Everyone seems exasperated with me. I'm not sure if this is just me or something else. I'm working on two hours worth of sleep and not much food (as usual), so I presume it's just me.

But man, are the MoMA coat checkers mean.

I didn't want to bring a totebag to NYC. After 9-11, that's just not a good idea. I wanted to bring a plastic bag. However, Mom and Dad insisted that such a thing would not, could not do, and made me bring a proper cloth briefcase.

It got confiscated checked, of course. And what, then, am I carrying my supplies around in while it's checked?

A plastic bag.

I passed through the entrance lobby without much other bother, though, and got through with a free ticket for technically being a SUNY student. Free stuff is good. It's even better when adult tickets are $12 and student tickets are $8.50.

(I wish I was writing in Swahili. Paranoia = Bad.)

The show was quite large, but I came up with several drawings rather quickly. First was Phantom Interceptors, a blurred black-and-white painting of fighter planes. They, er, reminded me of Lex. Heck, she should see this exhibit. He's got plenty of good airplanage picturage up his portfoliage.

...there, the lack of sleep is kicking in.

After that, I immediately ran into the Round-Face Otaku Girl From The Bus. She was with a gaggle of friends already, so I just stalked her a while. No direction otherwise, so why not follow her around until I get distracted and lose her?

This happened very quickly upon discovering the painting Dead. Not the one that looks like vertically blurred skyscrapers; I mean the one that looks like a man fatally crushed by a giant block of tofu.

Bus Otaku Girl laughed out loud at it, then moved on. I stayed behind and silently sketched a copy for my notes.

Museum-goers are so noisy. They never stop talking. English, French, German, Japanese-- jabber, jabber, jabber, jabber. Are they here for the art or the opportunity to monologue?

I ran into Rob the Blue Milk Jug Man in front of 256 Colors, and we both stopped to sketch it even though it's basically just a websafe colour chart arranged by RGB value instead of hue.

I think it is, anyway.

Don't quote me on that.

Then, uh, for some reason, I drew a sketch of his blurry painting of a toilet paper roll. I like the toilet paper roll. Eet ees aht.

Six Colors I drew because it was six regular rectangles. Bing, boom-- easy to draw. I was getting lazy.

Which doesn't explain at all why I sat down and drew a perfect Kuh (Cow) right after that.

Tom thinks it's a might fine Kuh. Well-drawn.

...it's a cutie.

Then I drew one of the seascapes, and that was the end of my drawingness. I didn't even draw my favourite painting, Reading-- which was a photorealistic, underlit profile of a woman reading. Very shiny. Very impressive.

The MoMA people didn't have any postcards of Reading for sale. Bastards. I had to settle for one of Betty (nice, but not as nice), and one of Toilet Paper. I want to stick the toilet paper up at home in the bathroom. Very postmodernist. Also, it might give me a good excuse to take away that damn Bill Watrous/Bach Stradivarius poster that someone put up there instead. I don't know who Watrous or Stradivarius are, and I don't care. It's just not a poster I enjoy seeing every time I have to shower and/or expel waste.

I had originally planned on getting lunch at the MoMA Cafeteria, like I did last time I was here (a shitload of moons ago). I remember that the food was expensive but very, very good. It took me a long time to find it, though, and discovered why-- the cafeteria is very, very gone. In fact, it's been replaced by a swank, sit-down restaurant with wine glasses on every table.

Unnamed tried to convince me to go in anyway, but I would not be moved. I so do not go into swanky, sit-down restaurants with wine glasses on every table while wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a dragon amulet. I'd look absolutely ridiculous. And so would he, if anyone could see him.

He damn well has clothes appropriate for MoMA, and I think he intentionally avoided them today. If he was commonly visible, I'd swear someone would've mistaken him for an exhibit.

He derived a great deal of amusement from that, of course.

Anyway. I quickly hunted down Round-Face Bus Otaku Girl again, who will henceforth be referred to as Anbako, and wheedled my way into following her and her guide, a male friend of hers henceforth referred to as Mop.

It was either that or Chartreuse.

Mop led us into a subway alcove, where I managed to find a deli that sold me a $4 chicken sandwich. The plan after that was that Mop would lead us through Chinatown, his home, and a Rocky Horror Picture Show-esque costumed thingydingus in which he would be dressed as a one-eyed, mop-wielding zombie in a tutu.

At that point, I had to bid them adieu. I wasn't afraid to take a subway or go through Chinatown-- both actually sounded kinda cool extremely interesting --but the one-eyed zombie thing creeped me out.

Hypocritical, I know, but what am I, anyway?

And no, Jalopy the Pigeon is not a feasible answer.





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