["Open Mike" is the freestyle Editorial page of TOP, in which Yr. Hmbl. Ed. follows random disordered thoughts. It's supposed to appear on Sundays, and sometimes does.]
Photochrom print of the front of Neuschwanstein Castle, Bavaria, Germany, taken as few as ten years after the completion of the castle (LoC).
Kate Wagner has outdone herself. Her next-to-newest blog post at McMansion Hell (posted last December) declares Neuschwanstein Castle to be an honorary McMansion so she can dismantle it in her inimitable horrified-but-fascinated fashion. A sample:
How should one describe Neuschwanstein architecturally? You’d need an additional blog. Its interiors alone (the subject of the next essay) range from Neo-Baroque to Neo-Byzantine to Neo-Gothic. There are many terms that can loosely define the palace’s overall style: eclecticism, medieval revivalism, historicism, chateauesque, sclerotic monarchycore, etc. However, the most specific would be what was called 'castle Romanticism' (Burgenromantik). The Germans are nothing if not literal. Whatever word you want to use, Neuschwanstein is such a Sistine Chapel of pure sentimentality and sugary kitsch that theme park architecture—most famously, Disney’s Cinderella’s castle itself—owes many of its medieval iterations to the palace’s towering silhouette.
There is some truth to the term Burgenromantik. Neuschwanstein’s exterior is a completely fabricated 19th century storybook fantasy of the Middle Ages whose precedents lie more truthfully in art for the stage.
Bingo. My first exposure to the Quixotic conceit of mad King Ludwig was in the "Disneyesque" 1968 Cubby Broccoli movie Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang, when I was 11. (Broccoli also produced some of the James Bond films. He was being consistent; Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang was a children's book written by Ian Fleming.) Neuschwanstein, which is one of the few words I can't remember how to spell, was Baron Bomburst's castle in the movie; the family flies over it in the titular magic flying steampunk antique car, which I suspect Kate would find to be right in keeping.
"Sclerotic monarchycore," BTW, made me LOL. If you don't know Kate's writing on fauxchitecture, it's a treat...unless you are too alarmed by the fantastical extremes to which tastelessness in American homebuilding can go. I tiptoe that line. For people like me who have the unfortunate weakness of seeing the world aesthetically (not the best outlook, I'll admit), that sort of tastelessness, in its relentlessness, can feel like a form of emotional abuse. I have to consciously try to calm myself down from time to time.
About her site generally (though not Neuschwanstein), it is one small metric of our collective insanity that we take people with an aptitude for design, educate them as architects, and then largely shut them out of designing the houses we all live in. The number of new American homes that are designed by architects is not precisely known, but it's less than 3%, maybe less than half that. And as Kate repeatedly proves, the larger and allegedly more luxurious builder-designed homes get, the more they go completely off the rails. The situation is not dissimilar to the way we take people with the highest aptitudes for psychology, educate them at great length to be psychologists and psychiatrists, and then prevent them from giving their opinions about the mental fitness, or lack thereof, of the individuals who want to lead us. (See "The Goldwater Rule.") A friendly tip: don't start looking for this kind of expertise-blocking in modern society; you'll start seeing it plashed all over everywhere. A kind of collective insanity. Especially lately.
All a small part of a larger category I call "American irony." I got tipped to looking for that when George W. responded to the Twin Towers attacks by declaring the "War on Terror," which immediately struck me as acutely asinine, because "terror" is a mental state or condition and you can't prosecute a hot war on that. A year later, as if to underline the point, two crazy snipers began shooting random people around the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area, leaving law enforcement temporarily stymied and the local population temporarily terrorized. It was almost as if the Universe were admonishing the Administration that terror is an emotion and can't be eradicated from life. I lived there at the time, and I felt it; you could hardly help it. As I did at age seven, when I flew on an airliner unaccompanied by an adult for the first time, I had to ratiocinate myself out of fearfulness by considering the odds. Still, one couldn't help but be nervous at filling stations, which is where the snipers typically targeted their victims. Life is random: one instant you're standing there, bored, putting gas in the car, and the next instant the whole world ends for you. Twenty-seven civilians were killed or wounded going about their normal everyday business. It's hard not to sympathize. You can, of course, declare military or police actions against terrorist organizations ("war" is generally reserved for formal actions by one nation against another, whether declared or not—even in the American Civil War, the rebels formed a government and declared themselves independent) but "War on Terror" is a mere metaphor, like war on hunger or war on crime, or war on war.
You'll see that kind of absurdist irony all over the place if you start looking for it. I wish I had kept a list, like, you know, an organized person.
