Mercer Museum

Construction is well under way!  Foundation is laid and walls are being put up.  Some other little effects are being added as well, such a large LED lights that will light up the back wall and have the capacity to change color.  Nice.

Most of the visitors are interested in the expansion with a mix of excitement.  Others, however, decide to spout off their corporate paranoia at ME, as if I signed off on the multi-million dollar project.  After filling out a survey, one guy demanded a spiel about the expansion.  I explained that it’s replacing the old vistor’s center and will have room for blah blah blah.

            “I am fearful of this expansion!  New parking lot, right?  All that grass torn up, of course.  Sheesh.”  And off he went.  I looked at his survey.  He didn’t just write his complaints, he carved his comlplaints.

I am fearful that this new expansion will ruin the integrity of the original building.  Corporations just adding on all the time, no thought to the precious arifacts.  What’s next, a STARBUCKS???

The word “Starbucks” was enormous and double-underlined.  And precious artifacts?  Okay, Gollum.

I guess this guy doesn’t realize that the Mercer Museum is a business, driven by revenue from visitors, events, and renters and that the expansion will keep his treasures safe.

The best part was how annoyed he was.  I tried to explain a few of these things but he just burned my toast and walked out.  The last thing I noticed, he had the “ohm” symbol tattooed on his earlobe.  Nice.  I guess a clear mind really means an unused mind.

Anyway, the visitor’s center opens Spring 2011!  See you then.

Malware Malfunction

I work at the front desk of the Mercer Museum.  I take people's money and answer the phone.  Generally, it's an easy job- it's leisurely and I get to read.  Except today, I was thrown a curveball in the form of a vicious Trojan virus.

It was hungry.

My reception computer was a juicy steak.

Isn't "extended pleasure" dependent on the wearer?

Before the museum opened its doors for visitors, I was lightly surfing the internet (as in, only two tabs open, no downloading, no power reloading) and ended up reading the instructions for installing Rosetta Stone on a Mac.  Keep in mind, no downloading.

I exited Internet Explorer and it suddenly became Internet Exploder.

"Need a light?"

Pop-up after pop-up ingloriously intruded on my "Vista Gateway" (not Windows Vista).  It got even more hilarious when Viagra ads made their debut in harmonious synchronization with the arrival of a group of retired Floridians.  I threw down my book and pounced on the computer mouse with the dexterity and grace of a retarded pelican and calmly welcomed them to the wonderful Mercer Museum.

And I thought my job was easy.  Phew.

Never fear, the tech guy managed to clear it up (reboot in safe mode, launch a couple sweep cleaners, one more reboot) and my job was saved.  By the way, I'm really not supposed to surf the internet using my work computer.  I now understand why.

p.s. I Google image searched "Trojan Condom" and was fearful of the results.  My eyes were spared.  Thank you, SafeSearch.

p.p.s. The infinite scroll on image searching... about damn time.  That's tight.

The Black Keys, Better Live? Stupid Question

I saw the Black Keys for the second time at Penn's Landing on Friday.  Definitely near the top on my list of favorite concerts.

First, the venue is amazing.  For those who haven't been to a show at the River Stage, put it on your to-do list.  It's an outdoor amphitheater with a small flat area in front of the stage.  I was one of the first people through the gate and planned on rushing up to the stage but my friend pointed out that standing a couple steps up was the best spot.  We were eye level with the band and still only 15 feet from the stage.  Brilliant.

The crowd, too, was very good.  Hipsters and young people (hipsters aren't people) filled out with some older folk rocking out with beer.  Our experience was almost ruined by a couple drunk assholes, but luckily they were too wasted to be truly obnoxious.  Overall, it seemed like everyone there was on the same wavelength, but that could be attributed to this guy:

Kurt Vile.  "Would it be curt to call this vile?" -- Ben Miller

Kurt Vile is a Philadelphia native and he was recruited to fill in for The Morning Benders to open.  It was him, an older guy with greasy hair, and a woman on harp.  The crowd was settling down, waiting for the Black Keys but possibly patient enough to sip a beer through the opener.  In other words, this guy had one chance.  He started finger picking his acoustic guitar.  Heavy reverb and delay masked any possible sense of melody.  The greasy guy started playing guitar; the noise just got more confused.  I could steal a few notes out of the cacophony from the harp.  

