Darwin
We went to Toronto for Jake’s fiftieth birthday party.
It took me a long time to realize you’ve got to go to these events. Because nobody lives forever. And your friends are more important than money. Or P2P. Or the music business. If I missed a significant birthday of your past, if I didn’t fly cross-country, up the coast to attend, I apologize. I’ve got excuses. And they’re pretty good. But I wish I’d been there. And next time I will be.
The first night we went out to eat with Karen and Tanya. Funny how the east coast is so different. We landed and it was gray. Reminded me of reading books, of playing board games, of going to the movies on Saturday afternoons. And after parking on a thoroughfare with a streetcar line running down the middle, we had to rush to the restaurant in the rain. It never rains in Southern California. And when it does, everybody stays home.
The roar in the establishment had to do with the hockey on the big screen. There’s no equivalent in the U.S. Certainly not baseball, not even football. Hockey is a religion in the Great White North. It crosses class lines, everybody pays attention. I hear the key TV show is "Hockey Night In Canada". I’ve never caught it, then again, I didn’t grow up being pounded into the boards by schoolchildren.
There’s a different vibe on the east coast. More homey. More intellectual. And the conversation flows. I’ve never met a Canadian who didn’t have something to say. Maybe it’s because you can’t lie away your time on the beach, or maybe it’s the feeling of being in a club, looking down on the U.S., but whatever it is, Canadians have incredibly well-developed communication skills, and it’s fulfilling to hang with them.
The following day, after a rough evening in an overheated hotel room, we walked around Yorkville and had lunch at Pusateri’s, which is kind of like a high end Whole Foods, or a junior Zabar’s, and we have no Zabar’s in L.A., we’re deli-deprived. The weather was alternately warm and brisk. If the sun hid behind the clouds, you reached for your gloves. If you were out of the shadows, you opened your jacket. It was a time of rebirth, known as spring. The trees were still denuded, the ground still brown, but there was a sense of vitality that was palpable. And with less than two hours to kill before dinner, we decided to go to the museum, the Royal Ontario Museum, across the street from our hotel on Bloor.
Was it worth $20? Was there anything we had to specifically see? I remembered my mother’s words upon being dropped off at college. Join every club, don’t worry about the money, you only experience life once. I regretted saving cash on my trip to Europe in ’72. When was the next time we were going to be in T.0? With time to kill?
So we paid and went inside.
The totem poles were utterly fascinating. Multiple stories high. And the dinosaurs were not as impressive as the ones in New York, but they were equally old. 170 million years in one case. Kind of puts it in perspective, doesn’t it? I mean if you’re planning on leaving your mark…you’d better find another goal.
And after cruising through this Chinese exhibit and finding ourselves amongst the pottery, not being a fan of crafts, having skipped arts & crafts at every camp I ever went to, I told Felice I wanted to go downstairs to the Darwin exhibit, I didn’t want time to run out, I didn’t want to miss it.
Maybe it was our desire to go to the Galapagos. Maybe it was the atheist I saw on Bill Maher on Friday night. I’m usually science averse, but I wanted to go into the bowels of the museum, to check this cat out.
First we saw turtles. The giant ones. From Africa. They said they were related to the even bigger ones in the Galapagos, but isn’t that kind of like hanging with a rock star’s brother? A bit too distant to get the full effect? Yet, when a man went into the exhibit and fed the giant animals, it was riveting. The turtles moved SO SLOWLY! I felt sorry for them, living their lives bored in captivity. Then I realized, they WERE tortoises. Aren’t they SUPPOSED to move slow?
And then I ducked behind the wall and confronted the first panel of the Darwin story, which was about his family roots. He was a descendant of the Wedgwood family, his mother belonged. You know, the pottery! They had the company’s signature vase. But even more fascinating was Darwin’s grandfather, Erasmus, who was SO fat he had a notch cut out of the dinner table so he could get closer to his food.
Erasmus was a renaissance man. He wrote about science as well as being a doctor. Or was it a lawyer? Shit, I can’t remember, nevertheless, he was accomplished!
