So I had one of those "Only in New York" moments yesterday. It started like a relatively normal Saturday morning: picking up laundry, taking a leisurely stroll with my favorite puppy Bella, working out to Yoga, Booty, Ballet because I was too lazy to take the train to an actual class, writing, having a 5-minute phone breakdown to my wonderful friend (which may not seem normal, but believe it or not, this gal has to do some of her venting off the World Wide Web).
Then somehow, I ended up on the corner of 28th and Broadway with 30 minutes to kill before my call time. Always looking to beef up the resume, I was doing background work for a forthcoming documentary which shall rename nameless until I see the final version as I have a more than sneaking suspicion this job may come back to haunt me in twenty years on "Before They Were Stars."
Despite the fact that being on Broadway is a dream of mine and the street itself is a long-standing symbol of the city, the corner of the avenue at 28th street is a no-man's land of random fabric shops and stores that are stocked with even more random items such as ipod covers, which I'm sure is a front for something more lucrative. Not the best spot to hang out, and I'm such a huge budget I couldn't even dole out $2 to buy a coffee and secure a seat inside a deli. So I headed East to the window-shopping pleasures of Fifth Avenue, and lo and behold, there were pleasures indeed. As I rounded the corner toward 27th street, the doors to the Museum of Sex were wide open, beckoning me inside.
I may be Off the Market, but now was as good a time as any to satisfy my curiosity.
The museum's mission is simple enough: to preserve and present the history, evolution, and cultural significance of human sexuality. Now I don't know how awkward I looked wondering through the gift shop by myself, but it was definitely less so than my visit to our neighborhood friendly porn store. It is a museum after all, which perhaps accounts for the bit of dignity all the visitors worked to produce between some uncomfortable giggles. I certainly turned on my "museum mode," which calls for a critical expression, discerning eye and the ability to give off an air that you know what you're looking at, as I circled the perimeters of the gift shop. I encountered the likes of usual museum gift items: books, postcards, posters, tea towels (though don't mistake, they were adorned with images such as Kama Sutra poses or vintage burlesque pin-ups). But there were also the real take-home souvenirs: gadgets, gizmos, and toys to scratch whatever itch may be bothering you.
Since I couldn't afford a cup of coffee earlier, I was definitely not in the market for a Cynthia Rowley mug from her "Dirty Dishes" collection, despite my love for fun coffee cups. But I was seriously mistaken when I didn't account that this museum was AGAIN a real museum and thus, required $16.75 to enter exhibits like Sex Lives of Animals or ACTION: Sex and the Moving Image. No pay what you wish like the Met??? Disappointing, though for anyone in the neighborhood wishing to actually see exhibits, you can download a $3 coupon online:
I spent my free fifteen minutes and left with enough of a fix, despite having not visited the Oralfix Aphrodisiac Cafe on the lower level.
Overlooking the expense of living here or visiting exhibits, this is ther perfect example of why I am in love with this city. You may think you've been here for three years and know what you need to know, and you're a resident, after all. But then you turn the corner and are presented with a new experience: a new museum that is culturally enriching, an opportunity to build a film career by giving you a green screen credit, or even something as simple and fulfilling as a free hug (which were being given away across the street from my apartment).
I thought I was in for a relatively normal Saturday, but I should know by now that in New York, the days are anything but.
I'm off the market & in the moment!
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