Cookie, our new puppy, has this thing in her left eye called a “cherry.” It looks like this:
As I have explained to thirty million children who want to know what that disgusting thing in the puppy’s eye is, the gland popped out and she’s going to the vet to have it pushed back in. The vet will also put a wee little stitch in there so this cherry will never pop again. Ha ha.
I took Cookie down to L.A. yesterday to hand her off to Marcel, who is taking her to his vet. I decided that since I was already down in the big city I should take the opportunity to do something new, something that might help me shake this malaise that’s been hovering the last couple of weeks. Whose roots may or may not lie in the fact that (a) my dog died two weeks ago, (b) Jackson is back in school and my novel’s going nowhere and what the fuck am I doing with my life?
So after handing an ecstatic little Cookie to her fantastically burly family (Marcel brought Cookie’s mom, Georgie, and her brother, Emo, along for the ride = big bulldog bliss), I went up to the Getty.
Admission to the Getty is free but you have to pay $7.00 to park your car in the deepest, darkest underground lot I’ve ever decended into. Into which I’ve ever — wow, I was on the fifth level below dirt and there were still five more to go. Earthquake? Good luck.
Once you reemerge from the parking tomb you stand in line for an electric tram to carry you up the hill:
My tram was full of suburban sixth graders who were Freaking Out About Everything. OMG! You can see the freeway from here! A kindly pair of volunteer old guys wearing green vests explained that the tram has no driver, it’s run by computers, and it also has no wheels, it is instead conveyed along the track on a cushion of air, like a hovercraft. The hovercraft comment was directed at me, specifically, since Green Vest #1 probably assumed I was the only one on the tram who knew what a hovercraft was. I gave him a nod: These kids, they haven’t seen the world like we have. “What if the computer crashes?” asked one alarmed eleven-year-old. Green Vest #2 had a smart-aleck response to that, which I’ve now forgotten, something along the lines of, the computer only crashes once a year, and they’ve already had their crash for the year, ha ha, we’re safe today. The old guys weren’t actually all that funny, but their outlook was dry and relaxed, which is how I hope I’d be if I was spending my days riding up and down a hill overlooking the 405.
Anyway, I got into the museum and the first piece of art I saw was a nice Giacometti:
I loves me some Giacometti, I’m not even sure why, it’s probably left over from a romantic adolescent attachment to art history and anything that could be done by a man with a face like this:
After I found the women’s room (the Getty has really, really nice women’s rooms), I went up to the featured exhibit, Rubens and Brueghel. The one painting that really got to me was Diana’s Return from the Hunt (you’ll have to scroll down)(because even though photography is allowed in the museum I felt really self-conscious about taking pictures of the art, and I was hoping I’d be able to buy postcards of the paintings I liked best, which it turned out I couldn’t). Nymphs and satyrs! The chaste figure of a vaguely middle-aged Diana in the middle, and the one nymph on the far right, looking at you as though she has a secret? Just what I needed. After five minutes in front of that picture I felt immeasurably better about my life. Plus, you know, satyrs bearing fruit always cheer me up.
After I took this picture I ate a Cliff Bar and wondered, really wondered with all my heart, why they went halfway around the world for the stone facing you see on that wall behind me. Seriously, Italian travertine? Was there not some local material that would have worked just as well and not cost a bazillion dollars and used enormous amounts of resources hauling 16,000 tons of rock from one hemisphere to the other? God, architects.
It’s a good thing I carry emergency food with me because you never know when you’ll be stranded at some cultural center getting really angry about something and with only $3.00 in your pocket. And $3.00 was just enough to buy a bottle of water to wash down my Cliff Bar and get my blood sugar straightened out so that my little jaunt could continue apace.
Those people probably came to the Getty with more than $10.00 minus $7.00 for parking. Actually, the museum cafe probably takes credit cards, but I didn’t have time for food! I was there for art! Plus, I’d have to be leaving soon anyway to get back on the freeway and home in time to pick up Jackson from school.
