There’s this exhibit at the Guggenheim that I am fairly certain I will hate but that I want to see because I am interested in masochism and also surprises. Not at the same time. However, the Guggenheim is expensive as fuck for no reason (18 bucks to fume about how

I love happy hour, and not just at times when I have to check my bank balance before buying my monthly metrocard. The thought of people gathering with friends to release whatever tension has built up during eight hours at a shitty job ‘“ and, you know, drink ‘“ is