Damn, I’ve been away awhile. Where was I, anyway?
Actually, I have a pretty good excuse for my absence. I spent all of last week in Santa Fe, for a conference as well as a little pre- and post-conference relaxation. The week before that, I was in, well, a frenzy. I over-booked myself, and I had to get myself ready to go to New Mexico. It’s a lot of work to get ready for vacation, you know?
Before I left for Santa Fe, I attended Game 3 of the Flyers’ doomed playoff series against the Penguins. The Fly-boys lost, and—really—they deserved to. After two periods of play, they’d managed only a mere eight shots on goal. Ugh. It was a long night, made even longer by the facts that (i) I’d paid $300 for a seat in the Club Section (it was all I could get at the last minute), (ii) the three guys to my right were more interested in making a deal than in hockey, and (iii) the guy to my left arrived in his seat well-lubricated enough to think that his large, pointy elbow deserved a home somewhere in my ribcage. The highlight of the evening was probably the Flyers’ desperation call-up of Kate Smith, who—just as she had in the last regular-season game that I saw—appeared from the afterlife to sing “God Bless America” as a duet with the usual anthemist. Or maybe the highlight was the gigantic XL orange t-shirt the Flyers gave fans so we’d look like some kind of tangerine-colored menace to the folks watching on Versus. It’s a tough call.
The very next night I caught a performance of Cirque du Soleil’s KOOZA. As you may know, I’m completely smitten with Cirque du Soleil: If I had any nerve talent, I’d quit my job and join the troupe [notice my purposeful use of the French-ish spelling]. Since I last compiled my Cirque du Soleil resume (at the old site), I’ve seen both Mystère and KOOZA. I remember Mystère, which I saw in Las Vegas in December, as one of Cirque’s most traditional (i.e., circus-y) shows. KOOZA, too, is pretty “normal,” heavier on acrobatics and clowning than most Cirque offerings. I absolutely enjoyed the show. In fact, I’d rank it among the top half of the nine(!) Cirque shows I’ve seen. Which one should I see next?
On Saturday, I flew to Albuquerque (grumble: my bag flew the next day). On Sunday, I caught Game 1 of a doubleheader between the Albuquerque Isotopes and the Omaha Royals. I’m a big fan of the Kansas City Royals, so I probably should’ve rooted for their AAA squad. But how can a Good Guy™ root against the home team at a minor league park? Good Guy™ can’t, of course…. It was an enjoyable, action-packed game, and the Isotopes prevailed, 11-2. I came away from the game with a snazzy t-shirt, a ballcap, and a little bit of heartburn from the Indian taco and Bananas Foster (really). Given the team’s nickname, I knew there’d be some cool atomic-inspired merch to be had, and I was right. I’ll probably be explaining that weird symbol on the ballcap for years….
The next day, I took a shuttle to Santa Fe, nestled beautifully in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains (the southernmost range of the Rocky Mountains). My presentations at the conference went well, and then I was free to enjoy the local offerings. I had plenty of Santa Fe Pale Ale and more than a couple of margaritas. I had enormous quantities of tortilla soup and enchiladas. (I’m still not sure about the cactus salad I had one day for lunch.) I wandered the cute downtown, centered—naturally—on an old-time Plaza. And I browsed art galleries and higher-end boutiques than I usually visit (Mom, do not ask about my credit card balances). I came back with two cool shirts and several books, but, sadly, I did not find the turquoise bolo of my dreams.
On my last full day in Santa Fe, which was rainy and almost downright cold, I visited the New Mexico Museum of Art and the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. Of the two, I’d have to recommend—pretty highly, too—the former. The Museum of Art’s ongoing exhibition, How the West Is One, really captured my attention—especially as it moved from the fairly predictable early Western pieces to more modern pieces affected by the crazy Hispanic-Pueblo-Anglo influences of Santa Fe. I was so impressed that I lugged home the 20-pound exhibition catalog. For lazy me, that’s a high compliment.
The O’Keeffe Museum was closed for most of the week, and I made it there on the day it reopened with a new exhibit, Georgia O’Keeffe and Ansel Adams: Natural Affinities. The O’Keeffe-Adams combination seemed pretty darn forced to me, designed more to attract tourists than display any artistic similarities. Going in, too, I was a little miffed that so much of the exhibition space would be devoted to non-O’Keeffe works. But in the end, it was an Adams photograph, Moonrise, Hernandez, one of his most famous, that I’ll probably remember best. It shows a beautiful rising moon in an incredibly spacious sky, all over an idyllic New Mexican rural scene. I want to inhabit that space.
As for Santa Fe, well, it’s definitely beautiful, but I’m not at all sure I’d want to live there. It didn’t seem entirely real to me. The downtown was, I’m sure, consciously made “Western” some 100 years ago to appeal to tourists. And I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the intervening century hadn’t made the scene any more real. I felt like I ought to like the town, though. I enjoyed the countercultural bookstores and the galleries, and I definitely enjoyed the beer and food. I just felt like the locals had gotten so used to “performing” the West that they’d forgotten who/what they really were. Does that make any sense?
I’m back home now, unpacked and laundered-up enough for the work week ahead. That, at least, makes me nostalgic for Santa Fe. Work, after all, is hard to take after a little vacation.