I'm not sure if you've ever gotten lost in the Metropolitan Museum of Art before, but it's something I highly suggest.
I am currently sitting in an almost-pitch-black hotel room with a sleeping child (don't worry, it'll make sense later) trying not to think about the fact that today, all of my performance teachers huddled together at the Stella Adler studios on 27th street and Broadway and talked about each of their students. One at a time. To decide their midterm grade. Yes, I am dealing with the stressful knowledge that, at one point on this fine cloudy evening, seven brilliant people sat around talking about me. But it's fine I'm not nervous or anything.
In part, I'm sure, to distract us, and in part to keep us from lazing off all day, one of our teachers gave us a task to do. "Go to the wood and bring me back: ONE--"
Nah I'm joking.
The normal version of the assignment is this: We were supposed to go to the MET. I want you to know that our teacher sent us an article from the "New York Times" about a newly instigated policy that meant we could now touch the art. She was so excited! Just imagine the possibilities! One of the students kindly pointed out to me that the article had been published in 2009. In the Onion. Yeah. We were supposed to travel together in our group ("Move like an amoeba. Be in contact with each other." This is my teacher, you guys, a direct quote.) to the MET museum, split up, and spend an hour looking for a piece of art that moved us. Then we would meet up and discuss what we'd discovered.
At first I was honestly just looking for a restroom.
"Well," the lady behind the help desk smiled, "Where are you headed after that?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead. I used the first exhibit that came to mind (and also the one that I was the most excited to see).
"The musical instruments," I decided.
The lady's eyes twinkled. "Ooh, then I'm going to send you to Asia. Go to the end of the balcony, make a left, and then it's just 30 yards down."
I blinked. With that sentence, the lady had erased the rest of the day from my mind. Her directions hung in front of me like a strange trance. Send me to Asia? 30 yards? It took me out of my every day self and thrust me into the museum state of mind.
Just in case I wasn't completely entranced in the beautiful alien stillness that is the Metropolitan, the first room I walked into had a small opera weaving through the art. A woman, in some sort of confusing heap of lovely fabric, was singing to a woman in a burka, sitting in a chair across the floor from her. Surrounded by art and surprised spectators holding their breath, it felt like someone had plucked the performance from a stage and dropped them accidentally before us. So that was my first ten minutes in the building.
I don't need to take you room by room through the Met museum. Google it. I will say, however, that those security guards sure had an interesting little treat wrapped up in a black skirt and a red cardigan. It can't be particularly interesting, to stand there and watch a million people stand still and stare at statues and paintings that are also standing still, so if nothing else I was a breath of fresh air. I'm sure you guys know this about me, but I don't get excited quietly, so I pretty much walked through the museum by myself, trying not to jump up and down or something.
I spent most of my three hours there with my hands balled into fists, a physical reminder that I would be pinned to the ground if I actually tried to touch anything.
Easily my favorite thing about the museum was standing in front of paintings that are ginormous. It is the most disorienting thing to be big and little at the same time. On one hand, you are dwarfed by, lets say, a stately golden frame enveloping George Washington crossing the Delaware. On the other, you're the size of a whole ship. It's hard for my brain to make sense of.
I spent three hours at the MET. The rest of my night had an entirely different feel.
I am the master of turning the backstage area of a venue into a playground. I'd honestly forgotten.
Every time I babysit for a new kid I get nervous, and tonight was no exception. I'd meet the family at the venue in Times Square where they were playing, hang out with their six year old son for a while there, and then bring him back to the hotel for the night. Traversing Times Square at night with a mini human that I'd never met. This was an entirely new ballgame... Except it wasn't.
"The tour manager will meet you outside with your pass."
That's when I remembered. Kaila, you silly goose, this was your childhood.
"You guys can head back to the hotel at around ten. We tried to keep him with us for the second set a while back, but that ended with a major meltdown," the boy's father said. I nodded sympathetically.
"It's definitely a dilemma I'm familiar with," I smiled.
"Oh! Yeah, I guess so!" the father laughed.
"You can stay in here and hang out, or you can watch the show from stage left," the boy's mother added. They gave me the hotel room key, told me to put on a Miles Davis album to put him to sleep, and left us to our own devices.
Instinct took over. I closed the door to mask the... colorful odors coming from the house. I pretended not to hear the harsh lyrics of the first band's music, and I asked my new friend about his Darth Vader hoodie. Years of glowtape-and-sharpie crafting came flooding back to me. I remembered falling asleep in amp cases and exploring every corner that I could find.
I don't know if you have ever had the eerie pleasure of finding yourself in the same situation that you were often in as a child, and yet in an entirely different capacity as you were back then, but it's a pretty neat thing. I grinned at this energetic mop of brown curls in front of me, thinking of what it would be like to meet him when he was my age.
"I played with you during your Mom's show when you were just a little boy!" Then I cringed. How many times had someone directed this comment at me? So many. And how many times had I been awkwardly unsure of how to answer? Every single one of them. I vowed that I would never be the adult to bring it up.
Instead, I clapped my hands together, looking around at the wealth of material around us.
"Wanna make a fort?"
Towing a six-year-old through Times Square is not as scary as you would think. It's actually kind of fun.
Side note: One universal truth for any child lucky enough to be sleeping in a hotel room: they will do their best to make you believe that they sleep better with the television on. "No really, I'm not just trying to convince you!" (Turn all of the r's into w's)
~I wrote all of this last night (this morning?), trying to keep myself awake, and stopped when it was time for me to hop on the yellow line back to my cozy dorm. So, just to be clear (not something at which I'm always that great), this is all about November 5th. November 6th is a whole new story, which I'm hoping to be able to sift through relatively soon. One day, when I get my life together, I'm going to figure out how not to only write these things in the wee hours of the morning, but I guess I'm just not there yet. ;)
I am thinking at this point that Asia is code for the other side of Lewis Carroll's mirror. And it sounds as if you are able to transport anyone around you there at will. I am writing this from the beach and the Jacobs girls all say hello. Our beach of the day today is Navarre Beach. NOT our favorite but it is hard for a beach to be bad. We can identify so much with you as our current adventure also has us meeting new people seeing new things and learning to accept an adventure as a lifestyle. The world is certainly NOT out to get you but I can see with a build-up of the wrong Karma it can easily be seen that way. You are predisposed to having the right kind already so continue to enjoy the adventure.
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Oh my goodness this made me so happy. Send hugs all around! So good to hear from you guys!
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