The Modern Age

Last night we went to a reopening party at the MoMA that The Zutons were playing.

Last night we drank a lot of alcohol, so right now’s not a good time to write about the new MoMA.

But we will say that the new building is cool, we especially liked where you could see the staircases from all different floors.

Last night there was an area of the museum which was taken over by Target. There were big target bull’s-eyes that were blinking, and the martini glasses had frosted target symbols and LCD lights as well. It was an epileptic’s worst nightmare.

As we were heading to the ground floor to leave, via down escalator, our pale, blond, blue-eyed friend makes some kind of semi-ghetto hand gesture (known in some circles as “The John Martin”) to which a hiply dressed man with a hat smirks at. Our friend sees the smirk and tells us, “That guy just was laughing at me because I did this [re-does hand gesture],” to which we reply, “That guy is Mos Def.” Our friend makes a quizzical face and says, “I don’ t know who that is. Who’s Mos Def?” We say, “I dunno, he’s like a famous musician. He’s a famous rapper.”

As we get to the first floor we walk toward the staircase, when all of a sudden our friend–totally inebriated at this point in the evening–takes a sharp turn to the left. He walks right up to Mos Def, makes eye contact and extends his hand. Mos Def nods and shakes our friend’s hand as our friend says, “Mos Def, right?” Mos Def nods his head again in recognition as our friend continues, “She [points to us] told me who you were,” to which Mos Def turns to us and extends his hand–and then we shake hands with Mos Def.

As we walk down the stairs, we hiss to our friend, “What the hell is wrong with you?!?! Why did you just do that?!?!” To which he says something we can’t quite recall, seeing as how we too were drunk at this point.

We were able to catch some of the breaded shrimp we saw earlier in the evening and a little chicken wrap as we headed across the ground floor toward the red carpeted entrance. As we make our way to the glass-paneled exit, our friend exclaims, “Oh wait! I know who Mos Def is! I think I have one of his albums!”

Ah, the magic of the open bar.