I just went to the bathroom and used the very last square on the roll of what was already our almost finished roll of toilet paper. Before I left the house today, I mentally noted that I had to stop at the bodega on my way home to pick up more of the t.p. However, I did not do that even though I did stop at the bodega on the way home. Instead, I did manage to pick up a six pack of beer. The second beer of which I am already drinking probably less than ten minutes after getting home. I just talked to Joe on the phone and he called me a lush. But god, I really thought I was going to die if I did not get a beer in my system fast while I was at museums this evening. And because I am both too poor to do so and too shy to do so by myself I did not go into a bar even though I really wanted to. And really, why going to museums makes me really hungry and thirsty for beer, I do not know.
Within an hour of being in a museum, even if I just ate pounds of food right before hand, I will be ravenous, fucking ready to collapse if I don't get food in my belly, there are tummy noises, and I cannot even concentrate, cannot really interact with art in any real way because I am rushing through, hoping to get to food faster. I think my body has never gotten over that childhood association of museums with dreadfully boring, escape at all costs, food, food. So I rushed through the Ed Ruscha show at the Whitney, which I didn't enjoy nearly as much as looking at his monographs, or coming across one of his works in a room with works by other artists. It just got a little tiring, the schtick, which normally I am a big fan of.
Then I went upstairs to see the Ana Mendieta show because I thought I should it see while I was there, and it wasn't so much the art so much that annoyed me as the descriptions the curator wrote which made really generalized comments about Feminism, without distinguishing which one it was talking about. Fucking ravenous, and so really easily annoyed by things I otherwise might let slide. Then I left the Whitney and sprinted up to the Met to try to see the Byzantium exhibit and Goldsworthy's installation on the roof. The roof was closed. I saw the Byzantium exhibit, looked at some Caravaggio and that gorgeous Rodin sculpture of the naked young lad right in the middle of that hall, and then starving, but too tired to go to the subway right away, sat on the steps out front, where I ran into Steven and his girlfriend. And I was shocked to see them on the street because that is the benefit of going uptown, that you never run into anyone you know, but no! Then, I walked down 79th Street because it was nice and deserted, only to walk by FSG boy, this man that comes into the Strand about everyday to sell books that I have a crush on, and who I have never ever talked to. But we exchanged knowing eye contact, that yes, you are from the Strand.
I ran to the subway, got off at Bedford, ate pizza, picked up beer, and came home to soon start drinking it. Hopefully, I will be watching a movie at Joe's house soon. My neighbors are setting off firecrackers as I write this, and it has me giddy about the 4th, about beer, about friends, and spectacular fireworks, and yes, about this land of ours, these states.
PS - Jaymay Seerman may soon again become a housemate, if not a roommate. She is hopefully going to move into the second floor apartment in my building. Fingers crossed.