Plunging In
Mar. 19th, 2005 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pameladeanI have been chided for not posting by a Scribblie. This is not always effective, but often it is.
To wit, a meandering account of minor events.
On Tuesday last my mother and I had agreed that we would drive to 38th and Hiawatha, put the car somewhere, take the LRT downtown, and go to the Dayton's Flower Show. (I don't care what you call it. They can pave the entire place with Frangimints and it will still be Dayton's to me.) When she arrived to pick me up, on a glassy blue morning that was cold as only March can be cold, she told me that my brother, who has been staying with her for the winter, had decided to leave that evening and wanted to see me first. So we met him at Zumbro's, in Linden Hills, and had lunch there instead of wandering vaguely downtown in search of food we could both eat. The sound system was playing something that might have been Russian dances, and two people at the table next to us were talking partly in a language none of us recognized (this means it wasn't Spanish or French or German and it probably wasn't Italian or classical Greek) and partly in accented English. We talked about hawks and birds and publishing, and told my brother goodbye. Then my mother and I did drive to 38th and Hiawatha.
I had not yet ridden Minneapolis's minute light-rail system, though I had noticed it cropping up when I put a possible expedition into the bus company's Trip Planner. I was a little shocked to see that there was not even so much shelter as one gets from a glassed-in box to await the bus. There was a machine on the platform from which one could buy tickets if one could figure out what bits of it to press, and if one could read the already-scarred and scraped plastic shield over the screen that provided the instructions. It printed little tickets for us that were essentially the same as a bus transfer, good for two and a half hours.
The train was a jaunty two-car affair in the same colors (blue and yellow) as the pedestrian poetry bridge over Lyndale Avenue that connects Loring Park with the Guthrie Theater complex. This gave me a curious sensation of being about to watch something Shakespearean. My mother remarked with great pleasure that, what with the music and our fellow lunchers and the machine on the platform and our being able to actually take a train downtown, it felt almost like having travelled to Europe. The ride was much smoother than the bus, and there were LED screens that announced the next stop, as well as a computerized voice that also did that and told you, in addition, which side of the train to get out on, a matter that had often vexed us when taking the Tube in London.
The theme of the Flower Show was Music in the Garden, and while this sounds pleasant enough, it was something of a mistake. From a distance all was well. We could smell hyacinths and lilies and primroses as soon as we got off the escalator on the eighth floor, and there was a light overlay of tinkling chimes and a few piano notes. The closer we got, however, the more cacaphonous the sound was. To the chatter of adult conversation and the occasional shriek of a child were added the clamor of three pianos, five or six automated windchimes that flashed lights at one from time to time, the ponging of small children banging on xylophones, and the mixed sounds of a lot of squeezable soft objects that would make water- or bird- or who-knows-what-sounds when activated.
It was nice to see green things growing. There was a quite glorious double hill of very blue primroses; I've seen photographs of wetlands where they grow just that way, up and down and up again. The big bed of Stargazer lilies was handsome too, and I was delighted to see pink and white roses. In addition there were some well-grown cedars and some silver-dollar eucalyptus trees, and a curious exhibit set about with whole and crushed seashells called something like "The garden under sea," which featured desert and coastal plants set out to look as if they were underwater; there were a lot of small crouching succulents and also plants with wavy seaweedlike leaves, asparagus fern and some aloes and a kind of twisted dark-green grass. There weren't enough labels on the plants, however. Eventually the noise got to us and we fled through a gift shop crowded with people of all ages testing out small percussion instruments, jingling windchimes, and banging on more xylophones.
We really enjoyed our train ride home.
P.
To wit, a meandering account of minor events.
On Tuesday last my mother and I had agreed that we would drive to 38th and Hiawatha, put the car somewhere, take the LRT downtown, and go to the Dayton's Flower Show. (I don't care what you call it. They can pave the entire place with Frangimints and it will still be Dayton's to me.) When she arrived to pick me up, on a glassy blue morning that was cold as only March can be cold, she told me that my brother, who has been staying with her for the winter, had decided to leave that evening and wanted to see me first. So we met him at Zumbro's, in Linden Hills, and had lunch there instead of wandering vaguely downtown in search of food we could both eat. The sound system was playing something that might have been Russian dances, and two people at the table next to us were talking partly in a language none of us recognized (this means it wasn't Spanish or French or German and it probably wasn't Italian or classical Greek) and partly in accented English. We talked about hawks and birds and publishing, and told my brother goodbye. Then my mother and I did drive to 38th and Hiawatha.
