Trail of Crumbs

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I’ve been to Munich so many times that I’ve started to take the city for granted. I’ve somehow convinced myself that I’ve seen all there is to see in the city. This is patently untrue.

Seen it.

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Entire districts of have completely escaped my notice. I’ve a list of museums I’ve yet to visit. Hell, there are still things to see in the parts of the city that I know well.

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Hi.

Remember me?

I know, I know. It’s been a while. Given how regularly I blog, I’ve been weirdly absent for the last few weeks. I’m sorry. It probably looks like I’m having an affair with another website, and I promise, that’s not it. Except for my flirtations with Zappos, I remain as committed as ever to this site. I swear.

I’ve just been busy. And traveling. And doing a bunch of other things that I will tell you about at a later date (promise). (more…)

If this posts seems anachronistic, there’s good reason: it is. Rand and I are on the road for a while, so I’ve been scouring my Flickr stream  and the Drafts folder of my blog for old photos and stories I haven’t yet shared with you. This is a post I never got around to finishing from our Milwaukee trip in October, 2012.

 

The Milwaukee Art Museum is gorgeous. The architecture is so lovely, it’s hard to remember much else about it. I can scarcely recall a single exhibit we saw there. I couldn’t name one piece in the permanent collection. Even the lunch we had at the cafe is hazy in my mind. But the museum stands out in my memory, tall and bright like the building itself.

 

I love my hometown of Seattle dearly, but I can readily admit: our art museum does not hold a candle to this one. It looks vaguely nautical, slightly organic, yet fully modern. Like the skeleton of some exquisite alien.

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Remember how I said, like, just last week that even though I wasn’t a religious person, I could easily get behind the beliefs of those who are religious? Let’s keep that in mind, and remember that I am sometimes open-minded and loving, and accepting of the beliefs of others.

This, however, is not one of those times.

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If you happen to have the chance to visit the Philadelphia Museum of Art (which is wonderful), here is a bit of advice: run up the steps to the museum.

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Just like Rocky Balboa did.

I know, I know – it’s silly and cliche. Doing so may earn you a few eye rolls from locals and museum members. Someone might quietly shake their head. You may spot someone else running up the stairs, then proceed to shadowbox when they reach the top, and you will think, Goodness, they look ridiculous.

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If there was anything I could tell my younger self (besides to maybe consider getting an MRI on your head sometime before the age of 30), it would be this: don’t fall for artistic types.

I would finally learned my lesson when I was 20 or so. No more musicians, no more painters. Even graphic designers and guys who played guitar on weekends were on notice. (more…)

A simulation of an arm amputation at the Mutter Museum.

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I have a persistent and haunting memory from my childhood.

I must have been 8 or 9 years old, and I was at the county fair in Florida. County fairs in the south are a big deal: they’re fun but also sort of creepy and disturbing. The structures are temporary, there’s extension cords everywhere, and you feel like the entire place could go up in flames or collapse. I wonder if that’s part of the appeal – that you might die at any moment.

So you eat lots of funnel cake and try to live in the now.

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I’m starting to realize I visit a lot of old prisons. Well, maybe not a lot, but certainly more than the average person. Enough to where I can roam around one and find myself thinking something like, “This old prison reminds me of that other old prison!”

Can I tell you something? When you realize you’ve visited so many prisons that you can compare one to the other, it becomes sort of disconcerting. And you start to wonder why you can’t have a normal, healthy hobby, like tennis or mahjong or whatever it is that functional, healthy people spend their time doing.

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