A Day at the Museum, A Night at the Theatre

Someone once said, “The definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior over and over again, and expecting different results.” No one knows who said this for sure. It’s been attributed most often to either Benjamin Franklin or Albert Einstein, but it can’t be proved that either one of them actually said it. Of course, this is not the legal or official definition of insanity, used for psychological diagnosis and in legal cases, which is the inability to differentiate what is real from what is not.

Thank goodness, because this means that my husband and I were not insane for going to a museum in New York City the day after Thanksgiving two years in a row. Forgetful? Perhaps. Foolish? Probably. “Both Sides Now” kind of cock-eyed optimists who insist on seeing the good things about clouds no matter how often they block the sun, or rain and snow on everyone? Sure. But NOT insane.

I blame Tim Burton for the first time we made this mistake. It was all because of him that last year we decided to “make a day” of our annual trip to NYC to see a show with a trip to the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA), which was featuring an exhibit of his work that interested my husband.

Let me tell you how I feel about art museums. You know how sometimes meditation and relaxation exercises involve visualizing yourself in peaceful, tranquil settings? I suppose that most people think of themselves on a lake or in some pretty nature setting, but I don’t really like nature that much, and don’t find being outside even remotely relaxing. I always envision myself in an art museum, sitting and looking at a beautiful oversized piece of art, maybe something by Claude Monet. Every time I visit a new city I make a point of visiting its art museum, and I like going alone. Yes, I adore art museums, and most of the art you find there.

Then there are the modern art pieces. Call me obtuse, but I just don’t get modern art, for the most part. Given that the actual definition of insanity is a warped perception of reality, when I look at Picasso’s work, I wonder if he was ever in therapy. I don’t find anything about paint splattered randomly on a canvas (a la Jackson Pollak) particularly genius, interesting or attractive.

My sister said it best. On my first visit to see her when she moved to Baltimore, I wanted to see the Baltimore Museum of Art. She agreed to take me there (because she loves me). We were having a perfectly lovely time, enjoying the artwork, and our conversation, and then we came to the modern art exhibit. We were politely going from picture to picture, when we found ourselves in front of one of those massive works consisting of four symmetrical perfectly square blocks of canvas painted in primary colors. After regarding it for a few seconds, my sister said to me, “You know, I have a theory about art. If I could do it, it isn’t art.” Exactly! A lot of modern art pieces look like anyone could do it.

MOMA that day was the antithesis of everything I love about art museums. We arrived early in the afternoon to find a sea of humanity in the lobby waiting to buy tickets. To add insult to injury, the Tim Burton exhibit was completely sold out. That sea of people flowed through the various galleries, completely interfering with my ability to even see the art, much less enjoy it. Luckily, it was just modern art, so I wasn’t missing that much. Of course, we had fun, because that’s what we do.

After making our escape from MOMA, we found a nice seafood restaurant that wasn’t crowded, and which featured a good and reasonably-priced prix fixe menu that involved lobster. It was quiet and relaxed, and, in fact, the only excitement we experienced during the entire meal was when Spiderman walked past our window. This was long before he had his own show on Broadway. He was carrying a backpack, and, this being New York, no one even looked at him twice. Obviously, I looked, but I’m from Pittsburgh, where we still get excited about superheroes walking amongst us.

From there we went to see “Billy Elliott,” and it was simply spectacular. It had an interesting storyline, based on an actual historical event. The juxtaposition of the story of the coal miners’ strike and the children in ballet class, the great performances and dance numbers made it as enjoyable an evening as can be had in the theater.

Let’s fast forward to November 2010, shall we? My son is with us this year, and we already have our tickets to see “Memphis” the day after Thanksgiving. We decide to “make a day” of it and go the Museum of Natural History in the morning before our afternoon matinee. Does any of this sound familiar? Sensing a pattern, a certain “déjà vu” in this story? I do not remember either my husband or I saying, “Wait a minute- remember what happened with MOMA last year?” Off we went, like happy little lemmings into the sea of people waiting for us at the museum.

Now I have a bit more affinity for natural history than I do for modern art (“I’ll take African Mammals for $1000, Alex”) but the museum was packed from the moment we stepped off the subway and into its hallowed halls. There were all kinds of people – including lots of little children- between us and those stuffed mammals and dinosaur bones. I was reminded of that Christopher Durang monologue from “Laughing Wild” about just wanting to get to the tuna fish in the supermarket. My son was intrigued by the place and vowed to return sometime when it was less crowded, perhaps some Wednesday afternoon in February. We had fun, of course, because that’s what we do.

After we made our escape from the museum, we were off to “Memphis,” which was simply spectacular. It was, in many ways, a good old-fashioned musical with an interesting storyline based on historical fact. Its compelling characters, and excellent songs and dances, made it as enjoyable an afternoon as can be had in the theater.

After the show, we had dinner at a nice little restaurant we’ve discovered near our parking garage that is rarely crowded and has good food at reasonable prices. Spiderman must have been in rehearsals this year because we didn’t see him wandering the streets.

It’s funny how memory works, isn’t it? We remember all the good things about an experience but block out the parts that traumatize us. However, I am pretty sure that we will not be going to a museum when we visit NYC the weekend after Thanksgiving next year, because that really WOULD be insane.