Departures: Among the Yankees: Part 5

Summary: Mightn't Flowers Annoy? ... Accidentally cool place name... To make visual art better, replace it with words... "Then he farted and walked away." ... Java... All hail Charles Sheeler... B.J. ... Dis'in' Thoreau pretty hard... I'm not listening! I'm not listening! ... Why Monadnock's bald... Buzzed... Ike vs. Fibby...

Madness From Allergies

1999.04.29 THU Boston (Fenway)

At the MFA (Museum of Fine Arts), there was a sort of bouquets-to-art dealie going on. Florists had chosen various pieces of art scattered about the museum. They made floral arrangements and put them next to these pieces of art. Women in smart coats with brass buttons, women with shiny purses, women who visited their hairdresser once a week--they came and looked at the flowers. "That's lovely," they would say to one another, as if to reassure one another that they weren't wasting their time.

Not quite every floral arrangement included flowers which made me sneeze. But plenty of them did.

The art collection was really quite impressive. There were some Hellenistic cylindrical seals nicer than anything I'd ever seen--the patterns were intricate and very well preserved, carved into brightly colored semiprecious stones. I might not have minded the fact that I was holding my breath to look at them without inhaling allergens, that I was bent at a funny angle to keep from getting any flower bits stuck in my hair because some florist had put their display in front of the collection of seals just so that the flowers would be close to some statue or other. I might not have minded, if I were a more patient and forgiving person.

I didn't throw the flowers across the room or anything. Just nudged them out of my way a little. Arguably, I may have shifted the arrangement around a little bit. But %(##!&^*% all to ^#(( what was this museum about, anyhow? Whose bright idea was it to let a bunch of florists strew toxins all over the place? They could have put up warning signs. They could have said, "Tourists planning on spending the day here should be warned that we have purposefully and carefully placed allergens all over." Anyhow, that was the only floral arrangement I touched--it was the only one blocking an exhibit.

My Fleeting Attention

I made a note of one of Edgarton's precursors, a series of photos titled "subterranean Paris," shots of the catacombs in 1861 by Gaspard-Felix Tournachon. These photographs were experiments with using newfangled electric lights to take pictures of things where no sunlight was available.

Another photo was Adolphe Brown's "the Chateau of Chillon". It occurred to me that Chillon might be about as cool a place name as Coolin, ID. Like Coolin, Chillon appeared to be on the shore of a lake (in this case, Lake Geneva). The interpretive text mentioned that a famous prisoner there had inspired a poem out of Byron, "Prisoner of Chillon."

In the Loring Gallery of Textiles, I saw something that looked like a shiny representation of a circuit board, but which turned out to be "Shawl in Gold Lamé and Purple Silk: Greek 'key patterns' form a make-like pattern." I noted that this must be what the high-tech pimp is wearing.

I remembered the home of my great-grandparents. They had had little bronze and carved statues depicting the struggle of mighty beasts. A water buffalo fought off a couple of tigers. An elephant tossed a lion off of its back. In the museum's American Decorative Arts section, I found perhaps the definitive representation of struggle as projected onto the animal world: two jackasses butting heads.

Marine Folk Accouterments

There were many ship's models, some made out of bone.

According to some interpretive text, a schooner rig could be run by just three people. I thought that might be a good thing to know if I was able to go on a tall-ship sailing expedition later.

Mary Stevens had made some paintings showing people rowing on a river. Then she had written all over the painting, in colors that meshed with the painting. On the river, she wrote in glitter-ink, and it looked like sunlight on the water. It worked quite well. Perhaps because this was a temporary exhibit, no florists had perpetrated floral arrangments upon it. Thus, I lingered long enough to appreciate the art.

Of course, I started thinking of how to get the same effect through software. Painting is too hard.

My Foreign Argot

I was getting hungry. I walked up to a guard.

I said, "Excuse me. Does this place have ins-n-outs?"

For this, I received a blank stare.

I said, "Uhm, can I leave and come back?"

"Yeah, just hang on to your button."

Maybe "ins-n-outs" is California-speak.

