Posts tagged Johnson Museum
Yesterday, I celebrated the Johnson’s fortieth birthday by opening popcorn bags, experiencing the joy of being retweeted by a genuine institution (okay, so I may have had an in there, but still), and really wishing that I had not spent most of the week researching 70s slang in preparation for this retro shindig. (I cannot, it seems, “dig it.”)
Of course, it’s a little hard for me to process the significance of this event–after all, I’m half the museum’s age, and I’ve only known of its existence for the past four years. I first visited the museum during Orientation Week for an event that definitely used the word “classy” more than once in its description. Drawn to that adjective like Marty McFly to a 4×4, I glammed it up and hoped my hallmates and I could navigate back to Balch in the dark once the evening was over.
To paraphrase the anonymous narrator of nearly every Land Before Time sequel, the world was a different place back then. The New Wing wouldn’t be completely constructed for another year, and, as a result, the Asian art pieces were all jammed together on the second floor. The gorgeous fifth floor–which architect I.M. Pei originally envisioned as a student lounge–housed a handful of offices instead of some of the oldest works in the museum’s collection.
I didn’t spend too much time in the galleries before heading up to the sixth floor to track down the mini-cupcakes, but I do remember being particularly enthralled by Edwin Dickinson’s Woodland Scene. It was installed by itself on a large wall on the first floor, intimidating anyone who dared approach it–and no piece that has replaced Woodland Scene since its move up to the American galleries has ever looked quite so stunning in that spot.
After that undoubtedly classy night, I didn’t visit the museum again until the fateful afternoon when I randomly stopped by the student docent info session.
Fast forward about a year, and I’ve magically just been hired as the Adult & Community Programs intern for the 2011-2012 season.
2010 may have been the year we made contact (OR DID WE?), but for the Johnson, 2011 was the real beginning of an era. In early 2011, the Asian galleries conquered the fifth floor, creating an awe-inspiring celebration of the Johnson’s very fine Asian art collection. That August, I spent a blissfully short time in the dungeon-like old education offices before all of my colleagues and I were switched over to a much airier space in the New Wing with a lovely view of the new Morgan Japanese Garden.
It was also a fantastic year for visiting exhibitions. My favorite Johnson Museum exhibition of all time is/was Demonic Divine, an exhibition organized by the Rubin Museum focusing on wrathful deities in sacred Himalayan art. Honorable mention goes to The New and Unknown World: Art, Exploration, and Trade in the Dutch Golden Age, where I learned, among other things, that dendrochronology is kind of the coolest thing ever. Another runner-up is Memory and the Photographic Image from the spring of 2012, where I discovered Margaret Bourke-White, a photojournalist, Cornellian and one of my biggest inspirations since.
I’ve continued to learn from the modern and contemporary pieces in the permanent collection as well. Hey, I tend to think a piece is dull unless it was made at least a thousand years ago, but even though it’s my goal in life to get non-Western “ancient artifacts” more generally accepted as genuine works of art in the scholarly community, I’ve gained a deeper appreciation for those pieces that do have the privilege of immediately being classified as “fine art.”
So, to recap: Johnson Museum, I’m honestly more shocked that I’ve known you for going-on-four-years than that you’ve been around for forty. That’s a fifth of my life spent giving tours, taking notes, and facing the impossible task of cleaning up sequins after a family event. And, trust me, for someone who hasn’t quite reached your age yet, that’s also a long time.
But I’m going to stop there. Better leave and continue my weekend reading of The Monuments Men before this escalates into a sappy “I can’t believe I’m a senior” post (and perhaps also see if I can recreate those mini-cupcakes).
Occasionally, I’m displeased when my art history classes meet in the Johnson Museum. One in particular, Material Worlds: Trade and the Art of Asia, takes place a mere twenty five minutes after I finish my Tuesday/Thursday shift, and since that’s not long enough for a trek back to Risley (or, for that matter, anywhere else), I have no choice but to sit awkwardly in the cafe for a little under a half an hour: a dangerous decision, certainly, because it inevitably results in an impulse purchase of a cup of rooibos and/or a cookie to stave off my teatime hunger.
