Edward Hopper exhibition at the Whitney

My work ID card gets me in free to some of the museums around town, so last Friday the BF and I went to the Whitney Museum to see their special Edward Hopper exhibit. Edward Hopper did a lot of his painting at the Whitney when it was an institute, before it was a proper museum, so they're well-suited to put on an extensive show. Conclusion: the Whitney is holding out on us.

The Whitney is not a very large museum. It's smaller than the Guggenheim, loads smaller than the Met, and could even be smaller than the Frick now that I think about it. That's actually why I like the Whitney. It's the perfect size for my chicken-like attention span. The Hopper exhibit was about six rooms large and by the time we reached the last room, I was all arted-up and ready to go brag to passerby about my sophistimicated sensibilities. But the BF observed that the Whitney only put out about an eighth of the Hopper paintings that they actually had in their collection. See? They're holding out on us, man! Somewhere in this city, art junkies are shaking and sweating for themes of sexual isolation and the alienating aspects of American life. Soon they'll be looting the postcard stands in Central Park for Charles Sheeler photographs and digitally retouched pictures of Times Square; the despair created by the juxtaposition between the two is almost as good as the pure Paris-era Hopper.

If you understood that, you are. Such. A. Nerd. Congratulations. Have a clown smoking a cigarette.

No More Street Team?

There's a new post over on Big Island Rachel's Books. I review Monique Truong's "Bitter in the Mouth" and break down the meaning and correct usage of a plot twist.

I haven't been having as many adventures as I usually do these past couple of weeks. My October adventures really wiped me out, and since I started the new job, I haven't gotten any assignments from the Village Voice, which is how I usually go on adventures. I don't know if the Voice has fired me or if they just don't have the funds to send out the Street Team, but I haven't heard from them in over a month, and I'm strangely okay with that. I had a good time with the Voice the last two years and saw parts of the city I'd never think of going on my own. I got to see mermaids, jazz, skateboarders, crazy people, and that guy from Depeche Mode, and I got a lot of street cred by telling people that I worked for the Village Voice. But I won't miss schlepping those heavy bags of swag around Williamsburg in the middle of the night when it's 13 degrees out and sleeting, I can tell you that much.

So, not a lot of adventuring lately, just some quiet, quirky observations about being an employed and fully functioning member of society.

Huh. I got nothing. Go read my book review. I think books are the only interesting thing I'm going to be talking about for a while.