In the effort to remember that it used to be okay to have a 27.5-inch waist.

I love going to the Met. (That would be the Metropolitain Metropolitan Museum of Art, not the Metropolitain Metropolitan Opera. Applesauce!* but I hate opera, unless I'm listening to it on my iPod and can stop and start it at will. Actually, I take that back. I legitimately enjoyed Carmen and La Boheme. And Don Giovanni. But I hated The Magic Flute. So, I guess you could say that I've enjoyed 75% of the opera I've ever seen in person. But I'm pretty sure that, horsefeathers!* I hate opera! Anyway, the point being that we're talking about "the Met" the big museum in New York, not the big opera house in New York. Hem hem.)

Last weekend, I was there for about two hours just wandering around 19th Century Painting and getting lost and losing my breath over Van Gogh and Degas. And Monet. And Renoir. After the Impressionists, I headed to the new Greek and Roman galleries, where I was tickled to see patrons being scolded for talking on cell phones, but not for palming the ancient works of art. I also did a quick dip into the Medieval wing to see some of the "treasures" on loan from the Victoria and Albert Museum. All in all, my tour left me feeling all sorts of copacetic.

Now, this is about the least, LEAST original point to make about art (particularly non-Modern art), but isn't it refreshing to see real bodies reflected in the marble and oil and wood and watercolors? Take this little filly, for example:

Not quite the same thing as, say, Angelina Jolie since she went from her Hackers-era body to her Wanted frame. Yikes.

My simple and for-once-brief point being that I think I'll spend less time at the movies, and more time at the Met. But not the opera Met. The museum Met. Because opera is boring. And also on the other side of town. Which would necessitate paying for a cab. No-ho-ho-ho way. Hahaha, twelve dollars. Riiiiight. (Oh, and the price of an opera ticket, which, riiiiiiiiiiiiiii, etc., ght.)

[* Trying to curse less now that my nephew, whom I only rarely get to see, even though he lives 6 blocks away, is turning 1, and will theoretically start to remember words like "fuck."]

1 comment:

  1. Sometimes, what are known in French as "faux-amis," [foe zahmy] ("false friends"), work both ways. It's easy when learning French to write things like "l'addresse," instead of, "l'adresse," or "l'apartement," instead of "l'appartement."

    It's apparently ALSO easy to forget to UNlearn the faux-amis. Such as "Metropolitain" vs. the English "Metropolitan." Although I DO love the Metropolitain, because it takes you everywhere you want to go in Paris, from Montmartre all the way down, essentailly, to Versailles (if you hop on the RER, at least).

    So I thought leaving the two instances in was a good excuse to mention that there is really, REALLY no museum greater than the Louvre. Except perhaps the Orsay. And that's all there is to say about that.


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