Since Chinglish is the language of the future, or at least the near future, here’s a primer for your convenience. Study up. Next week there will be a quiz.
In terms of grammar, Chinese lacks article words such as “the,” “a,” or “an,” and Chinglish speakers will often leave them out.
Mandarin also has no tense. If something happens in the future, an indicator is put into the sentence — “tomorrow” or “next year” — but not attached to the verb, a la “will” in “I will go to the store.”
For English speakers learning Chinese, the other side of Chinglish, grammatical articles like “le” or “de” add mystery and suspense to Chinese grammar. No American I know has ever totally mastered the use of “le,” and no Chinese I’ve asked has been able to explain it.
There are a few archaic phrases likely to be revived by a surge in Chinglish use. “Oh, what a pity!” often greeted a revelation that something lamentable had happened to me on the way to class, or that I wouldn’t be able to join my students for volleyball or badminton afterward.
“Best wishes” in Chinglish transcends the coworker’s-birthday-card cordiality it usually has here, and becomes an expression of genuine interest in a friend’s wellbeing.
If you ask a Chinese how they’re feeling, they will likely answer “so-so” in lieu of “fine.”
Tone is often the only difference between words in Chinese, leading to interesting associations between words we don’t recognize as similar, particularly with numbers.
Just as the word for eight, “ba,” is similar to “fortune,” “fa,” the word “si” can mean both “four” and “death or dies.” Four is considered an unlucky number.
There are also some numbers, my students told me, that correlate to Chinese phrases. If you’re ever texted the number 150, for instance, the messenger is trying to send you “best wishes.” 520 means “I love you.” (“Wu er ling” is similar to “wo ai ni.”)
My students also added a few given names to the canon. Chinese names aren’t abstracted from meanings the way European or American names often are; they’re also characteristics or other nouns, like our “Faith” or “Dawn.”
My students often tried to translate the literal meanings of their names, leading to English names like Agent, Purple or Tornado.
“My name means ‘a strong wind,’” explained my student Tornado. “It means I am forceful and strong.”
His cousin, Batman, didn’t attempt to explain his name, but another fictional character did.
“[Han] Solo is a very brave man,” he said.
Each of my classes at the university level also included a girl named “Apple,” in reference to having a rounded face.
These may sound strange at first, but after awhile, I suspect we’ll get used to people calling themselves whatever they want.
“Batman!” I found myself saying in class one day. “Sit down and pay attention! Tornado, please help him find his place in the reading.”
Chinese also use descriptive titles with their names. Instead of “Miss Watkins,” my Chinese name to my students would translate to “Teacher Watkins.” Bus or taxi drivers are “Driver Zhang,” principals are “Principal Li,” and so on. Calling a person by their title shows respect rather than objectification in Chinese culture.
If you appear to be older, or much-respected, don’t be surprised to hear yourself referred to as “Grandma” or “Grandpa” — also a sign of respect for Chinese.
Taking leave of someone may elicit a “happy every day,” a common Chinglish phrase on par with “best wishes.”
So a happy every day to you.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
9/19/08: Chinglish has delicious prospects as a language
I was heading to the A Dong Asian supermarket in West Hartford the other day and paused on my way in, in the airlocklike vestibule that separates the American outside from the pan-Asian inside of the store, and noticed how many fliers were posted on the community bulletin board advertising Chinese classes.
Most of the classes are for kids and tend to cater to parents who fall into one of two categories: those who want their children to learn the language of their ancestors, and those who want their children to learn the language of the future.
I’m betting that whichever category applies, those classes are filled. More Americans are interested in Mandarin than ever before.
When I was in China, I learned two dialects of Chinese — Sichuanhua, which is considered a “hillbilly” dialect, similar to an American having a West Virginian accent, and putonghua, or common Mandarin.
But I think it’s more likely that the next language of commerce and culture is not Mandarin. I think it will be Chinglish.
Chinglish isn’t a recognized dialect or even a real pidgin language, like Creole, but it has potential. Combining the grammatical structures of Mandarin and English leads to some unique phrasing, and the widespread use of outdated textbooks in at least the places I taught in China meant that my students often resurrected words I’d thought were relegated to vocabulary exercises and Victorian novels.
“Lovely” stands in for “cute,” for instance; “dear” for “expensive,” as in England; and “trousers” for “pants” or “shorts.”
“Delicious” and “spicy” are used much more often by Chinese people than native English speakers. Every dish in China is declared “delicious” — none are just “good.”
These are fairly innocuous differences. But there were times the language didn’t translate quite so well.
Like during the end-of-term party my ninth-grade class was having. I’d told my students they could listen to music during the party if it was English music.
Steven, one of the most “lively” — another popular Chinglish word — of my students had brought a CD of Chinese music containing a few unintelligible lines of English.
“Steven,” I said, “This is not English music.”
“Yes, English!” Steven protested. “‘Superlovers,’ Miss Watkins. I’ll show you — one night of love!”
I looked up, startled, to confirm that Steven was not propositioning me. He was desperately pointing to the three lines of English in the liner notes to the CD, which included “superlovers” and “one night of love.” I tried to keep a straight face, and I let him keep the music on.
It may sound at this point like I was being a bad teacher, letting my 14-year-old students listen to a song with questionable content in class. But in China, “lover” is akin to an endearment like “sweetheart,” based on a direct translation from “ai ren,” or “love person.”
Many of the vocabulary faux pas of my students were due to the ubiquitous electronic Chinese-English dictionaries they carried everywhere. My first class rule was always “no electronic dictionaries,” but students rarely paid attention.
Using the dictionaries distorted language the way an online translation program does. Despite this, my students didn’t believe I could tell when they were using them.
“I just wish you a lucky and perspective new year,” wrote one of my students last year.
“I think you are using your electronic dictionary,” I wrote back. “But thank you. And same-same to you.”
Most of the classes are for kids and tend to cater to parents who fall into one of two categories: those who want their children to learn the language of their ancestors, and those who want their children to learn the language of the future.
I’m betting that whichever category applies, those classes are filled. More Americans are interested in Mandarin than ever before.
When I was in China, I learned two dialects of Chinese — Sichuanhua, which is considered a “hillbilly” dialect, similar to an American having a West Virginian accent, and putonghua, or common Mandarin.
But I think it’s more likely that the next language of commerce and culture is not Mandarin. I think it will be Chinglish.
Chinglish isn’t a recognized dialect or even a real pidgin language, like Creole, but it has potential. Combining the grammatical structures of Mandarin and English leads to some unique phrasing, and the widespread use of outdated textbooks in at least the places I taught in China meant that my students often resurrected words I’d thought were relegated to vocabulary exercises and Victorian novels.
“Lovely” stands in for “cute,” for instance; “dear” for “expensive,” as in England; and “trousers” for “pants” or “shorts.”
“Delicious” and “spicy” are used much more often by Chinese people than native English speakers. Every dish in China is declared “delicious” — none are just “good.”
These are fairly innocuous differences. But there were times the language didn’t translate quite so well.