And then he sang.  

If I could type the onomatopoeia for yodeling into a kazoo, I would.  Instantly, everyone in the crowd started looking around to see if their neighbors were listening to the same thing.  What the hell?  Kurt kept on singing, his hair covering his face, most likely in shame.  Greasy guy wore sunglasses.  Harp lady was oblivious.  Pluck pluck she went, rocking out.

Every song sounded the same- off-key screaming and finger-picked guitar shoved down an endless hallway.  It's funny I said hipsters aren't people above, because I found that picture of him on this blog, Hipsters Eat For Free (but please, don't feed the hipsters.  It just encourages them).  I think 'Andrea' had a lobotomy before seeing Kurt Vile because she describes him thusly-

"You know how some people seem to have an aura around them? Kurt Vile is one of those people. Although not much taller than me, he seemed to loom like a giant over the crowd, his face rarely peeking out from a thick, messy mane of hair."

More like, he hid behind his hair and sort of mumbled at the microphone, encouraging the crowd to bond over their mutual hatred of all things Kurt Vile.  If you do read Andrea's blog, just keep in mind that anything she says is actually the complete opposite.

So... I spent most of this blog complaining about Kurt Vile instead of gushing about the Black Keys.  But there's not much I can say without sounding like any other fanboy.  They are one of the best musical acts touring right now and you have to see them live.  The guitarist, Dan Auerbach, adds so much to the show, so much that their studio albums are boring and cookie cutter by comparison.  Pat Carney plays the drums like an over-developed twelve-year old plays whack a mole.  And it's all amazing.  Here are a couple pictures.  Sorry for the fuzziness, I was too excited to focus on quality.

                                                  

                                      

                                      

Theroux Examination

Note: I intended to write a blog comparing two of Paul Theroux’s books- The Great Railway Bazaar and Ghost Train To The Eastern Star using a scribbled junket of half-formed thoughts and sentences.  Unfortunately, I accidently returned the second book to the library with all of those notes inside.  Whoever checks out the book next will find themselves overwhelmed with thoughts, recommendations, revelations, and inside jokes, all of which were my planning stage for an long post.  I was annoyed, but writing from the top of my head proved to be a useful exercise, even if it is poorly executed journalism. 

And, believe it or not, the result is a much shorter piece.

If you missed it, I raved in short about Paul Theroux and his modernization of the travel novel a few posts back.  Basically, I loved his observations and wit and I truly liked Theroux, the perfect traveling companion.  He makes the reader feel as if they are both with him and alone, traveling in Theroux’s place.  Most importantly, he instilled a sense of magic (excuse the platitude) on traveling by train. 

In the second book, Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, Theroux retraces his route across Europe and Asia, thirty-three years later.  What a difference those decades made.  He is thirty-three years more wise, world-weary, bitter, self-important, and old.  Gone is the adventurous and open-minded man I traveled with in Railway Bazaar.  He begins Eastern Star by stating he dislikes most travel novels, which are simply recounts of visits to museums, artifacts, and notable places, with a hint of “mystery” and, most likely, invented characters encountered on the path.  Just a couple pages in and Theroux is getting on my nerves. 

He spends several paragraphs explaining how he lost his wife during his first four month journey and then several more on how he doesn’t wish to sound like one of those tired folk, “Back in my day…”.  To paraphrase some of his meta-discourse, he tells those rhetorical old people to shut up about times past and move into the future.

I pushed through the dreadful opening to get to the meat of the book.  Theroux is an excellent writer and I assumed Eastern Star would pick up and entertain.  Nay, dear reader.  Nay.  His trip out of London into France starts on a dreary and cloudy day and he pines for the lost days of charming travel.  He leans his head against the window and makes observations about changing times and changing scenery.  In no way did he avoid sounding like one of the rambling elderly that he slanders in the introduction.

