The plan for Sunday was that I would get up before Thomas awoke and head to Target to buy him various foodstuffs, then when I was done he and I would meet for breakfast and then go to a museum or something. I did my part: I sprang out of bed, showered, cleaned up the room, got checked out, and then got my car out of storage (there is an ancient parking lot with 4 or 5 floors, with impossibly narrow ramps and stairwells right across from the hotel I stay in). I was just pulling out of the parking lot when I got a peevish text: "
Well? Aren't we going out for breakfast?" So rather than head to Target I drove over to a parking lot right near Thomas's dorm and parked it there (this is actually relevant to later events) and then he and I met up and looked for food. As with dinner, Thomas pretended to not care where we went but carefully directed me to the exact place he wanted to go. "I don't care" he says, as he heads off to the cafe he longs to eat at. Somehow the diner I crave to eat at is either "too far away" or "in the wrong direction" or a place he just ate at--without me! Well, the joke was on Thomas because Cafe Meli had a line going out the door so we had to go elsewhere anyway. Finally I got a tiny breakfast (a miniature cup of yogurt alongside a small plop of fried egg with an even tinier puddle of melted cheese on it). Thomas ordered me to hurry up with my tea as we had places to go. I carried it with me and we headed out the door--into the arctic blasts of Chicago readying for the start of winter. It was gray, cold and damp, not at all what I was hoping for, or was dressed for. Regardless, we headed for Michigan avenue to the art museum:
Here you can see the line stretching on for quite a ways. Devil may care, we said, and joined the line. It didn't take long and soon we were inside. (Thomas got in for free and rather than charge me the out-of-state rate, I was treated to the Chicago resident rate. So it was a bargain.)
Thomas really does enjoy museums. And would be there still if I wasn't moaning the whole time about how overheated most the rooms were, or how much my feet hurt, or how long a drive I was looking at when we were done. Thomas pretended he couldn't hear me and enjoyed everything he wanted to look at.
I thought of Thomas as a 10 month old when I saw this baby's buns. Thomas wasn't amused.
Apparently people like this sort of thing--1700s ceramics from Germany (Potsdam or Dresden, I can't remember.)
This is a still life: "Dead Fish", by Manet.
This is called "Beggar with Oysters (Philosopher)" I don't like what Manet is implying about being a Philosopher.
I was very impressed with the impressionist collection. Thomas thought me a rube. Apparently, as someone who has been to Paris more times than he can remember, he is well aware of the state of affairs of French art. (He snorted when I wondered at all the famous Monet's here in Chicago and pointed out that the Louvre has nothing past 1850. Pfft--how could I not know that!?!)
Every famous painting you've seen before was here to be seen in the flesh. And, just as you expect but can't quite believe, they look so much better in real life than as reprints on postcards. Who've have thought?
This charming tea set is also German, from the 1920s. Very nice.
Finally Thomas got to see what really excites him--the tools of warfare, conquest, and map making. Thomas said that the pieces were better displayed here, but there was a better collection in England. Apprently they have so much armor and war memorabilia that it is just lying around in everyone's homes--knights chests plates are simply tossed to the side like so much detritus.
I liked this helmet but Thomas found it silly. Simon agreed, pointing out the absurd mustache feature.
This is the sort of thing I like, Japanese pottery from about 2000 BC but Thomas raced through this section so quickly I didn't have time to slow down to look at anything.
The God who removes obstacles-I could use a bit of that in my life.
Finally we got to the modern art, my favorite. This is a self-portrait by Cindy Sherman. There were four of hers there, and I recognized them all. Good to know I have learned something in the past few decades.
Is this art? Apparently Damien Hirst thinks so.
Now we are talking. This is by George Grosz (God of War, 1940)
one of the most effective artists to protest Nazism. We need a George Grosz right now.
By this point my feet really were in agony, and we still had loads of work to do after leaving the museum. I begged Thomas to end it all and get us to the entrance. After checking a map and getting his bearings, he took off like a silver arrow and raced through the building. Finally after weaving through two millennia of art pieces I saw the ticket booth and the large doors beyond--and just at that second, Thomas took a sharp right turn and said, "You have to see this." and we headed down a rabbit warren of small hallways. I almost cried. But, he was right. I really did HAVE to see it. Apparently a very wealthy woman spent her life sitting around all day increasing and managing her collection of tiny pieces of furniture from various eras from various places on the planet--Louis the 14th France, 1870s Germany, 1920s England, 1930s America and so on. And these tiny rooms are the result. If you look at them from far away, it feels like you are looking at one room in a doll house. But if you get close up, pressing your face against the glass so that you can only see into the room, you would swear you are a giant human peeking into a really, tiny house occupied by tiny people. Here is a church. You really do feel like a God peering down onto the pathetic, unlovable humans:
This is inside a Pullman car:
There were dozens and dozens of these rooms, each one more amazing than the last. How did she have her house set up to display all these? Truly mad.
