Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Dinosaurs in the Attic
NY Trip: Part 2
The AMNH
If forced to choose a single major source of inspiration for my love of paleontology, I would have to go with the American Museum of Natural History. I’ve been going there every year since the age of one. At this point, I know every nook and cranny of the exhibit space: floorplans committed to memory, the location of evey object on display burned into my brain. I’ve seen exhibits come and (sadly) go (oh, how I miss you, Mollusks and Our World!) But, despite many years traversing its halls, the majority of the museum has remained unknown to me. What secrets lie beyond prying public eyes in the fabled “behind the scenes” where the real science takes place? Long have I pondered this question. Nor have my investigations been merely meditative: for many years I tried to sneak back into the collections, to catch a glimpse of my inevitable place of business (my future position as curator there having been decided at the age of three.) These excursions were always unsuccessful, of course—perpetually ending in locked doors or security guards that grew increasingly skeptical of my “lost and confused child” routine with each passing year. When I started college, I finally tried a different tact: oh, I’ll play your game, museum. I’ll do your paperwork and get clearance all good an’ legal-like. But again, my efforts were for naught, when certain curators feigned illness in a dastardly plot to keep me from my destined ends (I just know they did!) This most grievous defeat made me hunger for collections access all the more. Over the years, the legend of what marvels existed back there grew in my mind: thoughts of labyrinthine catacombs lined with fossils, secret passageways, and underground laboratories. The books I read on the museum’s history did little to shake my belief in this “hidden kingdom.” And so, I continued to plot and scheme, knowing that eventually my time would come and that the mysteries of this paleontological Shangri-La would be revealed to me.
This year, that time came. Finally, I had legitimate reason to visit the collections. They had specimens that I needed to examine to complete my research. I made sure everything was set for my visit weeks in advance—all the paperwork in order, specimen removal all shored up, the whole shebang. Nothing, but nothing, was going to stop me this time. Excited? You bet I was. And yet, part of me was fearful. It’s the curse of all those who devote their lives to a quest: in time, the quest itself becomes more important than the goal (oh, if that isn’t an ancient literary bromide I don’t know what is.) The thing is, I’ve been working in a major natural history museum for the past four years. Goodness knows, I love it, but I can’t help but feel somewhat jaded about the whole “behind-the-scenes” thing. There’s no catacombs, no hidden altars—it’s just that I walk an extra flight up the staircase and I have a keycard to open the door there. The halls are lined with offices, none of which could be described as particularly eldritch. Why should the AMNH be any different? Even as I was waiting in the museum entrance, under the majesty of the rearing Barosaurus skeleton, doubt gnawed at my brain. I had built this moment up to be so much—how could it possibly come through on my inflated wishes? Walking back into the museum with my escort, I at last resigned myself to disappointment. We walked into the Asian exhibit halls, stopping in one small room with elaborately carved wooden walls covered in various south Asian deities.
“What’s going on?”, I asked, wondering where the doorway or staircase to the upper levels was. My escort waited for the room to clear of any visitors, then crept to a darkened corner, pulling a secret lever and swinging the wall itself out, revealing a hidden elevator behind. Sweet merciful crap, it’s true! It’s all true! All of my crazed suppositions and vague conspiracy theories! They’re all real! The elevator took me upwards to the very summit of the museum, an ancient boneyard known only as “The Tower”—the first building of the museum to be built back in the 1880s, and apparently unrenovated since, if the interior was any indication. From there, it was on to the catacombs, and hallways lined with offices of decidedly eldritch appearance. I could go on, but then I’d be saying too much. Perhaps I already have…
Los Lobos
I saw them in Spike Lee’s Crookyln.
Chtylok
He totally returned.
Well, that covers all of my promises from last week, and pretty well wraps up the NY trip. But, my tales of city adventures are far from complete. One day I will relate my harrowing tales of Kankakee, IL! Or the ill-fated trip to Apopka, FL. And, may God have mercy on us all, Toledo, OH.