On the good side of the whole War on Terror thing, it just occurred to me that the absurd prejudice against photographers in those years might be over now. For a long time after 9/11, it was a persistent delusion of both government and the public, on absolutely zero evidence, that anyone seen taking pictures of public buildings or structures must obviously be a terrorist, and so should be reported to the police immediately. Absolutely among the dumbest, most brain-dead mass delusions I ever witnessed, frustrating and maddening. And it seemed to hang around for effing ever. It was really just an excuse for hassling photographers. I can't put my finger on when it ended, of course, but it doesn't seem to be the case any more. Dare we hope that that peculiar insanity has run its course and petered out at last? I certainly hope so.
Kate Wagner's most recent post is an essay about what it's like to suffer, then ignore, and then recover from a concussion. It's called "The Hairshirt Doldrums." Long, for the internet, but extraordinary—and recommended. Kate is on my list of favorite short-form writers. Which would be an actual list if I were organized, but see above. She has promised us a Part 2 on Neuschwanstein. You'll know why Part 2 has been slow in materializing if you read "The Hairshirt Doldrums."
While she has her schtick and it's a good niche, I would like to see her write thoughtfully on residential architecture she likes.
Butters
Since we are chatting off-topic this morning, some good news about Butters, my gentle Labrador/pitbull mix. The medication for Cushing's disease didn't seem to be working against the symptoms, so I scheduled a followup with his vet, Dr. Webb, who gave us the good news that it's too early to know if the pills are going to work; it takes two months. I was heartened by that. It's nice to know more improvement is still possible. On the downside, she warned me that she can't rule out cancer, or the sorts of normal old-age decline big dogs begin to suffer starting at around his age (11 1/2), such as spinal-cord deterioration.
It's been a difficult few months for me because of one of those symptoms: the dear old fellow can only rarely go a full night without needing to go outside. I find myself standing in my robe, slippers, and parka in the backyard every night at 3:00, 4:00, or 5:00—sometimes more than one of those times—after which I can mostly not get back to sleep, and I've been getting up every day at 5:30–6:30 after too little sleep every night. Naps can't quite make up the lack. So I've been chronically sleep-deprived lately. There's no help for it. Fractured sleep has started to seem normal; and although it doesn't seem like much to complain about, it's actually rather brutal. I've been reluctant to go to some of my usual 12-Step Group meetings for fear I'll nod off, and I go through spells where I can't stay awake sitting at the computer. The worst part of being drowsy in the command chair is the continual, repeated intrusion of Stage 1 sleep, in which you think you're still awake but your thoughts drift into becoming disordered and dreamlike. It mimics what I imagine dementia must be like. I hate it. I can no longer drive to Canandaigua for a meal; it's too dangerous to drive on a full stomach when I'm so tired. I've been ordering my weekly sushi treat to go, and waiting to eat it till I get home.
I'm hoping Butters will be with me till age 14, which seems the most I can realistically hope for. But I'm also hoping the overdrinking/peeing cycle will calm down by the end of Month Two on the pills.
It's too bad this cropped up. Before this he was such a strong and vital dog, illness-free for years. Ironically, after his very difficult first year as part of our family—I worked and worked with him to help him overcome the anxiety he came to us with—he's been the sort of dog who never had an accident and could go many hours without needing to go outside. I used to leave him in the house for as long as eight hours on occasion, and never pushed it further than that to see what his limit was. Now, I have to schedule activities carefully so as not to leave him alone for too long.
He's sleeping peacefully in front of my desk right this moment, and still enjoys his ball, and he seems to be in a good mood, or good enough, most of the time. He does not seem to be in any pain. The biggest problem with dogs is that they don't last long enough! I'd love to have him around for another dozen years, and I sure will miss him when he goes.
But speaking of enough, enough. Have a good Sunday!
Mike
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Featured Comments from:
David B.: "Spell it 'Neu' (German for 'new') 'schwan' (German for 'swan') 'stein' (German for 'stone'...or in this case, stone castle). Neu-schwan-stein.
"My parents-in-law lived in a Bavarian house (overhanging roof for melting snow to fall beyond the path around its walls) just below the castle...looking up from their garden, there are its turrets...so I went on occasional horse-drawn carriage rides (the standard way for tourists to get there) up the very steep, curving approach from 'Hohenschwangau' (High Swan Region)...the cluster of hotels and houses below. It's what in England one would call a 'folly'...a rich person's expression of their wealth and land...only that here, in England, grandiose houses were often built in Italianate styles.
