Whenever I'm exposed to a large amount of propaganda, I get very sleepy. I can't help it--it's my body's defense against too much undigested information. As rude and judgmental as this reaction may be, however, it has been a fine barometer of unexamined thinking.

And this was the sum total of my experience at Boeing's Museum of Flight, which I recently visited after a hiatus of nearly 10 years. It's not a place that I would, as a critic and consumer of art and culture, dismiss out of hand. I am very interested in educational exhibits and the visual shape of history and information, as well as in institutions that work very hard to keep little kids from self-combusting with boredom.

A current exhibition at the Museum of Flight called 2001: Building for Space Travel seemed promising indeed. This show aims to examine the cross-cultural currents among science fiction, art, film, design, and space travel. It begins with images of the cosmos from the days before we ever penetrated it with more than a telescope, a rather heartfelt attempt to balance our perceived powerlessness relative to something so enormous with imagination and very human bravado.

Did we know that soon the terms of the question would change from where are we in the universe to we are the universe? You certainly wouldn't know it from Building for Space Travel. It's hard to forget that the museum you're in is a corporation's set piece--and a corporation with strong ties to the military at that. It's no coincidence, after all, that rockets look like missiles, and that this design confluence is thanks to the military-industrial complex invigorated by the same Cold War that had us furiously trying to one-up the Soviets in space travel. What with a peppy introduction from local weatherman Steve Pool, this is about as one-sided as history gets.

(The exhibit is not without a villain, however--a most convenient and most unintentionally hilarious target: Building for Space Travel heaps its scorn on Hollywood, for its very un-politically correct demonizing [pace E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial] of aliens. How insensitive. How detrimental to our future diplomatic relations with People of Alienness.)

The exhibition's surprises and successes are in its small moments, such as a placard discussing the use of windows in spacecraft. "The psychological importance... cannot be underestimated," it reads. "[The window] fulfills a fundamental need of space travelers to maintain a visual connection with the Earth--a tangible reminder of their humanity in what is an inhuman environment." Here is the contrast to the strident print ads for the Convair F-102A All-Weather Interceptor, which reads, "The next time jets thunder overhead, remember that the pilots who fly them are not willful disturbers of your peace; they are patriotic young Americans affirming your New Sound of Freedom." It seems like such a small thing, to remind museum-goers that they're individual beings and not tools of the state and corporation, to wake them out of the pep-rally-induced stupor, but it doesn't happen that often.

Perhaps the coldness is a side effect of exhibiting technology, but it permeates the place even as you approach it. From a slightly blighted strip of 24-hour restaurants and wrecking yards, you emerge into Boeing's spare, imposing sweep: the blocky buildings, the long, long landing strips where unmarked airplanes hover overhead. Even the folksy Red Barn--where Boeing's history and the history of aviation are entwined into a glorious braid of factoid and personality--has the overwhelming feeling of someone trying to sell you a bill of goods. It takes an enormous amount of concentration to pick out the (truly interesting) people who make up this history: Elrey Jeppesen, the airmail pilot who created an industry based on his airfield notes from the '20s and '30s, and handsome Clyde Pangborn of the Gates Flying Circus, the second person in the world to wing-walk.

And in case there remains any doubt about who your host is, visit the gift shop. There you can pick up a bumper sticker that reads "I (heart) Airplane Noise." Tell that to those who live under the proposed third runway, if they can hear it.