The next exhibit I went to was Eliot Porter. It was nice.
Then I went to check out this fancy old cabinet they have that their conservators thought was a fake piece of renaissance furniture, and then they went through all this scientific testing (carbon dating, counting the tree rings on the walnut veneer and determining that the cabinet was made from a tree that was cut down in 1574) and now they think it’s a real piece of renaissance furniture.
It was all very Antiques Roadshow and I enjoyed it very much. What I did not enjoy so much was that the room smelled like ball sweat, produced, I believe, by the old Japanese tourist who carried a cloud of ball sweat with him, like Pigpen, and who was just leaving the room as I entered. O ripening old fellow, you are in America now and we don’t like to smell each other so much as they do in other countries. Please bow to our cultural narcissism and apply some Right Guard.
My museum stamina was really waning at this point, so I went to check out the Family Room, just to see if there was anything that would make it worth dragging Jackson down here anytime soon.
It was small, and very cute, and had a replica of a renaissance bed that you could actually get into, but I think most kids would be done with the whole thing in about ten minutes. As I, unfortunately, was done with the whole museum in just over an hour. So much for my cultural endurance.
But here’s another picture of Cookie.
Hooray!
So, that’s not so much a picture of Cookie, as Cookie between a man without a shirt’s legs. Distinct difference.
But Cookie is soooooooooo cute! I’m so glad that you have something so cuddly and adorable to distract you for a long time.
you managed to capture my feelings exactly when i go to an art museum by myself. which i love to do. maybe i’ll go tomorrow and it will all be because of you.
My favorite thing about the Getty is the garden. And perhaps the view. And the cafe is actually, as I remember, reasonable priced.
I remember, when the new Getty first opened, there was this lavish feature in the LA Times, with lots of articles, and kicky sidebars with stats about the weight of all the travertine, the number of burgers the construction workers ate in a day, etc.
None of those articles, however, managed to work in the phrase “ball sweat” even once.
Something about museums. You go and look at beautiful or interesting or puzzling things and you don’t take them home. They stay there, as they should. It lacks the agonizing decision-making requirement of shopping, wherein you have to decide if something is worth spending money on and if you really need it and what will it go with, blah, blah, blah. Museums don’t require any decision making (except for the curators, who must decide not only if they will buy it, but if it’s really what it’s supposed to be and can you imagine doing that with a pair of J.Crew jeans? Are these really boy-cut or are they fake boy-cut? Feh.) beyond ‘what secret is she telling?’–if that’s a decision, which it’s not It’s a question and questions can be pondered and possibly tossed out because the answer is irrelevant. Decisions, not so much. So, yay! museums! Savior of souls because somebody else has already done the shopping!
Just so I get this straight… You would like the foreign gentleman to apply some Right Guard….
TO HIS BALLS!?!?!?
When I lived in Europe I went to a museum every other day and since coming back a year ago, I haven’t been once. So it’s high time for me to get back on that and check out a few exhibits this weekend. So thanks for the inspiration.
Whatever works.
When I lived away from London in my early 20s, I came here to visit for a weekend and had an afternoon to fill. I went and looked at the Egyptian mummies in the British Museum, always an old favourite.
Later that year I went to Paris with my dad: I’d never been before. Again, I had a free afternoon. I ended up going to Pere Lachaise Cemetery.
It wasn’t a conscious decision, to check out corpses at every available opportunity in a culture-rich European capital. I’m not even a Goth. I mostly do aquariums and look at fish now.
I’m glad you’re coming round from your lost feeling.
Cookie is gorgeous. If my friend Alix were reading over my shoulder, her only word would be “PUPPY!!” (The only other thing that gets her that excited is beer.)
That reminds me of a joke from some comedian I saw like 15 years ago. He was talking about the warning label on a can of deodorant that said “Do not spray in eye.” His punchline:
“Man, if your eyes stink that bad, you’re DEAD.”
I remember laughing so hard I nearly shit myself, but I was really baked, so I have an excuse.
