Tag Archives: NYC

We weren’t in New York long. Just enough time for a trip to a few museums, a show, and for me to buy a pair of jeans at Uniqlo (they were so cheap that they stain my hands blue every time I wear them, and still I love them).

That jaunt to New York was a blip on the radar, sandwiched between other trips. But I managed to take a few pictures here and there (when I wasn’t forgetting my camera).

Here are ten shots from New York. I hope you like them.

  1. View from our porthole window, The Maritime Hotel, Chelsea.

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  2. Looking upward, Fifth Avenue.

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You save me from myself, babe.

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I owe my husband a thank you. Without him, I might have gotten cholera, or bed bugs, or lord knows what else.

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Please, Please do not read this post at work. Or around children. Or your mom. The photos included are most certainly Not Safe For Work, and don’t want to receive an email lecturing me about not having warned you. Because I just did.

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Dear Friends;

Despite my incredibly foul mouth, my godless behavior, and my penchance for desserts with the word “sex” in their title, I am a bit of a prude.

No, seriously. My mother and I once had a brief talk about sex. It started with her asking me a question, and me responding with, “We are so not having that conversation.”

And that was the end of that.

I mean, I was raised Catholic. And as Stephen Colbert notes, Catholic girls either come out really repressed, or really crazy. And I fall firmly in that first category. I mean, when my doctor asks if I’m sexually active, I kind of want to tell her, “No. No I am not.” Even though I’ve been with my husband for 9 years. Because having someone think I’m in some weird sexless marriage is actually preferable them knowing I have sex (which I totally don’t, by the way).

Welcome to my neuroses, folks. There’s plenty to go to around.

You might wonder why, then, neurotic as I am, I would decide to visit something as racy as New York City’s Museum of Sex. And really, the reaons are two-fold. The first is that I’m actually able to talk and write and think about sex, in the context of something as culturally enriching and wholesome as a museum! And the second is that I think it’s good to confront the things in life that make you uncomfortable. And, boy, is there stuff in the Museum of Sex that would make anyone uncomfortable, prude or no.

I will tell you now that, after the jump, the photos get … racy, to say the least.

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I can appreciate modern art. I won’t stand in front of a painting and discuss, seemingly to no end, the different elements of a painting, its composition, or what I thought the artist intended. But I will, on occassion, turn to my husband and say, “I like that.” And, often, he will reply with, “Me too.”

Of course, there are a lot of people who like to spend way, way too much time analyzing brush strokes and trying to determine whether or not the artist was constipated. I find these individuals equal parts annoying and entertaining. Sometimes, I want to join in with fake facts and nonsensical observations. (more…)

The Guggenheim and the Cooper-Hewitt Design Museum on New York’s Upper East Side don’t seem to get as much love as other big players in NYC, like the Met and the MOMA. They also don’t have snazzy nicknames (I suspect these two observations are related). Rand and I tried coming up with some, but the best I could muster up for the Cooper-Hewitt was “The Coop”, which sounds like a museum dedicated to eggs (I’m not necessarily saying I have a problem with that, esp. if they included an exhibit on the Cadbury Cream Egg variety). For the Guggenheim, we came up with “Goog”, which, while not incredibly catchy, is far superior to Rand’s other suggestion of “The Hymie.” (more…)