Matrons Feigning Appreciation

There was a really interesting clock made in Augsberg Germany. There were symbols on it I'd never seen before. I was making a sketch but gave up--there were flowers in the room that were making me sneeze. There were also ladies looking at the flowers and reminding one another that the flowers were "lovely". Yes, "lovely." One out of three ladies would expand on this theme, saying that the floral arrangers had, "Picked the colors just right to..." and then another lady would say, "Yes." I had heard this same conversation a hundred times earlier.

Music, Flatulence, America

There was a room with a display of musical instruments. There was a guard in the room who paced back and forth, muttered to himself, and farted a lot.

They had an early harmonica, a "mouth organ" invented by Charles Wheatstone. The man was brilliant, of course, but I can't help but think that maybe he should have concentrated on electronics and left musical invention to other people. He should have left it with people wise enough not to visit a harmonica upon the world. That's not fair, really. When I'd been back in the bay area for a week, I attended a party at which Larry Warner showed his new theremin. John, the harmonicist for Fatty Lovebuckle was there, and in the techno-blues session which ensued, he made a fine showing. He proved that it is possible to use the harmonica as a force for good; it just isn't easy.

There was a banjo. I don't much care for the banjo. It seemed to be in a case of American instruments. From out of the blue, the Violent Femmes song "American Music" started playing in my head. I didn't try to dislodge it, just let it play.

There was a viola de gamba, which apparently means viola of the leg. To me, gamba is a hyperactive rodent from a Japanese cartoon series. I don't remember anything special about his legs. He was a fast runner, though.

There was an armonica, one of those spinning-glass things that Ben Franklin invented. I'd never seen one face-to-face before. It was pretty much what I expected. I guess I needn't have seen it.

The guard came by, muttered, "This is how they run the place here. Musical instruments. Says so right on the sheet." Then he farted and walked away.

The musical instruments of Java include gongs, the bonang panerus, the saron panerus, and the kenong. If I ever end up helping out on MIDI support for Java, I will be glad to know of good code names for the project.

Miscellaneous Fribbling Asides

In a display of Grecian urns, the authors of the interpretive text allowed a bit of editorial voice to show through occasionally:

Two-handled cup (skyphos)
For some reason, perhaps humor, the satyr is defecating on the phallos-bird, which squirts back at him. Both emissions were in added white, now mercifully faded.

I took a note: "Ornate steel ankus (elephant goad). Very pointy, very jagged." I have no memory of this ankus. Maybe I need to start taking better notes.

I tried to give the old European paintings a chance. But the florists had gone hog-wild over that stuff, and I just couldn't stand being there.

My Favorite Artist?

The flowers in the Museum came close to making this a bad day, but the Museum had an unexpected treat. Three, three paintings by Charles Sheeler. I mean, I was just storming through the modern exhibit, mad at the world, when all of the sudden I'm face to face with "View of New York" and it's so funny that I have to gasp and step backwards. The painting is a view of a room's interior, with a window showing. The point of view is so low that you can't see out the window--you have only the title's promise that New York sits outside. There's more to the painting than that, of course. It's got some mighty clean lines.

Another Sheeler painting, Lunenburg, I hadn't seen before. So that was mighty nice.

Pattern Matching

1999.04.30 FRI In Between Places

I was on the train to Belmont. There were some young adults ahead of me in the car. I kept trying to fall asleep and drool on the train window, but their conversation kept drawing me back. They were talking loud and they were calling my name.

Blah blah blah. So she's misheard his name, but Blah blah blah and she won't Blah blah blah and she's all Larry. And he's all Larry? Blah Larry blah blah.

Some friend of theirs whose name was, as near as I could tell, "Bear" had been called "Larry." They decided to call him "Larry" to tease him. They started talking about the connotations of the word "Larry." They talked about the sitcom "Three's Company." They talked about spin-off programs from "Three's Company." Some had done well, some hadn't. They started talking about another sitcom spin-off, "AfterM*A*S*H".

They had stopped talking about "Larry," and I was free to drift off into semiconsciousness once more.

