Contemplating Important Art at MoMA
We just got back from a quick trip to NYC, and while there enjoyed a morning at the Museum of Modern Art. Of course, the upper floors with the Van Goghs, O’Keeffes, Dalis, and Picassos are clearly the draw, as indicted by the jammed hordes of people crunched directly in front of The Starry Night and blandly waving cameras at it while holding a phone up to the other ear and yelling, “I’m in front of the Star picture RIGHT NOW! Hold on. I’m posting it to Facebook. NO! Don’t Tweet about it yet. Wait until I get pics of that uni-brow chick and those melted clocks first!”
Meanwhile, Cheryl and I were down on the lower floors wandering around in a mild state of bewilderment. Against a far wall leaned a chunk of pink plexiglass. Tucked neatly into a corner were four folded blankets. On an otherwise blank wall, it appeared that a square had been pulled out to reveal the brick behind the sheet rock. A metal cube sat on a plate. Three basketballs floated in an aquarium. Discarded pantyhose were filled with sand and then stretched, the toes tacked to a low ceiling. And, of course, the ever-iconic and thought-provoking framed blank canvases (three, side-by-side!) filled an entire wing.
Am I an idiot or just a rube? Lots of other people were gazing at these works with furrowed and appreciative consternation. I saw a young woman half my age nodding her head and furiously writing notes (writing notes!) in front of the pantyhose. The vision of a tampon taped to a dictionary prompted audible sighs of artistic satisfaction. There were lots of super-serious convos like this all around:
Anyway, Cheryl and I shook it all off a little later on by walking through Times Square and posing for a picture with a giant Sponge Bob for $2. I’m thinking of framing the picture inside an old litter box and gluing it to the oven door. Art!
In the spirit of profound observations, I would now like to move on to some equally esoteric topics that have been nagging at me due to their unparalleled importance and complexity.
1) Chicks over 52 should not run in a sports bra sans shirt. I don’t care who you are (well, except for you, and you know who you are), if you’re much over 50, even if you do 45,000 crunches a day and religiously apply Fat Melt-Away! and have a spray-on tan, no one wants to see your old saggy skin self. I’m sorry! It is never hot enough to justify airing out your medieval midrift for the whole world to see. Why 52? Because I’m 51, and if, between now and February, I get a hankering to frighten people in the park, I’m whipping my shirt off.
And I might add, in the spirit of double standards, that I’m all for men over 52 running shirtless in sports bras. Please drop a line here and let me know the time and location so I can bring my camera. Art!
2) Speaking of double standards, did any of you realize tha Lolo Jones is A VIRGIN??? OMG! I really can’t remember at this point what sort of track event she does, because it’s so not important compared to seeing lots of video clips of her in hot “sports” outfits talking about her sex life!
Along those lines, I was really excited to see that Running Times managed to wedge in an extremely brief interview with Shalane Flanagan that culminated with her getting giddy about the U.S. Olympic Uniform. I understand that, as usual, they could really only spare a page to Shalane (well, and the cover in order to sell mags), since 32 pages had to be devoted to the manly discussion of men running and their manly records and men stuff. In the mega-section on Kenyans vs. Ethiopians, however, placing a bunch of pictures of female Kenyans and Ethiopians while only discussing Tergat, Bekele, Mosop, etc. was a nice touch.
3) Hey, speaking of the Olympics (and I really am excited), what’s up with the Greek triple jump champion chick being kicked out of the Olympics for a supposedly racist tweet? Here it is for those of you living under rocks (art!): “..with so many Africans in Greece, at least the West Nile mosquitos will eat homemade food.”
Okay, this is obviously a bad joke and in poor taste, but racist? How? I’ve read this several times, and while it suggests a lack of judgment and a vapid sense of humor, I’m not getting the racist end of it. She’s not saying “I hope the mosquitos bite them,” or “Oh, they’re both so horrible!” She’s making a bad joke about an observation. Is she a racist? Maybe. I don’t really give a shit. But to punish her by throwing away years of work and dreams seems insane.
If anything, that tweet is insectist. I demand that mosquitos boycott the Olympics.
4) And speaking of not giving a shit, three words (well, actually one real word, 2 tragic made-up phonetic “words” and two dashes): Chick-fil-A. If I see another “Look at me! I’m supportive and contemporary and cool because I hate Chick-fil-A!!” post on Facebook, I’m going to plotz. Of course, I don’t agree with the opinions of Mr. and Mrs. fil-A and the whole Bible-thumping fil-A family, but I’m not exactly shocked and appalled and driven to jump on the “Shut’er Down!!” Chick bandwagon.
Sorry, but as much as I don’t like Mr. Chick’s stance and comments, he still has a right to them…and a right to speak them. What baffles me is how many people are acting all astounded and indignant about the fact that some rich bigwig hates gay people. Unheard of! Unprecedented!! Some people are openly and loudly vocal about how homos go against God and the Bible? Preposterous! Unacceptable! I guess the suddenly exploding pro-Gay movement and the masses of well-meaning heterosexuals have to have their flashpoints. This just seems like such a weird and minor one.
And anyway, Chick-fil-a food sucks. (Was that last comment sexist? Homophobic?)
5) Finally, let’s tie all our themes today together: Art, Olympics, Gay stuff, and Poor taste…..
Happy Olympics!! GO TEAM USA!! (Or, really, all teams. Don’t want to offend!)