Yesterday’s class, however, justified the brief time I spent at the Two Naked Guys Cafe reading webcomics and drinking jasmine green as I waited for the rest of the class to show up. Because yesterday, ladies and gentlemen, was a clay day.
When we were very young, my sister and I regularly attended “clay class.” Volcano, Hawai’i is filled with the expensive homes of quirky artists, and it was in one of these cozy rainforest studios where we made our masterpieces (i.e. ugly, multi-colored lumps meant to represent animals, people, and “fossils” (my personal specialty)). These pottery playdates weren’t always perfect–I’ll still never forgive the teacher’s son (one of my best friends at the time) for glazing our bust of Kermit the Frog without permission–but there was something inherently relaxing and almost meditative about the process of bringing (some degree of) life to slabs of clay.
Today, my sister has grown into an incredibly talented clay artist whose whimsical creations include adorable owls and raku-fired apple teapots. Though the pottery gene was obviously not passed down to me, my recent foray into the world of clay proved that perhaps I haven’t forgotten as much as I thought.
Material Worlds (an Art History/Asian Studies crosslist) has a rather unique format. We have two professors who switch off every week: one focuses on Southeast Asia, while the other, Professor P., lectures on China, Korea, and Japan.
As I discovered yesterday, Professor P. is a man of many talents. Our Tuesday lecture was completely normal: we watched a presentation about Chinese, Japanese, and Korean ceramics. As a 21st-century student, it’s so easy to look at, say, Longshan pottery from the comfort of your desk and say “I can do that!”
As it turns out, Professor P. is also a skilled potter himself. After we descended to Floor 2L on Thursday, he provided each of us with a lump of clay and a simple task: make a pinch-pot. He demonstrated by poking his thumb into his piece of clay and, magically, produced a near-perfect vase moments later.
Even though most of our pots were cracked, rough vessels, I’m pretty sure that everyone enjoyed him/herself. Honestly, all classes should have such activities from time to time: arts and crafts aren’t just for the elementary school set!
While my high school, for example, had many strengths, I wouldn’t say that creativity was among them. Punahou is very set in its traditions (oh god, so much so that the idea that they could ever provide better vegetarian food at our yearly carnival than greasy noodles and a pitiful protein-less “gyro” containing nothing more tzatziki sauce and a few sad looking cucumbers is unthinkable) and doesn’t, in my opinion, experiment enough with alternative teaching methods.
If the average secondary school requires students, regardless of their individual strengths, to take classes in fields across the academic disciplines–including math, English, social studies, and science–then why aren’t we also encouraged/forced to learn about different types of art?
Ah, wait, sorry, you’ll have to excuse me when I sign off here: gotta go apply for my education minor (and buy a soapbox while I’m at it).
These days, the internet is filled with folks affirming their individual awesomeness by annoyingly lamenting the degration of our society. If you spend any time on Facebook, tumblr, or any other image-sharing site, you’ve probably seen those poorly-crafted MS Paint images that bemoan the world’s supposed lack of culture. Typically, such pictures juxtapose two popular figures, one “bad” and one “good”–let’s say, for example, Miley Cyrus and Aristophanes. A caption over Hannah Montana will read “If you know who this is,” while the Helvetica text superimposed onto Aristophanes’ sad little bust will be something along the lines of “and don’t know who this is, then YOU’RE what’s wrong with the universe/today’s culture/[whatever].”
As much as I hate following trends, I feel it’s necessary to create a comparison of my own.
If Cornellians bought out every seat of the massively large Bailey Hall to see some aged pop singer talk about his college drop-out days, drinking habits and bad relationships for three hours (okay, and sing like five songs as well), but an extremely sophisticated performance of Javanese wayang (shadow theatre) piece by a world-renowned master didn’t even draw enough of a crowd to fill up the orchestra level, there must be something wrong with the world.
