previous entry courtesy of metameat's p.r. kerschen. apologies for my lack of introduction; i invited him to appear at will.
though i have been beyond writing distance for a good portion of the last two weeks, i'm also plain old reluctant to speak about new york. i do love to explore, but i'm too poor to engage with most of what i see. i dearly love writing in cafes, pubs, what have you, but the new citywide smoking ban (while excellent for employees) is fatal to me. if cigarettes are illegal indoors, alcohol should clearly be legal outdoors. look (cough) to las vegas. bringing a candle and a notebook to the roof, in turn, will fizzle when the weather turns and the tar begins sticking to my bum. how did emily dickinson accomplish so much indoors?
the museums are lovely, though - joe agreed to accompany me back to the butterfly conservatory, where the atlas moths were as jaw-dropping as i remembered. can't say that i fully appreciated matthew barney's cremaster cycle at the guggenheim (we missed the film screenings, so i amused myself in the installation portions of the exhibit by rewriting boston's "more than a feeling": deeply annoying, you're so pretentious, &c), but the picasso and braque pieces were impressive. we joined an intensely excited crowd for the matrix reloaded yesterday - i'm prepared to praise its choreography and effects, of course, but even laurence fishburne's outrageously shakespearean delivery couldn't elevate sloppy writing. cardinal rule of junk food consumption: if you don't interrupt your candy with something substantial, you'll ultimately feel ill.
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