Recent Adventures in Cleveland, OH...
Friday, January 25, 2002
My mom and dad were kind enough to keep me company this trip. (Secretly, though, I think they just went so they could see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum, but more on that shortly...)
Convincing Dad to stay in any hotel that doesn't offer the predictable soulless chain hotel experience can be tricky. Mom and I pretty much begged. (OK, mostly I did the begging.) We stayed at the Alcazar Hotel, built in 1923. It is fabulous inside (not to mention cheaper than the chains!), and if you ever need a place to crash in Cleveland, this is a very good bet. Just make sure to ask for a room facing the courtyard—trust me.
In general, Cleveland is a neat city steeped in art, and I hadn't expected that. One of my favorite installations was this "Free Stamp" sculpture by Claes Oldenburg.
The Mayfield Cemetery offered several pleasant surprises, too. Mixed in with the dead people and their staid monuments are several life-affirming works of art. This was the first cemetery I've ever seen which so expertly employs neon signs.
And just look at this beautiful woman! She looks real, but she's made of cast resin and spends all of her time in this place.
Saturday, January 26, 2002
We hit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum right away. It's another one of I. M. Pei's triangle buildings. He is something of a one-trick dog, I think. See what I mean?
The museum's collections are thoughtfully organized and very complete. There were lots and lots of things I wish I could've photographed for you, but they don't allow that sort of thing. Maybe David Bowie's lacy gowns wouldn't hold up under all that flash photography...or maybe they wouldn't sell as many postcards then. I even saw Michael Jackson's sparkly glove. Had I been about 10 years old again I might have fainted at the sight of it.
For me, the most moving part of the museum was the temporary John Lennon exhibit. I saw his report cards from school (most of his instructors were bitterly disappointed with his academic efforts). His guitars and sheet music, his kimono, letters, artwork, everything. I saw the sunglasses he was wearing the day he was shot. They were still smeared with his blood. Yoko Ono had written that John left the house that day like any other and that he came back to her in a sealed bag from the coroner.
Yoko had added something particularly interesting to the exhibit. There was a white telephone sitting on a white table next to a white chair. A sign nearby said that if the phone rings you should answer it because it was Yoko calling. I guess she really calls there sometimes. My mom and I stared at the phone for a short while a little excited and a little afraid. It didn't ring for us.
My book event at Macs Backs Paperbacks in the Cleveland Heights neighborhood went very well and I hope to go back for the release of The Not-So-Lost Soul Companion this fall. I met several friendly lost souls. One woman named Mary told me about A.R.T.S. Anonymous, a support group of sorts for creative folks. A different man took me aside to say that he believes many creative people are afflicted with ADD and dyslexia. And Suzanne, the owner of Macs, gave me a couple of great books to take home with me—Prozac Diary by Lauren Slater and Where the Roots Reach for Water: A Personal and Natural History of Melancholia by Jeffery Smith. Both are well worth a look!