Collected Works

Wander through any museum, and you will get a sense of the breadth of a particular thing. It might be painting or sculpture, fossils or ancient artifacts, musical instruments or machinery. For the casual observer it can be entertaining as well as informative to see the range of an item, whether it be post-modern impressionism paintings or ball gowns. But while we are well acquainted with institutions that feature fine art and natural history, there are numerous other collections which have been amassed that are less well known. It's not that they are a secret, but rather the lack of demand for them likely doesn't warrant a public exhibition. Though in a case of never say never, I confess that one of the most interesting compendiums we ever perused was in Amsterdam at the Museum of Bags and Purses. Sadly it is now closed, so you'll have to get your Hermès Kelly Bag fix elsewhere.

Many of these collections are scientific in nature, aimed more at cataloging the various elements as opposed to exhibiting them. Take the U.S. National Fungus Collection, the world's largest repository of fungal specimens. Housed at the Beltsville Agricultural Research Center in Maryland, it includes approximately 1 million reference specimens, most of which are searchable online via the USDA Fungal Database. And in spite of the various government funding reductions, a recent $6 million federal grant insures that it will be able to modernize and continue collecting shrooms for all.

That is but one of the national specialized assemblies that are out there. There's the U.S. National Invertebrate Collection containing approximately 50 million specimens of corals, crustaceans, annelids, and parasitic worms.  While an independent non-profit, the American Type Culture Collection houses 18,000 living bacterial strains and 4000 cell lines, as well as viruses and protozoa. And the Smithsonian National Wood Collection includes over 43,000 wood specimens and microscopic slides of tree sections. 

Besides our national treasures, there are an untold number of highly discriminating hoards amassed by reputable institutions. Each tries to offer a survey of their very particular slice of life in all its forms. While not as extensive as our trove of mushrooms, they are none-the-less selective compendiums which attempt to catalog the vast variety of a given universe.

The University of Connecticut at Storrs is the location of Ballard Institute and Museum of Puppetry. It owns a collection of more than 2,500 puppets from around the world, along with books, posters, and other puppetry-related media. There's the Kansas Barbed Wire Museum in La Crosse, the "barbed wire capital of the world." There they showcase over 2000 varieties of the "Devil's Rope," as well as the antique tools and equipment used in its manufacturing process. And in Seattle, WA is the Burke Museum's Ichthyology Collection, the largest of its kind in North America. Situated on rolling shelves almost like library books are stack upon stack of fish specimens in glass jars, at last count more than 12 million. 

Then there are the more personalized troves that individuals have put together and display for the public. In Davenport, IA curator Cammie Pohl has more than 10,000 spoons, including a "spoondelier" chandelier made of tableware hanging from the ceiling. In Boothbay ME is the Kenneth E. Stoddard Shell Museum, now curated by his son Leo. It includes thousands of samples and is one of the largest private collections in the world, the nucleus of which was collected when the elder Stoddard was a Navy man in WWII and stationed in the South Pacific. And Evanston, IL is the home of Stephen Mullins' American Toby Jug Museum. Tobys originated in the mid-18th century in England, and are loosely defined as pottery jugs crafted and painted into the form of a figure. To date, Mullin has collected over 8000 samples, including both the largest (40 inches tall) and smallest (3/8 inch tall) in the world.

Maybe you have a great collection of concert tee shirts or handbags or Swatch watches. Right now they might be in the closet or basement, stuffed in boxes collecting dust. But pull them out, arrange them nicely, and you might have the start of something big. In my office is a shelf with one of every type of medium for which I've created a program: cassettes, CD's, VHS and more. Tickets and viewing times are still available, just give a call.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford has a large collection of computer cables he needs to curate. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Grocery Clerkship

In a multitude of situations we gladly have other people or systems do menial, routine and repetitive tasks for us. In some cases they can do it better and faster, such as cutting the lawn or laundering sensitive fabrics. In other realms we find the project too time consuming, such as painting, or maybe even a little dangerous, like unclogging the gutters. And in still other instances it saves us time so we can do things we prefer, as opposed to house cleaning and vacuuming. We're also increasingly being told how artificial intelligence can automate routine tasks to free up our time, though as writer Joanna Maciejewska elegantly put it, "I want AI to do my laundry and dishes so that I can do art and writing, not for AI to do my art and writing so that I can do my laundry and dishes."

And yet there is one area of growth where we seem to gladly reclaim the effort to do it ourselves vs. farming it out. This in spite of the fact that others stand ready to assist, that they have far more experience and skill for the task at hand, that they generally work faster and can troubleshoot any issues far easier than we can, and... here's the kicker... it costs nothing to engage their services, save perhaps a little time. So why, oh why, do we gravitate to the self-checkout lane at the supermarket?