"Neuschwanstein is truly fanciful, make-believe and outlandish—on the outside, anyway. It's dense, heavy, Gothic über-romantic on the inside (Mick Jagger style). Why not indulge, if you can afford it? But it was the general population who paid for the indulgence. Now that King Ludwig is long gone, the current constant procession of—mainly Japanese—paying visitors will have refilled the coffers many times over. And hang-gliders overfly it each day from their jump-off point even higher up the hill."
Anton Wilhelm Stolzing: "This old photo of Neuschwanstein is wonderful, even as a small copy on the computer screen, and I think not easy to imitate...or maybe there is good AI software that is able to replicate this colour (and) style?"
william cowan: "One point four million visitors per year at 20 Euros a pop is 25 million euros gross per year, not to mention the village income and the similar entry fees to the nearby Hohenschwangau Castle. I would say that King Ludwig might be chuckling in his grave reading Kate Wagner's post. Sorry about Butters."
Chris C: "The Bond connections don’t end there: the story of Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang was written by Ian Fleming!"
Mike replies: Thank you Chris! I added this to the post.
Eric Rose (partial comment): "Having actually walked the halls of the aforementioned castle I can say it truly is a sweet treat. The entire town is so photogenic! Mike, have you ever been to Europe? If not you should go. International travel is so good for the soul. Especially if you can get over it not being just like home. [...] In today's world I feel what we need are more 'romantic' castles in our lives."
Mike replies: I went to Europe five times by age 20, including a six-week tour with about 45 students and adult proctors from three or four schools, to six countries, but I haven't been since then. Never as an adult except three weeks in Ireland when I was twenty. But during the tour I took a good camera and six rolls of film, which seemed a huge supply at the time. The pictures are probably lost.
Kodachromeguy: "The crude prejudice about photographers is old garbage. My dad, a professional hydraulic engineer, told me that during WWII, he was inspecting a dam site. He tried to take a picture, and the guards sternly told him no photography. Later, in the visitor center, he saw postcards of the exact same scene. Sigh...."
Rick in CO: "Beautiful photochrome print! 'Mad' King Ludwig II of Bavaria's ode to Wagnerian Romanticism. Not only Neuschwanstein, but he transformed a hunting lodge into the idyllic Palace of Linderhof and (half) built a replica of Versailles, Herrenchiemsee, on the island of Herreninsel in the Chiemsee. Bankrupting the Bavarian treasury, they drowned him in the lake. With typical Bavarian humor, today they wish he had built a few more of his fantasies, the great tourist attractions they are."
Bill Bresler: "Re: Cushing's Disease. When our sweet Molly, a gorgeous springer spaniel, was diagnosed with Cushings, we were most concerned with her pain. The vet assured us that the disease causes the body to produce large amounts of steroids, so she would feel quite good. Eventually the steroids would harm her internal organs and she would just slow down until the end. And that is what happened.
"An interesting sidebar.... Although a sporting breed, Molly had never been trained to hunt. My son said that we should take her bird hunting just once before she passed. We bought orange vests and licenses. I got my uncle's old shotgun from the basement and my son borrowed one from a friend. We arrived at the state game area, loaded the guns and released Molly. She raised her head, sniffed, then took off into the chest-high grass. Within 30 seconds she flushed two pheasants. We were so astounded that the birds flew away, our shotguns still aimed toward the ground. Genetics is destiny, I guess."
James: "On Cushings, my elderly dog Hugo who passed away last year was diagnosed with Cushings when he was 15+. We stayed on the medication until he passed away for a little over a year. I personally don't think it did anything for him. I would get a second opinion. I don't know what it costs up there, but I was paying $149 for a month's medication. Hugo lived to be a little over 16. I don't think the 60 mg Vetoryl did anything to prolong or improve his life. I would take him to the vet regularly to do the tests and it was always the same conclusion. One day he just couldn't stand up. I made the heart-wrenching decision pet owners have to make.
"I undoubtedly have another one of those coming up. Ruby, a mutt I found on a state park in August 2010 is approaching 16. I recently caught this little scruffy dog who had been living in a clump of trees along the railroad tracks by my house. It took me three months. I am currently debating at my age whether keeping him is the right thing to do. My Dad passed away in January and my sister passed away last week. I'm 65 years old. The vet thinks 'Ernie' is about five. You don't want to your dog or cat to outlive you."
Mike replies: My condolences regarding your relatives and Hugo. And it sounds like Ernie would take the risk if he could understand it—sounds like he needs you.