The opening of the exhibit I helped to curate for my Art History seminar (Shadowplay: Asian Art in Performance) was meant to coincide with the residency of Ki Purbo Asmoro, a famous and incredibly talented dhalang. Before I took the class, my knowledge of shadow plays was based on a single performance I attended during “New Year’s Day at Sturbridge Village” when I was six or seven. The show featured a costumed 19th-century granny singing a pitchy (yet kitschy) musical story that featured the charming refrain of “The bridge is broken and it must be fixed!” Because that’s all I remember (which is probably for the best), I had relatively low expectations for wayang.
A dhalang, however, isn’t just some history buff who pulls on leather boots and high-necked crinoline each January 1st. (Please note that I am in no way hating on those who work at historical reenactment sites like Sturbridge Village. Honestly, that’s probably my ideal career.) A puppetmaster like Purbo Asmoro has to be a poet (composing the narration), an improv comedian (tying in popular culture to his plays–for instance, a puppet Barack Obama made an appearance during the comedic interlude last night), a musician (leading the gamelan ensemble), and a business manager as well as a skilled actor capable of giving each one of his hundreds of characters an individual voice.
Our exhibition focuses on a very old Javanese tale, the Arjuna Wiwaha (translated as “Arjuna’s Profound Meditation”). Characters like Arjuna were carried along trade routes to Indonesia when the Mahabharata traveled from India. The Arjuna Wiwaha story, however, does not appear in the Indian epic at all. Arjuna, the protagonist, is aptly described by my professor as “the playboy of the Mahabharata.” The princely Arjuna manages to find the perfect balance between being a charming, intelligent ladies’ man and a formidable warrior. In this story, Arjuna’s attempt to live an ascetic’s life and commit himself to meditation are interrupted by the gods, who fear that the raksasa Niwatakiwatja will destroy the heavens if Arjuna does not stop him. I won’t go into the rest, though, because you can go to the museum and read it yourself! (I helped to write the wall panel that appeared there, anyway).
There are many factors concerning why Billy Joel’s show had a larger audience. Asmoro’s performance was a rarely-mentioned event on a Thursday during prelim season, while I received a Facebook invite to Billy’s Friday night talk months before tickets even went on sale. Still, last night’s performance was one of the best shows I ever seen–not just at Cornell but in my entire life.
(And I’ve had the pleasure of watching both The Phantom of the Opera on Broadway and They Might Be Giants in concert. So, you know, that’s pretty high praise.)
Good morning, internets! I opened my shades this morning before beginning this blog post (how surprising!), and what to my wondering eyes should appear but ANOTHER weekend snowstorm?
Though I claim to hate winter as much as the next Cornellian, there’s something unquestionably beautiful about snowfall (especially from my Hawai’i-born perspective). Still, I’m glad that I don’t have to go anywhere this morning.
Fortunately, the skies stayed clear yesterday when a few members of my Cornell fellowship and I headed over to the Johnson Museum for the Museum Club’s “Great Gatsby Night.” As I’ve surely mentioned before, I adore Jay Gatsby (I even wrote my Common App essay on how much I’m in love with him–I’m serious) and the Museum, so it was a perfect match.
Typos aside, I was quite impressed. There was twice the amount of food I’ve ever seen at a Johnson party, and, in traditional Cornell “dry” after-hours event fashion, MOCKTAILS were also available. Readers, I’m not quite sure how widespread the notion of mocktails is outside of Ithaca, so I’ll explain. For some reason, Cornell thinks the best way to discourage the underage drinking culture is to ply students with fake beverages. It seems a little counterproductive to me, but hey, I’m not complaining! Even though I’m a teetotaler, I’ve discovered that I love mocktails: I think it’s because soda was rather forbidden in my youth, so that crazy two-parts-ginger-ale one-part-iced-tea thing really does it for me. Adorably, these were no ordinary mocktails, either–I had my choice between “The Daisy” (essentially a super-fancy Shirley Temple), “The Carroway” (some strange lemonade mix) and “The Gatsby” (which, ironically, I don’t think I ended up trying).