Like during the end-of-term party my ninth-grade class was having. I’d told my students they could listen to music during the party if it was English music.
Steven, one of the most “lively” — another popular Chinglish word — of my students had brought a CD of Chinese music containing a few unintelligible lines of English.
“Steven,” I said, “This is not English music.”
“Yes, English!” Steven protested. “‘Superlovers,’ Miss Watkins. I’ll show you — one night of love!”
I looked up, startled, to confirm that Steven was not propositioning me. He was desperately pointing to the three lines of English in the liner notes to the CD, which included “superlovers” and “one night of love.” I tried to keep a straight face, and I let him keep the music on.
It may sound at this point like I was being a bad teacher, letting my 14-year-old students listen to a song with questionable content in class. But in China, “lover” is akin to an endearment like “sweetheart,” based on a direct translation from “ai ren,” or “love person.”
Many of the vocabulary faux pas of my students were due to the ubiquitous electronic Chinese-English dictionaries they carried everywhere. My first class rule was always “no electronic dictionaries,” but students rarely paid attention.
Using the dictionaries distorted language the way an online translation program does. Despite this, my students didn’t believe I could tell when they were using them.
“I just wish you a lucky and perspective new year,” wrote one of my students last year.
“I think you are using your electronic dictionary,” I wrote back. “But thank you. And same-same to you.”
Friday, September 12, 2008
9/12/08: No one fits in infinite space of cyber chapel
I have this friend — let’s call her Balicia — who has tried Internet dating. After several possible matches, some of whom she knew only via e-mail and some of whom she met in person, she gave up.
It’s one thing to put your best foot forward on an in-person date. It’s another to have hours and hours to pore over every pixel in your profile photo or every word of your self-description. What are the chances that those moments that tell us we’re compatible with a potential partner — the slips of decorum that show the real person underneath, impossible to completely eliminate in face-to-face encounters — will show through in such a well-vetted venue?
What are the chances the deal-breakers will?
My friend found the whole process exhausting and not worth her time and, when her subscription to her dating Web site expired, she let it lapse.
I’m no Luddite, but I believe what most traditionalists do about courtship and marriage, and about the Internet and social fragmentation. I’m a fan of face-to-face interactions.
I’m in a dwindling group, there, though.
Henry Jenkins, professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and author of several books, including “Fans, Bloggers and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture,” defends online interactions as just as valid as in-person ones.
In one essay, he recounts his son’s experience with a girlfriend he met and maintained a relationship with online — a relationship that ended after a trip to meet the girl and her family, thanks, Jenkins implies, to her parents’ restrictions and ambivalent attitude toward her online boyfriend.
Jenkins claims that his son’s and the girlfriend’s emotions were no less real because they were usually expressed electronically, and I’m inclined to agree. Especially with teens who grew up with the Internet, typing could be just as significant as talking in forming relationships.
But Jenkins took his son to meet the girl, anyway. There are some things online exchanges just can’t provide.
The next step for serious daters, for instance — Internet weddings.
Internet weddings do exist, I was shocked to learn. The Chatalot Wedding Chapels, for instance, come in several varieties, including “gothic,” “enchanted,” “international” and “Las Vegas.”
Potential brides and grooms can select a chapel chatroom, password-protected, and e-mail invitations to their guest list.
The cyber wedding is bring-your-own-clergy, and assuming a pastor, priest or justice of the peace agrees to officiate, this seems to indicate a scheduled start time just as with a traditional wedding. How the revelry expresses itself — party guests popping champagne corks in the privacy of their bedrooms, perhaps? — is as much a mystery as whether the newlyweds need to be in the same room, or even the same state, when the vows take place.
Having a wedding online is bad enough, I thought, but my jaw actually dropped open when I saw the second feature of the basic package: a “reserved honeymoon suite with private password for one week.”
I know it’s rude to ask — I didn’t get a response when I wrote to Chatalot.com to ask last week — but what exactly would one do in a private honeymoon chatroom?
Probably not anything that couldn’t be done better in person.
Is this the way we recognize love and commitment in the digital age — as atomized individuals, separated from the sights and smells of the friends and cakes we intend to celebrate with?
The point may be moot, though: Cyber weddings are not legally binding.
Yet.
It’s one thing to put your best foot forward on an in-person date. It’s another to have hours and hours to pore over every pixel in your profile photo or every word of your self-description. What are the chances that those moments that tell us we’re compatible with a potential partner — the slips of decorum that show the real person underneath, impossible to completely eliminate in face-to-face encounters — will show through in such a well-vetted venue?
What are the chances the deal-breakers will?
My friend found the whole process exhausting and not worth her time and, when her subscription to her dating Web site expired, she let it lapse.
I’m no Luddite, but I believe what most traditionalists do about courtship and marriage, and about the Internet and social fragmentation. I’m a fan of face-to-face interactions.
I’m in a dwindling group, there, though.
Henry Jenkins, professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and author of several books, including “Fans, Bloggers and Gamers: Exploring Participatory Culture,” defends online interactions as just as valid as in-person ones.
In one essay, he recounts his son’s experience with a girlfriend he met and maintained a relationship with online — a relationship that ended after a trip to meet the girl and her family, thanks, Jenkins implies, to her parents’ restrictions and ambivalent attitude toward her online boyfriend.
Jenkins claims that his son’s and the girlfriend’s emotions were no less real because they were usually expressed electronically, and I’m inclined to agree. Especially with teens who grew up with the Internet, typing could be just as significant as talking in forming relationships.
But Jenkins took his son to meet the girl, anyway. There are some things online exchanges just can’t provide.
The next step for serious daters, for instance — Internet weddings.
Internet weddings do exist, I was shocked to learn. The Chatalot Wedding Chapels, for instance, come in several varieties, including “gothic,” “enchanted,” “international” and “Las Vegas.”
Potential brides and grooms can select a chapel chatroom, password-protected, and e-mail invitations to their guest list.
The cyber wedding is bring-your-own-clergy, and assuming a pastor, priest or justice of the peace agrees to officiate, this seems to indicate a scheduled start time just as with a traditional wedding. How the revelry expresses itself — party guests popping champagne corks in the privacy of their bedrooms, perhaps? — is as much a mystery as whether the newlyweds need to be in the same room, or even the same state, when the vows take place.
Having a wedding online is bad enough, I thought, but my jaw actually dropped open when I saw the second feature of the basic package: a “reserved honeymoon suite with private password for one week.”
I know it’s rude to ask — I didn’t get a response when I wrote to Chatalot.com to ask last week — but what exactly would one do in a private honeymoon chatroom?
Probably not anything that couldn’t be done better in person.
Is this the way we recognize love and commitment in the digital age — as atomized individuals, separated from the sights and smells of the friends and cakes we intend to celebrate with?
The point may be moot, though: Cyber weddings are not legally binding.
Yet.
Friday, September 5, 2008
9/5/08: Pequots provide more than same old history
Interactive museums are great, and we in central Connecticut have access to some great ones. I’ve written about Old Sturbridge Village and Mystic Seaport, each of which tell stories familiar to most Americans who sat through two or three years of mandatory American history.
