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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.
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.
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Date: 2025-09-18 05:50 pm (UTC)From: