Of course, most of the contemporary art here is entirely meaningless and often very precious, but it’s so nice to wander around, thinking about absolutely nothing whatsoever.

Plus, there is a fashion exhibit. Here is the evolution of the ridiculous Burkin bag:

And some really cool fashions:

Plus, I finally saw an actual zoot suit:

I’m afraid I’ll have to cut the visit short, though, because my favorite boots that I haven’t had an occasion to wear for a few years have suddenly become extremely large and it hurts my back to walk in them. How boots can suddenly get too large is incomprehensible.

My husband and daughter are making art for me while I’m looking at art at the MOMA:

This s my haul from the expo. I’m especially proud of The Monster and the Trollope, which I got for the ridiculous amount of $5. The Monster is all the rage right now, and I need my own copy because the book sounds very usable. 

I could have kept going, and the temptation was strong but I only have one small carry-on and a book bag, and they can only house so much. 

God, I love the MLA book expo. If I returned in the last hour before closing, I could haul away a crazy number of free books. 

The best time to go to the MLA book exhibit is on the last day because everybody is preparing to leave and giving away books for free. I have no idea how I’m going to transport all of it. 

The first musical I ever saw was Carnival! In 1990 I was in London on a school exchange trip and we were taken to see the show. We were Soviet kids and completely weirded out by the whole thing. The genre was incomprehensible to us. 

Ten years ago, N took me to my first Broadway show to see Color Purple. It was our first really big date, we were crazy in love, and I was predisposed to like everything on that trip. But we were both completely baffled by the musical. We didn’t get the plot, couldn’t understand the pronunciations, and left the show feeling utterly confused. A little later he took me to see Hairspray. I’m not easily bored but during this show we were both bored stiff. So we concluded it wasn’t our genre and stopped going. 

This year, though, I saw two Broadway musicals, Lion King and Miss Saigon (today). And I adored both of them and had the best time. So I wonder. Have I become Americanized and absorbed the culture to the point that I now understand the genre? Or has the genre progressed so much in the last 10 years that it’s simply very superior to what it used to be?

The talk went well, by the way. There were very few attendees because many people couldn’t make it even to their own sessions. I lost my convention badge, so I’ll have to go to the book fair in somebody else’s. Which means I won’t get to feel proud standing next to my own book at the exhibit. 

I don’t have many friends but the ones I do are all very profound people. I have a very busy brain that needs constant stimulation. It’s a hyperactive brain that contrasts with my slow and sedentary physical body. 

So when I’m forced to be around superficial people who don’t constantly make me think and see things differently, I experience physical pain. My head begins to hurt. It’s not an affectation, I really suffer. 

That’s also why I’m so rough with newcomers to the blog. I can’t stand having my time wasted on pompous yet trivial observations. 

And it’s always, “I don’t get why you are friends with this person.” Because she’s profound and fascinating, but you wouldn’t get what those words even mean, that’s why. 

A journalist announces triumphantly on the news, “Nobody in the Trump administration addressed the book’s claims that Trump acts like a child! I wonder why that is!”

She totally missed her calling as a stand-up comedian.

I’m finally in NYC and too exhausted to do anything fun. So I left the hotel in search of a deli nearby. On the way there, I passed a strip club. The doorman in shiny buttons looked at me and boomed, “You need a hat. And a warmer coat!” It was very funny that a doorman at a strip club would worry that I was underdressed.

Folks, I’m trying to board but this long article on Russia made me weep with laughter. It contains gems that could translate into American realities as “Oprah procures prostitutes for Obama and his friends, so she brought in Ashton Kutchner to have sex with Hillary, and there are now compromising photos of naked Hillary.” 

There are also less funny parts, such as burying the fact that Navalny is a neo-Nazi. 

There is a couple of semi-lucid paragraphs but they are buried under mountains of pure, unadulterated crazy. Russians are known for being extremely good at taking the piss out of foreigners while keeping a straight face. It looks like the poor journalist was pranked all over the place and never realized it. 

P.S. Why would anybody in their right mind assume that Trump would find photos of himself having sex with a beautiful, young starlet compromising? Because the cultural norm condemns it? Really?