Want to see an incredible example of making lemonade out of a busted-industry, corroded, hulking, sad-looking batch of lemons?

Take a look at what’s happened at the site of the old Bethlehem Steel plant in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania.

Now called SteelStacks, it’s become a performing arts/culture magnet and tourist attraction for the entire Lehigh Valley.

I know; it’s some major cognitive dissonance to say “Bethlehem Steel” and “arts/culture magnet” in the same sentence. But, it’s more than true.

Right in front of a former blast furnace, there’s an outdoor music pavilion (seen in each photo) plus the modern ArtsQuest performing arts building, a new building housing local public television station PBS39 and a bit further away in the complex, a huge (and tastefully designed to fit the industrial area) Sands Casino.

Music events at this pavilion include the fabulously-named Blast Furnace Blues Festival.

Another model for rescuing a blighted industrial area is Landschaftspark in Germany’s Ruhr Valley, which ArtsQuest founder Jeff Parks visited in 2002 and found inspirational.

There’s still a lot of work to be done restoring many remaining brick Bethlehem Steel buildings and bringing in more shops, restaurants and other businesses, but what a start!

I’m afraid that I’m starting to get rather seen-it-all in my traveler old age, and I was truly blown away.  If the only thing you know about this part of Pennsylvania are the depressing lyrics from Billy Joel’s song “Allentown,” you’ve GOT to see what’s happening there today.

(Disclosure: I was in the Lehigh Valley area as a keynote speaker for their annual regional tourism meeting, so my travel expenses were covered by the Convention and Visitors Bureau, but there was no cost to seeing SteelStacks.)

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“Aboriginal people want to see Aboriginal artists perform all kinds of music,” says Alan Greyeyes, festival curator for Aboriginal Music Week. He selects acts to appear at the festival to meet that need, but there’s another idea in mind too. “We really want to use the festival and the music to build bridges with other communities,” he adds. “And it’s working.”

Considering the range of musical styles, interests, and backgrounds of the artists on tap for this year’s festival, it would be hard not to find connections across genres and countries. A Tribe Called Red mixes DJ and club sounds with powwow music. Afro-Latin Dub meets West Coast bass in the music of husband and wife duo World Hood. Folk singer and songwriter Leela Gilday, who counts a Juno and a Western Canadian Music Award among her accolades, will be among the artists taking the stage in Winnipeg during the first week in November, as will emerging songwriters Cassidy Mann and Kyle Cedarwall.

Derek Miller brings rootsy rock and Native life together in his songs, and like Gilday, he’s won a Juno for his work, and performed with singer and songwriter Buffy Sainte Marie among others. Samian traces the story of aboriginal people with a voice of soul, heart, and a kinship with blues. He has performed at the Vancouver Olympic Games, in Finland, France, China, and Indonesia, and will be bringing his tories and songs to the stages of Winnipeg.

“I have found Aboriginal artists to be some of the most boundary-breaking, original, and refreshing artists I have ever met,” says Gilday, whose songs of Aboriginal life have won her widespread respect in the folk scene

That boundary crossing aspect of Native music goes back over time. That is an aspect well represented by Métis fiddle playing, a style which comes out of the confluence of French, Irish, Scottish, and Native music in the early days of contact between First Peoples and settlers and traders from Europe. John Arcand is known as the master of Métis fiddling for his well researched knowledge of older tunes and his skill at composing in the style, as well. Arcand, who learned his sense of timing on the fiddle as a child by watching dancers’ feet, has represented Western Canada at the Fiddles of the World Conference, was a delegate at an Irish Métis Cultural Exchange where he played for the President of Ireland, and has also played for Queen Elizabeth during her visits to Canada. Arcand will bring his love for the fiddle and enthusiasm for sharing his traditional style to Winnipeg during Aboriginal Music Week, as will fellow Métis fiddler Darren Lavallee, winner of many Aboriginal Music Awards.

Gabriel Ayala knows a bit about passion, tradition, and timing, too. He holds a master’s degree in music performance, and that mastery encompasses classical and flamenco guitar styles, as well as a fusion genre that Ayala has created, called JazzMenco. He will be adding all this to to programs in Winnipeg.

Winnipeg, a crossroads of commerce and travel on the Canadian prairie, is becoming known as a musical crossroads as well, an aspect of the city that’s sure to be felt by those taking the stage and those in the audiences during Aboriginal Music Week.

Aboriginal Music Week takes place November 1 through 6

photo of ATribe Called Red by Pat Bolduc
photo of Leela Gilday by RedWorks Studio
used by permission

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Imagine packing a pair of these shoes like these for your next trip:

Daphne Guinness would. This fashion icon, brewery heiress (yes, that Guinness), recent New Yorker profile subject has co-curated an exhibit of her wardrobe on display right now at The Museum at FIT in Manhattan. It’s an opportunity to contemplate clothing that is all very far removed from ordinary, much of it quite beautiful, and a few pieces that seems downright dangerous: a body suit spiked with nails, for instance.

In case you hadn’t noticed, the shoes pictured above — only one pair of several in the exhibit — have no heel, forcing the wearer to walk on her toes. Please insert a wince here, as you contemplate how much that has to  hurt.  And Guinness really does wear these — check out this Tumblr for the photographic evidence.

It’s sort of amazing to think of clothing purely as art, with all practical considerations totally taken out of the equation.