Frankly, Theroux pissed me off.  He’s hypocritical, more sarcastic (in all the wrong ways), tired, and vastly self-important.  He instantly gives off the vibe that he wrote the book to show up the legion of travel writers who followed in his footsteps.  In his eyes, they are cheap imitations of himself, writing only to tap the cash flow of vicarious adventurers.  Oh, Theroux, how can we possibly live up to your expectations?  You set the bar so high! 

I confess that I did not finish the book, and I haven’t read any of his others.  Still, first impressions are half the battle.  If the author’s ethos makes me hate him or her, why should I finish the book? 

This also makes me wonder about the longevity of “seeing it live”.  Clearly, I won’t be writing this blog for thirty-three years, and maybe not even a fraction of that, but Theroux’s change from joyful observer to bitter traveler scares me. 

Life is a series of experiences, each event affects how future events are perceived, and not all of these situations are controlled.  This is an obvious statement but one that needs to be observed because it brings up an important question- what was it about Theroux’s chain of life experiences that changed him for the worse?  Case in point- had I embarked on the same trip as Theroux in Ghost Train To The Eastern Star, I would have seen an exciting new landscape and interesting characters, rather than a dreary landscape and poor people. 

Is it even possible to retain that sense of excitement for travel after spending a lifetime making a career of it?  Is this a case of too much of a good thing?  I wonder if this happens to all people who choose to make a normal life activity into a job.  Do racecar drivers dread the thought of driving home through traffic?  Do accountants hate balancing their own checkbooks even more than the average Joe?  I imagine chefs find the thought of cooking a family dinner to be a heinous chore.   I hate to imagine that this is the rule or even a common occurrence.  I plan to make a career of international service; God forbid I can’t enjoy a traveling retirement. 

And it may seem silly to worry about this now, before I’ve even started a career, but I hope that I can avoid becoming like Paul Theroux, a bitter old man with a massive ego (although I have one of those, too.  After all, I photoshopped myself consoling Leonardo DiCaprio on the movie poster for one this summer’s biggest blockbusters).  So, we’ll see what happens.  For now, I’ll just go with the flow, but it’s never a bad idea to look into the future.

Rain or Shine, Make Up Your Mind!

Before you start reading, load this youtube video and listen.  





Due to the past few days of finicky, irritating weather, I have elected to stay inside where the air is a regulated 72 degrees.  And during these past few days, I've done a lot of reading and watched a lot of movies.  Here's what I accomplished:


Finished reading the Harry Potter series.  Nothing remarkable here, just continuing the tradition of the summer read-through.  I have determined that the third book is the best in the series, hands down.  The tone of the series starts trending toward darker themes (although some could argue that the extinction of mudbloods in book two is pretty hardcore) and the story stands on its own quite well.  The plot twists are gripping and the characters believable.  I'm pretty sure every other fan wishes they could read the series as if for the first time.  Obliviate!


It's not quite the same, but I'm almost done watching the Harry Potter movies, too.  Damn, they suck.  I probably could have avoided disappointment had I watched the movies and then read the books, but it's impossible not to compare the gaping flaws in the movies to the books.

Masters of ruining a beloved childhood tale.  The four most ironic smiles I've ever seen

I also did more than reading children's books.  I finished The Great Railway Bazaar by the master, and arguably the inventor, of the travelogue, Paul Theroux.  

                                                          

He travels from London, into Turkey, across Asia, over to Japan, back across Siberia, and back into London over three months, using railways as much as possible.  He recounts the entire tale with sharp observations, a keen sense of humor, and a traveler's intuition.  The man can write.  I've always wanted to travel to Asia, but this book made me ache with desire for an adventure via railway.  

