I spent Friday in Cleveland with my friend Rick, driving down in the morning and spending the afternoon at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, which sits on the so-called North Coast fo the country, on the banks of Lake Erie (do lakes have banks, or is that a river thing?). That's the front facade of the Hall above.
You're not allowed to take pictures anywhere but in the lobby of the Hall, which is where these giant guitars were displayed. We spotted several others around the downtown area, so it seems it's one of those municipal projects where different businesses and institutions decorate an item of local import in support of some charitable cause (in Buffalo some years back they did the same thing with statues of bison; in Tacoma, with salmon-- one of which was painted by my sister Liz in the manner of a dalmatian outside of a firehall). There's a lot of obvious corporate influence in the hall-- there's virtually nothing on display that represents an act whose work isn't currently affiliated or controlled by one of the big record companies; and the narrative they push is a fairly narrow one in relation to the development of the music. The primary special exhibit right now celebrates the career of Bruce Springsteen, and there was a lot of interesting artifacts from the early part of his career before he became famous. This was my third trip to the Hall, and each time things have been arranged somewhat differently, but without ever really breaking out of the basic plot pushed by mainstream chroniclers of the music. Maybe someday they'll dig a little deeper and uncover and expose some truly deserving underappreciated artists to the big crowds who swarm the place.
After touring the Hall and talki9ng a walk down along the lakefront, Rick and I hiked up to Progressive Field to see the Indians take on the Reds. I'm not a fan of interleague play, but at least this matchup had the makings of a legitimate cross-state rivalry. Unfortunately, the reds were incredibly flat, and the Indians won in a blow-out 9-2. Many of the key players for the Indians honed their skills with the Buffalo Bisons a few years ago, so watching the likes of Grady Sizemore, Victor Martinez, Jhonny Peralta and Ryan Garko spark the offense made it feel like I was watching the old home team at Pilot Field.
As the game was out of reach by about the seventh inning, Rick took the opportunity to catch a few winks.
Then after the game, there was a really good fire works show. A great way to end the day (sort of-- though we still had a three hour drive back home in front of us).
I spent Friday in Cleveland with my friend Rick, driving down in the morning and spending the afternoon at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, which sits on the so-called North Coast fo the country, on the banks of Lake Erie (do lakes have banks, or is that a river thing?). That's the front facade of the Hall above. 
You're not allowed to take pictures anywhere but in the lobby of the Hall, which is where these giant guitars were displayed. We spotted several others around the downtown area, so it seems it's one of those municipal projects where different businesses and institutions decorate an item of local import in support of some charitable cause (in Buffalo some years back they did the same thing with statues of bison; in Tacoma, with salmon-- one of which was painted by my sister Liz in the manner of a dalmatian outside of a firehall). There's a lot of obvious corporate influence in the hall-- there's virtually nothing on display that represents an act whose work isn't currently affiliated or controlled by one of the big record companies; and the narrative they push is a fairly narrow one in relation to the development of the music. The primary special exhibit right now celebrates the career of Bruce Springsteen, and there was a lot of interesting artifacts from the early part of his career before he became famous. This was my third trip to the Hall, and each time things have been arranged somewhat differently, but without ever really breaking out of the basic plot pushed by mainstream chroniclers of the music. Maybe someday they'll dig a little deeper and uncover and expose some truly deserving underappreciated artists to the big crowds who swarm the place. 
After touring the Hall and talki9ng a walk down along the lakefront, Rick and I hiked up to Progressive Field to see the Indians take on the Reds. I'm not a fan of interleague play, but at least this matchup had the makings of a legitimate cross-state rivalry. Unfortunately, the reds were incredibly flat, and the Indians won in a blow-out 9-2. Many of the key players for the Indians honed their skills with the Buffalo Bisons a few years ago, so watching the likes of Grady Sizemore, Victor Martinez, Jhonny Peralta and Ryan Garko spark the offense made it feel like I was watching the old home team at Pilot Field.
As the game was out of reach by about the seventh inning, Rick took the opportunity to catch a few winks.
Then after the game, there was a really good fire works show. A great way to end the day (sort of-- though we still had a three hour drive back home in front of us).
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