The concept seems simple enough. Once barcode scanning became the norm, it was super easy to slide a loaf of bread and a half a gallon of milk across a glass screen, run your credit card through the reader, and walk out while the lady with the full cart on lane two was still putting her cottage cheese on the belt. No need to talk or smile at anyone, no need to stand around waiting for someone to dig out their coupons, no need to watch someone figure out that that the boxes of pasta should go in the bag first before the eggs. If you've ever been behind someone trying to fish three pennies out of their wallet to make exact change you can understand road rage. 

And so stores went from one or two self-checkout lanes to multiples of that, while at the same time reducing the number of staffed lanes. And like sheep we gladly followed the flow. But now instead of having one or two items with the goal of a quick getaway, we push over carts brimming with merchandise. Included in that pile are meats wrapped in leakproof bags where the barcode is smudged, and produce with no codes that need to be weighed. Those require hunt-and-pecking the correct spelling, not to mention being able to distinguish between Red Delicious, Fuji, Honeycrisp and Gala apples, lest we be charged for the wrong variety. 

Assuming we got the basics done of tallying all the items, it's time for the payment portion of our show. Coupons? They have to be scanned, then adjudicated when it turns out you only had two bags of pretzels, and the offer was to get the third one at half price. Either you needed to leave everything alone and race back to grab another, or put back the second as you thought THAT was the deal maker, and you really didn't want it to begin with. And there you are, all alone, no clerk to help and guard your stuff, with only the oncoming hoards behind you, and this time it is YOU holding up the line.

But no, you are self-checking-out come hell or high water.

A change is in the offing. A combination of factors, from customer dissatisfaction to theft, along with advances in technology like AI-powered mobile scanning in the cart is starting to shift the balance. There is also a movement towards hybrid systems, like the one at Sam's Club where shoppers scan their own items as they shop via an app, and an employee checks the cart as they walk out the door. 

It's a learning curve for both customers and retailers alike. Like everything else in the shopping world it's all about the holy grails of ease and efficiency while reducing cost and shrinkage. Like the Middle East, one can only hope we find some balance of harmony and security. In the meantime, what's the code for celery?

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Marc Wollin of Bedford usually heads for the lane with the smallest line, self or otherwise. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Play It Again, Pete

When I was a kid I never wanted to be a sports star. Not a baseball player, not a tennis champion, not a football quarterback. I did want to be a garbageman for a time, but only because I really liked the trucks. If I wanted to be anything it was a musician. Not a rock star, but a musician, someone so at home in the world of notes and melody and rhythms that it was a second language which I spoke effortlessly. Sadly for me, while I did learn to play several instruments and played in bands, I had way more enthusiasm than talent. And so I took a different path, while always looking longing at those who had the gift.

I find I need to amend, or at least augment that childhood wish. What I really wanted to be was Pete Malinverni.

Pete started to learn music at six when growing up in Niagara Falls. His first lessons were on a piano his family got from someone at his church, and whenever he got a piece to playable level, that's where he performed. But while his teacher focused on classical, his own tastes ran to Motown and Sly and the Family Stone. Cross breed those three influences, and you can see how jazz was a natural home for him. That led him to an undergraduate degree from SUNY Potsdam, and a graduate degree from Purchase. From there it was a short trip to the New York City jazz scene in the 1980's. There he recorded sixteen times as a band leader in solo piano, piano/violin duet, trio, quartet, quintet, big band and choral formats, as well as taught, collaborated, composed, accompanied and more. If there's a musical verb, he's done it. 

Back when he was starting out, a college buddy who became a Baptist preacher in Brooklyn hired Pete to be his Minister of Music, a position he held for 18 years. "It remains perhaps my most important musical crucible. While there, I began to understand how the music of the Black church has led to jazz and all other forms of American - and world - music, including the things I loved as a kid."  That led to an epiphany one Sunday: "I realized that I wasn't the least bit concerned with 'what' I was playing (it was bound to be right) because of 'why' I was playing... which was to allow and encourage folks (and myself) to have a spiritual experience. I resolved that day to treat all my performances that way." A move northward and that attitude led to his current postings as Conductor/Pianist at the Westchester Reform Temple in Scarsdale, as well as Music Director at the Pound Ridge Community Church, in addition to his weekday gig as Professor of Jazz Studies at Purchase College. Add in club dates in the US, Europe and elsewhere, popup shows at the local library and more, and it's easy to wonder when he sleeps.

