One More Smithsonian

Christmas Gaiety in the National Gallery, Washington, DC

SMITHSONIAN

For the last week we have been darting around the various Smithsonian museums on the National Mall catching up with our Nation’s past. At the National Gallery a temporary exhibit presenting various portraits of Abraham Lincoln is open (did you know that he had blue eyes?).

Abraham Lincoln in one of his more jovial moods

After that, we strolled over to the Smithsonian’s, National Museum of American History, and gazed upon Dorothy Gale's Ruby Slippers—Wizard of Oz!

"There's no place like home."

But before all of that took place we visited DC's Chinatown, and dined on some fine Chinese cuisine at our favorite Chinese restaurant. The adventuresome Daisy had a bowl of fried dumplings, but I could not decide whether to have the $9.95 platter of "Soya Sauce Intestines"—presumably pig—or the $12.95 "Pig's Belly with Preserved Mustard Green." I settled for pig belly's delight! Daisy was absolutely appalled by the idea of eating slimy pig gut, but I knew better!

Now I know that you are all salivating in anticipation of my detailed description of Pig's Belly happy, happy, joy, joy, so without further delay, let us indulge! When our waitress brought me my dinner I have to admit that my eyes widened, and my mouth dropped. It was not the side bowl of rice that caused this reaction, but the sight of a brown soupy glop of fried blubber!

No comment...

It was essentially a bowl of thick sliced bacon with a hint of meat, not exactly chew food. All one had to do was to delicately vacuum it off of your chopsticks (I used a fork), and down your gullet it slid. It was liposuction without the all the jabbing! However, I did experience a protracted period of gastrointestinal recovery. I have to tell you that it really was quite a tasty treat. I am sure that my arteries will be happy to pack it away for a future bypass or heart attack.

I have to tell you, that that was a moment of immoderation that I shall not soon repeat.

EPILOGUE

This has absolutely nothing to do with the above story, and the fate of its characters; it does, however, deal with the demise of an institution. I just learned that Olympia, Hamms, and that infamous Brown Label beer, are no longer brewed in Tumwater, Washington.

It was every guzzler of cheap beers dream (myself EX-cluded) to make the pilgrimage to Tumwater at least once in their lifetime. But now one must journey across the Bible Belt to experience the Olyland. Yes, it is now brewed in Texas! Geeeaaaaaaaaaaaaawd! I suppose Long Star beer makes the grade to be included as a classic, sub-standard brew. So I suppose that Oly is now in good company.

Museums

I know that you cannot judge the enormity of this museum's front entrance by this picture, but I assure you, it is truly impressive! Those doorways are a good 12 feet high.


1831 John Bull (and wife)

This is the Little Engine That Could, and did get inside the Museum of American History. That is a life-size replica of a horse to the left.

The early Americans revered George Washington to an extreme.

The Greensboro's Lunch Counter--go look it up.

There were hundreds of people in the museum walking around Sleeping Beauty, and yet he snored on, oblivious to his surroundings.

An egg about to be scrambled...

Copyright © 2008 Jonathan Aspensen All rights reserved. No part of this website, nor any of its contents, may be
reproduced in any form without the express written permission of
Jonathan Aspensen.

People on the Street in DC and Environs

A homeless man wilts in Washington DC's dreadful heat and humidity.

The last few weeks we have been taking in art museums off the National Mall in Washington, DC, and after having spent considerable time processing painted lines, globs of meaningless paint, welded together scrapes of iron, blocks of painted wood, and a large assembly of coat hangers hanging from the ceiling, I have to admit that I have gained a new understanding of the fleece that Modern Art is. Call me a Neanderthal who cannot say his name without drooling, but honestly, if someone pays more than $150.00 (which ought to cover the cost of the canvas, a few tubes of paint, and the artist’s lunch) then they deserve the financial spanking their wallet or purse has been dealt.

With that said, I must admit that I do appreciate the heart felt, highly animated waltz an artist goes through when they are explaining to their patrons that their newest work is not just a pile of horse crap painted blue, but an emotion! Come o-o-o-on! Prior to a textual or personal explanation of what it means, and the fact that they just laid down $100,000 for it, does not mean that it is anything more than it is -- a pile of cobalt blue, horse stinkies! Is there a place for Modern Art? Sure, in some private museum where the curator or board of directors have the funds to peel off a cool million for a pile of painted horse shit, and the tax payer is not handed the bill.

You do not have to be an artist to create Modern Art, you just have to be a P. T. Barnum, and have the agility to dance on tippy-toes as you dramatically act out your painting(s) in front of an awed benefactor. And yes, I have been to art openings where the actor--er’ah--artist, splashes around the floor acting out the drama hanging on the wall. “Hey! I think your art work stinks, but I’m entertaining some friends tomorrow night, and I need a frilly little dancer like you to keep them amused.”

So after having spent two hours of a studious adventure at the Hirshorn Museum of Modern Art, I decided to take pictures of people in DC, and create my own interpretive art whose forms you can understand. “Granted, it ain’t no painted green canvas, tilted at 45 degrees, and screwing the tax payer out of a grand sum of money; nor is it hangin’ in a prestigious Museum in our Nation’s Capital, but it did’nt cost you no money neether!” said he, as a run of drool pushed its way over his lip, and down his chin.

The humidity slows their enthusiasm for the great outdoors.

Underwear is once again fashionably attire in DC.

Congress passes a law that tourist's are not allowed to wear plaid shorts on DC streets.

Can you tell that he knew?

Pigeon seeks relief from the heat.

"No-o-o, I don't think stuffing a bird in his mouth is a good idea."

Woman With Wuby Wed Wips

Vote for Obama! No--vote for John McCain! No-no, vote Clinton--It is never too late to change your mind, again.

The beat he kept was monotonous at best; but it had soul, and ingenuity.

She Gave Me That Look

Counting The Seconds

Knowing that the bus would come eventually, she had nothing else to do but to look for it.


Was it the lone piece of trash in the gutter that held his attention?

With Seconds to Spare


Them feets is made fer walkin'.


At Rest

A Higher Price Paid Than At The Pump

Bronze of Man on Horse Near Lamp Post--with Clouds, and Trees


Woman in Blue, Girl in Pink


Too Damn Hot For Mere Water


Refreshments Had


Father Reaches for Son's Hand


Seeking Relief in the Shade of a Tree


Courtyard Fountain, At The Hirshorn, Through Shade Screen


A Study of Wrinkles


In The Blue Humid Shade He Rests


North of Baltimore a heron stalks the shallows.

Copyright © 2008 Jonathan Aspensen All rights reserved. No part of this website, nor any of its contents, may be
reproduced in any form without the express written permission of
Jonathan Aspensen.