My favorite part of the evening, though, was when my intern skills proved useful. While leading my friends through the “Lines of Control” exhibit (a special pan-museum collaboration between the Johnson and the London-based group Green Cardamom that explores partition through multimedia art installations), I had a lovely chat with a temporary security guard, who’d spent his shift looking at the wall labels and was eager to share his knowledge. After I explained to him that I worked there and shared his enthusiasm for the exhibit, he later sent a couple of information-hungry students my way for further directions. There’s truly nothing I enjoy more than actually knowing things, you know?
I know the internet, and the internet works quickly. Therefore, I’m pretty sure that everyone has heard of Kristen Bell’s sloth meltdown by now. (If you haven’t, here it is.) For those who have no time for such Youtube frivolity, I’ll summarize: essentially, the star of Veronica Mars recalls how her boyfriend’s surprise birthday gift (bringing a live sloth into the house) made her burst into hysterical tears of joy.
I might not be that into sloths, but I must admit that I had a similar experience during the first day of ARTH 4852 (Shadowplay: Asian Art and Performance) this past Wednesday.
When Americans think of shadow puppets, I’ll bet they usually envision those awkward campfire animals that enthrall children around the country. Shadow puppetry, though, has a rich tradition in Southeast Asia: and I’m not talking lizard heads, bunnies or flying birds here. These shadow puppets are delicately crafted, gorgeous pieces of art.
And I get to work with them for the next semester. In honor of the arrival of an esteemed shadow puppet master at Cornell, my fellow 4852 students and I will curate an exhibit related to the Mahabharata and puppetry. We’ll take over the Southeast Asian Art gallery on the fifth floor of the Johnson, and will, as a class, select the items for display, research them, and write tombstones (the little labels in museums (which most people, sadly, seldom read)).
Anyway, I wasn’t mentioning Kristen Bell just to prove how up I am on my YouTube meme knowledge, you know. The moment I came into the study gallery on floor 2L, I had a feeling that the covered cart in the corner was holding something special. I know that cart, you see. I’ve used it before to show schoolchildren the tools used in making illuminated manuscripts, for example.
Somehow, though, I sensed the presence of shadow puppets.
My story may not be as funny, but the anticipated visitors, I think, were definitely on par with a sloth. Check this guy out (his name’s Arjuna, and he’s the star of our exhibit!).
Imagine, if you can, examining every whorl of Arjuna’s headdress, the way his perfect joints contract and release, or how the dim light of the study gallery shines off his skin…
So, folks, here’s the other breaking news (besides ‘Bell throws fit over sloth’) for today: art history is pretty much the best field of study ever.
A dark movie theater (featuring a practically Classical wall mosaic and a balcony). Parmesan-flavored popcorn. Trippy visuals of intergalactic flights and a scruffy Icelandic man singing seemingly nonsensical syllables in haunting falsetto.
Sounds like the indie intellectual’s perfect college outing, right? Perhaps because I wrote such kind words about them last week, Cornell magically decided to show Sigur Rós’ concert-ocumentary Inni on a weekend when I actually had time to go to the cinema. Imagine that!
To clarify, though, as much as I enjoyed myself, I’m not really recommending this film to people who aren’t obsessed with everything Icelandic and, for that matter, have never heard of these dudes (incidentally, it’s pronounced “si-ur ros(e)”). Plus, Inni is like Fantasia seen through a black-and-white lens with, you know, more shots of lead singer Jón Þór “Jónsi” Birgisson singing into the body of his guitar (not kidding) than dancing mushrooms or disturbingly animate brooms. The music was lovely, but I have to admit that I spent most of those seventy-five minutes brainstorming short-story ideas with my eyes closed.