In movies, I watched She's Out of My League.  It's an exercise in formulaic movie-making, and nearly the definition of bland.  It has its moments- Jay Baruchel plays an endearing, almost painfully shy young man named Kirk who is genuinely easy to root for.  His best friend, Stainer (played by the poor man's Seth Rogan, T.J. Miller) is a delightful asshole who pushes the plot forward, but in a very funny way.  Unfortunately, the movie seems a little disconnected at times.  Kirk and his unlikely hottie girlfriend (I think he used Sparkling eyes technique.  If you get that reference, high five) go through the paces of a comedy movie, but the real stars are Stainer and Patty, the respective friends.  They stand outside the storyline (and sometimes out of the realm of social norm), while Kirk and Molly (the hard 10) are trapped in a circle of hell, destined to awkward situations and the peer pressure of their friends.  Anyway... this mini-review was still too long for a movie this inconsequential.

I also watched The Killing, but Stanley Kubrick.  You could say I have a bit of a crush on Kubrick.  This is one of his earliest films, in his black and white era.  I'm not going to touch it with a review.  I will say that it's one of the finest heist films of all times and it influenced Tarantino when he made Pulp Fiction.  That should be all you need to know, anyway.  So go watch it.  Now.

Now, for that song I made you listen to.  St. Germain is the pseudonym of Ludovic Navarre, French electro-jazz musician.  And it's a truly wonderful experience.  Sorry about the terrible quality of the Youtube video, a good version can evoke visions of a night time stroll along a lit waterway.  No homo.

"Hi, I'm Calling From Vector Marketing..."

"...did you know you would be receiving a call?"  Frankly, my dear, no.

I received a call from Vector this past weekend, asking if I would like an easy summer job to make some cash.  I was skeptical but not yet ready to hang up, so I asked how they got my number.  Apparently, a kid from my high school gave it to them.

He did what now?

I won't name him for privacy's sake, even though he doesn't deserve the respect.  Did he really think it would be okay to hand out my number to some random company?  Also worth noting, I haven't spoken to him in a very long time.

Given that the call woke up me, I politely asked to be called back.  Maybe this would lead somewhere.

Several hours later, rather than calling me back, they called my friend, Dillon.  He was sitting next to me when his phone rang.  Strange, indeed.  He put the call on speaker and asked for a few more details.  The representative gave the same story- the number was given to Vector by the same punk kid, and would Dillon like to make easy money?  Easy money doing what...?

Selling knives for Cutco!  The poor representative fought through her script, but at that point a group had gathered around Dillon's cell phone and we were all loudly discussing the company.  He hung up on her.

The next day I received my own personal call-back and my curiosity got the better of me.

"Hi, I'm calling from Vector..."
"Hey, guy, I know what this is about, and I'm really not interested in the job.  But you could kindly tell me how you got this number."
"[That asshat] gave Vector your number."
"I don't believe that, I haven't spoken to him in forever."
[The representative gets a little peeved] "Look, we have your number, written down on paper."
"Seems dubious.  Are you totally sure you didn't my number from Facebook or something?  Think hard."
"No, we got your number from [Asshat].  He works here."
"Whoa, don't take a tone, I'm thinking about working for Vector."
"Okay, would you like to hear about Cutco?"
"Nah, I'm just playing.  Have a good day."

I admit, I can be a little mean.

I felt something was up and this is what Google told me:

Vector's homepage lists candy-like promises for wholesome work experience, a resume booster, easy money, and being your own boss.  Gee, sounds almost too good to be true.  The "typical day" bio for Katie Fingerhut Heaney (is that really her name?) describes her incredibly boring life, from her ridiculously healthy breakfast, to how little work she does in a day (sounds she's just bothering realtors), to her boring nights with her husband.  Cheesy, a little stiff, but plausible.  But it still sounds like Vector is trying too hard to sell how open and easy this job can be.

Googling "Vector Scam" immediately comes up with several articles with big angry titles like "VECTOR MARKETING SCAM" and then a few other hedging titles like "Vector Marketing... Maybe a Scam?"  Unfortunately, this article is very very similar to this article and it seems like some of the whistleblowing is poorly researched.

The one thing that does come out of this that to work for Vector, you have to pay for a demo kit.  That kit is around $140, plus tax.  So even if the sucker doesn't manage to sell any knives, he's already shelled out cash to Vector.  And that poor sucker is advertised as college students trying to pay back loans.  Scam or not, that's pretty terrible.

So what did we learn?  Unfortunately, not much, but be wary of Vector and make sure you know who has your number.