Blah blah blah. Who was in that? What was it, like M*A*S*H but without Alan Alda? Yeah, it had, like Klinger and Colonel Potter. Blah blah blah and B.J.

I sat up. Was my sandwich ready? Eventually I remembered where I was.

1999.04.30 FRI Belmont

'Shreck and I had breakfast at a place called Pentimento. 'Shreck was awake enough to notice that our waitress wasn't wearing a bra. I wasn't. I was sleepy enough to admire the fullness of her coffeepot, which she brought around often. We emerged into sunlight. I blinked into the sunlight. The coffee was starting to kick in. I was starting to feel ready to climb a mountain.

We were going to hike up a mountain. 'Shreck was going to drive us to Mount Monadnock in New Hampshire and then we were going to climb it. It had been his idea, but I must share the blame as I acceded to it.

On the Road Again

1999.04.30 FRI Lexington

We drove through Lexington. 'Shreck told me all sorts of things about the history of Lexington during the War of Independence, but I was still pretty groggy and didn't take much of it in. Fortunately, there's probably all sorts of history books that present accounts of it. Lexington looked pretty precious to me. A lot of the buildings were in the old style, which was nice, but they had gleaming white paint jobs where were hard on the eyes. Maybe I just hadn't woken up all the way yet.

1999.04.30 FRI Walden Pond

We took a walk around Walden Pond. I was expecting it to be bustling, overrun with tourists. It wasn't. There were screaming kids chasing each other in canoes, people fishing from shore, but few sightseers. Train tracks, you may recall, pass close to the pond. 'Shreck walked up to the tracks. He asked me, "Is there a train coming, man?"

I put my ear to a track, said, "Dude, I don't hear anything."

He said, "Actually, if a train was coming, it would be on these rails over here. I know the timetable."

"Aw, dude. Is my ear dirty?"

"Yeah, man."

"Aw, dude. What did you let me do that for?"

We talked about New Deal. They had a Web Browser to go with their application suite now. Each time the user wanted to look at a new web page, the Browser would make a phone call. When the page was done loading, the Browser would hang up. I shook my head.

If you go to the site of Thoreau's cabin, there's no cabin there, just a big pile of rocks. The rocks aren't pieces of the cabin or anything--people just bring rocks to the spot. I don't know why. If you really want to show your respect for an author, maybe bringing rocks to the site of his cabin isn't the best tribute. Maybe you should try to convince more people to read works by the author.

In the case of Thoreau, it's probably easier just to bring rocks.

Photo: 'Shreck rocks!

1999.04.30 FRI In Between Places

We drove past the Lawrence Academy. Somehow, I've always been a fine Lawrence without any specialized training.

Nature's Splendor

We passed through parts of New Hampshire. We arrived at Monadnock State Park. We stepped out. The trees were skinny, but there were a lot of them. Looking through the forest, it seemed like you ought to be able to see forever--each tree trunk didn't block much of the view. But there were so many of them that they worked together to obscure vision through their mass. It wasn't exactly a stand of redwoods.

1999.04.30 FRI Mt Monadnock, NH

When I thought "Monadnock," I thought of San Francisco's Monadnock building with its Trompe D'Loeil painted courtyard. I think of things that look 3-D but aren't really. I halfway expected Mount Monadnock to turn out to be a flat spot of ground. That's not how it turned out, though. It was a mountain. We started climbing.

The trail was called the "White Dot Trail" because it was marked by white dots. The white dots were painted on rock. You needed the white dots because otherwise you'd think you were just wandering up a random tumble of rock.

Rock On

"You know what you're walking on, man? That's granite. New Hampshire is the granite state."

"Dude, are you sure? I was just reading this book, it was saying that a lot of the things that we think are granite aren't really. Like, there's granodiorite. Uhm. And there were some others. Dude, I'm not making this up."

"Man, this is granite."

"Dude, it's plenty tough for granite."