I had not yet ridden Minneapolis's minute light-rail system, though I had noticed it cropping up when I put a possible expedition into the bus company's Trip Planner. I was a little shocked to see that there was not even so much shelter as one gets from a glassed-in box to await the bus. There was a machine on the platform from which one could buy tickets if one could figure out what bits of it to press, and if one could read the already-scarred and scraped plastic shield over the screen that provided the instructions. It printed little tickets for us that were essentially the same as a bus transfer, good for two and a half hours.
The train was a jaunty two-car affair in the same colors (blue and yellow) as the pedestrian poetry bridge over Lyndale Avenue that connects Loring Park with the Guthrie Theater complex. This gave me a curious sensation of being about to watch something Shakespearean. My mother remarked with great pleasure that, what with the music and our fellow lunchers and the machine on the platform and our being able to actually take a train downtown, it felt almost like having travelled to Europe. The ride was much smoother than the bus, and there were LED screens that announced the next stop, as well as a computerized voice that also did that and told you, in addition, which side of the train to get out on, a matter that had often vexed us when taking the Tube in London.
The theme of the Flower Show was Music in the Garden, and while this sounds pleasant enough, it was something of a mistake. From a distance all was well. We could smell hyacinths and lilies and primroses as soon as we got off the escalator on the eighth floor, and there was a light overlay of tinkling chimes and a few piano notes. The closer we got, however, the more cacaphonous the sound was. To the chatter of adult conversation and the occasional shriek of a child were added the clamor of three pianos, five or six automated windchimes that flashed lights at one from time to time, the ponging of small children banging on xylophones, and the mixed sounds of a lot of squeezable soft objects that would make water- or bird- or who-knows-what-sounds when activated.
It was nice to see green things growing. There was a quite glorious double hill of very blue primroses; I've seen photographs of wetlands where they grow just that way, up and down and up again. The big bed of Stargazer lilies was handsome too, and I was delighted to see pink and white roses. In addition there were some well-grown cedars and some silver-dollar eucalyptus trees, and a curious exhibit set about with whole and crushed seashells called something like "The garden under sea," which featured desert and coastal plants set out to look as if they were underwater; there were a lot of small crouching succulents and also plants with wavy seaweedlike leaves, asparagus fern and some aloes and a kind of twisted dark-green grass. There weren't enough labels on the plants, however. Eventually the noise got to us and we fled through a gift shop crowded with people of all ages testing out small percussion instruments, jingling windchimes, and banging on more xylophones.
We really enjoyed our train ride home.
P.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 02:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 02:58 am (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 03:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 07:43 pm (UTC)So sorry.
P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 03:25 am (UTC)Maybe I'll bring earplugs. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2005-03-21 05:53 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 06:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 07:56 am (UTC)P.
I believe you're right...
Date: 2005-03-20 11:59 am (UTC)Did you see the production of Richard The Second that the National Theatre Company did about 15 years ago - set in fascist Europe with Ian Mackellen in the lead? Yow!! It was like a gut punch!
Then there was the filmed version of Edward The Second I saw on tape a while back (and I want to say it was directed by Derik Jharman [sp??]. It had many anachronistic elements, (courtroom scene where the judge had a can of Coke next to him on the bench -although that may have been more 'product placement' rather than anything else- extras in some scenes were dressed in jeans, leather jackets, ACT-UP t-shirts, Annie Lennox did a number). I lapped it up like it was very good cream, but I can see where you might not like it.
Gotta admit, I loved acting the the couple of Shakespearian plays I did, though it's damned to ad-lib should you forget your lines; which I did ONCE!
I should bounce this off my sister. Last I heard her class was tackling Much Ado About Nothing
(Funny, I woke up this morning thinking of the National Theatre Of The Deaf...)
I will not be bad, I will not be bad...
Date: 2005-03-20 12:03 pm (UTC)I have been bad.
Re: I will not be bad, I will not be bad...
Date: 2005-03-20 07:42 pm (UTC)You know about the U's BFA actor-in-training program, right? The sophomore students take complete charge of a play and perform it. I've seen a completely perfect production of The Winter's Tale and a pretty good Twelfth Night from two successive classes. This year's performances are next weekend, and I'm not sure I'll be able to make it, but I do recommend them. And they're free. They are usually at the Guthrie Laboratory.