If you want to hear the story of the less-heard voices of the historically disenfranchised in Connecticut, there’s another place to go: the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center.
If you’re expecting something with the power of the Holocaust museum, you’ll likely be disappointed. The Mashantucket Pequot Museum does include accounts of diseases, economic and environmental changes and war brought on by contact with English settlers, but it incorporates these into its displays on the daily lives of Pequots rather than making the difficulties the focus of the museum.
The resulting experience is less traumatic, and maybe less memorable, but this is to its credit. What could have been a nightmare account of atrocities committed against the Pequot becomes an effective retelling of familiar stories from another perspective, one in which the Pequot are people with full lives, an economy and system of governance, a spiritual path and a place in colonial history, rather than victims.
"It’s all covered," said David Holahan, museum spokesman. "The exhibits give information on diseases and the impact of Europeans, but they also show eastern tribes’ cultures, spiritual and sociopolitical lives."
The museum is no less able to succeed in its aims — to educate visitors on the lives of eastern native peoples — for its balance and quotidian focus.
The museum doesn’t have the staffing of Old Sturbridge Village, where people walk around in character as colonial villagers, but it does a good job of making up for it. Throughout the museum are Pequot figures performing daily tasks and rituals, being healed or hefting spears, defending their village against attack or fishing. You’re not allowed to touch them, of course, but the figures are so lifelike that I found myself staring at one of the men serving as lookout in a canoe in the main atrium for about two minutes, waiting for him to breathe.
The largest display is of a Pequot village, where visitors can walk around with an audio tour guide and learn more about whichever scenes most interest them. The tour often goes beyond describing the scenes portrayed, too, offering to tell you more about agriculture in the village, or more about the spiritual practices of the Pequot or more about learning to hunt, "then and now."
Often the "more information" is a surprisingly impromptu interview of a modern Mashantucket Pequot tribal member. One mother tells of her son’s first hunting expedition with an older Native American — they didn’t catch anything — and another tribal member talks about the efforts of one man to get federal recognition for the tribe in the 1970s and 1980s. All the "ums" and "ahs" are included, making listening to the tribal members on the audio tour seem as good as a conversation.
The museum contains more traditional displays of textiles and artworks, as well, and several films that flesh out the information provided by wall displays or readings. But it’s the interactive details that help the museum to reach beyond the dry accounts of a history book — one that may or may not have included detailed accounts of Pequot life, anyway — and create actual experiences for visitors.
If you want to hear the story of the less-heard voices of the historically disenfranchised in Connecticut, there’s another place to go: the Mashantucket Pequot Museum and Research Center.
If you’re expecting something with the power of the Holocaust museum, you’ll likely be disappointed. The Mashantucket Pequot Museum does include accounts of diseases, economic and environmental changes and war brought on by contact with English settlers, but it incorporates these into its displays on the daily lives of Pequots rather than making the difficulties the focus of the museum.
The resulting experience is less traumatic, and maybe less memorable, but this is to its credit. What could have been a nightmare account of atrocities committed against the Pequot becomes an effective retelling of familiar stories from another perspective, one in which the Pequot are people with full lives, an economy and system of governance, a spiritual path and a place in colonial history, rather than victims.
"It’s all covered," said David Holahan, museum spokesman. "The exhibits give information on diseases and the impact of Europeans, but they also show eastern tribes’ cultures, spiritual and sociopolitical lives."
The museum is no less able to succeed in its aims — to educate visitors on the lives of eastern native peoples — for its balance and quotidian focus.
The museum doesn’t have the staffing of Old Sturbridge Village, where people walk around in character as colonial villagers, but it does a good job of making up for it. Throughout the museum are Pequot figures performing daily tasks and rituals, being healed or hefting spears, defending their village against attack or fishing. You’re not allowed to touch them, of course, but the figures are so lifelike that I found myself staring at one of the men serving as lookout in a canoe in the main atrium for about two minutes, waiting for him to breathe.
The largest display is of a Pequot village, where visitors can walk around with an audio tour guide and learn more about whichever scenes most interest them. The tour often goes beyond describing the scenes portrayed, too, offering to tell you more about agriculture in the village, or more about the spiritual practices of the Pequot or more about learning to hunt, "then and now."
Often the "more information" is a surprisingly impromptu interview of a modern Mashantucket Pequot tribal member. One mother tells of her son’s first hunting expedition with an older Native American — they didn’t catch anything — and another tribal member talks about the efforts of one man to get federal recognition for the tribe in the 1970s and 1980s. All the "ums" and "ahs" are included, making listening to the tribal members on the audio tour seem as good as a conversation.
The museum contains more traditional displays of textiles and artworks, as well, and several films that flesh out the information provided by wall displays or readings. But it’s the interactive details that help the museum to reach beyond the dry accounts of a history book — one that may or may not have included detailed accounts of Pequot life, anyway — and create actual experiences for visitors.
Friday, August 29, 2008
8/29/08: When we can touch, history touches back
Last week, I wrote that history should be handled differently than, say, modern paintings, in the way we display and expect to encounter it in museums.
I also mistakenly claimed that "all the walls" of the New Britain Museum of American Art are white -- in fact, many of the walls of the first floor's galleries of historic paintings are toned in browns, greens and yellows, and a few of the rooms have Oriental rugs of the kind that would have been found in the homes of the 18th- and 19th-century gentlemen who would have originally displayed the paintings.
This is a good step toward contextualizing art, helping viewers to put it in its place historically, and I'm sorry I missed it in last week's column.
But a museum such as the Museum of American Art, dedicated to showing art, is a different type of archive than what I want to write about this week: interactive museums.
Most of you who grew up in Connecticut will remember elementary-school trips to Mystic Seaport and Old Sturbridge Village. The thrill of going on field trips may have overwhelmed their educational content -- remember when riding a bus for hours at a time was fun? -- but I'm betting you have at least one vivid memory of the seaport or the colonial village.
It may have been the ships in dock at Mystic or the "strange" colonial clothes worn by staff at Sturbridge. My most vivid memory of these field trips is of playing with a wooden hoop and stick in a colonial games area of Old Sturbridge Village.
I don't think it's a mistake that this is what I remember.
Kids, especially, enjoy the chance to interact with things -- to move them, kick them, talk to them, run around them. It's part of how kids learn.
More than that, though, things that can be experienced directly -- a painting can be looked at, for instance, but it can't be fired up the way a colonial stove might be, or crouched in like a cramped sailor's bunk -- teaches us differently than indirect or mediated experience.
According to Alison Landsberg, author of "Prosthetic Memory," people can easily form vivid, lasting memories by participating in the kind of direct experience offered by Old Sturbridge Village, Mystic Seaport or, in Landsberg's example, the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.
Landsberg explains that in places, displays or museums that encourage prosthetic memory, "people are invited to take on memories of a past through which they did not live." In the case of Old Sturbridge Village or Mystic Seaport, this means being able to pretend that you're a colonist of a 16th- or 17th-century American. At Mystic Seaport, you can tour a 19th-century coastal town and historic vessels and think about a life at sea.