Originally, I planned to make my weekend even more hipster-approved by heading over to the Johnson today to assist with a concert by CAGE (Cornell Avant Garde Ensemble). Surprisingly, CAGE had everything under control, so I was given a few extra hours in which to work on all my class readings (I have literally a hundred pages for Ceramic Analysis. And I’m an English major, so I promise I’m using literally correctly in this context). On the way back, though, I thought I’d snap a few pictures of the gorges to show how…
And right after I’d spent most of winter break ranting about Ithaca’s killer winters, too.
I’m excited to announce that I could be sunbathing on a more secluded part of Waikiki, playing my guitar on our lanai and otherwise diving back in to island lifestyle in less than a week. Isn’t that incredible? I’m extremely excited to return; I’d be there already if it weren’t for those silly little finals I have to take in the next four days.
I could blog about all the hours I’ve spent attempting to memorize 200+ years of Renaissance and Baroque art or slicing apart Post-Its to mark important passages for my open-book English final, but why would I want to relive my studying experiences? Instead, I’ll take a few moments to relax while relating some non-academic adventures that have taken place since classes ended.
Monday: Lasts & Lights
Although this weekend was more than sufficiently packed with performances for me, I still had the Sage Chapel Christmas Vespers service on Monday evening. As usual, we sang to an incredibly full house (which included, much to my delight, several of my superiors from the museum). Somehow, I also managed to keep from burning the building down while processing in with my candle–score!
Our repertoire included a few pieces from the Rachmaninoff Всенощное бдение (All-Night Vigil), one of my favorite choral works and the major joint piece for next semester. Though I won’t be around to rach out with the Glee Club and Chorus–for personal and academic reasons, I’ve chosen to deactivate in the spring– I enjoyed having a chance to perform a few gorgeous Russian snippets in my beloved Sage.
Tuesday & Wednesday: Sixth-Floor Shenanigans
Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by the number of museum activities in which I participate (in case you’ve forgotten, those would be my internship, the Student Docent Program and the Student Advisory Committee), but a pair of end-of-the-semester lunches (both in the very classy sixth-floor Lynch Conference Room) rewarded my efforts quite well. The intern party on Tuesday was catered by Manndible (one of Cornell’s tastiest (and priciest) on-campus eateries), so I enjoyed a hummus, seitan and tomato sandwich instead of hitting up a dining hall for my midday meal. Moe’s Mexican restaurant, on the other hand, provided the food for Wednesday’s docent luncheon, which was also a nice change of pace. Because both interns and docents receive holiday treats, my status as the only intern/docent meant I collected a sizable amount of Johnson paraphernalia, including two refrigerator magnets, museum-themed notecards and a massive bar of Cadbury chocolate.
That bar has remained untouched, however, because Chocolate Mania at Appel’s North Star Dining killed my cravings for a little while. Terrified that we might see a repeat of the disappointments of Cupcake Night, “Pippin” and I dashed to North Star right at 5, and were lucky enough to grab some gourmet goodies before they were all consumed.
I’d make a little sub-heading for Thursday as well, except my day mostly involved art history cramming. Well, and drinking a mango smoothie at Risdining. And worshipping the RisMas Tree (a gorgeous tall fir that magically appeared in the rotunda a few days ago). And trying out for Waiting for Godot and study-breaks consisting of chatting and reading bad fanfiction with Pippin and my boyfriend (who really should have a Fellowship-based codename, but I don’t think any of them fit him). And drafting an email that might lead to a summer internship at the Honolulu Academy of the Arts.
Oh yeah, and procrastinating by writing my biweekly blog post. Time to return to Rembrandt!
Readers, I promise you that I’m not the only person who thinks the Johnson is a hoppin’ place: it’s seen quite a number of celebrities in its time. One of the front-desk receptionists recently informed me that she once welcomed Marty McFly–I mean, Michael J. Fox, to the museum. The Dalai Lama stopped by during his visit to Ithaca a few years ago (sadly for him, the elevator decided to break that day and he had to use the sketchy fire stairs instead). In more recent news, I was working in the education offices a few weeks ago when a coworker suddenly informed me that John Lithgow was on a special V.I.P. tour that afternoon.