Also, the third phone call was so much better live.  The frustration in his voice was priceless.

Seeing the Washing Tin Can Party Live, Part 2

The second day of my return to Washington was much like the first, except I was in a lot of pain.  I've got blisters on both feet, my ass hurts from riding bikes, and I got enough of a sunburn that my face feels a little tight.  But did that stop me?  No!  Because I've got to tell you what's awesomer live in Washington.

Around noon, while Brofessor Benjamin went to campus to work, I took Dillon to Dupont Circle park to each lunch.  We made some sandwiches and biked down Massachusetts Ave past many of the embassies.  Before we reached the park, I did a little bit of car shopping and came away with this beauty:

James Bond gave me some ideas

Dupont was the place to be.  Mid-70s, slight breeze, and low humidity.  All the D.C. locals were out ditching work.  Or being really damn cute like this one-year old Newfoundland named Moose.  He was frickin' huge.

                                       

 

Moose's owner is actually 3 feet tall

Sitting in the park and waiting for Ben was truly one of things that you need experience for yourself.  I've been to Dupont Circle many, many times, but I'm still filled with a keen sense of "rightness".  Being completely surrounded by high-rises, restaurants, jammed traffic, and the perfect mix of D.C. population gives a great sense of belonging.  That's not a feeling you can achieve just reading this blog.

After lunch, Ben met up with us and we headed back down Mass Ave to check out the embassies in closer detail.  I was too busy just looking at things to remember to take many pictures, and neither did Ben.  We agree that they are better live.  But first, Ghandi!

                                            

And Greece!  

                                         

Yo, Greece, straighten out your economy

This guy was talking near the Turkish embassy about powerful people manipulating the rest of the world.  

                                                   

He was gettin' a little crazy for me, so I quickly moved along.  I recommend not spending much time around people like this.  It's better from a safe viewing distance.  In front of the Turkish embassy, a large group of men were praying, so we took a couple pictures...

                                         

                                                

                              

...until some a-hole decided to yell at us for "not showing respect".  These guys have prayed thousands of times, I'm sure they don't mind.  Arrest me.

We moved along back up the MASSive Mass Ave hill to the National Cathedral.  It's one of those places close to campus that I somehow missed in the months I was at school.  It's definitely worth checking out at least once, although the ceaseless "Suggested Donation: $5" signs start to get on your nerves.  I ain't paying nothing, leave me alone.  

                                                

That's a big horse.

Ben got a delightful picture of the Darth Vader gargoyle.  And I liked this fountain:

                                                

The day was wearing on and we were still tired from the previous day (and probably still dehydrated) so we started heading back.  Our plans were to go to the sculpture garden for free jazz.  This happens every Friday during the summer and thousands of people show up for the music and the booze.  I find it hard to believe that this event is sanctioned by the city.  One person goes to buy the pitcher of sangria and then everyone else benefits, 21 or not.  Hells yes.  We hung out and ate hors d'oevres and soaked up the sun.  Bookmarked lunch in the park perfectly.

                                      

                                      

What a good day.  Today we're going to the zoo, so I'll update you with that later (hopefully tonight).  Also, sorry for the formatting of the pictures; Blogger sucks at media.

Crooks and Nannies

I had a conversation tonight with an intimate friend about my writing style.  It developed into a discussion about writing with emotion, separating thoughts from feelings... and I have found something that I can write VERY PASSIONATELY about.  

The Associated Press.

This trite piece of reporting from the AP found its way onto Yahoo! this evening.  "Nooks & Crannies Lawsuit" caught my attention, and in my suburban ennui (is anyone else ironically excited for Arcade Fire's new album?) I clicked the link.  

The head-line, "English Muffin-maker guards 'nooks and crannies'" smacked me in the face like a ton of toasty bricks.  Now, I'm sure you all remember those commercials where grandma butters the delightfully toasted bread crowing about the way the butter runs and seeps into the nooks and crannies so deliciously.  Creepy, but in a she-probably-doesn't-know-what-she's-saying way.  But now that a guard is involved, the breakfast table suddenly doesn't seem so wholesome.  I'm feeling wary, but I plow on.