P.
Re: I will not be bad, I will not be bad...
Date: 2005-03-21 12:04 am (UTC)(See, bad can come from good!
Re: I believe you're right...
Date: 2005-03-20 07:32 pm (UTC)I don't have any intrinsic objection to the historical plays' being messed about in time either, because there is something really quite peculiar about Shakespeare's politics already, and as "Shakespeare in Love" has so cunningly taught us, his history was, um, adapted to the stage in many, many ways.
It's the romances and the tragedies that you have to be more careful of, in my experience.
P.
Aw, Dang It!
Date: 2005-03-21 12:00 am (UTC)What did you think of the "Mad Queen's Scene"? Yowza!
Interesting comment about the romances & tragedies. What did you think of Luhrman's Romeo + Juliet? Recently I ran across a boxed set of that, plus Moulon Rouge (I just know I'm spelling that wrong) & Strictly Ballroom. At nearly $30 I was still tempted.
Re: Aw, Dang It!
Date: 2005-03-21 05:57 pm (UTC)I haven't seen Luhrman's R&J. Is it a movie, or what?
I've read some essays that point out that R&J is set up as a comedy and has a great many funny scenes; kind of an "it's all just good fun until somebody gets run through" sort of thing. So it might be more adaptable than Lear or Macbeth.
P.
Re: Aw, Dang It!
Date: 2005-03-22 12:10 am (UTC)Interesting comment about R&J being a comedy until it all goes bad. I recall a production of Summer & Smoke we did in Fargo, that had huge laugh lines, Also, Perestroika is an absolute scream, and in Kusher's "Author's Notes" he calls is a comedy. I think in a great tradegy the audience needs to laugh, if only as counterpoint to the pain.
Re: Aw, Dang It!
Date: 2005-03-21 05:58 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 06:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 02:30 pm (UTC)We had one of those at the Philadelphia Flower Show last year. I thought it was quite imaginative, although it wasn't something I'd particularly want to emulate. We also had another cactus/succulent exhibit called "jewels of the desert," which displayed an enthusiast's prize plants in a replica of a jeweller's shop.
It's a rainy day here and Roy is exploring a High Church on Palm Sunday, better him than me. Perhaps I'll pull out my photos of both exhibits and post them for your amusement, or bemusement, as the case may be. But only after I've made a slurry of soulless potting mixture for seed-starting later today.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 07:39 pm (UTC)All right. Primulas they are. They certainly had the smell. Half were pure deep blue and the other half had an inner circle of white.
P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 03:31 pm (UTC)--Emma
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 05:09 pm (UTC)K.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 07:37 pm (UTC)The smell alone is worth the trek downtown, that first intoxicating whiff of a whole lot of incompatible plants growing like mad at the whim of a bunch of crazy artists.
I had the entry all written in my head; it just wanted a bit of a shove. Thank you.
P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 07:38 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 03:51 pm (UTC)Gosh, Pamela, this was a grand tour!
It's so good to see you back here. I've missed you.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 04:04 pm (UTC)http://www.livejournal.com/users/lblanchard/97873.html
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 07:35 pm (UTC)The Dayton's exhibit (admittedly only part of a whole that contained about a dozen different parts) was rather like a minimalist reaction to that Philly show. Those are stupendous.
P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 08:04 pm (UTC)The Philly show is, after all, the world's largest indoor flower show, and the largest flower show of any kind in the country. That's one of our touristy claims to fame. The undersea exhibit was one of 35 major exhibits that year. I'm really chomping at the bit, now, to put up all my 2005 photos -- got to get to work!
no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 09:54 pm (UTC)Dawk? When the cackling Canada geese did that happen?
no subject
Date: 2005-03-21 03:45 am (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-21 05:59 pm (UTC)P.
no subject
Date: 2005-03-22 03:38 am (UTC)I imagine you are referring to the fiscal year.
About twenty years ago at a Minicon I bought a placard somebody had designed, a fanciful map of a proposed light-rail system for Minneapolis. It was styled Light Alternative Rail System, or LARS. I believe a line from the Nicollet Mall to Blooming
idioton was one of those portrayed.no subject
Date: 2005-03-22 03:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-03-25 06:56 pm (UTC)