Moral of the story? Important people lurk everywhere. Before agreeing to, I don’t know, put on a show in the Johnson, it’s wise to remember that anyone could be watching. Isn’t it good that I’m not going to be perform–
Hey Internet! Do you want to know a secret? I started an a cappella group. Through the combined powers of friendship, the electric keyboard in my room and Sibelius (a music notation software), I’ve attempted to transform my dorky self into an arranger and musical director. We’re an all-female ensemble that sings–surprise, surprise–nerdy music. Our current repertoire includes such gems as “John Williams is the Man,” “Laundry Day” from Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along-Blog and the opening theme to My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. Appropriately, we’re called <3 (for all my Luddites in the house: that’s pronounced “less-than-three” and it represents a heart/love in chatspeak).
Though we’re not an official group yet, I plan on making <3 a registered student organization in the spring, which means we’d get a (minimal) amount of spending money and general bragging rights. Of course, I’m a little anxious about what kind of reception we’ll get when <3 finally takes the stage for real in the spring. While I hesitate to reference The Incredibles in yet another blog post, the scene where Syndrome attempts to “save” the city from the very robot he sent to destroy it seems particularly apt here. Poor “Buddy” uses his inventions to save a baby and the surprised onlookers, instead of bowing before their new savior, immediately start comparing him to other superheroes.
What if people are outraged and skeptical when we (metaphorically) announce that we’re the “new supers”? What if they only judge our outfits against Byronic’s…I mean, our sound against other treble ensembles’ on campus? What if a giant ”learning robot” of my own design punches me into a building and ruins my ‘do?
Well, even though I can’t promise that you’ll see me get kicked to the curb by a sentient mechatron, you can help alleviate my fears by coming to our performances at the Johnson’s Holiday Open House this Sunday, December 4th. We will have two performances (one at 2:45PM and the other at 3:45PM) in the old lobby. Our set-list includes wintery songs by Mumford & Sons, Ingrid Michaelson & Sara Bareilles, and more.
Here’s hoping it will be…wait for it…incredible.
Taped live, that is.
Have you been staring at your computer screen all day? Would you rather just close your eyes and hear some high-pitched blogger girl blab about art and her life?
You’re in luck! I’ve recorded a special podcast edition of Sarr Above the Busy Humming for your listening pleasure, so go ahead and play that sound file above.
(I’m definitely new to this, so kindly excuse awkward speaking and the terrible, terrible audio quality (I don’t have a microphone.))
If you’ve finished, here’s a link to the Johnson’s podcast page if you’d like to see what inspired me to do this: http://www.youtube.com/johnsonartbeat.
Remember, please join me for my Off the Label tour on Saturday, October 22nd, 1-2PM in the Appel (old) lobby of the Johnson Museum.
Here’s Netley Abbey too:
The Johnson Museum has a very strict policy concerning what people can and can’t bring in. No food or drink (obviously). No big bags or umbrellas (and since this one’s slightly less obvious, I’ll clarify: it’s because they might bump and damage the art.)
But even though you’ll have to leave your backpack and that bagel behind, you can apparently take your yak to the Johnson.
Provided, of course, that it’s Tibet Day and the beast is really four people in a yak costume. (I didn’t even know they made those!)
Seeing the yak dance was a nice reward after a few hours of work. In preparation for the day’s event, I was assigned the important task that all interns know too well: making copies. Hundreds of copies–copies of the schedule, copies of Tibetan symbolism for the prayer flag activity, copies of the gallery guides…
When the persnickety machine on the third floor gave me trouble, I worried that I would miss all of the day’s events. Fortunately, I defeated the copymonster and was able to make it to most everything.
Organizations often publicize their events by sending out these super-fun-sounding blurbs to everyone on campus. Sadly, these events usually end up being significantly less super-fun than they sounded. Therefore, using the power of copy-paste, I’ve decided to assess each activity listed on the email advertisement for The Arts of Tibet to give a brief summary of how very cool my Saturday afternoon was.
