This picture says a lot about the American character.
Or does it?
The question, rather than the answer, may be the point. That, at least, seems to be the premise of the Center for Land Use Interpretation, which allowed me to use this and the other pictures in this post.
The Center is one of the strangest entities I know of. You might ask, what is it?
Let’s start with what it is not, despite the general sound of its name. It is
- not a government agency,
- not a think tank, and
- not a lobby.
Well, then, what? After struggling to answer this question (which is what this post is about), I will venture these two options:
- a deliberate mystery designed to make Americans aware of their peripheral vision, and possibly
- an inside job, which is to say an incredibly cunning and subversive satire of America.
But that’s for you to judge. Let’s start with the facts:
The Center is located at 9331 Venice Boulevard in Los Angeles. Outwardly, this is a nondescript block on a slightly depressing thoroughfare of the sort that the city is infamous for. Inside, however, it may be the strangest block in America. For the Center shares a building with the Museum of Jurassic Technology (of which, more in a moment) which is at 9341 Venice Boulevard, just one door down.
The contents of the Center include a vast database of pictures, descriptions, videos, maps and other information about American places. Furthermore, the Center occasionally organizes bus tours to some of those places. This can look as follows:
But that still tells you nothing. Why should this be interesting?
Well, trustworthy sources had brought it to my attention, so I went there for a visit.
I chatted with Matthew Coolidge, the Center’s founder, while gazing at a multimedia exhibit (ie, a video) of a stretch of California highway that I’ve driven on many times. It was slightly surreal and yet hypnotic.
“You seem to be drawn to drab, banal or ugly places,” I said to Matthew.
“What is ugly?,” he probed. Calling something ugly is judging, and judging distracts from observation.
My source had prepared me to expect subtle irony, so this was perhaps it. If so, Matthew played his role perfectly. He spoke dispassionately, like a scientist — “anthropogeomorphologist”, is the delightful word he used.
He said, more or less, that the Center’s mission is to make people aware of surroundings they usually try to ignore because they seem un-noteworthy. Office parks. Garbage dumps. Deserts. Highways.
“It’s like negative tourism,” as a friend of mine had put it. In other words, the places of interest are not the obvious ones (Disneyland, The Golden Gate Bridge, et cetera) but all the others. That leaves a lot of places.
For example, America’s vast empty places.
Americans do strange things in them.
Sometimes, for example, (as at the Nevis Range in Nevada) they bomb or nuke them for practice:
Strangely beautiful, isn’t it? Almost like art.
Other times, the places are eerie. Towns like St. Thomas, Nevada, for example. It is usually invisible, having been submerged under Lake Mead, the nation’s largest reservoir, when the Hoover Dam was built. But St. Thomas re-appears during droughts, emerging like a ghost town or haunted museum from the waters:
As my source put it, most people who go on the Center’s tours or sojourn in its database soon find that the “juxtapositions accumulate force.” Whatever they might have thought about America before, they are tempted to re-examine it.
But what might the conclusion be? This is what kept bothering me.
Both Matthew and his Center are militant about not having an explicit point of view.
As Ralph Rugoff, an art curator and director of London’s Hayward Gallery, puts it, this “flagrant nonpartisanship” is “slightly suspicious”.
If you are at all like me, it is also unsatisfying.
The Museum of Jurassic Technology
Matthew must have sensed my dissatisfaction when we stood together, for he suddenly asked me: “Have you been next door yet?”
Next door is of course the Museum of Jurassic Technology.
“Not yet,” I answered. “What is it about?”
“The less you know the better,” Matthew answered.
“Are they connected to you?”, I asked.
Matthew seemed to suppress a smirk: “No.”
Suddenly, a female voice wafted to my ears from behind us. “Connected only in spirit,” she said.
I turned, and beheld Matthew’s partner. I had never noticed her entering the room, but there she sat. She was patting a black cat.
Patting a black cat.
I went next door.
A few meters and seconds later, I entered the Museum. I was about to make my voluntary contribution into the money jar when somebody said: “Are you the journalist?”
“I am a journalist,” I answered.
“They said you should go in free,” came the reply.
How did “they” beat me, I wondered. Clearly, there had to be an internal door. I entered.
The museum is — how to put it — disconcerting.
It was dark and clammy. There were — or seemed to be, I can no longer tell — disquieting noises. One exhibit is a model of American trailer parks. Another, about “mouse cures”, consists of two dead mice on toast, with the explanation that this sort of thing was once said to have cured bed wetting and stammering in children. Another exhibit featured “salted teeth.” So it went.
The Museum baffled me even more than the Center next door.
Finally, I pieced together a narrative for myself:
The Museum seemed to be a meta-museum: a museum that mocks museums. It communicates bemusement at the human tendency to put things behind glass and stare at them, and at our underlying ignorance combined with confident superstition.
