Attack of the Wal-Mart People

After much thought and soul-searching, I have come to a conclusion – I really HAVE developed a prejudice.  Not against any particular religion, culture, or race.  But against ignorant asses who betray through their deeds or actions their inability to think about anybody but themselves.  Take, for instance, the fuktard who walks down the street gorging on a Big Mac and a soda, only to finish his cheap lunch and then throw his empty napkins, soda cup, and lunchback into the bushes next to him because he just can’t or won’t be bothered to hang on to them until he finds a trashcan. 

 

BULLET to the brain!!!!

 

Then there are the people who believe that open space is not public space, but their space and their space alone.  These are the types that I refer to as the Wal-Mart people.  Ya know when you walk into a Wal-Mart or a Target or a Kmart, or any other U.S. chain store known for cheap prices, and you see people walking right down the center of a big aisle, zig-zagging back and forth without regard to anyone who may be trying to get by them, around them, or away from them?  There is the mother with six kids who run around like thieving little bandits, ripping open packages because they have pretty things in them.  They take things off the shelves, play with them, and then leave them on the floor, as if it is all their personal property.  Somebody ELSE will have to clean up, right?  The mother, clearly taking a carefree walk through the store, ignores the fact that her children act like terrorists.  She just cares about her purchases or that her children are distracted by something other than her efforts.  GAK!

 

STOMP to the foot!!!!

 

At the Villa this weekend, I saw more than a few examples of the Wal-Mart people in action.  Wandering into one room, I would patiently wait behind the throng of people standing in front of a kiosk.  Just like everyone else, I would LOVE to have the museum all to myself so that I can see what I want, when I want, and read the information before me.  But alas, I have to wait my turn just like everyone else.  Each room tends to have a flow.  Groups of people tend to migrate in a pattern from one object to the other.  You can see the flow when you walk in, like the human-snake in a Chinese New Year parade.  Waiting until people move along one by one, I would find myself getting closer and closer to a kiosk to read the information… only to have a Wal-Mart person charge in from the other side of the room and barge in front of me while I am reading – sometimes even with a slight bodycheck.  FUKTARD!!!!  More than a few times, I would utter a polite, but sternly exasperated, “ExCUSE me?!!” to the selfish goober who shows little to no regard.  Sometimes it would result in the fuktard actually moving on to his or her next offense.  Other times, I refused to budge, and on one occasion pushed the intruder back out of the way until I was done.  I don’t care what the excuse – there is NO acceptable reason for someone to try to body-check himself into an exhibit. 

 

THUMB to the eye!

 

Wandering into another exhibit, the stillness of the room was broken only by the shrill yelling of a toddler who wanted out of her stroller.  Actually, she was technically not IN her stroller, as she was standing up in it, to the defiance of her aunt or grandmother who stopped pushing her while she admired one of the items in another kiosk.  Tired of being ignored, the toddler leaned against the kiosk and began shaking it while shrieking, annoying the relative, but not enough for her to do anything.  As I stood there in shock at the fact that the idiotic family would bring a toddler to a world-class museum that she could not yet understand, much less that they had no interest in disciplining her, I shot my long-distance-jagged-shards-of-flying-glass look at the 70 year old guard who was also watching what was happening, until he finally decided to step forward and say something to the relative of the little girl who was shaking the kiosk.  (Um… guard guy – why ARE you here if it is not to protect the antiquities?)  And to add insult to injury, the relative looked annoyed that she had to actually take action on her relative.  FUKTARD! 

 

SWAT to the back of the head!!!

 

My patience for inconsiderate people finally reached its pinnacle as we readied to leave.  As we descended along a beautiful flight of marble stairs, a lovely woman stood under an archway before the central garden.  Her husband or um-friend stood in the middle of the stairs in front of us, blocking our way, to get the picture.  “No problem,” I thought.  “I can wait a moment for them to have a quick photo op.”  But it wasn’t a moment.  He had to keep fiddling with the camera… and fiddling… and fiddling… as if he was the only person in the world.  Soon, a bottleneck appeared on the stairs, as we were all backed up an entire flight while fuktard-photographer-wannabe tried to snap a picture.  Did the woman who was staring right at us say a word?  Nope.  “Oh, I’ve had e-NUFF of this!” I said loud enough for the goober to hear, as I by-passed him, freeing up the bottleneck.  Sorry if his photo op got ruined – NOT!

 

I am not, by nature, a social person.  I’d be fine in a log cabin in the woods away from people.  But the fact is, I live in an overly populated area and the reality is, we all have to share and we all have to get along. If I have to do it, so does everybody else.  A little courtesy and consideration goes a long way.  Opening the door, or holding it for others shows respect for other people and their space.  Moving along quickly shows respect for other people’s time and interests. 

 

To the Wal-Mart people out there – show some respect for other people, learn some manners, or staythefuck home!

