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Sensuality
and
Urbanism
Part 6
The next day, I had plans to get dinner with the girls at an exciting new Thai restaurant James had told me about. I didn’t have the heart to tell everyone about our falling out last night, so I had no choice but to put on a smile and pretend that everything was okay.
Miranda: Wow, this soup is incredible. It might be the best soup I’ve had all year.
Carrie: Great! Time to update the great annual New York soup rankings.
Charlotte: Oh come on, Carrie! You haven’t even tried it. It really is good soup.
Carrie: I just don’t understand why everybody keeps talking about how great James is all the time.
It’s possible I wasn’t as good at pretending as I thought I was.
Miranda: What happened with James?
Carrie: He said we’re just friends.
Miranda: Is that all?
Carrie: Is that all!? How could you say that to me!?
Samantha: Did you two have sex?
Carrie: No.
Charlotte: Did you kiss?
Carrie: Well, no.
Samantha: Then he doesn’t even sound like that good of a friend.
Carrie: But he broke my heart. Doesn’t that count for anything?
Charlotte: Of course it does, Carrie.
Carrie: Thank you.
Miranda: So are you going to…stay friends?
Carrie: I don’t know. I just don’t know. I feel like I have to. Or else I’m the shallow girl who only wants a boyfriend.
Miranda: Well…
Carrie: Oh god! Am I?
Samantha: Absolutely not. You don’t owe this man your friendship. If you want to see him again, then that’s great. But if not, good riddance. Men have abandoned women they knew much more for far less.
Charlotte: Do you mind if I keep reading his column?
Carrie: What?
Charlotte: Well, ever since you two started getting dinner together, I started reading his column. I already found a great new lunch spot in my neighborhood.
Miranda: And I mean, look at this soup. It’s incredible.
Carrie: Miranda, if you say one more word about the soup, it’ll be the last words you ever say to me.
Miranda: You know the tea’s good, too.
Samantha: I actually have my own news to share. It turns out this time I’m in the paper.
Samantha slammed a copy of the New York Post on the table. There it was, a picture of two dozen protestors in front of the Guggenheim with the headline, “Art Museum Closed for Sex Reasons.”
Miranda: Oh no!
Samantha: I’m being protested.
Miranda: How did they know it was for sex reasons?
Samantha: Alex Perez. They quote him in the article as some sort of art expert.
Charlotte: He is an art expert. He works for Art Forum.
Samantha: Sure, but he only knows why I bought the Guggenheim because he was eating me out while I called my broker.
Charlotte: Oh.
Carrie: I don’t know. It doesn’t look like that many protesters.
Samantha: They might be small, but they are loud. All day. All night. Chanting and singing. It’s maddening.
Carrie: I can imagine.
Samantha: And it freaks out half the guys I bring back. Some of their poor little dongs can’t take it. They hear the chanting outside and it retreats before the battle’s even started.
Charlotte: Well, maybe they’re right to be mad.
Samantha: They can be mad all they want. I just think that they should be mad at home.
Charlotte: When I was growing up in Connecticut, my parents would take me to the Met once a month. They knew that I loved art, and they wanted to inspire me to love the same things that they loved about it. And as we’d walk from the subway to the museum, we’d go past the Guggenheim. It was the strangest, most beautiful building I’d ever seen. I’d always ask to go in, but my parents wouldn’t take me. They wanted to see baroque oil paintings and marble statues. They worried that if I got into modern art, I’d never get married.
But then, one month, on my birthday, we all went to the Guggenheim, just like I wanted. It was an Agnes Martin retrospective. I’d never seen anything more beautiful. All those soft blues and pinks in their ordered patterns. I know this is corny to say, but it felt like I could hear her heart singing. And as I listened, I could hear my heart singing, too.
My parents were furious. They stomped behind me, going, “But she’s not painting anything. It’s just lines and colors.” I was too embarrassed to tell them that these colors meant more to me than all of the oil paintings of horses I’d ever seen, combined.
And sure, sometimes I worry about what my parents said. I ask myself, “If I cared more about the Dutch masters, would I be married by now?” But do you want to know what? Even if the answer is yes, I don’t care. In the last twenty years of loving art, I have learned so much about myself, about happiness, about life, about understanding people. And I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
So, Samantha, I’m sorry that you’re being protested. That sounds really stressful. But it’s hard to be on your side when I know that you’re making it harder for the next little girl from Connecticut to learn how much the world has to offer her.