NY Trip: Part 2
The AMNH
If forced to choose a single major source of inspiration for my love of paleontology, I would have to go with the American Museum of Natural History. I’ve been going there every year since the age of one. At this point, I know every nook and cranny of the exhibit space: floorplans committed to memory, the location of evey object on display burned into my brain. I’ve seen exhibits come and (sadly) go (oh, how I miss you, Mollusks and Our World!) But, despite many years traversing its halls, the majority of the museum has remained unknown to me. What secrets lie beyond prying public eyes in the fabled “behind the scenes” where the real science takes place? Long have I pondered this question. Nor have my investigations been merely meditative: for many years I tried to sneak back into the collections, to catch a glimpse of my inevitable place of business (my future position as curator there having been decided at the age of three.) These excursions were always unsuccessful, of course—perpetually ending in locked doors or security guards that grew increasingly skeptical of my “lost and confused child” routine with each passing year. When I started college, I finally tried a different tact: oh, I’ll play your game, museum. I’ll do your paperwork and get clearance all good an’ legal-like. But again, my efforts were for naught, when certain curators feigned illness in a dastardly plot to keep me from my destined ends (I just know they did!) This most grievous defeat made me hunger for collections access all the more. Over the years, the legend of what marvels existed back there grew in my mind: thoughts of labyrinthine catacombs lined with fossils, secret passageways, and underground laboratories. The books I read on the museum’s history did little to shake my belief in this “hidden kingdom.” And so, I continued to plot and scheme, knowing that eventually my time would come and that the mysteries of this paleontological Shangri-La would be revealed to me.
This year, that time came. Finally, I had legitimate reason to visit the collections. They had specimens that I needed to examine to complete my research. I made sure everything was set for my visit weeks in advance—all the paperwork in order, specimen removal all shored up, the whole shebang. Nothing, but nothing, was going to stop me this time. Excited? You bet I was. And yet, part of me was fearful. It’s the curse of all those who devote their lives to a quest: in time, the quest itself becomes more important than the goal (oh, if that isn’t an ancient literary bromide I don’t know what is.) The thing is, I’ve been working in a major natural history museum for the past four years. Goodness knows, I love it, but I can’t help but feel somewhat jaded about the whole “behind-the-scenes” thing. There’s no catacombs, no hidden altars—it’s just that I walk an extra flight up the staircase and I have a keycard to open the door there. The halls are lined with offices, none of which could be described as particularly eldritch. Why should the AMNH be any different? Even as I was waiting in the museum entrance, under the majesty of the rearing Barosaurus skeleton, doubt gnawed at my brain. I had built this moment up to be so much—how could it possibly come through on my inflated wishes? Walking back into the museum with my escort, I at last resigned myself to disappointment. We walked into the Asian exhibit halls, stopping in one small room with elaborately carved wooden walls covered in various south Asian deities.
“What’s going on?”, I asked, wondering where the doorway or staircase to the upper levels was. My escort waited for the room to clear of any visitors, then crept to a darkened corner, pulling a secret lever and swinging the wall itself out, revealing a hidden elevator behind. Sweet merciful crap, it’s true! It’s all true! All of my crazed suppositions and vague conspiracy theories! They’re all real! The elevator took me upwards to the very summit of the museum, an ancient boneyard known only as “The Tower”—the first building of the museum to be built back in the 1880s, and apparently unrenovated since, if the interior was any indication. From there, it was on to the catacombs, and hallways lined with offices of decidedly eldritch appearance. I could go on, but then I’d be saying too much. Perhaps I already have…
Los Lobos
I saw them in Spike Lee’s Crookyln.
Chtylok
He totally returned.
Well, that covers all of my promises from last week, and pretty well wraps up the NY trip. But, my tales of city adventures are far from complete. One day I will relate my harrowing tales of Kankakee, IL! Or the ill-fated trip to Apopka, FL. And, may God have mercy on us all, Toledo, OH.
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