These are valuable experiences, ones that help us understand a few of the hardships -- that sailor's cramped bunk again -- and triumphs -- finally getting the hoop to roll down the lane -- of some of the Americans who came before us.
But what may be the most vital and valuable use of interactive materials and museums is helping us tell and understand the stories of the disenfranchised. Mystic Seaport does this when it hosts the Amistad; the Holocaust museum does this with every visitor.
Remembering the survivors of injustice and oppression throughout history is not an exercise in self-pity or self-flagellation. It's necessary for preventing that kind of injustice or oppression from happening again.
Remember that next time you're at the seaport or among the colonially clothed -- and be glad.
I also mistakenly claimed that "all the walls" of the New Britain Museum of American Art are white -- in fact, many of the walls of the first floor's galleries of historic paintings are toned in browns, greens and yellows, and a few of the rooms have Oriental rugs of the kind that would have been found in the homes of the 18th- and 19th-century gentlemen who would have originally displayed the paintings.
This is a good step toward contextualizing art, helping viewers to put it in its place historically, and I'm sorry I missed it in last week's column.
But a museum such as the Museum of American Art, dedicated to showing art, is a different type of archive than what I want to write about this week: interactive museums.
Most of you who grew up in Connecticut will remember elementary-school trips to Mystic Seaport and Old Sturbridge Village. The thrill of going on field trips may have overwhelmed their educational content -- remember when riding a bus for hours at a time was fun? -- but I'm betting you have at least one vivid memory of the seaport or the colonial village.
It may have been the ships in dock at Mystic or the "strange" colonial clothes worn by staff at Sturbridge. My most vivid memory of these field trips is of playing with a wooden hoop and stick in a colonial games area of Old Sturbridge Village.
I don't think it's a mistake that this is what I remember.
Kids, especially, enjoy the chance to interact with things -- to move them, kick them, talk to them, run around them. It's part of how kids learn.
More than that, though, things that can be experienced directly -- a painting can be looked at, for instance, but it can't be fired up the way a colonial stove might be, or crouched in like a cramped sailor's bunk -- teaches us differently than indirect or mediated experience.
According to Alison Landsberg, author of "Prosthetic Memory," people can easily form vivid, lasting memories by participating in the kind of direct experience offered by Old Sturbridge Village, Mystic Seaport or, in Landsberg's example, the Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C.
Landsberg explains that in places, displays or museums that encourage prosthetic memory, "people are invited to take on memories of a past through which they did not live." In the case of Old Sturbridge Village or Mystic Seaport, this means being able to pretend that you're a colonist of a 16th- or 17th-century American. At Mystic Seaport, you can tour a 19th-century coastal town and historic vessels and think about a life at sea.
These are valuable experiences, ones that help us understand a few of the hardships -- that sailor's cramped bunk again -- and triumphs -- finally getting the hoop to roll down the lane -- of some of the Americans who came before us.
But what may be the most vital and valuable use of interactive materials and museums is helping us tell and understand the stories of the disenfranchised. Mystic Seaport does this when it hosts the Amistad; the Holocaust museum does this with every visitor.
Remembering the survivors of injustice and oppression throughout history is not an exercise in self-pity or self-flagellation. It's necessary for preventing that kind of injustice or oppression from happening again.
Remember that next time you're at the seaport or among the colonially clothed -- and be glad.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Apology
My sincere apologies to readers and to the New Britain Museum of American Art, which is a beautiful museum in a city that needs beauty: I should have written "like all the walls surrounding the gallery" in which Sam McKinniss's paintings are hung, rather than "all the walls in the New Britain Museum of American Art."
To clarify further -- and I hope that my series of columns will continue to do so over the next two weeks -- I believe strongly in the service that museums provide to a community, to art and to history. I like going to art museums, and I particularly like going to NBMAA, which I remember visiting as a child. The transformations NBMAA has undergone since then are astounding, and even as the museum was a cozy, warm environment for its artworks twenty years ago, it's become a world-class showcase with a friendly and professional staff, a terrace cafe overlooking the park and a penchant for attracting (and displaying) the work of new and exciting (and local) artists.
If this sounds like an advertisement, that's because I mean it to be one. Next week I'll focus on ways of displaying history that more interactive museums are able to use -- but that doesn't detract from the necessity, utility and beauty of a museum like NBMAA. Far from it.
To clarify further -- and I hope that my series of columns will continue to do so over the next two weeks -- I believe strongly in the service that museums provide to a community, to art and to history. I like going to art museums, and I particularly like going to NBMAA, which I remember visiting as a child. The transformations NBMAA has undergone since then are astounding, and even as the museum was a cozy, warm environment for its artworks twenty years ago, it's become a world-class showcase with a friendly and professional staff, a terrace cafe overlooking the park and a penchant for attracting (and displaying) the work of new and exciting (and local) artists.
If this sounds like an advertisement, that's because I mean it to be one. Next week I'll focus on ways of displaying history that more interactive museums are able to use -- but that doesn't detract from the necessity, utility and beauty of a museum like NBMAA. Far from it.
Correction
Alicia,
I read your article in The Herald with great interest. You mention in the fourth paragraph that the New Now Gallery walls are white, "like the walls of all the rooms at the Museum of American Art."
In fact, the six first floor galleries devoted to the historic, pre-1925, part of the collection are displayed in galleries where color is a major component of the display. The colors, which range from bright yellow to more somber greens and browns, are intended to present an historic context in which to view the painting and sculptures on view. Similarly, oriental carpets are in several galleries as they would have been placed in eighteenth and nineteenth century houses. Our Museum strives to create an ambience which is harmonious with the masterpieces we are fortunate enough to house in New Britain.
It is for this reason that museums are such wonderful places to visit. Please come and look at our most attractive, exciting museum again.
Sincerely,
Douglas Hyland
Director
I read your article in The Herald with great interest. You mention in the fourth paragraph that the New Now Gallery walls are white, "like the walls of all the rooms at the Museum of American Art."
In fact, the six first floor galleries devoted to the historic, pre-1925, part of the collection are displayed in galleries where color is a major component of the display. The colors, which range from bright yellow to more somber greens and browns, are intended to present an historic context in which to view the painting and sculptures on view. Similarly, oriental carpets are in several galleries as they would have been placed in eighteenth and nineteenth century houses. Our Museum strives to create an ambience which is harmonious with the masterpieces we are fortunate enough to house in New Britain.
It is for this reason that museums are such wonderful places to visit. Please come and look at our most attractive, exciting museum again.
Sincerely,
Douglas Hyland
Director
8/22/08: No connection with the past in museums
I’m going to get kind of artsy on you this week, but don’t worry. The punch line of my column is simple: Museums are weird places.
I say this not after watching "Night at the Museum" or seeing one of those Dada exhibits or considering Magritte’s claim that a picture of a pipe isn’t a pipe, but after attending a show opening for a brilliant young local artist, Sam McKinniss, at the New Britain Museum of American Art.