Anyway, your dogs seem to have very exotic pet abnormalities. I’m tellin’ ya, mutts. They last forever. Those purebreds are too pure for this world.
Oh, yeah, getting hit by a car is a very “exotic” abnormality. Pfft. Pfffffffttt. That’s the sound of aerosol deodorant spraying in your eye.
Our bulldog had cherry eye too. While we were counting the minutes until we could get him into surgery, I was so grossed out by it that I did what the bulldog people on the internet said to do and pushed it back in. It would pop out again after rough play with his dog pal, but at least I didn’t have to look at it. I am a delicate flower.
I hope Cookie’s surgery went great.
I like your museum photos.
Oh cherry eye! Ack, so common. So gross-looking, but mercifully so (relatively) easy to fix, although another honkin’ vet bill is probably the last thing you felt like dealing with.
My novel’s going nowhere fast, too. And yet, I soldier on. We shall overcome, I suppose, and in the meantime, here’s to your lovely day at the Getty.
I love the Getty. I’m gearing up for another run. Although I do have to my stamina sounds like it is similar to yours. And, I love the travertine. I’m sure if it were made of something else I wouldn’t know any different but it is gorgeous.
Of course, your puppy is gorgeous, too. I think I have commented here twice before and it is always the puppy. I just want to slobber all over her.
P.S. You’re funny, too. It isn’t ALL about the puppy!
Cookie is darling. Those big brown eyes – I hardly noticed the cherry.
I used to go to the Sackler and the Freer by myself back in DC, and Kyle and I went to the Guggenheim in NY. Never did make it to the Getty though, although I’ve driven the 405 many times. With the exception of the field trips, museum outings are quite peaceful.
You carry around emergency food too?! That makes me so happy.
That little Cookie is unbelievably cute.
Doh! Forgot about the car thing, sorry. But now my eye smells terrific.
I was in LA in 2002 and I loved the Getty.
I love whatever onion-y smelling thing they have growing on the grounds on the path the the hedge maze.
I think the tram is just the silliest thing. They could have made the parking lot closer if they wanted to. One of the things a New Yorker like me really LOVES about LA is no public transportation!!
Just read my post. Damn. I sure say “love” A LOT. I sound like such a loser!
^^I kept reading that name as “type a little”…
Riding trams & other public trans alone makes me feel simultaneously lonely and exotic. It’s a holdover from the flying alone while in junior high years. I would affect terrible accents and slink around the airport terminals hoping some one would think I looked suspicious. Luckily, my town had no museums (NONE!) so I didn’t get to try my act in one of those.
Your photographs have a nice conversational feel to them- lovely.
I fucking love me some nymphs and satyrs. Throw in a maenad or two and some pan pipes, and I might spontaneously orgasm. Serious.
Sorry to hear about the cherry, but glad the world looked a wee bit better on the other side of the Getty.
I am counting down the days until my entire brood is in school full time: “Hello again culture!”
Me loves me some Eliot Porter! Go photography, and also, I think if I ever decided to have my portait painted I may just pop one breast out of my drapy looking gown. You know, it’s different in an extremely retro kind of way right?
lol, cherry popping… LOL.
/ i am so immature. i know
This post was a riot, but the comments section is even funnier.
How do you DO that?
the Getty is one of my favorite places to go when I visit my family.
i’ve been missing them lately, thanks for the photos, they make me feel a little better.
This is one of my favorite paintings at the Getty:
http://www.getty.edu/art/gettyguide/artObjectDetails?artobj=831
Cookie is much cuteness in a tiny little package. Hooray, indeed!
The Getty seems like a lovely place. If I ever get to the left coast, I’ll make a point of taking the hovercraft up to it!
I prefer visiting museums by myself. My wife and I are always attracted to different things, so one is always waiting on the other, wanting to go to different galleries, etc. I go by myself, I see what I want, at my pace. The Getty’s grounds look beautiful. Maybe one day I’ll get the opportunity….