Samantha: Oh bullshit!
Miranda: What?
Samantha: That’s bullshit. I didn’t destroy the art. All of the pieces that were hanging in the permanent collection are at the Whitney Museum now. These protestors aren’t upset that there’s less art in the world. These snobs just don’t want to go below 34th street.
Charlotte: Well, actually Sam, the art isn’t up at the Whitney.
Samantha: Well then where did they take it?
Charlotte: They took it to the Whitney. But it’s in storage.
Samantha: That’s ridiculous! Why would they put it in storage? I sent them some great stuff.
Charlotte: Well, you know, most major museums only show a small fraction of the art in their collection.
Samantha: Then they should be protesting the Whitney. Not me. Keeping all of their art in some basement somewhere. They should be ashamed of themselves.
Carrie: Maybe you should display the paintings somewhere else. Somewhere where everyone could still see it.
Miranda: That’s a fun idea, Carrie! But where are we going to find a big enough building with empty walls and great lighting that we can afford? Oh, I have a great idea! Samantha, could we have it at your new house?
Samantha: You laugh, but I have another date tonight. And if those fuckers are still outside when I come home with him, I’m gonna go hire the same union-busters Amazon got.
Miranda: I’m sure that will win your new neighbors over.
Charlotte: Well, if we’re talking about our plans for tonight, I did have something I wanted to ask.
Miranda: Sure.
Carrie: What is it?
Charlotte: So do you guys remember that big gift basket I got at the art opening?
Miranda: Of course I do. I’ve never seen someone more upset about getting free food.
Charlotte: Well, something weird happened.
Miranda: Weird how?
Charlotte: There was some saltwater taffy in the basket from a store that closed a decade ago. And when I tried a piece, it took me to some other dimension.
Samantha: Then that wasn’t taffy, sweetie.
Charlotte: No, I wasn’t…tripping. I felt normal. I had all my wits about me. But it transported me to some old home with this sad, sick man and his…young doctor.
Samantha: That was quite the pause before…young doctor.
Miranda: Charlotte, are you telling us that you’ve hallucinated a handsome doctor?
Charlotte: I don’t know what’s happening! I know that every time I try the candy, I end up in the same room. I know that I can touch the doctor and he can touch me.
Samantha: Oh my!
Miranda: Are you saying that you’ve already…?
Samantha: Do you think I could get some of this taffy?
Charlotte: Nothing has happened yet.
Miranda: Yet!
Charlotte: No, you guys. It’s serious.
Miranda: Of course, Charlotte. Sorry.
Carrie: So what’s the problem? You have a handsome man you can visit whenever you want. Sounds like a dream.
Samantha: I’m serious, I’m willing to pay for some of the taffy, if that’s what you’re worried about.
Charlotte: No. Guys! He dies every night.
Miranda: What?
Samantha: Wait, so you get to stay all day?
Miranda: How do you know he dies every day?
Charlotte: He told me. He says that men come and kill him every night. That he’s tried running away or defending himself and they always get him.
Miranda: But you didn’t see him die?
Charlotte: No, he sent me away before it happened.
Carrie: Maybe he’s making it all up.
Charlotte: Well why would he do that?
Carrie: I’m about to die sex?
Charlotte: But we haven’t had sex yet.
Samantha: And why is that again?
Charlotte: Will you guys come with me?
Carrie: Come with you where?
Charlotte: Will you take the taffy with me?
Miranda: How do you know if we’ll even end up in the same place as you?
Charlotte: I don’t know. But I know that I have to try and save him.
Carrie: Do you have a plan to save him?
Charlotte: Umm…I thought that I would ask my friends to help.
Samantha: Well I can’t help tonight. I have a date.
Carrie: Ugh, I promised to get dinner with James and Bertrand.
Samantha: Who the hell is Bertrand?
Carrie: Oh, I forgot to tell you the craziest part of everything with James. He’s dating Bertrand Ellis.
Miranda: But isn’t that…
Carrie: My boss? Uh, yeah!
Samantha: And isn’t he married to…
Carrie: Oh yeah!
Miranda: So then, what is…
Carrie: All I know is that all three have some sort of arrangement.
Miranda: Bertrand is sixty, married to one of the most beautiful women on the planet, and he also has an arrangement?
Carrie: You’re telling me! I can’t even get a single date.
Charlotte: So no one is willing to help me?