McKinniss’ paintings, all portraits, are individually impressive, but what most struck me as I left the gallery was their cumulative effect. McKinniss had said in his artist’s statement that he’d intended the subjects of these portraits to be missing the viewer’s gaze, to give the audience a sense of having lost a chance at connection. And that’s exactly how I felt.
The walls of the room in which the paintings are hung — like the walls of many of the rooms at the Museum of American Art — are white, drawing attention to the art rather than the architecture. We think of this as blank, as being without context. We think of white walls as space waiting to be filled and, as viewers, our eyes are drawn to the spots of color, shape or texture in paintings, sculptures or other media.
The blankness works perfectly for shows such as McKinniss’, designed by the artist in advance for a museum gallery. McKinniss knew when he began his work that these paintings would be hung in a room such as the one in which they now hang and was able to plan the number and type of paintings he completed accordingly, to create a certain effect.
But what about other museum displays, of three-dimensional or historical artifacts?
Looking at an emperor’s dish from ancient China or a portrait of an English nobleman on these blank walls is a different sort of experience.
When the emperor used his dishes, he probably didn’t consider them works of art; they were dishes, necessary and practical as well as beautiful. Imagine if someone asked to put your Tupperware on display. You’d probably look at them strangely and ask if they needed to sit down.
When the nobleman commissioned his portrait, he didn’t imagine it hanging in a room with other noblemen’s pictures. He imagined it hanging in his home, among his other possessions, proving what a powerful and influential society man he was. It was art, yes, but it had another purpose and context as well.
We take those things out of their context when we put them in museums. This is probably why museums are boring.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been to plenty of museums over the years, most of the time willingly. Living in Washington, D.C. and Oxford, England, practically forces you to participate in cultural activities such as trips to the museum. I’ve seen and appreciated all kinds of art and historical displays.
But it’s hard to imagine, in a typical museum, what life was like for Chinese emperors or English noblemen — and isn’t that part of the point of putting these things on display? That we let our minds wander back into history, to learn the lessons of the past to connect and apply them to today?
The New Britain Museum of American Art is excellent at what it does, and I like looking at modern art in a modern context. But history requires a different touch — an actual one.
More on that next week.
I say this not after watching "Night at the Museum" or seeing one of those Dada exhibits or considering Magritte’s claim that a picture of a pipe isn’t a pipe, but after attending a show opening for a brilliant young local artist, Sam McKinniss, at the New Britain Museum of American Art.
McKinniss’ paintings, all portraits, are individually impressive, but what most struck me as I left the gallery was their cumulative effect. McKinniss had said in his artist’s statement that he’d intended the subjects of these portraits to be missing the viewer’s gaze, to give the audience a sense of having lost a chance at connection. And that’s exactly how I felt.
The walls of the room in which the paintings are hung — like the walls of many of the rooms at the Museum of American Art — are white, drawing attention to the art rather than the architecture. We think of this as blank, as being without context. We think of white walls as space waiting to be filled and, as viewers, our eyes are drawn to the spots of color, shape or texture in paintings, sculptures or other media.
The blankness works perfectly for shows such as McKinniss’, designed by the artist in advance for a museum gallery. McKinniss knew when he began his work that these paintings would be hung in a room such as the one in which they now hang and was able to plan the number and type of paintings he completed accordingly, to create a certain effect.
But what about other museum displays, of three-dimensional or historical artifacts?
Looking at an emperor’s dish from ancient China or a portrait of an English nobleman on these blank walls is a different sort of experience.
When the emperor used his dishes, he probably didn’t consider them works of art; they were dishes, necessary and practical as well as beautiful. Imagine if someone asked to put your Tupperware on display. You’d probably look at them strangely and ask if they needed to sit down.
When the nobleman commissioned his portrait, he didn’t imagine it hanging in a room with other noblemen’s pictures. He imagined it hanging in his home, among his other possessions, proving what a powerful and influential society man he was. It was art, yes, but it had another purpose and context as well.
We take those things out of their context when we put them in museums. This is probably why museums are boring.
Don’t get me wrong: I’ve been to plenty of museums over the years, most of the time willingly. Living in Washington, D.C. and Oxford, England, practically forces you to participate in cultural activities such as trips to the museum. I’ve seen and appreciated all kinds of art and historical displays.
But it’s hard to imagine, in a typical museum, what life was like for Chinese emperors or English noblemen — and isn’t that part of the point of putting these things on display? That we let our minds wander back into history, to learn the lessons of the past to connect and apply them to today?
The New Britain Museum of American Art is excellent at what it does, and I like looking at modern art in a modern context. But history requires a different touch — an actual one.
More on that next week.
Friday, August 15, 2008
8/15/08: Tech has us sprinting to new kind of sports
I’ve been reading predictions lately, mostly by Ray Kurzweil, award-winning futurist, inventor and author.
Kurzweil has made amazingly accurate predictions about the past two decades, making his current theories all the more disturbing. Most recently, he published a book titled The Singularity Is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Coined by Vernor Vinge, the term "singularity" refers to a time when we will be able to reverse-engineer our brains using new technology, making us more or less immortal.
I’m hoping Kurzweil is wrong, and I could write a month’s worth of columns explaining why.
But Kurzweil’s thoughts on the future, and their implications for the way we think about our bodies, death and technology, sent my thoughts spinning in an unexpected direction: toward sports.
Other than medicine, professional sports is the one private-sector area in which I would expect the physical advantages of Kurzweil’s nanotechnology to hold intrinsic appeal. Pro athletes, or amateur athletes such as those we’re seeing in the Olympics these weeks, would have the most to gain from stamina- or power-enhancing augmentations of human biology.
We’ve seen some willingness to do whatever it takes to win with steroid-use scandals cropping up in professional athletics and past Olympics.
But we’ve also seen an outcry against steroids, which are dangerous, but which more relevantly violate the spirit (and law) of sporting events.
On the other hand, athletic gear enhanced by nanotechnology has been praised for everything from making golf balls fly straighter to shaving seconds off swimming records at Olympic trials. Some speculate that nanotechnology will allow gear to be designed for individual athletes, enhancing performances from the outside in.
Is the line between allowable and prohibited at the skin, then? Outerwear and specialized equipment are OK, but ingesting performance-enhancing drugs or technology is not?
We’ll have to wait and see on that one, I guess. Most professional sports have boards to regulate the rules of the game and actions of the athletes. They’ll have to navigate the ethics of each technology as it comes up.
What interests me more than how existing sports are relating to new technology is how our concept of sports has changed, thanks to technology, and what we can expect should the singularity come to pass.
Television, for instance, has already had a major effect on sports. Where before we would have had to be physically present to watch a sporting event, we can now cheer on our teams from a distance. This has had far-reaching consequences — just consider the inexplicable ubiquity of Dallas Cowboys fans. With a VCR or TiVo, we can record those performances and review them for errors or highlights at our leisure.
Thanks to national broadcasts, nontraditional sports can gather crowds large enough to popularize them. The X Games, Professional Bull Riders rodeos and NASCAR can be broadcast on noncable channels and pick up fans from across the country.
