Carfax Estate Nanny

I was at the Museum of Modern Art, MoMA, from opening to closing yesterday. Duh, I loved it! You know how my favorite piece at SFMOMA is a big Rosenquist? Well, MoMA has a Rosenquist that fills an entire room: “F-111”, from 1964, with a pointed juxtaposition of consumerism and the military-industrial complex. Pity Rosenquist died back in ‘17; we could used more of that.

And the macrame craze of the ‘70s? Apparently got its start in downtown lofts here a decade earlier. And op art? Got a big boost from MoMA itself back in the day. Clearly, I love this stuff. My only regret is that I didn’t leave enough time for the gift shop.

I couldn’t help noticing the abundance of attractive women at MoMA, some of whom were gothed up. Sure, everyone knows sexxy deth chix are into art, as well as hot normal chicks, but they were surprisingly numerous.

As you might expect, the MoMA cafe has healthier, artier sandwiches than the Guggenheim. Not that the Guggenheim sando was bad.

Speaking of eats, I had a seriously mediocre dinner last night. I need to do more research about eats.

I also did something that locals tell tourists not to do: I took the subway during the evening rush. But the downtown E wasn’t bad; I’ve ridden worse on BART. I did see a packed A zip by, though. (The A is the 8th Avenue express. It zips by a lot of stations.)

After a two-hour break to let my feet recover, I got on a commuter train bound for Newark to check out QXT’s, the recommend local goth joint. But let me say that as tolerable as the subway was earlier, the last train to Newark was packed. Notable among the passengers were young delivery men with bicycles, who needed lots of space.

Edited to add: don’t be a mook like me and get on a PATH train at Penn Station if you’re going to Newark, because you’ll have to transfer in New Jersey where a bunch of arrival boards don’t work. Get on at the World Trade Center.

But anyway, how’s Newark? Kinda normal, and not in a bad way. People drive faster. It’s quiet after 2100. It’s America.

How’s QXT’s? Let me preface this by saying I knew I was going on a burlesque night. I would have gone Saturday, but I have (ahem) something else planned then. QXT’s is friendly, but the drinks and the sound are better at all of the west coast goth joints I’ve been to: the Mercury, the Coffin Club (PDX), the Cat Club (SFO), and a couple of defunct places in Seattle.

How was the burlesque? Not bad! There was an angle grinder involved, which reminded me of [Bad username or unknown identity: “leenerella”]. Chatted with the MC during her smoke break.

Took a Lyft back to Manhattan, which was less expensive and more educational than I expected.

TL;DR: success.

First, a small surprise: there are some subway stations, usually the less busy ones, that won’t let you double back without exiting. So it’s good to be sure which train you need in advance, and for that, the MTA is clearer than Google.

I’m glad I’m a Florida girl who likes to dress lightly: the subway stations are warm and humid.

On to Central Park! Such mellow. Very exercise. Dawgz. Also a park bench dedicated to a late FDNY chief admonishing people to “check your smoke detectors or you’ll end up sleeping here.” Truly a New York moment.

But I had a destination on the far side of the park: the Guggenheim Museum, whose building, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, features an iconic spiral ramp around a central rotunda.

The building does indeed kick butt, with the permanent collection in side galleries that branch discreetly off the spiral ramp. Another New York moment: the Guggenheim’s curators mince no words about Gaugin’s gross attitudes.

The artist featured on the main ramp was Rashid Johnson, who I’d never heard of. He’s what was once called a race man: his work is full of allusions to Black and West African culture and history. I dug some of it.

There was a trans docent talking to a group at the top of the ramp. Go us!

On the way back through the park, I saw the obelisk from a distance, but I didn’t check it out because my feet were trashed. Two hours of horizontal time ensued.

After dinner, I took a C downtown to the west Village, wherein lies the most adorable and compact lesbian bar I’ve ever seen, the Cubby Hole. I ended up chatting with a trans woman who (of course) works for Google. We talked about trans things, boy howdy.

I’m not quite sure why I’m neither hung over nor crippled. I figured goddess wants me to go to MoMA as soon as I pay for breakfast.

It's a good thing I went to bed early last night, because my smoke alarm started screaming just after midnight, having given it a rest for more than a day. And this time, I couldn't fan it into silence.

I pushed and held the big button, but it only gave me an hour's respite. So I flipped the breaker after gracefully shutting down my work computer.

I discovered this morning that the circuit for the loft, where the offending smoke detector is, is the same circuit where the router is plugged in on the far side of the living room.

The good news is that pulling hard enough on the smoke detector unplugged it from its wired-in power connector, which doesn't look damaged. I have no intention of replacing the smoke detector until I get back from vacation. Good thing my son doesn't like using my gas stove.

I had a lovely dinner at the Gainesbourg with ack_yeahright, one of my very first Burner buddies. I didn't even realize she was still living in the area until a few weeks ago; I thought she'd moved to Oregon as planned.

Nope. And what's more, she's on better terms with her ex. He's... not a great guy in several ways, but as long as ack_yeahright keeps him at arm's length as she seems to be doing, it's not cause for alarm.

We talked about the playa, natch, and plans to return. Her mobility is reduced enough these days that that would be a major logistical undertaking for her. Even more major, that is, than Burning Man is for everyone else. If it happens, it happens, but if it doesn't, I won't be too surprised.

The one dark spot to all this was talking about a certain vile, transphobic ex. She couldn't quite believe that he's as vile as he is, but I've seen the receipts and I told her about them.

OK, there was another dark spot: I lost my ORCA, the Seattle area-transit pass. I shut it down online right after I said my goodbyes and installed the Transit Go app. The trouble with the latter, though, is that you can't use it for inter-system transfers. I do those all the time from (King County Metro) bus to (Sound Transit) light rail or occasional long-haul bus. This means I need to schlep to another neighborhood to buy another ORCA. Le sigh.