subwoofer

The other day, Dave and I had one of those weird New York experiences. We decided to meet in Manhattan - Dave was studying at NYU and I had just gotten home from school. It was a Friday night.

One of the gifts that I received when I left Chicago was a dual membership to the Guggenheim. The first Friday of each month, members can get into the museum for free and they stay open late. Nifty, we thought. Let's go. But first, let's meet in midtown (a.k.a Times Square-ish), look at the Christmas decorations, then dinner, then museum. I keep thinking that New York just isn't that cold.

In the bitter, frigid air we searched for Bergdorf Goodman...this block, no....this block...no. Oh. Here's Bergdorf Goodman. These windows are so lame. But wait! Rockefeller Center and the looming, glistening, mammoth tree and lots and lots of people with "I heart New York" T-shirts stretched over their jackets! We stuck around for the light show projected onto Saks Fifth Ave. It was totally worth Dave's acid dance...make sure you watch until the end.




So after the family-friendly fun, Dave and I took a cab to the Guggenheim and arrived to see a line around the block. At first glance, it seemed like hordes of posh, young New Yorkers...perhaps celebrities. Leaning in and squinting, it was clear this was a group of tourists from Tennessee and the Ukraine wearing new outfits. I was wearing a huge wool coat, cardigan, a thrift store dress over pants and pinchy boots, but with our member cards, we were swept into the museum past the line. We were easily the oldest people there and wandered around the portraits of transgender people and performance artists and giggled.