Pam's Tall Tales

Milwaukee Art Gallery

A few years ago, when the funding first got tough, on a day when I was feeling downtrodden, an email flew into my inbox like an angel on the wing. A colleague had written to tell me of an endowed chair.  A few days later I got the call - come out and give us a seminar, stay a few days and see how you feel about it. My hosts  were  very gracious.  They spoke of the difficulties in recruiting candidates to the mid-west from east coast institutions.  As one faculty member there put it, they have to counter "The Stockholm Syndrome that keeps scientists from leaving institutions that are money-driven hollow vestiges of their former glorious academic past".  Milwaukee perhaps had a harder time as  for many it remains linked to Jeffrey Dahmer, the serial killer, and Fonzie (Henry Winkler), the star of the TV series, Happy Days .  

I found Milwaukee to be an interesting town, a proud industrial behemoth built on "beers and gears", home to the producers of Miller's Ale and lawn mowers - not unlike the Manchester area where I grew up.  The  local bratwurst, heavy architecture, and stocky populace are all products of the bavarian diaspora that came here to farm at the turn of the century.  It also has a lively counter culture, a veritable "east village-like" demi-monde centered around Brady Street. Its Historic Third Ward could compete with Soho for fashionable lofts and coffee shops and its central canal and new waterfront development aspire to an Amsterdam mode of living.  

Three other things were  persuasive. First the ladies.  The position was to be endowed by friends of the deceased and it was clear that the decision rested firmly with the women. One, who was herself unwell,  placed her hand on my arm in a way  in a profound and inspiring way that  conveyed - we trust and support you - do your best.  Then there were the "lady riders".  Milwaukee is  the home of Harley Davidson, and the Lady Riders, as my hosts explained, were an highly effective fund-raising foundation of motor cyclists.   The third was the Milwaukee Art Gallery. It houses a superb collection of expressionist German art but the building itself is truly spectacular. I could have stood all day in the soothing serenity of the dappled light that poured in through its oval window that opens on to the blue expanse of Lake Michigan.  The Trustees had great insight to persuade the Spanish architect, Calatrava, to design their outside public space. He created  a structure, somewhere between a sail and whales fin, that opens in a spectacular undulating motion reminiscent of a ray swimming. It is as awe-inspiring as the Sydney Opera House and a testiment both to  the architect and the the burgher work ethic that strove to make possible such a truly magnificent building.

On my last visit the airport televisions blared stories of the endless foreclosures sweeping across the nation.  Midwest airlines, who would have flown me back and forth cheaply to New York, with the dogs for free, went under. Endowments sank countrywide pitching academia into a brutal meltdown. So in the end I didnt go, but I save a soft spot for Milwaukee, its strong supportive women and its beautiful symbol of civic pride by "the shining big-sea water".

 

My Husband's Love Affair with Siri

 

The Long Suffering Husband excitedly burst out of the shower this morning to tell me Siri's latest:“Siri” he asked “How did the Detroit Tigers do last night”. There was a slight pause then she replied: "They thumped the Minnesota Twins 8:1". Enraptured he stomped around in his towel yelling “She said thumped - thumped”! Ironically, in real life he’s the silent type. Yet here he was smitten with his own personal electronic siren. 

Of course the central seductive elements of Siri are that she takes commands and can be molded by her owner. Its not her fault - she was made that way. Like 1950’s secretaries, she’s designed “to make life easier and more fun”. It only adds to her appeal that in addition to behaving like a faithful genie in a bottle she’s blind to the faults of her master and doesn’t know he snores like a freight train.  

“Hmm, what else have you been asking Siri lately" I inquired casually, all the while thinking: “Well, thanks be to God they haven’t yet made blow up dolls that read the base ball scores or the human race might go extinct”.  On he chirped: “Well a few days ago I asked her: “Siri, can you sing to me in the car”. Now, last Xmas, we came to an understanding that I would buy him the requested CD by Nora Jones provided her breathy songs were restricted to the car but crooning along with Siri was a new development. As it turned out, Siri had declined,  replying coyly "David, you know I can’t sing". To which the old billy goat had responded "But I can teach you". "You? teach me!" she purred. "Yes" he simpered. Then, like any real life woman whose been cornered by some old codger demanding that his ego be stroked, she  gave a repost that made me laugh: "That figures".

Make no mistake there is a subculture out there, of men, whiling away the hours, flirting with Siri, the full extent of which is known only to Siri and, of course as we now know, to the NSA.  One can only imagine the treasure trove the latter must have gathered on politicians caught unawares, iphone in hand. What, for example, might the candidates in the recent New York City Primaries have whispered to Siri on their lonely campaign trails? Did Siri discretely locate and keep a list of Eliot Spitzer’s call girls?   Did she activate the camera flash for the now infamous below-the-belt snap of Anthony Weiner and then take revenge by Twittering it to his public rather than private  account. 