The opening paragraph immediately sets me off.  The author (Maryclaire Dale- holy God, a name could not reek more of southern bell trophy wife) lovingly describes the way english muffins enhance the butter and jam experience, "the way they cradle butter and jam, and after a good toasting, produce just the right crunch".  Is she a paid advertiser?  Does she realize she's talking about bread, an object that cannot possibly cradle anything, let alone runny churned cream?  I am one sentence in and already seething.  Strap yourselves in or leave now, it's going to get bumpy.

The next two paragraphs establish what we need to know.  The makers of Thomas' English Muffins guard the recipe because it's big money.  Fair enough.  Not good writing, not bad writing, just necessary exposition.  

Next, the problem.  Allegedly, some board member (she calls him "one of the trusted seven,"- does elvish script appear on the muffin when toasted just so?), weighed down with the impressive knowledge of a dough to moisture ratio, "bolted" to a competing food company, Hostess.  What he was afraid of, we do not know.  So what did the maker of Thomas' Muffins do?  Sued the pants off Hostess.  Thank God for that.

Ah, but wait!  Maryclaire divulges more information about the malodorous muffin man.  He has been charged with copying files onto a flash drive and has seen recipe books for more of the companies products.  

On a side note, the article mentions that Thomas' is owned by Grupo Bimbo and made at Bimbo Bakeries.  Worst.  Name.  Ever.

Maryclaire manages to present the other side of the case (I'm not arguing she's stupid... not exactly).  The rogue board member had a salary of $250,000 as vice president of Thomas' and was leaving for Hostess at a salary of $200,000.  No bonus, doesn't look to me like dubious foul play.  I would guess he snapped thinking about nooks and crannies and working for bimbos all day.

Just when I think the article is over (we know the problem, the accusation, the defense, and the case hasn't been decided yet), Maryclaire marches on, trumpeting the good name of Thomas and his damned good muffins.

"The butter melts and those craters catch the butter, or anything else, whether it's jam or honey," said Elise Bauer, who operates simplyrecipe.com and has been eating the muffins since she was a child. "The honey can swim in the butter. It doesn't drip through."

With this, I am thoroughly disgusted.  The author is attaching a mystical quality to the product, turning the situation into a dramatic courtroom debate where boardroom members dash off in the night with zip drives loaded with secret recipes, passing along the information in a back alley, where Thomas just wants to bake delicious muffins packed with butter catching caverns for his devoted "fans".  There is no substance to this article.  A boring situation involving a product (because that's what the muffins are, a control-group tested product that has gone through many revisions through many scientists and ad sharks, far removed from a real baker, just like a McDonald's burger) and a few whiny board members had to be fluffed up with meaningless advertisement.  Are people expected to read this?

And the final paragraph summed up my feelings.

"It's a horrible situation he finds himself in," said one of his attorneys, Elizabeth K. Ainslie. "If the assistant coach of the Philadelphia Eagles moves to the Dallas Cowboys, is he supposed to forget all of the plays that he learned while at the Eagles?"

She had to resort to a football analogy to make me understand the situation.  Are Americans so dumb and tuned out?  Jesus Christ, maybe everything should be explained using football metaphor; obviously I'm not smart enough to start and operate a computer, surf the internet, and read.

But maybe I'm the sucker, because I read the entirety of the filthy, pointless article.

The Phillies curse

I don't think I'm supposed to see Halladay pitch.  Ever.  

Yesterday I was supposed to see him, but the game got rained out.  I was almost on the train, too, leaving for Philly, but some guy saved me and my friend from the trip.  Best worst news ever.

And then I got invited last minute today to see Halladay pitch, but for some reason the traffic was unbelievable.  I wanted to shoot myself.  Rather than an hour and a half (with traffic) it took a full three ungodly hours.  We arrived for the 6th inning, saw Halladay pitch two, and the Phils lost anyway.  To the Marlins, 0-2.  Awesome.

Halladay is just a dream.

Sometimes seeing it live just doesn't happen.