Upon entry I was practically assaulted over the "no backpack" rule, even though I had detached the straps and was carrying it like a suitcase. Of course, after I checked my bag I was bashed by oversize pocketbooks swung by militant Women Of A Certain Age. What's with the epaulets, anyhow? (Thanks, Grosse Point Blank.)
Basically, the guards and the women both had military signs on their "uniforms" (lots of buttons, badges). What assholes... Albert Barr would have you all removed from the premises. Well, I would like to think so. The old MOMA, with its dowdy cafeteria was a place to experience art. The new one is a creepy shopping mall that has the virtue of really getting the old David Smith mojo going. (I will post a link to his manifesti soon as I can find it. It is in Smith On Smith).
But I got to see Brice and really, it was a good show and I am resilent and enough of an asshole myself that I could enjoy myself despite these petty inconveniences. So long as I can go home and bitch about this nonsense here on my Blogista.