ESPN and its many subsidiary channels give us access to sports 24/7. This must have some effect on how we think about sports and ourselves as fans.
But perhaps most significantly, television has allowed for the next evolution of sports, it seems — the evolution predicted by Kurzweil’s emphasis on reverse-engineering the brain rather than the body as a whole: video games.
The evolution of computer technology, which has us sitting at desks straining our eyes rather than testing our physical limits, points to a continuation of the emphasis of mind over matter, and begs the question: If Kurzweil’s right, will there even be sports in the future?
Kurzweil has made amazingly accurate predictions about the past two decades, making his current theories all the more disturbing. Most recently, he published a book titled The Singularity Is Near: When Humans Transcend Biology. Coined by Vernor Vinge, the term "singularity" refers to a time when we will be able to reverse-engineer our brains using new technology, making us more or less immortal.
I’m hoping Kurzweil is wrong, and I could write a month’s worth of columns explaining why.
But Kurzweil’s thoughts on the future, and their implications for the way we think about our bodies, death and technology, sent my thoughts spinning in an unexpected direction: toward sports.
Other than medicine, professional sports is the one private-sector area in which I would expect the physical advantages of Kurzweil’s nanotechnology to hold intrinsic appeal. Pro athletes, or amateur athletes such as those we’re seeing in the Olympics these weeks, would have the most to gain from stamina- or power-enhancing augmentations of human biology.
We’ve seen some willingness to do whatever it takes to win with steroid-use scandals cropping up in professional athletics and past Olympics.
But we’ve also seen an outcry against steroids, which are dangerous, but which more relevantly violate the spirit (and law) of sporting events.
On the other hand, athletic gear enhanced by nanotechnology has been praised for everything from making golf balls fly straighter to shaving seconds off swimming records at Olympic trials. Some speculate that nanotechnology will allow gear to be designed for individual athletes, enhancing performances from the outside in.
Is the line between allowable and prohibited at the skin, then? Outerwear and specialized equipment are OK, but ingesting performance-enhancing drugs or technology is not?
We’ll have to wait and see on that one, I guess. Most professional sports have boards to regulate the rules of the game and actions of the athletes. They’ll have to navigate the ethics of each technology as it comes up.
What interests me more than how existing sports are relating to new technology is how our concept of sports has changed, thanks to technology, and what we can expect should the singularity come to pass.
Television, for instance, has already had a major effect on sports. Where before we would have had to be physically present to watch a sporting event, we can now cheer on our teams from a distance. This has had far-reaching consequences — just consider the inexplicable ubiquity of Dallas Cowboys fans. With a VCR or TiVo, we can record those performances and review them for errors or highlights at our leisure.
Thanks to national broadcasts, nontraditional sports can gather crowds large enough to popularize them. The X Games, Professional Bull Riders rodeos and NASCAR can be broadcast on noncable channels and pick up fans from across the country.
ESPN and its many subsidiary channels give us access to sports 24/7. This must have some effect on how we think about sports and ourselves as fans.
But perhaps most significantly, television has allowed for the next evolution of sports, it seems — the evolution predicted by Kurzweil’s emphasis on reverse-engineering the brain rather than the body as a whole: video games.
The evolution of computer technology, which has us sitting at desks straining our eyes rather than testing our physical limits, points to a continuation of the emphasis of mind over matter, and begs the question: If Kurzweil’s right, will there even be sports in the future?
Friday, August 8, 2008
8/8/08: Seeing the Olympics as the Chinese do
The Olympics begin today in Beijing, the luckiest of days in China: The word for the number eight in Chinese, "ba," sounds like the word for fortune, "fa," and so has good connotations.
Neat, right?
For those of us who can’t attend the games in person, here’s some more trivia to swap with friends during commercials, and a taste of what you’re missing.
Any phrase book can tell you what you would need to know to get around in Beijing, but here are a few extra phrases you can shout or mutter from your couch.
Jia you (jayee yo): "Go, go, go!" The literal translation is "add oil." You can chant this at any athlete you’d like to win. As with all sports cheers, the louder, the better.
Mei you ban fa (may yo bahn fah): "There’s nothing that could’ve been done," or literally, "there’s no solution." You may say this about an athlete who’s just lost or to a friend asking for more snacks after you’ve run out. Mei you ban fa is a particularly strong phrase in Chinese; my preferred translation is "the universe is against us in this."
You may wonder what carb-loading athletes are eating before their events. While China has plenty of rice, and northern China specializes in noodles and dumplings, there are more familiar options for foreigners with some time to roam the city.
You can get pizza in China, but don’t be surprised if topping options include tuna and corn. (It’s better than it sounds.)
Cake, especially birthday cake, has become popular in China, but not for eating — the elaborate frosting sculptures atop spongy, dry angelfood makes these pastries perfect for food fights rather than consumption.
If you order a "hamburger," be prepared to accept anything put between two slices of bread. My Chinese college students patiently explained to me at a KFC in Yinchuan that a chicken sandwich could also be referred to as a "hamburger," despite my protests.
Athletes shouldn’t expect the food in China to be the same as the version of "Chinese food" we get here, but the intrepid sort of diner will find unfamiliar vegetables such as garlic shoots or rape (canola) delicious stir-fryed.
The extremely intrepid may find themselves ordering delicacies such as duck tongue or jellyfish ... once.
A good rule of thumb for spectators and athletes looking to get good, authentic, cheap Chinese food — without getting sick — is to seek out a hole-in-the-wall restaurant packed to the front door with Beijingers. Any restaurant not boasting a healthy crowd of locals should be avoided.
Visitors should also be careful when paying the bill. I asked for what I thought was a receipt in Qingdao once and ended up winning five yuan in the Chinese lottery.
If you find yourself wondering in the midst of an American athlete spotlight what Chinese coverage of the Olympics is like, the answer is "completely different."
During the last summer Olympics, I watched half of the coverage on U.S. soil and the other half in China. While American coverage focuses on "familiar" events at which we excel, coverage in Beijing focuses on what Chinese are good at — including weight-lifting, volleyball (particularly against Japan) and pingpong.
When you’re looking at medal count tallies, remember this. Chinese golds will likely be in sports we never see, and in which we hardly compete.
So go ahead and root for China, too.
Neat, right?
For those of us who can’t attend the games in person, here’s some more trivia to swap with friends during commercials, and a taste of what you’re missing.
Any phrase book can tell you what you would need to know to get around in Beijing, but here are a few extra phrases you can shout or mutter from your couch.
Jia you (jayee yo): "Go, go, go!" The literal translation is "add oil." You can chant this at any athlete you’d like to win. As with all sports cheers, the louder, the better.
Mei you ban fa (may yo bahn fah): "There’s nothing that could’ve been done," or literally, "there’s no solution." You may say this about an athlete who’s just lost or to a friend asking for more snacks after you’ve run out. Mei you ban fa is a particularly strong phrase in Chinese; my preferred translation is "the universe is against us in this."