Please join us!
The Arts of Tibet
Saturday, September 24, 1:00-4:00 p.m.
Johnson Museum of Art
Free and Open to All
- Tours of the exhibition, Demonic Divine, organized by the Rubin Museum of Art
Guys, in case you didn’t know, this exhibit is phenomenal (though, admittedly, rather gory and terrifying at times). It closes at the beginning of October, so you should hurry up and see it before it’s too late!
- Painting demonstration by Kalsang Oshoe, personal tangka painter to the Dalai Lama
I’m never sure what to expect from a “demonstration.” That word could mean anything from “Oh hey, I’m going to paint an entire portrait right before your very eyes” to “Here is a paper and here is my brush. Well I guess there’s more to it than that, but shoot, look at the time!”
Kalsang Oshoe’s presentation fell somewhere in the middle–we didn’t see him finish anything but we did get to look at the incredible materials (paints made out of rocks! glue made out of rabbits!) involved in the tangka process. (Tangka is a traditional Tibetan painting style done with opaque watercolors and gold on cotton (ha, I totally stole that line from the gallery guide I wrote!))
- Performances by Ithaca’s Tibetan Association
YAKS. Need I say more? The rest of the dances were also fairly impressive.
- Sampling of Tibetan refreshments
I figured this meant that they were going to offer us tiny Costco-sized tastes of Tibetan food. Instead, I got a plate with three momo (dumplings) and a little salad-like thing. And some iced tea (in case you didn’t know, gasoline: cars as iced tea: Keely Sarrs). Score!
- Monks from the Namgyal Monastery will chant, dance, and lead guided meditation.
This was also a great experience. If I had a bus pass, I’d consider going down to the monastery for their public meditation sessions on a regular basis.
- Prayer flag workshop
The worst part of my day was that I didn’t get a chance to make a set of prayer flags. I’ll leave it at that.
Actually, no, that comes in second. The worst part of my day was actually courtesy of Rude Lobby Guy. See, I decided to stand to watch the dances because, like a good intern, I figured it was important to leave the chairs available for visitors. The program was running a little late because of an emergency (someone fell down the stairs, and I hope she ended up okay). Since the dancers wouldn’t start for a good fifteen minutes, I decided to go find something to lean on: I was starting to feel a little sick and thought I would fall over.
I changed locations and soon stood against the counter that’s usually part of 2 Naked Guys Cafe. Suddenly, a man (who would, moments later, prove himself to be Rude Lobby Guy) brusquely tapped me on the shoulder and said “I was standing here first. You’re blocking me. Can you move?”
Dear Rude Lobby Guy,
Sir, I was most certainly NOT blocking the way. You are a big man and I am comparatively tiny next to you. Please see the following size chart.
Dude, you could see straight over me! Plus, the performance wasn’t going to start for a while anyway, and I just needed some rest to avoid being the next person brought out of the museum on a stretcher.
But the customer (or museum visitor) is always right, so I awkwardly mumbled an apology and stumbled off to the side again.
RLG got what was coming to him, though. A few minutes later, I saw an elderly man (did I mention that RLG is a strapping fellow, probably in his twenties, who has no need for something to lean against?) make the same fatal mistake that I did. Instead of being intimidated by RLG, though, this fellow gave him a cheerful reply that I couldn’t quite hear. It must have worked because RLG grudgingly let him stay. You show him, man!
UPDATE FOR RUDE LOBBY GUY:
I wrote most of this post last night (Saturday) and figured I’d edit and publish it the next morning. Well, I’d just like to mention that I am officially sick now. Like, I-just-want-to-hug-my-mom-and-sleep-all-day sick. I did need that counter, Mr. Rude Lobby Guy! I did.
I’d compose a longer post about being sick at Cornell, but my fellow blogger David did that last year, and considering how high my fever is at the moment anyway, I don’t think I’d make very much sense. Hopefully I can cure myself with tea and rest before my prelim this week!