How, then, was it “connected in spirit” to the Center, as the lady with the black cat had said?
It had to be that the Center comments on America as the Museum comments on humanity, and that both, realizing that they are inside jokes, know that they must never explain the punch line.
Somewhat disconcerted, I left and began contemplating whether and how I might turn this into a story for The Economist, as I had intended. What that led to will be the subject of the next post.
24 thoughts on “America seen through non-obvious places”
“What that led to will be the subject of the next post.”
…he said, patting a black cat.
I agree with your assessment about the meta-museum. But somehow I don’t think they get many repeat visitors.
I would think not. Unless it’s a cult thing, which it might be….
I learned there are 5 locations for the CLUI, two in California, one in Utah, one in New York, and one in Texas. And that they have a website (.ORG so one assumes they have non-profit status). I doubt a group with 5 locations are operating as a spoof so I must assume they are serious about what they do.
Having traveled through the Great Southwest from time to time, I have tried to take notice of my surroundings, for no other reason than to avoid boredom. I used to be fascinated, as a child, by Burma Shave signs so I am fairly easily amused.
I’ll have to visit the Desert Research Station when I next wander through the Mojave.
Non-profit, yes. I should have made that clear.
The Great Basin is a great hunting ground for them, but they have places all over the US. Even office parks in Ohio, for god’s sake….
The Center and Museum sound zen-like. They invite the visitor to see the miraculous in the mundane.
I hadn’t heard of them before, but will definitely put them on my “to visit” list when next I’m in LA.
You might get a kick out of them.
On the other hand, I don’t know about “Zen-like” as a descriptor.
This is the genius of trust-fund babies, I would bet.
Do they have an office in Roswell, maybe next to the UFO museum?
No, no. Stop. Their Northern California satellite is at the Mystery Spot.
Better yet, the Petrified Forest ( now that’s a site I might have missed..) on my way to work…
The Mystery Spot: I had to google it. How curious. And nobody ever told me…
Reminds me of a high school trip to the Elektropathologische Museum in Vienna. (Translation for non-German speakers: Electropathological Museum)
As the name suggests, the museum features pictures and documents related to electrocution accidents. A lovely alternative to the run-of-the-mill trouristy stuff like Vienna Opera, Spanische Hofreitschule, and Schloss Schönbrunn.
The difference between a rose and a weed is a judgment.
Why such poetry about the rose?
At last I have a destination for my next trip to Wien.
In between Heuriger, perhaps. 😉
Electropathological Museum? Positively shocking. I bet you got a charge out it.
Yes, I got a charge out of it, just as the museum got a charge out of me. (Admission wasn’t free.) The first time I looked up charge in a dictionary, I was hopelessly confused due to sheer definition overload. To charge a fee, to charge up a hill, an electric charge, and so on. Same with pitch (pitched roof, pitch-black, the pitcher on a baseball team, etc.).
Obviously, the perfect time to visit Wien is during Hallowien.
The line in this post which states that calling something ugly is judging, and judging distracts from observation reminded me of that old adage about the rose and the weed, hence the poetry.
In Windows XP and earlier I spent hour upon hour watching the progress of disk defragmentation, seeking meaning in all things American. Windows Vista deprived me.
And then along came The Hannibal Blog, News from around the Block , Cyberquill and Phoggy Days, Phoggy Nights.
Helped, of course, by you, Thomas, and Jenny too.
But nothing beats defragmentation.
@Richard: A time-honored actor-training exercise (and favorite game at our kitchen table) is casting the movie of our lives.
In the movie–a rashomon-style pic rapidly developing in my imagination–of the interactions of the coterie you mention above, you will be played (with your permission, of course) by Sir Anthony Hopkins, of, say, Room with a View vintage. 🙂
@Richard: Ooops. Ooops. I meant “Remains of the Day” vintage. Easy enough mistake to make!
I’ve heard many complaints levelled against Vista, but this is the first time I’ve heard vista accused of destroying someone’s vista!
And Douglas, naturally, when I am allowed on to his site.
You are always permitted on my site. As is everyone. And welcome at any time. You will find it somewhat less intriguing, I suspect, than those you have have mentioned.
Not “Silence of the Lambs” vintage?
Maybe I should I sneak back to XP.
Sometimes I sits and thinks. Other times I just sits.
what an amazingly ugly piece – ‘…..lady with black cat……’ isn’t that simple old fashioned somewhat sexist crap -there’s a poetry there at both joints and just because you don’t see it or get it – why bother yourself writing about it, why kick them to the curb ? -it’s a gift you knucklehead – as to the prominence you give to YOUR work for THE ECONOMIST – break me a fucking give