After that, we left the museum and headed back to my car. We had a big load of groceries to get out (pantry foods I had gotten in Flint before leaving) and up into Thomas's dorm. He kept trying to stall me to stop me from getting into his room. First, he said I should wait in the car, but I refused. Then he said I could wait in the lobby, but I rejected that plan. Then he said I should wait in the hallway outside his room but I refused to do that, too. He was convinced that his "nightmare" roommates would be "all over the place," being "stupid." I went in and saw two, both of whom were sitting quietly on the couch, playing what I guess was a video game. Both waved at me, and then went back to their business. I couldn't see what the fuss was about at ALL. After explaining "finances" (Thomas worries about money....a lot) we headed back to the car to get out a bike for him. He wanted one of our bikes but I thought it made more sense for his to have his own. He really seems to enjoy biking so why not do it right? He was very peevish about getting a new bike (a "waste of money"--see what I mean?) but I insisted he take it. I sure as hell wasn't going to take the bike back to Flint with me! I got the bike out of my car, but then I couldn't figure out how to attach the front wheel and hook up the brakes. I futzed around for what seemed like an hour, my back spasming the whole time, while Thomas sat in the front seat reading, or so I thought, the manual. But he wasn't. He was just playing on his damned phone the whole time, helping not one whit. When I said I was giving up and going to walk it to the nearest bike shop--which, unbelievably, was 380 feet from where we were standing that very second AND, even more unbelievably, was open on a Sunday--Thomas got all bent out of shape. "I want to try!" "It's my bike!" (This after he said he didn't want it.) "I am not going to a bike shop!" Our arguing escalated as it always does, to the point where we were engaged in an energetic tug of war over the bike. I won and wheeled it off to the bike shop but Thomas also won because he refused to go into the bike shop. About halfway to the store the kick stand fell off. We found the place and I went in and had the kick stand attached properly and also the brakes and wheel done up right--all for only $5. Money well spent, I say. Then Thomas reappeared and he tried the bike out--and it was great. So we went back to my car AGAIN (!!) to get his bike pump, lock and other small bike things and I headed to Target, which was what I was GOING to do when he called to demand breakfast. I made sure he didn't ditch the bike in an alleyway before I left (he didn't--he's a good boy, really) and I went to Target to buy him every dairy product I could think of (cheese, milk, butter, yogurts). I headed back and handed him the goods before I left for home. He seemed surprised to be finally rid of me.
Here you can see the line stretching on for quite a ways. Devil may care, we said, and joined the line. It didn't take long and soon we were inside. (Thomas got in for free and rather than charge me the out-of-state rate, I was treated to the Chicago resident rate. So it was a bargain.) 
Thomas really does enjoy museums. And would be there still if I wasn't moaning the whole time about how overheated most the rooms were, or how much my feet hurt, or how long a drive I was looking at when we were done. Thomas pretended he couldn't hear me and enjoyed everything he wanted to look at.
I thought of Thomas as a 10 month old when I saw this baby's buns. Thomas wasn't amused.
Apparently people like this sort of thing--1700s ceramics from Germany (Potsdam or Dresden, I can't remember.) 
This is a still life: "Dead Fish", by Manet.
This is called "Beggar with Oysters (Philosopher)" I don't like what Manet is implying about being a Philosopher.
I was very impressed with the impressionist collection. Thomas thought me a rube. Apparently, as someone who has been to Paris more times than he can remember, he is well aware of the state of affairs of French art. (He snorted when I wondered at all the famous Monet's here in Chicago and pointed out that the Louvre has nothing past 1850. Pfft--how could I not know that!?!)
Every famous painting you've seen before was here to be seen in the flesh. And, just as you expect but can't quite believe, they look so much better in real life than as reprints on postcards. Who've have thought?
This charming tea set is also German, from the 1920s. Very nice.