You can return to ponder this as much as you’d like, as this exceedingly well-done exhibit, at the fashion design school’s Chelsea campus, is free.  It on through January 7th, 2012.

It’s official.

The results are in.

Chicago’s Field Museum’s restrooms are simply the best.

Beating out heavy competition – including the Presidential Luxury restroom trailer originally set up for President Obama during the 2009 inauguration – the Field Museum’s restrooms have been crowned America’s Best Restroom 2011.

This isn’t the first time these award-winning restrooms have been in the news. Back in 2000, they garnered a special recognition award for interior architecture in the annual Chicago design excellence awards.  At the time, the Field Museum was praised for it’s innovative thinking and willingness to spend extra money to renovate the restrooms into not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing places.

Painted brilliant blue, forest green, and shades of cream, the sleek, futuristic restrooms with celestial doomed ceilings are family-friendly, eco-friendly, durable, and easy to maintain  – key factors that helped them win the coveted America’s Best Restroom award.

The extremely colorful restroom at the Renaissance Arlington Capital View Hotel came in second, with it’s innovate red or blue water stream from the washbasin faucets.

And in third place were the restrooms at the  Scottsdale Center for the Performing Arts.

Now in it’s tenth year, the America’s Best Restroom contest is sponsored by restroom supply company Cintas. Each year nominations pour in from businesses, including restaurants, hotels and casinos across the United States.

Anyone interested in discovering more award winning restrooms should check out the hall of fame where each year’s winners and nominees are showcased.

By Luke Armstrong

After the first attack I rushed to find first aid. The clock was ticking. The longer I left the wounds un-washed the greater the risk of even larger problems. The attack was so aggressively unanticipated that it never occurred to me that a second, far more brutal attack was mere minutes away.

“You’re drunk.” Marcos’ sleepy German accent answered from his darkened room as I knocked impatiently on his door.

“That’s true,” I said, knowing it was well past an acceptable hour to be knocking on anyone’s door, “But that’s not why I’m knocking. I need your help to unlock the kitchen. I need first aid, man!”

I knew that next to Marcos was the Dutch girl he had been hooking up with and that the last thing either of them wanted to do was dress and face the world at this late hour. But this was important. This was really, really important. Blood was trickling down my leg and my joint was tightening. Soon the stiffening would limit my mobility.

Finally Marcos emerged from his den. “What’s up man?” he asked affably despite the late hour. I pointed to my knee and he responded with a customary, “Dude! Holy shit!”

We traveled quickly down the bungalow’s stairs towards the kitchen. Marcos was a few steps ahead of me as he entered the safety of the kitchen as I walked through the open-air dining room. A thatch roof was set above me upon low-laying rafters. Marcos was trekking across Central America and had been gleefully grounded for a month in La Casa de la Iguana in Livingston, Guatemala where he bartended to pay his room and board.

Located on Guatemala’s carefree Caribbean coast, Livingston provides a pleasant departure from Guatemala’s Pacific coastline—unlike most Guatemalan beaches the waves here tend not to drown you. The area is gang controlled and is a transit port for USA-bound cocaine. Because these days the gangs are relatively established entities, a tenuous stability remains in place. But the flow of drugs makes Livingston a place you would not want to bring Grandma to—it’s a place where lynchings are far more common than the court-delivered justice.

As Marcos entered the kitchen, I explained to him how I had been washing my face, getting ready for bed, when the demon-beast had appeared out of nowhere and sunk his incisors into my leg. At first I thought it was a dog, but then the unmistakable mask and satanic eyes revealed my easily recognizable assailant.

Reign of Raccoon Terror: the Sequel

As I concluded telling Marcos the tale of the first attack, the satanic raccoon materialized again. From underneath a table he resumed mauling me. I let out a war cry that people later described as me “screaming like a girl” and ran in circles in an attempt to shake the coon.

But the coon had already tasted blood ad was not about to let me off as easy as he had after the first attack. He continued to hold and bite. When I shook him off for an instant, I jumped up on a table to remove myself from the reaches of the little bastard.

Some readers may scoff at this part and think, “raccoons can’t fly.” But with Marcos as my witness, when I jumped up onto the table, the Raccoon raised his front paws in a oh-you-did-not-just-jump-up-on-that-table type way, and flew to the table to continue to wreak havoc upon my gashed legs. At this point I picked up a chair and began to beat the raccoon and when I missed, my leg, with it. Time hit the fast forward button and my mind returned to its primordial way of fight-or-flight thinking.

When the chair I was wielding landed a good hit on the fiend’s masked face, he finally let go and I grabbed a rafter and raised myself up into the thatch roof.

At this point Lenny, the Dutch girl who had been bedding down with Marcos, appeared in the doorway. I held out my hand to her and shouted, pleading with her to come up to the safety of the rafters. Behind her came Ashley, a half Canadian half Welsh girl. I pleaded with both to escape doom and come to the rafters. As neither had seen the raccoon just own me, both took my urgent yelling and beckoning to the rafters to mean that I must be tripping out on something.

In a desperate voice Marcos from the kitchen window confirmed that if they did not take to the rafters something very bad was about to happen to them. Confused, but getting uneasy at our pleas, they climbed up to the rafters and in adrenaline-rushed speech I informed them of the exciting goings-on of the coon-filled night.

Continue to page 2 of Guatemala raccoon attack