There were rocks and there were trees. The trees were growing in dirt beside the rocks, but you weren't supposed to walk on the dirt, as that might cause erosion. You were supposed to walk on the rocks, and we did. Sometimes there would be no white dot in sight, and we weren't sure which way to go next. A rule that worked rather well was to look for the roughest, least hospitable looking corridor of jagged rock. This generally turned out to be the right way to go.

Hoi Polloi

We walked and walked and walked. 'Shreck had a walking stick which helped him to navigate. When things got steep, I'd clamber along on my feet and hands.

A nuclear family was coming down the mountain as we were coming up. The little girl told us, "There's still a long way to go."

I said, "Don't tell me that."

"Well, there is."

"I'm not listening! I'm not listening!" I put my hands over my ears and started saying "Lay ler lay ler lay ler lay ler."

She rolled her eyes and kept walking. Grown-ups can be so immature.

Sometimes we stepped from rock to rock. Sometimes, we had to leap from rock to rock if we wanted to avoid treacherous ground. I leapt from rock to rock. I thought Lookit me, I'm a gawddam gazelle. I was making some jumps that surprised me. For a second, I thought I might have turned into Quake's space marine, a being capable of huge leaps, of running sideways at super speed. But I got over it.

No Tree

There's a sort of ridge up towards the top of Monadnock. We walked along it towards the peak. The ridge was clear of trees, and we could see far off to the--whichever direction we were facing. It might have been South.

'Shreck said, "This ridge didn't used to be so clear, man."

"No, dude?"

"Nope. The people down on the ground there, they herded sheep, man."

"Uh-huh."

"Man, wolves used to live up here. Wolves would sit up on this ridge and look on down, spot them some sheep."

"Dude, so what did--"

"Man, so the shepherds came up here one day, and the wolves, they were able to hide out in the trees up here, right?"

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah, man. Those shepherds, they came up here and they burned down all the trees up here, didn't leave the wolves any place to hide."

'Shreck liked wolves.

I asked, "Dude, who chooses sheep over wolves?"

"Lonely shepherds, man."

Peak Experience

We reached the peak. We sat back. 'Shreck talked with some of the other people there, talked about mountains they'd climbed. I quietly tried to remember if I'd climbed any mountains before. What's at the top of that Vernal Falls trail in Yosemite? There was another trail above that--had it led up to the top of a mountain? Or something else? Was Mount Tamalpais a mountain? I lay back. I was far from civilization--I could take a break from civilization's rules about exactly what constituted scaling a mountain.

I heard something, sat up. 'Shreck pointed sideways, at a dot in the air. Was it a helicopter? I peered, squinted through glasses. No, it was an airplane. It was getting closer. It was a small fighter jet. It flew towards us, its engine screaming. I covered my ears. Other people on the peak waved. The plane was perhaps 100m away. It flew around us in a slow, tight circle, and headed back.

"Man, that was an A-10," 'Shreck said. I looked at him without comprehension. "It's also called a warthog," he said.

He had more to say on the subject, but I'd heard of this plane. It was an anti-tank airplane. It flew slow, slow enough so that it would have a chance to aim its cannon. That cannon shot depleted uranium shells. It had been used in Desert Storm. American soldiers had fought that war for the Kuwaitis, but had left the Kuwaitis to clean up the depleted uranium out of their land.

"They're using those planes in Yugoslavia," 'Shreck said. I wondered where the depleted uranium shells were landing. Probably not out in the middle of a desert this time. I thought about ancient hermits. They'd gone up to the tops of mountains to get away from the world. I was at the top of a mountain, but the world had flown up and buzzed me.

Accept No Imitations

1999.04.30 FRI Boston (Chinatown)

Walking back to the Inn from South Station, I saw that Chinatown seemed to have been taken over by dance clubs. Not Asian dance clubs--these seemed to be generic dance clubs.

A somewhat unfocused partygoer hailed in my direction: "Yo, Ike!"

I looked behind me. There wasn't anyone there. I looked back at the guy, quizzically.

"Aw, that ain't Ike on your shirt?"

"Uh, no. His name's Fibby," I replied. At this, the guy seemed to lose even more focus. I decided against asking him who "Ike" was.

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