You may wonder what carb-loading athletes are eating before their events. While China has plenty of rice, and northern China specializes in noodles and dumplings, there are more familiar options for foreigners with some time to roam the city.
You can get pizza in China, but don’t be surprised if topping options include tuna and corn. (It’s better than it sounds.)
Cake, especially birthday cake, has become popular in China, but not for eating — the elaborate frosting sculptures atop spongy, dry angelfood makes these pastries perfect for food fights rather than consumption.
If you order a "hamburger," be prepared to accept anything put between two slices of bread. My Chinese college students patiently explained to me at a KFC in Yinchuan that a chicken sandwich could also be referred to as a "hamburger," despite my protests.
Athletes shouldn’t expect the food in China to be the same as the version of "Chinese food" we get here, but the intrepid sort of diner will find unfamiliar vegetables such as garlic shoots or rape (canola) delicious stir-fryed.
The extremely intrepid may find themselves ordering delicacies such as duck tongue or jellyfish ... once.
A good rule of thumb for spectators and athletes looking to get good, authentic, cheap Chinese food — without getting sick — is to seek out a hole-in-the-wall restaurant packed to the front door with Beijingers. Any restaurant not boasting a healthy crowd of locals should be avoided.
Visitors should also be careful when paying the bill. I asked for what I thought was a receipt in Qingdao once and ended up winning five yuan in the Chinese lottery.
If you find yourself wondering in the midst of an American athlete spotlight what Chinese coverage of the Olympics is like, the answer is "completely different."
During the last summer Olympics, I watched half of the coverage on U.S. soil and the other half in China. While American coverage focuses on "familiar" events at which we excel, coverage in Beijing focuses on what Chinese are good at — including weight-lifting, volleyball (particularly against Japan) and pingpong.
When you’re looking at medal count tallies, remember this. Chinese golds will likely be in sports we never see, and in which we hardly compete.
So go ahead and root for China, too.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Comment from Cindy in Fairfield, and response
This comment was posted on the newbritainherald.com Web site, which now supports comments.
Always Negative
Second column in a row that you are focussing on what the area DOESN'T have! The last thing in the world that the New Britain/ Plainville region needs is more negative publicity. How about trying to find some bright spots? PS Why in the world did you move to Plainville in the first place?
Cindy, Fairfield CT
------
First of all, thanks for commenting. I really love getting feedback -- that may sound facetious, but it's not.
Secondly, it's the third column in a row in which I'm focusing on what the area doesn't have.
The first column (in what I was thinking of as a series) was about regional parochialism; the second was about how that has worked out in terms of people leaving the state, or not moving to Connecticut, between the last censuses (1990 and 2000); the third, which was the week on which you commented, was about the need for public transit that allows CT residents -- and MA and NY residents -- to get to Boston or New York City easily, and my suggestion for the formation of a citizens' group or panel that could advocate for that.
I don't see my columns as particularly negative, though. In fact, I view them as positive suggestions for the future. I touted Middletown's downtown, for instance, as a good example for New Britain and Bristol.
It's clear, as you imply with the comment that "the last thing the New Britain/Plainville area needs is more negative publicity," that central CT could use some sprucing up in terms of outsiders' views of our area. Plans to rebuild the downtowns of New Britain and Bristol show that city governments are also aware of the need for an overhaul.
The state economy may or may not be entering or in a recession, but it's clear that New Britain has never recovered from the recession of the 80s. Bristol Chamber of Commerce president John Leone spoke in an interview of Bristol's last downtown renovation in the 50s and the need for an updated look and feel for that district now. I applaud both city governments for attending to the needs of their communities, particularly in terms of attracting new businesses to our area.
My intention in this column series was to point out that while we do this, we also need to improve access to the downtowns soon-to-be-improved. This needs to be part of the process, or our improvements will be meaningless.
The communities surrounding these downtown districts are currently supporting the businesses available to them, and no more; we need investment from those currently outside the area, whether they're tourists passing through or young families looking to settle down, to sustain the development we're planning.
To attract new people to the area, we also need to jetisson the "keep it in the family" mentality I've experienced in much of central Connecticut, some of which I read into your comment -- though perhaps you didn't intend it to read that way, Cindy. (We know New Britain is in need of improvements, but we don't want bad publicity to get out to others.)
This brings me to the third part of my response: my view of myself as a columnist. (How meta!)
I write about stuff I have opinions on. It's as simple as that.
I'm a big fan of debate, and I would love to see a letter to the editor printed on behalf of the central Connecticut area or any other topic I've written on, especially if it contradicts my stated views. As I said, I really love comments; it makes my day to see that someone's paid enough attention to what I've written to write back.
I can see that my views frustrated you, presumably leading to your questioning why I live in Plainville. It may seem to you that I've said something so negative about central Connecticut that it's unbelievable that I would choose to live here -- or that you would choose to live here, if you held the same view.
But please don't think that what I write in my column -- 600 words or less, once a week -- is the entirety of my opinion, or that my personal life (my decision to live in Plainville, in this case) can be discerned through what I've written. We're all much more complex than that...even columnists.
Please feel free to comment again, here or on the Herald, Bristol Press or Middletown Press Web sites. I would love to hear from you again.
Always Negative
Second column in a row that you are focussing on what the area DOESN'T have! The last thing in the world that the New Britain/ Plainville region needs is more negative publicity. How about trying to find some bright spots? PS Why in the world did you move to Plainville in the first place?
Cindy, Fairfield CT
------
First of all, thanks for commenting. I really love getting feedback -- that may sound facetious, but it's not.
Secondly, it's the third column in a row in which I'm focusing on what the area doesn't have.
The first column (in what I was thinking of as a series) was about regional parochialism; the second was about how that has worked out in terms of people leaving the state, or not moving to Connecticut, between the last censuses (1990 and 2000); the third, which was the week on which you commented, was about the need for public transit that allows CT residents -- and MA and NY residents -- to get to Boston or New York City easily, and my suggestion for the formation of a citizens' group or panel that could advocate for that.
I don't see my columns as particularly negative, though. In fact, I view them as positive suggestions for the future. I touted Middletown's downtown, for instance, as a good example for New Britain and Bristol.
It's clear, as you imply with the comment that "the last thing the New Britain/Plainville area needs is more negative publicity," that central CT could use some sprucing up in terms of outsiders' views of our area. Plans to rebuild the downtowns of New Britain and Bristol show that city governments are also aware of the need for an overhaul.
The state economy may or may not be entering or in a recession, but it's clear that New Britain has never recovered from the recession of the 80s. Bristol Chamber of Commerce president John Leone spoke in an interview of Bristol's last downtown renovation in the 50s and the need for an updated look and feel for that district now. I applaud both city governments for attending to the needs of their communities, particularly in terms of attracting new businesses to our area.
My intention in this column series was to point out that while we do this, we also need to improve access to the downtowns soon-to-be-improved. This needs to be part of the process, or our improvements will be meaningless.
