I went to the museum today. The big one downtown, with Da Wifey and Mother-in-law. As they say, it was like herding cats, two very slow cats. Choice people watching however, makes me proud my ol’ rangy city-too-busy-to-hate-gallactically-sucky-traffic town.

I’m from Dallas Texas, a city that never let an empty moment pass without hating. So ol’ Atlanta provided a pleasant enough afternoon, thank you.

Time for Brinio, Art Critic.

Georgia O’Keefe: American Classic defined a genre, looking a bit self absorbed or was it moody in those Stieglitz portraits (Georgia honey, show some tit now…that’s it… that’s it… GOT IT! )

The Latin and Latino Collection had my favorite pieces and the photograph of two cheerleaders isn’t to be missed, or the textile hand-woven Wal Mart receipt.

Louvre Antiquities: By this time my back was aching and I was just trying to get the docents to laugh. “Look, OH MY! That vessel was crafted in 1500 BC! Ohhh…” Yeah, and so was my sciatic flare-up. I’ve left the tortured looks behind: note to husbands, tortured looks WON’T get Da Wifey in that lingerie you like. They won’t, so buck up. There were books in the gift shop: Napoleon’s Letters to Josephine. They also had a display of cool sunglasses, coffee mugs, and neckties Napoleon gave to Josephine.

There’s a modern American photo exhibit, black and white motorcycle club/gang/biker images from the sixties, wonderful. All I could think of: where can we go today, where some cultural phenom is so new, that forty years from now its documentation will be looked at in the same way? And can I make a buck at it?

Then in the courtyard, an actor’s guild or some such was setting up some performances. Talk about worthy of derision. But you know what? There are some things people do with such earnestness, with such little need for recognition, for such pure youthful desires that unobjective ridicule will only get your teeth knocked out. So shut the fuck up and enjoy the actors, dickweed. So what, can the actors follow me around all day and critique my job performance?  Hell no.

 I’ve enough voices in my head already, and there’s no more room in the truck.

20060cookie-checkMy Day By Brian

My Day By Brian

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