke high schooler. During my high school Research Paper class, I wrote a paper called “Astrology and Eleanor Roosevelt: Do They Stand on Common Ground?” Why did I pair Eleanor Roosevelt with astrology? She and I share the same birthday.
Since that time I’ve dabbled in other forms of the woo-woo: aura reading, feng shui, angel readings, Chinese astrology, looking for signs from the universe, meditation, the power of positive thought, reflexology, homeopathy, acupuncture (you might quibble that this is not woo-woo, but come on . . . stick a bunch of needles in your skin and get well?), numerology, dream interpretation, Reiki, and tarot readings. I own two tarot decks and made myself a pack of angel cards. I’ve discovered that a great-aunt, my great-grandmother’s sister, read crystal ball, the very one I had played with as a kid.
This is where I’ve come from, a life filled with magical thinking. And it continues, sometimes in ways that are out of my control . . . .
This past year, two women entered the museum where I work and asked if they could find an obituary. That’s not out of the ordinary, as we assist people with genealogy and obits are a great source of family info. I asked for a name and date, so I could find what they were looking for. One of the women was a little evasive at first. She said she didn’t know a full name or date. All she had was a first name. Finding an obituary using just a first name is almost impossible, and I indicated as much. The other woman, a younger sister of the first, started explaining what had led to their request. It seems that the older woman’s three-year-old son was seeing someone, a woman with a damaged face, and this woman, who had told the boy her first name, was directing him to follow her out of the house. No one else could see this woman. Sometimes the boy indicated that the apparition was in the house. Other times, she was outside beckoning him into the street.
The boy’s mother was a bit sheepish in describing the boy’s behavior. Whenever he mentioned the woman’s name, she would try not to lead him on in conversation and she never brought up the woman’s name herself. She didn’t want to encourage something that was a figment of his imagination. Unfortunately, her son kept seeing the apparition and was doing whatever he could to get out of the house in order to be with her. Extra locks were put on the door to keep the boy in, but the situation wasn’t resolving itself, so the women decided to try to find answers. They wondered, because of the apparition’s damaged face, if there had been some sort of accident involving a woman with this particular first name.
Deep breath. Now, at this point I could have told the woman that I thought she was full of it and left it at that. I’ve never experienced ghosts or apparitions and am completely neutral as to their existence. That means that while I’ve never seen a ghost, I’m not going to deride someone else for claiming to have done so. Regardless of whether this apparition was real, it was obvious that this boy was seeing something and it was having very real consequences, so I decided I would do what I could, all the while thinking this was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.
I entered the first name and our county into the state’s death database and came up with three hits, which was strange in and of itself. Only three people with this first name had ever died in our county? No way. Of the three, one was quite young. With death date in hand, I went to the newspapers and found the obit. Turns out this woman had died in a car accident that had killed several other people in a spot not far from where the mother and son lived. Coincidentally, she had the same last name as the mother and son, was the same age when she died as the mother standing before me, and had a young son with the same first initial as the boy now seeing her.
The eerie, prickly feeling that overcame me at the time still comes over me today when I think about it. I don’t know how to explain this situation and I don’t even want to try. It simply is what it is.
It’s very easy to think of people who believe in magical thinking (like me) as crazy, overly-susceptible crackpots. We aren’t living in the real world. By golly, if it can’t be proven with a double-blind test, why it simply isn’t so! Unfortunately, a good share of life is subjective and difficult to explain. We cannot drag that three-year-old into a laboratory and prove what he is or isn’t seeing. (By the way, since when has life ever mimicked a laboratory setting, except in a laboratory?) That doesn’t mean his visions weren’t having an effect; they were. It doesn’t mean that somehow we’re “falling” for something when we believe such things. Most of the people I know who believe in or have experienced the woo-woo, are not extreme about it. We chalk such things up to the “Very Interesting” category of life and fit them into our personal schemas without having a need to have them fully explained. My husband once had an out-of-body experience and he is extraordinarily skeptical about most woo-woo phenomena.
Those who attack the world view of magical thinkers are trying to negate some very personal experiences. That disdain is not useful, even if some of us go off the deep end periodically. (What happens when you force someone to let go of something? They hang on tighter, right?)