Having an Artgasm

That is really the only way to describe yesterday afternoon.  Finding ourselves with an available afternoon (Le GASP!), Paul and I hopped into the truck to head north to visit the Getty Villa.  (Sorry Columella… I just HAD to).

 

Nestled in the hills overlooking the Pacific Ocean, the white marble columns soared into the air like a massive temple to Poseidon, mysteriously erected here in the Americas.  In all honesty, words just cannot do the Villa justice.  I knew it would be impressive – I just had no idea HOW impressive, nor did I understand the magnitude of the collection.  The climb alone, upwards towards the amphitheater took the wind out of us.  Rarely do I find myself in the midst of a complex wondering to myself, “Um… where exactly IS the museum?  There are so many buildings.”  Eventually, following the right signs, the shear goo-gah of it all gave away the location of the museum itself.  The soaring columns of marble… the trompe l’oueil fruits, plants, and birds on the outdoor ceiling, and the three dimensional carved reliefs gave testament not only to conspicuous consumption, but a tribute to times gone by – whether it be the opulence of early 20^th century America or the ancient wrold.  As we walked through the main doors, my internal sense of overwhelm began to build.  My friends make fun of me because it just doesn’t really take much before I become completely overwhelmed by the ferocious grandeur that is the artistic testament of the ancients.  I could easily spend an hour or more looking at JUST the enamelwork detail on the handle of a cast bronze ewer, trying to figure out the method, the process, and how I would do it myself.  Each piece deserves to have such focus paid.  Yet, there simply is not enough time to do so.  To have a gallery full of such objects boggles my mind – much less a complex the shear size and scope of the Getty.

 

As we walked through the main entryway, my sense of overwhelm hit capacity.  On either side of me, small rooms glistened with the treasures of the ancients – pottery, metalwork, statuary, jewelry… and before me, the garden solarium – perfect in every detail.  The fountains, the bronzes, the perfectly manicured gardens under a painted half-ceiling.  This garden of earthly delights could not possibly tantalize my senses any further – or so I thought.

 

“Oh… just wait,” said my husband, building the anticipation.  He led me past a few doors, pointing me westward.  Then, I saw a vision that only the emperors themselves would have seen.  Before me, a HUGE solarium, dwarfing the previous one by a gargantuan scale, sprawled before me in the misty sunlight of the Pacific.  Pomegranate trees brimming with fruit bathed in the filtered light in the gardens full of fountains, marble benches, bronze athletes, pools, and mosaics.  Like a majestic football field, the temple garden lounged before me, giving way into the infinity that is the bluish white Pacific Ocean.  On either side, garishly detailed painted walls paid tribute to Apician delights, conjuring visions of cast bronze platters full of tench, honey-roasted beef, and sweetmeats.  Ancient Rome was not simply remembered.  It was here – alive and well in all of its magnificent accomplishment.  I simply could not move.  I could not speak.  My mouth dropped in a silent “aaah” while I took in as much as I could take, as I fought back the tears that would betray my complete and utter sense of overwhelm. 

 

I do not remember what jarred me out of my sense of overload, but I next recall us walking along in the garden, examining the beautiful detailed painting of the murals.  While each scene followed a theme of a garden swag, and wildlife, every mural conveyed a unique glimpse into a scene from ancient Roman life.  Fish hung suspended in one area, while another displayed ducks ready for roasting.  Each scene conjured up inspiring ideas of grand Roman feasts, complete with savory oils, spices, and exotic ingredients – a project in and of itself just from the murals.

 

By the time we left the Getty, my brain was simply a burned out motherboard of artistic overload.  I could not think about any particular project.  I could not focus on any particular item of the exhibit.  “Too much,” I kept thinking to myself.  “Too much.”  I foresee many more visits in the future, with particular focus in mind.  Me being me, I will have to breeze by most of the rooms with a target destination in mind, whether it be the murals, or the garden, or the room with the jewelry and the seals, or the statuary… each exhibit deserves time.  Each item deserves understanding.  Anyone can look at an item in a museum kiosk and think, “Hmmm… that’s nice.”  But it is another thing to gain understanding.  What is the item?  What does it portray?  What happened to it?  To whom did it belong?  What function did the item serve?  How was it used?  What was it used for?  How did it end up in the shape it is in now?  How was it made?  Who made it?  Why was it made?  How did it end up here?  Etc., etc.

 

If only these objects could speak, spanning across the centuries to tell the very human stories of the names and faces now lost to time and antiquity.  At best, one can only speculate.  And to do so takes time, respect, attention, and the kind of focus that I simply cannot give when faced with the sensory overload that is the Villa. 

 

I look forward to my return, and to experiencing, once again, the richness of the items, and the grandeur, and the elegance of a time and place that until now, I did not know existed anywhere.