You experience sick, I experience music

It didn't take long for coffee shock to set in; I dropped the missus off at work this morning on my way to get our tire fixed and stopped at Chick Fil-A for breakfast. All those "Ah, so this is what life is about" moments I had out West haunted me with each sip. On the other hand, here at home I can go to an ATM in the morning and not have to flee for my life while a couple aggressive street dudes make a play for my checking account. (Believe me, it's not worth the jail time, fellas.)


On Sunday, with nothing to do until the evening, I decided to go ahead and check out the Experience Music Project. I didn't really want to go, but I talked myself into it in an internal dialogue that went roughly like this:

ME

You know, you probably won't be back here for a long time. What if someone asks you your opinion of the museum?

ME

I don't really hang out with people who care about stuff like that.

ME

Still, you are looking for a job. And besides that, you've already eaten that whole box of Thin Mints you bought from the Girls Scouts on the ferry, taken photos of yourself in the hotel bathrobe and watched two SportsCenters—and it's not even 10 a.m.

ME

But it costs like $20 to get in.

ME

Money you'd gladly spend on beer.

And so on. In the end, boredom and fear of being asked about it in a job interview won out, so I swallowed hard and paid my 20 beans, reminding myself that at least I was helping to keep Ann Powers in epiphanies. The museum was...okay. It was cool to see Gene Simmons' costume up close (even if it was from the back-in-makeup tour), I guess, and I enjoyed the history of Seattle music exhibit as well as the Beatles and Hendrix stuff.

I am congenitally unable to appreciate Bob Dylan, but I tried anyway at the museum's main exhibit. There were some cool fetish objects (e.g., Woody Guthrie's notebooks), but I gave up after about 90 seconds because I just don't care. Sorry. Big critical blind spot, I know, but the man never meant shit to me.


I guess the fetishistic stuff is the point of rock history, when you get right down to it. It's not like there'll be a lot to say about Michelle Branch in a decade, most likely, but it might still be interesting to look at the green top she wore for some video and then watch the video. Might.

I skipped the headphone tour that cost $3 extra--$20 is already unconscionable, imho--so maybe I missed out on the total significance of a couple of Heart's '80s costumes. I think I was adequately entertained for my money, but I'm not sure I learned anything. Except that Andy Greenwald, who provides audio commentary for the emo exhibitlit, is approaching ubiquity. Should have been nicer to him at the Eggs show.