The communities surrounding these downtown districts are currently supporting the businesses available to them, and no more; we need investment from those currently outside the area, whether they're tourists passing through or young families looking to settle down, to sustain the development we're planning.
To attract new people to the area, we also need to jetisson the "keep it in the family" mentality I've experienced in much of central Connecticut, some of which I read into your comment -- though perhaps you didn't intend it to read that way, Cindy. (We know New Britain is in need of improvements, but we don't want bad publicity to get out to others.)
This brings me to the third part of my response: my view of myself as a columnist. (How meta!)
I write about stuff I have opinions on. It's as simple as that.
I'm a big fan of debate, and I would love to see a letter to the editor printed on behalf of the central Connecticut area or any other topic I've written on, especially if it contradicts my stated views. As I said, I really love comments; it makes my day to see that someone's paid enough attention to what I've written to write back.
I can see that my views frustrated you, presumably leading to your questioning why I live in Plainville. It may seem to you that I've said something so negative about central Connecticut that it's unbelievable that I would choose to live here -- or that you would choose to live here, if you held the same view.
But please don't think that what I write in my column -- 600 words or less, once a week -- is the entirety of my opinion, or that my personal life (my decision to live in Plainville, in this case) can be discerned through what I've written. We're all much more complex than that...even columnists.
Please feel free to comment again, here or on the Herald, Bristol Press or Middletown Press Web sites. I would love to hear from you again.
Friday, August 1, 2008
8/1/08: Ticket out of Connecticut can be way to save it
Confession: I don’t plan on living in Connecticut forever.
But I might stay if I felt I could get to Boston or New York with no hassle, and without having to drive.
Forbes magazine calls Boston and New York the second- and fourth-best cities for young professionals, respectively. Both draw international attention for their residents’ accomplishments in science, education and the arts.
It’s easy to see why someone, particularly someone my age, would want to live in cities such as Boston or New York. But increasing opportunities to telecommute also mean that young professionals willing to work from home can live almost anywhere. In theory, we could settle down here, equidistant from two major metropolitan areas, and have the best of both worlds: the small-town, know-your-neighbor sensibilities of much of central Connecticut and the hubbub and high life of the city.
So make it easy for us, Connecticut.
Start with buses.
Farmington has Greyhound bus pickup and ticketing in a Park and Ride lot. Hartford, of course, has a regular bus terminal right off the highway. And New Britain has Jimmy’s Smoke Shop.
Jimmy’s is half Smoke Shop, half bus station, with a walk-through connecting the two. The Greyhound waiting room has a few seats, a ticket counter that doubles as a cashier’s station for the Smoke Shop side and a window that looks out onto the bus depot — a curve in the curb just large enough to let a bus pull in and out without getting in the way of local traffic.
There’s only room for one bus at a time in front of Jimmy’s, and no room for unmetered parking for people who drive into New Britain to catch the bus.
It’s hardly the glittering gateway to the city I might prefer — but worse is that it’s not even practical.
Jimmy’s is an independently contracted agency for Greyhound rather than a Greyhound-run bus terminal, and so falls under the jurisdiction of the Smoke Shop owner and city rather than the bus company.
The bad news is that this means Greyhound won’t do any development work for the bus stop.
The good news is that we can. The city of New Britain, for instance, could designate free parking for bus riders — and there’s no better time to begin thinking about and planning for this than now, with the New Britain-Hartford busway in development.
On a regional level, the busway, the extension of Route 72 into Bristol, the current Metro-North plans to extend commuter rail from New Haven through Hartford to Springfield and plans to increase rail passenger service along Route 7, Norwalk to Danbury, will all contribute to the creation of a workable public transit system, especially if they are able to work together.
Ken Shooshan-Stoller, deputy director of the Central Connecticut Regional Planning Agency, which handles central Connecticut transportation planning and concerns, says many of these major projects should help with connecting central Connecticut residents to New York and Boston, eventually. "We’re looking for ways to improve transportation by transit within the region, and if we improve it, those should help improve those interstate options, too," Shooshan-Stoller says.
But the agency only has jurisdiction over a portion of central Connecticut.
So here’s my big idea, the punchline to the past three weeks of columns: Let’s designate a special committee or board or form a citizen’s group advocating for a comprehensive, efficient system of public transit reaching from Faneuil Hall to Times Square — with a stop in our neighborhood.
Let me know what you think.
But I might stay if I felt I could get to Boston or New York with no hassle, and without having to drive.
Forbes magazine calls Boston and New York the second- and fourth-best cities for young professionals, respectively. Both draw international attention for their residents’ accomplishments in science, education and the arts.
It’s easy to see why someone, particularly someone my age, would want to live in cities such as Boston or New York. But increasing opportunities to telecommute also mean that young professionals willing to work from home can live almost anywhere. In theory, we could settle down here, equidistant from two major metropolitan areas, and have the best of both worlds: the small-town, know-your-neighbor sensibilities of much of central Connecticut and the hubbub and high life of the city.
So make it easy for us, Connecticut.
Start with buses.
Farmington has Greyhound bus pickup and ticketing in a Park and Ride lot. Hartford, of course, has a regular bus terminal right off the highway. And New Britain has Jimmy’s Smoke Shop.
Jimmy’s is half Smoke Shop, half bus station, with a walk-through connecting the two. The Greyhound waiting room has a few seats, a ticket counter that doubles as a cashier’s station for the Smoke Shop side and a window that looks out onto the bus depot — a curve in the curb just large enough to let a bus pull in and out without getting in the way of local traffic.
There’s only room for one bus at a time in front of Jimmy’s, and no room for unmetered parking for people who drive into New Britain to catch the bus.
It’s hardly the glittering gateway to the city I might prefer — but worse is that it’s not even practical.
Jimmy’s is an independently contracted agency for Greyhound rather than a Greyhound-run bus terminal, and so falls under the jurisdiction of the Smoke Shop owner and city rather than the bus company.
The bad news is that this means Greyhound won’t do any development work for the bus stop.
The good news is that we can. The city of New Britain, for instance, could designate free parking for bus riders — and there’s no better time to begin thinking about and planning for this than now, with the New Britain-Hartford busway in development.
On a regional level, the busway, the extension of Route 72 into Bristol, the current Metro-North plans to extend commuter rail from New Haven through Hartford to Springfield and plans to increase rail passenger service along Route 7, Norwalk to Danbury, will all contribute to the creation of a workable public transit system, especially if they are able to work together.
Ken Shooshan-Stoller, deputy director of the Central Connecticut Regional Planning Agency, which handles central Connecticut transportation planning and concerns, says many of these major projects should help with connecting central Connecticut residents to New York and Boston, eventually. "We’re looking for ways to improve transportation by transit within the region, and if we improve it, those should help improve those interstate options, too," Shooshan-Stoller says.
But the agency only has jurisdiction over a portion of central Connecticut.
So here’s my big idea, the punchline to the past three weeks of columns: Let’s designate a special committee or board or form a citizen’s group advocating for a comprehensive, efficient system of public transit reaching from Faneuil Hall to Times Square — with a stop in our neighborhood.
Let me know what you think.
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