Brunch at Nice Matin, L's old place of employment. Very attentive service. No water glass or coffee cup was allowed to reach bottom. Buttery-fresh brunch basket: pain au chocolat, etc. Medieval-looking lion-handled bowl of hot chocolate for M. Might've held mead instead. Still, approaching bar volume.
Lounging in the womb/iris of Pipilotti Rist's enveloping multimedia and multisensory installation at MoMA. Quite a treat. Cozy couch, rug full of amenable strangers. Children bounding about. Y-shaped pillows to share. Entrancing, sensual images of the beauty in natural decay/entropy displayed around the usually quite sterile atrium, former home of Broken Obelisk. Swapping out XY for XX. The video loop turned back upon itself and we craved more. Go before Feb. 2!
Recession chic. Order the expensive and delicious fish dishes at Extra Virgin without appetizers or booze. Wash it down with a round at 55 Bar, where now-Grammy-nominated Kate McGarry was jamming with her trio.
Off to desolate, snowy Bushwick. Morgan Avenue. Reminded me of the scene from Buster Keaton's "The Frozen North." Looking for the show? Not the random art show on the first floor. The random free variety show in the fourth-floor loft. Good, better, worse. Jason Trachtenberg on an especially off night. Happy for an intermission, an out. Subway back to the frozen north of Manhattan.