Watching Werner Herzog's (sidebar: I adore this doc-making, serious, somehow still with sense of humour buried down deep German. Does anyone on the earth call Werner schatz. I wonder.) short film in several chapters about the burning Kuwaiti oil fields in 1991.
This is at New Museum on Bowery. Somehow this new joint has escaped the art strategies of Yours Truly - until now.
A nice Jamaican man downstairs didn't hassle me about my bag.
A far far cry from what transpired yesterday at The Whitney.
Where a small lady in the jacket made an executive decision to send me to the check-in centre.
I said What.
This bag is not as large as that bag that you just let in, or that lady's purse over there by the elevator, or that bag. (me pointing)
She was impassive.
I said This is discriminatory, you're making a snap decision (I liked that I tossed that in, somehow it made me internally glad of heart and reminded me of RonE's kooky Snap Judgment public access show whereby individuals rated a movie based solely on its title - I was on the show once, with Pahts) based on the material of this bag (backpack material), and how I'm dressed (shorts).
We had an impasse on both our hands.
I continued to argue, she continued to shriek.
I walked away and went to the desk and asked to speak to the Head of Security.
After about three minutes he appeared.
I said There's a laptop, Leica, passport, wallet in here and you don't want to be responsible for it.
He said I'll lock it in my office.
I said Look, this bag is smaller than several bags already inside. I'm not a member of the Whitney (a nice touch, I thought, honest) but I've been here several times with this very bag - without a hassle. I'll keep it in front of me. Why not watch me and make sure I don't bang into anything (I was on a minor tear). Why not walk with me through the museum and I'll show you bags that are larger than this one.
The man said Enjoy yourself, as he walked along with me towards the front door.
I thought that Yours Truly was being kicked out of the ultra-venerable Whitney.
It took me several moments to realize that YT was not in fact being kicked out but being chaperoned over to the officious ass working the door.
He said She's going in.
I thrust my ticket at her and kept walking.
She was then reprimanded by her boss.
Inside Paul McCarthy, Buckminster Fuller filled YT up with ideas, sopping up creative energy like a starvation victim at an all-you-can-eat sushi event.
Yesterday: Louise Bourgeois at Guggenheim, frickin' Frick action, and oso much more.
This is the Shiney Apple's Restaurant Week and experimentally put stock, faith, future hunger, and instinct into choice of IndoChine for last night's repast.
I shall be back and for that I am certain they are like so glad.
The oil fields of Kuwait burn and burn and it is time to continue the went through the New Museum, part of the Shiney Apple's ever-transformative urbanity.

Urban(e) Love.