Thursday, January 15, 2009

Much to my dismay and–let’s be honest–complete relief, I discovered just now that “A Day in Pompeii,” a months-long exhibit about the famous doomed city, had left uptown almost two weeks ago. I guess I figured a spread about a society perfectly preserved in ash for two millennia would itself stick around for at least a thousand years, but that’s museum programming for you. The new exhibit, “Circus,” looks slightly out of my age group.

It’s for the best, too, because in my case the idea of engaging in cultural enrichment invariably proves more engrossing than the events themselves. If I step into a museum, I’ll make good on the educational promise initially, milling around, reading plaques, pressing buttons to elicit earnest audio clips, but not 14 minutes into the trip, the urge to jam those same buttons rapidly will seize me, my eyes will glaze over, and rather than reading plaques I’ll simply be looking at them, diligently trying to give a shit. Similarly, you could drop me into a dress shirt, tie, fancy pants, and then a mezzanine seat at the local symphony, and within eight minutes I’ll be wondering why, if this is indeed Brahms’s first movement, nothing seems to be moving at all. You could say there’s a deficit of attention here.

That’s not to say attentiveness and full engagement are always preferred, of course. I remember the last time I partook of high culture. It was either at the Chicago Cultural Center or a gallery of some sort, in a large room filled with artwork. After casting a critical eye on a few choice pieces, I wondered in hushed tones to Cicero what kind of retards could possibly have painted these monstrosities. I wasn’t hushed enough, apparently, because the security guard shot me a withering look, and duly rebuked I returned to browsing. Turns out I was right, upon closer inspection of the placards. The entire exhibit consisted of artwork produced by the mentally challenged–mentally challenged children, to be exact. I felt horrible.

Fortunately I replaced my heart with a fusion generator shortly thereafter, so let me coldly guide us back to the prior train of thought. Attention span. I find myself surfing over to Wikipedia almost daily. I suppose I’m learning every time I do so, though there’s something disingenuous about it. Sure, I could read the entry on Pompeii and probably learn more than I would’ve from the exhibit, but the convenience of having knowledge on demand just doesn’t seem right. It’s like a youseum rather than a museum, the educational equivalent of Splenda, and intuitively I know it’d be more valuable to hop the train and step through those doors. But it’s a moot point because Pompeii’s gone, again, and with a chilly Saturday on the horizon, coupled with John Adams and Freaks and Geeks on tap, I’m ready to watch television until my eyes bleed.