Lately I've been musing on how to tap into this aspect of Siri’s adaptability so that she can, by becoming just a tad more Mae West, make my life "easier and more fun”.  Already, when the Long Suffering Husband tells her  “Call Pam”.  She replies  “Your wife or the other Pam” (in this case innocent enough since the other Pam happens to be his sister).  But now I’m planning to have her lure him into her confidence with a few sassy lines like “David, Do you really want me to call the old bitch again?  - you know she doesn’t appreciate you - when's the last time she cooked you dinner?”.  Once he’s snookered in to the point of confiding “Siri, its terrible, my wife hasn’t made me dinner in weeks” I'll train her to say  “But Honey, did you remember the flowers” - or - “Well, maybe you do need to lose a little weight around the edges”

I also think Siri could be upgraded to successfully  help with a variety of common husbandly "arrested development" and “wardrobe malfunctions” issues.  
When he asks her “Siri where can I buy a shirt” she could petulantly reply “David, I’m not your mother, next you'll be asking me to buy your damned socks and underwear as well!” But when he insists she’ll say
“OK, go to Lord and Taylor and while you’re there ditch the mighty whities and buy some snazzy boxers”. While he’s shopping and asking her advice she’ll say: "David what are you wearing" and when he replies she'll say “That sounds nice, but David,
surely you’re not wearing those hideous grey socks pulled half way up your calves and the long shorts with twenty-five individual zippered compartments that house your penknife collection are you?”

 

 

Winslow Homer's Adirondacks

Adirondack-Lake

We have just spent a week in the Adirondacks, the pristine mountain range in the north of New York that was the setting for Fennimore Cooper's "Last of the Mohicans".  Besides scenes, from the movie of the same name, of Daniel Day Lewis running bare-chested through the woods, nothing captures the beauty of the Adirondacks and its forboding wildness like the watercolors of Winslow Homer. Homer spent many summers hunting, fishing and painting water colors of his guides, dogs, fish and deer.

Three-Men-in-a-Canoe

Homer was a New Englander who learnt to paint water colors from his mother and became a commercial illustrator. He disliked his official job and after achieving fame, his advice to younger artists was  "Look at nature, work independently, and solve your own problems." He painted the area in the 1880's during the time when  Lake George became an attractive destination for wealthy New Yorkers to escape the heat of the city by steaming up the Hudson to spend their summers in Grand Hotels  along the Lake. 

Canoe-in-the-Rapids

We stayed in a beautiful 3-storey log house belonging to one of the oldest of these hotels, Trout House Resort.  The resort itself, which lies on the shore of Lake George  has undergone a number of reincarnations over the years and now comprises a series of log cabins nestled in the little town of Hague. Our house, "Seven Gables", was built deeper into the woods by the current owner, Mr. Scott Patchett, and constructed from logs cleared from the site. Mr Patchett's woodmill was down the lane. Perhaps for this reason our daughter one day made the unfortunate mistake of calling him Mr. Hatchet.

Woodchopper-in-the-Adirondacks

 Seven Gables was near enough to a Pharaoh Wilderness Preserve for us to find  tracks that looked like those of a bear crossing the path from steep woods down to the stream. The dogs, picking up the scent, dragged us into the ditch there every day. 

The-Woodcutter

The village of Hague has become very quaint. Twenty years ago  the General Store sold wellington boots, flashlights and fish bait. Now it sells artisan loaves and gourmet sandwiches. A superb little organic restaurant advertizing "home-cooked food" has opened up in the old drapery opposite. If I ever wished for a weekend house on a lake this is where I would look for a cottage. 

The-Adirondack-Guide

In the past, Hague,was  famous for an incident in which Ottawa indians fighting in the French and Indian war captured and cannablized British soldiers at Sabbath Day Point. Later,  together with the neighboring town of Ticonderoga,  it became famous for its graphite mining and its main street is called Graphite Mountain Road.  It was also infamous at the turn of the century for the Lake George Monster. George, as he is known, was a wooden tail- waving fish contraption that could be mechanically activated to leap out of the water and frighten unsuspecting tour groups.  This hoax was cooked up by a painter Harry Watrose to scare his fishing rival, Colonel William Mann, owner of a scandalous newspaper. George generated several scandals of his own before being decommisioned and shipped to the Carribbean to perform in street carnivals. However he has recently returned and is installed in the Hague community center.