Ground Control To Major Tom

Nothing beats a Natural History Museum. All the post-modern conceptual art I saw in the last week (and I saw a lot) couldn't hold a candle to those wacky old-school dioramas and a good old-fashioned planetarium show. My friend The Writer and I visited my favorite city's Natural Museum of History and it totally kicked ass over any other Natural Museum of History I had up to that point attended. It's like the freakin' Louvre. You could spend a few days there easy and that's not even reading all the copy the good curators have provided for us. Honestly, it was the highlight of my trip and this prolly makes me an even bigger dork than you imagined.

Due to the vastness of the museum--all its halls, floors, wings, science centers, shops, bathrooms and food courts--we got separated and I ended up attending the planetarium show alone. Oh, but it did not disappoint! Into the dome shaped room we were herded. In the true fashion of the city I was visiting, when the announcements to turn off all cell phones, pagers and other electronic devices came on over the loud speaker, the audience immediately chided back and make sure to keep breathing to a minimum, stop all heartbeats, and keep your head tilted back at all times. The lights dimmed, we simultaneously looked up and if I had been there with a certain other, I would have slipped my hand into his. From the darkness a soothing yet recognizable voice emerged. Robert Redford! Ushering us into the universe! He told a tale of a giant explosion, of debris colliding to form the moon, and of a great meteorite that wiped out entire species. We've come a long way from the Pink Floyd laserium shows of the past. It was a poignant story, filled with dramatic three-dimensional recreations, and we did, in fact, hold our breaths.

Inside the museum my friend regaled me with quotes, both his (the next Bob Dylan is not going to be a musician) and those of others (Dad, this is boring, all the animals are DEAD!) The kids were out in full effect as were the lovers. And we couldn't stop thinking of Bowie. Who else knew best how to use space as a metaphor? Entire albums devoted to outer space! We walked around singing Bowie songs (For here am I sitting in a tin can, far above the world, Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do) and looking at those beautiful, panoramic Hasselblad photographs of the Apollo landing. We felt small and inconsequential, but as the same time we felt a part of things, we felt a part of the universe. And for that day, the universe belonged to us.