The Japanese are, quite simply, the least smelly people I’ve ever encountered. They bathe frequently and obcessively, and antiperspirant/ deodorant are nearly unheard of (as they are not necessary.) If some unfortunate soul does have a personal odor (like your ‘ripening old fellow’,) it is a most serious social problem. Perhaps he was Korean?
You could absolutely be right. To my ear it sounded like he was speaking Japanese to his fellow museumgoers, but I only know from Kurosawa movies. Or maybe his hotel shower was broken. Or they had a long bus ride from Palm Springs with broken A/C.
But, but, hold on! You live near LA? Why did I think you were a San Franciscan?
Your neighbor (sortakindaprobablynot),
TC
Truth be told I am far more interested in Cookie than the field trip, so I am glad you balanced your post out for the lowest common denominator.
What is it about bulldogs that makes them look so beleagured, even when they have no clue there is a big fat red cherry sitting inside their eyelid?
PS nice abs!
I’m happy that somebody else feels the same as I do about museums. I love them and they lift my spirits, but I can’t be in one for longer than an hour (or two if you include an overpriced salad and glass of chardonnay in the visit).
That dog is damn cute.
Delurking to say, Your dog? Is a DOLL! Here’s mine:
http://kidkate.typepad.com/kidkate/2006/09/sunday_morning.html
Mrs Kennedy: Cookie is lovely and I hope her eye surgery went well. I definitely have museum tolerance threshhold: 3 hours and I need to leave, though I love them when I am in them up until that point.
Preface to the next part: I am not a strange internet stalker weirdo. I swear. But…
Uh, sorry to do this in a blog-comments page but ANTONIA? I seriously think I might have known you in real life once.
When I was a kid in London (Bloomsbury) I lived over the road from a girl called Antonia and her best mate was called Alix (this is weird and what caused my ears to prick up because it was spelt exactly the same way and nobody else I’ve ever seen spells their name like that) and she loved dogs (in fact had a dog called Edna) and we used to hang out all the time together: we went to the same primary schools, all three of us, and we moved schools all at the same time. We would have known each other from the ages of about 7 to 12 or 13. I’m 28 now.
We lost touch when I moved away. Seriously, is this ringing any bells?
You could email me through my blog if you’d like to check more details. If you even see this. It strikes me as WAY too much of a coincidence.
I’m strangely freaked out now.
Random drive-by here (don’t ask me how I found you as I don’t remember): Lovely entry, and I was struck by the fact that you noticed the some of the same things I have at the Getty, such as the delightful geekiness of the Renaissance cabinet exhibit, and the sheer randomness of the travertine. How much that must have cost, and it really doesn’t look all that great. I promise if I come back I’ll try to comment in complete sentences, sorry.
Have no fear, my parents have a lhasa apso puppy with cherry eye who just had the nip/tuck surgery and it was a complete success.
Plus? They got to take lots of funny pictures of him with a cone on his head and animal torture for the sake of human amusement is ALWAYS funny!
I was once one of those sixth graders going to the Getty. I don’t think they had the cool tram back then. All I remember is statues with their noses sliced off. Yeah, I’m all about the art, I am.
Cookie’s even adorable with a yukky eye.
(any chance of changing your comments to allow “other”, so I don’t have to use my hated blogger account?)
Unfortunately, when I was in LA about 10 years ago, the Getty was closed for renovation. Then I went to the LA County Museum of Art, and the textile galleries, which I really wanted to see, were also closed! But their gallery of Islamic art was very interesting.
Sorry about Cookie’s eye. Your family seems to have bad luck with the dog eyes. At least this one’s easy to fix.
I remember in 2003 when San Diego got hit by the wildfires and ashes kept raining down from the sky. I would think, “I wonder whose house this used to be,” and then get all sad and retreat back inside. Because, like Jackson, I couldn’t help but suspect there could be unfortunate people producing those ashes as well.
And that Raymond Chandler story? I think one of my Lang/Comp AP timed writings was on that. How random.