|By Bjacques on Friday, December 28, 2001 - 07:37 am: Edit|
The Menil is still my favorite museum. It's friendlier than the MFAH, and it's FREE! Until she died, in the early '90s, Dominique de Menil haunted the museum like a friendly ghost, dressed in grey. The collection has the Magritte painting of the Marquis de Sade, and some great Max Ernst paintings and Joseph Cornell boxes.
|By Rimbaud on Thursday, December 27, 2001 - 11:02 pm: Edit|
Yep, that's me! "Grumpo, the disgruntled grampa." Problem is, I'm only 30, and the other disgruntled grampas won't allow me to become a member of their exclusive club, on account of my being too young and the fact that I still have control of my bladder. And Vera, what Bowie record is "not being able to edit the goddamn message after posting while drunk" on? I don't believe I've ever heard that particular song...is it one of those bonus tracks they stuck on the end of the re-issued cds?
~21st Century Rimbaud
p.s.-I'm just taking the piss, Vera. Don't be so touchy...sheesh!
|By Verawench on Thursday, December 27, 2001 - 01:55 pm: Edit|
I thought there was a Grumpo the Clown. Or perhaps an affectionate name for a disgruntled grandpa?
Honestly, I don't know.
|By Artist on Thursday, December 27, 2001 - 01:26 pm: Edit|
Wasn't grumpo the extra Marx brother? (*grin*)
|By Verawench on Thursday, December 27, 2001 - 10:16 am: Edit|
That would be "not being able to edit the goddamn message after posting while drunk".
Shit, grumpo. Deal with it.
|By Rimbaud on Thursday, December 27, 2001 - 09:37 am: Edit|
That would be "Space ODDITY" by David Bowie.
|By Verawench on Saturday, December 22, 2001 - 07:11 pm: Edit|
I'm drinking vanilla vodka and listening to Marlene Dietrich. She's singing "Falling in Love Again" with a thick german accent and she sounds like she's with her mouth against a wall. The eerie violins moan off-key. Before her was David Bowie's "Space Odyssey". After her it will be EN's "Armenia".
Insane storms have swallowed up Houston but I still made it to the Menil Collection, my first trip there (thank you, bjacques). There are rooms within you wouldn't mind moving into. Like, with your bed facing the Magritte.
...or amidst the Surrealist curiosities of desire. Objects which once crowded Parisian flats and absorbed the smoke of strange weeds smoked through Burmese pipes.
My friend and I hunt for the Francis Bacons but without luck. They've been moved. We see some god awful Warhols instead and a case o' heads. I grin and think of Mr. Prosthesis.
Behind we find a pond of astonishly green water and both of us wonder a bit. No picture, my batteries died. Enjoy my friend instead:
We swing by the giftshop which still has a Halloween pumpkin in front and Jess hollers - just as we're passing a bent-down elderly patron - "look, it's old and rotten!". Haha.
We drive back through the nightmare rains, AC broken, and we guzzle Code Reds to cool off and get silly from the caffeine and sugar. The empty plastic bottles have been known to store Serpis.
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