But little Charlie was worthless. Not dumb, but he didn’t apply himself in school. They sent him to Scotland to be a doctor, but an operation done without anesthesia scared him away from the profession. Then he went to Cambridge, where he studied to be a pastor, but was truly consumed with collecting beetles. He lived to collect beetles. He had many hard day’s nights, burning the candle at both ends to make time for his passion.
Then he got offered a trip around the world!
And his father said no.
It’s not like Darwin had no c.v. He was the favorite pupil of his science teacher. But his dad wanted him to get on with his life, start his career, get married. But if someone else would testify, the old man would let Charlie go. Which happened! Charles’ uncle wrote a letter, which is how they communicated, there weren’t even any telegraphs, never mind mobile phones. And Charles’ father’s mind was swayed. Wow. Makes me want to stand up for my nephews. You need someone a bit removed, who can see that passion is more important than parental direction.
Anyway, took them five years to sail around the world. Actually, at first Darwin didn’t get the gig. But he hit it off with the twenty six year old captain, who wanted someone on the ship he could connect with intellectually. So off they went!
They couldn’t stop in the Canary Islands, or was it the Azores, because of cholera or some other kind of sickness. But they landed at the Falklands. And in Brazil. Charles would go on land for a month and collect specimens, which he would send back home for analysis.
Eventually they made it to the Galapagos. Where Charles developed his evolutionary theories. Because the birds and other animals on the islands were just like those on the mainland, but a wee bit different. Why?
Even more fascinating, the animals had never seen people. So they had no fear. Charles could get up close and personal and test out his theories.
Eventually, they made it back to London. After sailing around the world and going BACK to South America. His rep polished by the specimens he sent back, Charles married his cousin and retired to the country, where he wrote and wrote, laying down his theories. Which he refused to publish. For fear of becoming a laughingstock. He didn’t think the public could handle his heresy, so he shied away from making his theories public. For DECADES! Until another scientist started having the same ideas. Darwin published "On The Origin Of Species" and it sold out its first printing INSTANTLY! A couple thousand copies in a day. Everybody was interested in science. Geology was a national pastime.
Eventually, one of his beloved progeny, a daughter, who I seem to remember was named Emily, got sick and died. His wife wept, but believed she’d see her daughter in heaven. The loss was greater for Darwin. He knew her time was done, that she was gone forever.
So there you have a pop culture rendition of an exhibit curated by New York’s Museum of Natural History. I hope you’re intrigued. You should be. Because the story’s always the same, it never changes. Revolutionary ideas come from the outside. And with hindsight, the old ways seem quaint and stupid. It’s tough to take an alternative path. But some people are driven, they’ve got no choice, they can’t pursue their parents’ dreams, they’ve got to go their own way, as Lindsey Buckingham would say.
Jake’s party was a trip. He had no idea. And if you know Jake, this was truly a surprise. He THRIVES on information. His bands played, there were testimonials, it was a special occasion.
And the following morning, yesterday, we journeyed down to the lake to see him do his act as a judge on "Canadian Idol". It was UTTERLY FASCINATING! But I can’t tell you a single thing, because I signed a non-disclosure form three pages long. I had NO DOUBT they’d sue me.
And from there up to EMI Music Publishing, to hang with the staff, where Michael McCarty told Felice to buy the biggest TV screen that would fit inside her house and quoted Al Ries and Jack Trout from "The 22 Immutable Laws of Marketing". The key is to be first, to own the category. If I lay out more, I’ll be ripping Michael off.
And we flew back in the sunlight all the way to the San Gabriel Mountains, where it finally got dark. And I’m completely knackered. But I wanted to tell you about that Darwin exhibit. I paid no TicketMaster fees. There was no DVD. But I had an experience nonetheless. The show was static, but it set my mind on a course of exploration. Where do I fit into society? What’s important to achieve before I leave this mortal coil?
The thrill of learning knows no bounds. I recommend it.
