Saturday Afternoon Amusements…

It was windy and rainy in NY today and I was trying to think of something fun to do.

I like to go to museums.

I love art. Art, for me, is what makes life worth living. I love wandering around the Met. I can spend hours getting lost in Monet’s use of light or Cezanne’s use of color. I can stare at a piece from Van Gogh or Gauguin and imagine what it was like to live during that time and in those places.


















But more than that, I like to walk around and talk in different accents and see if I can get total strangers to indulge in my boredom.














Sometimes I am a country girl from Mobile, Alabama:

"Do y'all have that sculpture of the nekkid man by that Mr. Angelo fella here?”

“You mean Michelangelo’s David? No, ma’am, that sculpture is in Florence.”

“Huh. Florence you say? Now, is that on the Upper East Side or in Midtown?”

“It’s in Italy, ma’am.”

“Oh, ok, Little Italy, got it!”











Sometimes I am the deaf girl who grunts and points to her genitals while doing the pee-pee dance. When no one seems to understand what I am grunting about, I pull down my pants and defecate on the museum floor using my ‘complimentary’ brochure as toilet paper. I save that one for after I look at all the art I came to see, since I am usually escorted out soon after.










Sometimes I pretend I am an aristocrat. I dress up, wear a tiara and throw on a heavy Euro-trash accent and insist they sell me the Renoir, and when they tell me it isn’t for sale I get all huffy, make a scene and storm out.









Today I was from England. I approached a staff member and asked him where the “loos” were.

He in turn asked me where I was from...in a British accent.

Shit. Busted...Or am I?

“Oxfordshire” I replied.

“Hmm…” he began “Funny thing, I happen to be from Oxfordshire and you don’t sound a bit like you are from there."

"Well, I think I know where I am from and I am from Oxfordshire.You, dear sir, however do not sound like you are from Oxfordshire, you sound more like Kent Surry, the dodgy end.”

He just looked at me.

“Right, well…" I began "Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, must go, need to use the loo. Pip Pip and Cherri-o, mate!”

Bastard. Had to ruin it for me. Fucking British are so uptight, they have no sense of humor. Not to mention bad teeth. Guess it's time to move on to the Guggenheim...