Finally Thomas got to see what really excites him--the tools of warfare, conquest, and map making. Thomas said that the pieces were better displayed here, but there was a better collection in England. Apprently they have so much armor and war memorabilia that it is just lying around in everyone's homes--knights chests plates are simply tossed to the side like so much detritus.
I liked this helmet but Thomas found it silly. Simon agreed, pointing out the absurd mustache feature.
This is the sort of thing I like, Japanese pottery from about 2000 BC but Thomas raced through this section so quickly I didn't have time to slow down to look at anything. 
The God who removes obstacles-I could use a bit of that in my life. 
Finally we got to the modern art, my favorite. This is a self-portrait by Cindy Sherman. There were four of hers there, and I recognized them all. Good to know I have learned something in the past few decades.
Is this art? Apparently Damien Hirst thinks so. 
Now we are talking. This is by George Grosz (God of War, 1940)
one of the most effective artists to protest Nazism. We need a George Grosz right now.
By this point my feet really were in agony, and we still had loads of work to do after leaving the museum. I begged Thomas to end it all and get us to the entrance. After checking a map and getting his bearings, he took off like a silver arrow and raced through the building. Finally after weaving through two millennia of art pieces I saw the ticket booth and the large doors beyond--and just at that second, Thomas took a sharp right turn and said, "You have to see this." and we headed down a rabbit warren of small hallways. I almost cried. But, he was right. I really did HAVE to see it. Apparently a very wealthy woman spent her life sitting around all day increasing and managing her collection of tiny pieces of furniture from various eras from various places on the planet--Louis the 14th France, 1870s Germany, 1920s England, 1930s America and so on. And these tiny rooms are the result. If you look at them from far away, it feels like you are looking at one room in a doll house. But if you get close up, pressing your face against the glass so that you can only see into the room, you would swear you are a giant human peeking into a really, tiny house occupied by tiny people. Here is a church. You really do feel like a God peering down onto the pathetic, unlovable humans: 
This is inside a Pullman car: 
There were dozens and dozens of these rooms, each one more amazing than the last. How did she have her house set up to display all these? Truly mad.
After that, we left the museum and headed back to my car. We had a big load of groceries to get out (pantry foods I had gotten in Flint before leaving) and up into Thomas's dorm. He kept trying to stall me to stop me from getting into his room. First, he said I should wait in the car, but I refused. Then he said I could wait in the lobby, but I rejected that plan. Then he said I should wait in the hallway outside his room but I refused to do that, too. He was convinced that his "nightmare" roommates would be "all over the place," being "stupid." I went in and saw two, both of whom were sitting quietly on the couch, playing what I guess was a video game. Both waved at me, and then went back to their business. I couldn't see what the fuss was about at ALL. After explaining "finances" (Thomas worries about money....a lot) we headed back to the car to get out a bike for him. He wanted one of our bikes but I thought it made more sense for his to have his own. He really seems to enjoy biking so why not do it right? He was very peevish about getting a new bike (a "waste of money"--see what I mean?) but I insisted he take it. I sure as hell wasn't going to take the bike back to Flint with me! I got the bike out of my car, but then I couldn't figure out how to attach the front wheel and hook up the brakes. I futzed around for what seemed like an hour, my back spasming the whole time, while Thomas sat in the front seat reading, or so I thought, the manual. But he wasn't. He was just playing on his damned phone the whole time, helping not one whit. When I said I was giving up and going to walk it to the nearest bike shop--which, unbelievably, was 380 feet from where we were standing that very second AND, even more unbelievably, was open on a Sunday--Thomas got all bent out of shape. "I want to try!" "It's my bike!" (This after he said he didn't want it.) "I am not going to a bike shop!" Our arguing escalated as it always does, to the point where we were engaged in an energetic tug of war over the bike. I won and wheeled it off to the bike shop but Thomas also won because he refused to go into the bike shop. About halfway to the store the kick stand fell off. We found the place and I went in and had the kick stand attached properly and also the brakes and wheel done up right--all for only $5. Money well spent, I say. Then Thomas reappeared and he tried the bike out--and it was great. So we went back to my car AGAIN (!!) to get his bike pump, lock and other small bike things and I headed to Target, which was what I was GOING to do when he called to demand breakfast. I made sure he didn't ditch the bike in an alleyway before I left (he didn't--he's a good boy, really) and I went to Target to buy him every dairy product I could think of (cheese, milk, butter, yogurts). I headed back and handed him the goods before I left for home. He seemed surprised to be finally rid of me.
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