In Search of...culture

I was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art today, because when you're in NY, it's mandatory that you go there, and as I meandered with two friends who knew more about art than I ever will, I wondered what it said about me that the only thing keeping me conscious in the Chinese art area was the fact that I was standing up.

By the time we found our way to Ringo Starr's gold-plated snare drum in the musical instrument section, I realized that my tastes, even in a prestigious art museum, were pretty plebian. The Tiffany glass and Van Gogh were my favorites, but were it not for my auspicious surroundings, I likely would have been just as enthralled walking through a Thomas Kinkaide store. Like I said - plebian.

Now, I can revel in the beauty of a sonnet or a symphony, but somehow I am missing the gene that oohs and ahs over ancient artifacts. I find myself tolerating almost everything but the impressionists and counting down the hours until we get to my favorite of all places in the museum - the gift shop.

The gift shop makes me happy. There are books and scarves and tote bags and shiny baubles. There was a calendar of a shoe exhibit. How did I miss that section of the museum?

I remember going to see the King Tut exhibit in Chicago a few years back, where there were only one or two artifacts that were actually Tut's. If memory serves me correctly, I came away gleaning only that people were really short back then. I also wondered why they were selling Christmas ornaments of Tutankhamun in the gift shop when he lived in the age of the Pharaohs, well before Christ ever walked the earth. Was anyone else wondering that?

I'm thinking of looking for a book like Art for Dummies or something along those lines. Maybe there will be some tidbit that will unlock that world for me. Until then, here's to spending time with wonderful people. That's a much bigger draw for me than any painting.

Thanks for stopping by. Please tell your friends.

In Search of...football season

I know, I know. I've been absent from blogging for over a month, so am I really going to blog about football? Not a chance. I couldn't care less...except for any of the players that have made their way onto Dancing with the Stars. Yes, a new television season is upon us, and frankly, that's the more appealing spectator sport to me.

I've been enticed by the promos for weeks, so as I eagerly set my DVR to record practically every new show, I was hoping not to like most of them, lest my brain turn to complete mush as I never read a book again. So far my wishes have been granted. I've been anything but enthralled by the new stuff I've seen, with the exception of Detroit 1-8-7, the new show where Michael Imperioli plays yet another cop. (I'm really thinking he should broaden his range. This is the 3rd cop in a row that he's played, and that's without me even thinking too hard about it.)

So Law & Order is moving to LA. I am preemptively cranky. Practically every friend I have in NY has appeared in some episode of Law & Order. It's been good for employment. Besides, I like the snide remarks. And I was almost able to forget that Jeremy Sisto (Lupes in the last incarnation of the cast) was in the movie Clueless. And I liked that Detective Green sang and danced his way into my heart in Rent before donning his badge. I want my New York Law & Order back. That's all I'm saying.

Then there's Outlaw. Now, I love me my Jimmy Smits. Always have. But even I, yes I have to wonder what herbs were being puffed upon when they decided to make a show about a Supreme Court Justice leaving the highest court in the land so he could go back to being a lawyer and defending the little guy. I give it seven episodes - tops. Would someone please come up with something good for Jimmy?

Okay, so here's all I'm going to say about Dancing this season. Jennifer Grey. I'm voting Jenn all the way. Nobody puts Baby in a corner...and nobody votes Jenn of the show - at least if I have anything to say about it. I say we give her the mirror ball trophy now, and save ourselves some time.

And for the love of all things sacred, can someone please write a sitcom I can watch? I just can't take it anymore. Oh Ray, Ray Romano, why did you have to become a certain age and get all serious on me? I want a laugh. Well, I guess there's always the Tea Party for that...although, I'm kind of too horrified amid my amusement.

Well, thanks for stopping by. Hopefully I've dusted the old blog-writing cobwebs off now, and can resume my outrage...oops, I mean my humorous take on the world. Please tell your friends.