To watch Pete play is to see a person who is comfortable, cozy and indeed in love with what he is doing. His body sways as his fingers seem to effortlessly glide up and down the keys, as he seems to telepathically connect with the other performers. While he makes it look easy, it takes work: "It's a two-pronged approach. One, lots of time at the piano, playing scales, working on new concepts that've occurred to me, composing, etc. Two, coming to a performance with the realization that I'm as prepared as I can be, to allow the spirit, the muse, to speak. It's like starting a fire: the preparation is the kindling, and the inspiration is the spark. You need them both. Once I thoroughly know the music I feel confident that my instincts will lead me the right way."

Pete has performed with legends like Clark Terry and Mel Lewis, as well as hosting a local Jazz Vespers series in his hometown to which he brings upcoming talent, not to mention buddies such as Grammy winners Joe Lovano and Janis Seigel of Manhattan Transfer. Seeing the wide range of people he's played with, I asked about his biggest musical influences: "JS Bach, Sly Stone and Thelonious Monk." Other than the fact that they are all keyboard players, it's hard to imagine anyone putting them into the same sentence. Except for Pete. And that tells all you need to know about him. That, and his response when I asked what he wants his audience to take away from his playing: "I sincerely hope they get the fact that every note I play is for them. I really do want to give them a moment in life to just feel, to be in a place they don't get to visit too often." 

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Pete's upcoming gigs and more can be found at https://www.petemalinverni.com/. Marc's column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.

Elliptically Allegorical

The year gone by has been a tough one in multiple ways: economically, emotionally and intellectually, to name just a few. Unfortunately, many of those factors are well beyond our individual control and so it is easy to get down, and wallow in the things that can't be improved in spite our best hopes, intentions and efforts.

Then there's my elliptical.

While I hesitate to make this tale an allegory that encapsulates the myriad of valleys into which we have descended and the mountains we have to climb, well, why not? You have to see hope and signs where you can, be encouraged by successful outcomes, and take comfort that the tide can be turned, even if things get harder before they get easier. A bridge too far up a creek without a paddle? Perhaps, but let me try.

As my knees got progressively creakier, I decided several years ago that running was not a good idea. Casting about for some sort of exercise that would get my heart rate up but the stress on my joints down, I tried out an elliptical trainer. These cross-country ski-like machines offer a gliding motion that gives you a solid workout without the pounding of slamming one foot after the other into the pavement. Knowing that there was a much better chance of me using one if it were close at hand as opposed to driving to a gym, I bit the bullet and bought one.

All good. I routinely got up and clocked thirty minutes on it most mornings. As with most gear of this type, you can adjust the difficulty to provide a more challenging workout by increasing the resistance... making the easy difficult, much like our current situation. And so over time I pushed the dial up a little bit at a time, and forced myself to accommodate to the new environment. I eventually got well past a cake walk, but well below a slog. 

Perhaps it was the age of the equipment, or the machine trying to balance that particular resistance level, but one morning just as I finished my workout and hit the stop button I heard a loud "BANG!" that came from within the unit. Nothing on the outside appeared changed. However, a few tentative shuffles showed that while the device still worked, the level of difficulty was off the charts. Rather than settling at a level where everything was running just fine and easy, it went the other direction and broke at the hardest setting available. Not to make too much of a parallel to the world at large, but then again...

A little online research showed that it was likely a cable that snapped. The hardest part of replacing it was getting into the whole system, whose outer layers had not been engineered to make it easy for regular folks to enter. (Remind you of anything?) Thankfully other brave souls had been there before me, and posted tips and tricks that the pros used to manipulate the cover to get at the inner workings. 

So I ordered the part. It of course got lost in the seasonal rush, and I had to diligently track it down and get the powers that be to shake it free from a misdirected delivery. Once I got it, it took a number of tools, much muttering and some skinned knuckles to get in, find the broken part, extricate it, install the new piece, then get the whole thing reassembled and back up and running. I'm very tickled with myself that, other than a slightly different algorithmic slope to the resistance setting, it seems to work just fine. Indeed, while I used to work out at a level 10, the new equivalent now seems to be a 13 or 14. Same resistance, different label. 

As I said, while I hesitate to extrapolate my experience to a wider arena, let me try. Old system that got progressively harder but worked. Then broke big time. Some diligent learnings, and some dedicated efforts to effect a change. Some muttering and swearing, some painful contortions, but repairs were possible. And finally a restored system that works again, albeit a little differently. A reach to the current world? Perhaps. But at the risk of overplaying my hand up a mountain to the point of no return, we can only hope that as my exercise equipment goes, so goes the world.

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Marc Wollin of Bedford tries to exercise every day. His column appears weekly via email and online on Substack and Blogspot as well as Facebook, LinkedIn and X.