We're just back from a very intensive museum experience involving the Met and then the Guggenheim.¹ Museums are generally frustrating experiences for me because I have trouble retaining most of the information I've just absorbed. I could probably name most of the artists I saw today, but by this time tomorrow the only information indelibly printed on my brain will be the same useless data that's never been supplanted by anything I learned in college or elsewhere.²

Last night we engaged in some drunken shenanery³ on the Lower East Side with one Mr. Nick Burd, who took us to three bars: The Dark Room, then Welcome To The Johnsons', then Max Fish. Along the way we found a Brian Jonestown Massacre CD lying in the street, walked past a huge black man who was listening to Gary Numan's "Cars" on his headphones⁴, and I named my girlfriend's bladder.⁵ All in all, a successful night, and it only cost us $23,847 in cab fare.

Oh yeah, and apparently a competitive sporting event was held which resulted in an unfavorable outcome for most of the city's inhabitants.

¹ I refuse to call it "The Gugg" (pronounced goog), and if anyone calls it that around me I ask them to repeat themselves until they say the full name.^a

² All the lyrics to "Bust A Move".

³ � Leah Gehlsen 2003

⁴ We knew he was listening to this song because, just as he was walking by us, he sang "in CARS" very clearly and entirely, it seemed, for our benefit.

⁵ "Bladder 49"

^a Because I'm a jerk.

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