August 23, 2008
A Contemporary Family Vacation: The Velveteria
There are two types of families: the Communist Party Central Committee variety —those that plan their family vacations and the Jack Kerouac variety —those that don’t. Planning a family vacation takes time and forethought. Like a Soviet five-year plan. But some families are simply not wired that way. They like to wake up in a strange motel and decide at breakfast what direction to head. We are not that kind of people.
But we’re not apparatchiki, slaves to the Plan, either. We like a little “fuzzy room.” We’re open to a modicum of serendipity, but we like to scope out each day’s unique venues beforehand. We don’t want to miss anything important (we still can’t forgive ourselves for missing the National Bowling Stadium in Reno). A little bit of forethought can go a long way. So when we knew we’d be spending a few days in Portland, Oregon I consulted the Google Gods for advice.
Google’s special analytics made our number one destination immediately clear: The Velveteria, the Museum of Velvet Paintings. Susie and I like good kitsch, you know, so bad it’s good. You might remember last year’s foray to the Liberace Museum in Las Vegas. Yes, that’s the stuff vacation memories are made of. Family vacations are fun but we also see them as learning experiences for our children: a chance to impart our values on our progeny. And appreciations of the finer things in life like this are just the values we’d like our girls to have. Whenever possible we like to provide them with fodder for their own family stories-to-be. And we see it as one way to ensure our legacy.
Kitsch-based museums often are marked by a bit of stealth. Blending into their neighborhoods to filter the unappreciative (and calls for rezoning), while making “the find” more attractive to the kitsch cognoscenti is de rigueur. And the Velveteria was no exception. The Liberace Museum was in a strip mall; The Velveteria looked like its building had once housed a hardware store on the city’s east side. The open layout of the interior required the museum’s collection be housed behind a wooden partition with a bright pink shroud hiding the masterpieces from unpaying eyes. It was like I was being beckoned to enter the ape man’s lair at a carnival. The exotic called to me as I laid down our $5 entrance fees.
The owners were taking a day off but the man at the desk offered us an introduction to the collection. Caren Anderson and Carl Baldwin had been collecting velvet art for ten years and, lucky us, they were showcasing their favorites at the moment: Banditos. I couldn’t wait to take some photos. But the sign at the entrance clearly stated the museum’s photography policy: NO PHOTOS were allowed. With their new book just out, our guide mentioned something about copyrights, book rights, yadda. Don’t these people know that sharing is the new Web 2.0? Photographing art (and sharing it online) is a great way to connect with the masses and build audiences. The more the merrier when it comes to appreciating these masterpieces. (Funny, I had just been discussing this very issue professionally when I spoke in Spain last month.)
Disappointed as I was I was not disappointed when I entered the exhibition. Caren and Carl were serious collectors. And I would have loved to talk with them about the finer points of their treasures over lattes. As great as the series of Bandito paintings were, the highlight was taking the kids into the black light room housed in the very back of the museum. The girls were transfixed. We laughed as our white socks glowed, each experimenting with various bits of clothing we were wearing (let’s just say I got a laugh when I briefly pulled down my pants zipper).
Pup in a Cup: a Paris Hilton favorite I’m sure
Back at the entrance I had to have a souvenir of my visit. They had a series of black t-shirts available and I quizzed my family and other like-minded visitors about my selection. I wanted the cheesiest of course so I picked one Paris Hilton would be proud of.
We had one last task before we departed for our next carefully chosen vacation stop. The Velveteria offered us a special challenge. Just before the exit was a velvet portrait of someone who looked vaguely familiar. Guess who this was and we’d win a prize. I pondered. I know I’d seen his face before. My children yelled out names from their favorite Nickelodeon shows. But it was my wife who correctly answered the question and took home our free departing gifts. Who do you think this velvet likeness is the spitting image of?
Related Post: Waiting for the Love Boat on Puget Sound
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August 17, 2008
Waiting for the Love Boat on Puget Sound
The Gates/Krasnican clan has just returned from another triumphant family road trip —this time to the Pacific Northwest. I’ll be collating our collective memories in the next few weeks and reporting on how things went.
But for now let me wet your appetite with this digital morsel. Ever the photo raconteur and all-around Peeping Tom, I spied this couple who just couldn’t wait for their private berth on the thirty-five minute ferry voyage from Seattle to Bainbridge Island. Get a room people! All ferries on the Puget Sound have been rated PG for years.
Ok, I was daydreaming. There’s not much to do while you’re waiting for your ship to come in.
Related Posts: Reminisce about last year’s road trip from Las Vegas to San Francisco via Yosemite and the Gilroy Garlic Festival beginning here.
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July 18, 2008
When Speaking in Spain, Always Take a Picture
Gracias por haberme invitado aqui a hablar con ustedes hoy. Yo hablo poco Español, asi que continuo en Ingles. Vamos a empezar.
I’m used to speaking in front of large groups of people. But even though I’ve been doing it since my days as a college prof, I always get just a little bit nervous. In fact, I go through the same regimen every time I ready myself to speak. Suddenly I hear myself saying: “I don’t want to give this talk. I DO NOT want to give this talk!” I’ve heard myself repeat this pre-presentation mantra so often I now laugh when the inevitable thought comes to mind. I always get nervous. It’s a way of keeping me on my toes and down to earth. I’m used to it.
But I’m not used to speaking to people who don’t understand me. I don’t have to visualize everyone naked to relax. Instead, I just think of my speeches as conversations. No matter how large the audience may be, I always find someone in the crowd I can talk with. So as the days and hours before my Spanish speaking debut closed in I wondered: how can I have a conversation with people who don’t speak my language? Yes, there was going to be simultaneous translation but would the subtlety of my verbal and visual jokes translate? Would they get it? I needed to connect with them so I had good reason to be nervous this time.
Thanks to the help of my kind organizers I put my whole PowerPoint and a handout into Spanish. And, most importantly, I rehearsed my opening remarks in Español. In the shower and on the john I thanked everyone for inviting me here to Aranjuez (that’s Aranjueth with a th, just like the natives pronounce it). I wanted to look them in the eyes when I said it. You know, like I was really chatting with them.
When I was first invited to speak here I had fantasies of giving this talk entirely in Spanish. But that was dashed decades before this engagement when I totally rejected the Latino culture I grew up in and took, first French and then German in high school and college. A lot of good that did me now. Thank you for inviting me to speak to you here today. I speak a little Spanish so I’ll continue in English. Let’s get started!
Suddenly, I was sitting up in front of the room all by myself. Everyone had earphones; I could hear the translator in her soundproof booth. Rufino Ferreras Marcos introduced me. I felt like I was speaking in front of the U.N. I took a sip of water, trying to steady my hand as I brought it to my muy seco lips (they were so parched I sounded like I cotten in my mouth).
And then I had an idea. It was crazy but I was on a different planet by then. I took out my camera and suddenly told everyone: “I have to take a photograph of all of you to prove to my bosses that I really am giving a talk this week in Spain and not on vacation.” I lifted the camera just as the translator finished. They laughed; I snapped. We laughed. Un peso pesado levantado fuera de mí.
Later that evening I retold this story to said bosses, attaching the photo as proof. Our museum’s deputy director quickly responded, telling me my photo didn’t prove a thing. I wasn’t even in it! When I told the group this the next morning they laughed again. But then someone quickly produced a camera. And there was a picture of me taking a picture of them. Proof positive.
Yep, I found a few people in Aranjuez to chat with this week. It was no vacation but it did have its moments.
Related Stories: Traveling Abroad: A Pre- Pre-flight Checklist and Spain: The Post-Flight Recap
- [ Spain, Public Speaking ]
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