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Monday, August 05, 2002 During the weekend, I spent some of my time wandering around Pasadena City Hall and the Norton Simon Museum. Sometimes I don't realize what I have in the backyard until it's too late. City Hall had been empty. The only people I saw were a few casual tourists who flitted in and out of my vision like illusions. I stood at the central courtyard surrounded by domed turrets. Beside me, a fountain crackled with water. It was as if I had wandered into the middle of Sleeping Beauty. What was a fairy tale doing in the middle of yuppie city? But I didn't question it. Perhaps for a moment or two, I had been transported into an alternate dimension. Maybe it's summer getting to me. I spend my time alone (or at least in my mind) far too much--making me drown in introspection. I'd like to think that there's no such thing as too much imagination, but when I have to jerk myself out of a daydream I wonder if I'm maladjusted. The Norton Simon Museum was fantastic. One man had managed to assemble a diverse set of art in the latter half of his life. De Zurbarán, Rembrandt, Matisse, Picasso, Degas, Giorgione, Van Gogh. And the largest South Asian exhibit (mostly multi-armed Hindi gods and goddesses) outside of Asia. As usual, I felt a bit grubby among the well-dressed patrons murmuring pretentious comments and the chic art students scribbing furiously in their notebooks (after all, I had just escaped from lab in a pair of splotchy jeans and a rumpled t-shirt)--but art, well, it honestly made me forget everything else around me. Again. [posted by S. Y. Affolee on 9:08 PM : ]
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