Rather than approach these various woo-woo subjects as things that must be explicitly proven or chucked as utter hogwash, why not question the origins of them? For example, Ben, who posted this comment on Erich’s Vieth’s post, said, “Why are there only 12 zodiac signs, and how the heck can even ONE person have the EXACT SAME horoscope as me, let along 1/12 of the population?” Why, indeed? Why are there twelve months in a year? Why are there twelve signs in the Chinese zodiac? Why are there twelve inches to a foot? Why are there
As for the veracity of astrology, I think the origins of the system have some pretty solid roots. The sun and moon have an effect on earthly life; why is it such a stretch to believe that the other planets in our Solar System might also affect us? Isn’t it amazing to think that our ancestors recognized these effects (in fact, they were probably much more guided by them than we are) and codified them into a system to show us our similarities? Even if the predictive functions are useless, this is something worth noting.
Tarot cards as a future-divining tool are derided in Erich’s post, yet they have another purpose. They can be used by an individual to tap inner resources in solving a sticky problem. That’s how I use them, anyway. In addition, they are fascinating artifacts from the standpoint of the artwork and the use of archetypes. Once again, here is something of intense complexity developed by our forbearers.
I can’t go without mentioning the Akashic Records, which were also brought up in Erich’s post. I’ve talked about this before, but for those who don’t know, the Akashic Records are supposedly the record of all thoughts, words, and deeds of life written in the ether. Don’t ask me where this ether is kept, or how this stuff gets recorded, but someone imagined this thing they called “Akashic Records” and, I’m telling you, if the Internet isn’t the best example of making this idea real, I don’t know what is.
Ultimately, looking at the origins of the woo-woo will lead us to wondering why human beings are driven to magical thinking. On an evolutionary level, there was probably some advantage to our species in doing so, but don’t ask me to prove that. I don’t have my laboratory or double-blind studies set up.
Labels: a mad variety of woo woo phenomena, akashic records, astrology, belief, crystal ball, dangerous intersection, erich vieth, family, ghost, husband, magical thinking, museum, tarot cards
Friday, April 13, 2007
Tag - You're It!
As an aside: Did you know that tagging developed from metatags? (I think I learned this on Pi's website.) Metatags are built into the hidden part of website code and they allow search engines to find your website by topic. Good metatags are critical for raising your ranking on search engines, which is why there are people and companies that'll play fast and loose with both metatags and tags.
Another aside: Neil Gaiman is known for his unusual tags. Check out his tag cloud. (Tag clouds are just the coolest thing ever!)
Labels: blog, children, creativity, husband, metatags, museum, neil gaiman, photos, pi, tag clouds, tagging, train, website, writing
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Cleaning the Bedroom
When I'm cleaning, I go into exactly the same zone as when I'm writing or creating art. Is there a cleaning muse out there, just waiting for us to get to work? Actually, it's not so much the cleaning that hooks me as it is the reorganization of things. What goes here, what goes there, move it, move it, move it. Rearranging my books is my favorite reorganization task. Fruit basket upset, followed by the resulting tidiness is just the ticket sometimes. I'm sure a feng shui expert would agree.
Labels: art, bedroom, books, cleaning, feng shui, husband, museum, reorganizing, writing
Sunday, December 10, 2006
The Rescue Artist
I'm about half-way through. The book reads easily and moves quickly. There's a lot of good description, especially psychological description, of the main investigator in the case, Charley Hill of Scotland Yard. At one point, Charley has to study all he can about Munch's work, so that he can convince those in the art underworld that he knows what he's talking about if he gets a chance to purchase the painting. He also has to study what is known about The Scream itself so that he can identify it properly once he finds it.
One of the interesting things about the painting was the inspiration for it. Munch was walking with friends in Norway and suddenly saw this brilliant red sunset, which he felt was screaming. The painting was created in 1883 and scholars are trying to figure out whether Munch had witnessed the after effects of the eruption of the volcano on Krakatoa, which occurred on August 27, 1883. When the volcano blew and took the island with it, the ash went into the atmosphere and could be seen around the world during the next several months in the form of unusual sunsets. Munch physically felt a scream when he saw the sunset that inspired the painting. He also experienced periods of madness in his life, which leads me to wonder if he was a synesthete. Synesthetes have brains that mix the senses, hearing color, tasting sound & etc. Surely, if an island blows up, the shock wave would be like a scream and Edvard was sensitive enough to pick it up.
Labels: american gods, art, crime, edvard munch, krakatoa, museum, norway, reading, rescue artist, scream, synesthesia
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Outrage
Here's a story of outrage for you, no matter which side of the fence you sit on. The National Museum of Kenya is being pressured by evangelicals to hide away its prehominid fossils, so the evangelicals can pretend that there is no evolution. I'm for the evolutionists in this case. Museums are not religious institutions. They don't tell religious institutions what to preach. The purpose of museums is to talk about ALL of history, not sweep disagreeable things under the rug and pretend they didn't happen.
Labels: africa, evolution, history, mood, museum, outrage