Miranda: I’ll help you Charlotte. I don’t have any dinners with married men tonight.
Samantha: For the record, my guy is legally separated.
Miranda: Congratulations! We should throw you a parade.
Miranda: Wow, this soup is incredible. It might be the best soup I’ve had all year.
Carrie: Great! Time to update the great annual New York soup rankings.
Charlotte: Oh come on, Carrie! You haven’t even tried it. It really is good soup.
Carrie: I just don’t understand why everybody keeps talking about how great James is all the time.
It’s possible I wasn’t as good at pretending as I thought I was.
Miranda: What happened with James?
Carrie: He said we’re just friends.
Miranda: Is that all?
Carrie: Is that all!? How could you say that to me!?
Samantha: Did you two have sex?
Carrie: No.
Charlotte: Did you kiss?
Carrie: Well, no.
Samantha: Then he doesn’t even sound like that good of a friend.
Carrie: But he broke my heart. Doesn’t that count for anything?
Charlotte: Of course it does, Carrie.
Carrie: Thank you.
Miranda: So are you going to…stay friends?
Carrie: I don’t know. I just don’t know. I feel like I have to. Or else I’m the shallow girl who only wants a boyfriend.
Miranda: Well…
Carrie: Oh god! Am I?
Samantha: Absolutely not. You don’t owe this man your friendship. If you want to see him again, then that’s great. But if not, good riddance. Men have abandoned women they knew much more for far less.
Charlotte: Do you mind if I keep reading his column?
Carrie: What?
Charlotte: Well, ever since you two started getting dinner together, I started reading his column. I already found a great new lunch spot in my neighborhood.
Miranda: And I mean, look at this soup. It’s incredible.
Carrie: Miranda, if you say one more word about the soup, it’ll be the last words you ever say to me.
Miranda: You know the tea’s good, too.
Samantha: I actually have my own news to share. It turns out this time I’m in the paper.
Samantha slammed a copy of the New York Post on the table. There it was, a picture of two dozen protestors in front of the Guggenheim with the headline, “Art Museum Closed for Sex Reasons.”
Miranda: Oh no!
Samantha: I’m being protested.
Miranda: How did they know it was for sex reasons?
Samantha: Alex Perez. They quote him in the article as some sort of art expert.
Charlotte: He is an art expert. He works for Art Forum.
Samantha: Sure, but he only knows why I bought the Guggenheim because he was eating me out while I called my broker.
Charlotte: Oh.
Carrie: I don’t know. It doesn’t look like that many protesters.
Samantha: They might be small, but they are loud. All day. All night. Chanting and singing. It’s maddening.
Carrie: I can imagine.
Samantha: And it freaks out half the guys I bring back. Some of their poor little dongs can’t take it. They hear the chanting outside and it retreats before the battle’s even started.
Charlotte: Well, maybe they’re right to be mad.
Samantha: They can be mad all they want. I just think that they should be mad at home.
Charlotte: When I was growing up in Connecticut, my parents would take me to the Met once a month. They knew that I loved art, and they wanted to inspire me to love the same things that they loved about it. And as we’d walk from the subway to the museum, we’d go past the Guggenheim. It was the strangest, most beautiful building I’d ever seen. I’d always ask to go in, but my parents wouldn’t take me. They wanted to see baroque oil paintings and marble statues. They worried that if I got into modern art, I’d never get married.
But then, one month, on my birthday, we all went to the Guggenheim, just like I wanted. It was an Agnes Martin retrospective. I’d never seen anything more beautiful. All those soft blues and pinks in their ordered patterns. I know this is corny to say, but it felt like I could hear her heart singing. And as I listened, I could hear my heart singing, too.
My parents were furious. They stomped behind me, going, “But she’s not painting anything. It’s just lines and colors.” I was too embarrassed to tell them that these colors meant more to me than all of the oil paintings of horses I’d ever seen, combined.
And sure, sometimes I worry about what my parents said. I ask myself, “If I cared more about the Dutch masters, would I be married by now?” But do you want to know what? Even if the answer is yes, I don’t care. In the last twenty years of loving art, I have learned so much about myself, about happiness, about life, about understanding people. And I wouldn’t give that up for anything.
So, Samantha, I’m sorry that you’re being protested. That sounds really stressful. But it’s hard to be on your side when I know that you’re making it harder for the next little girl from Connecticut to learn how much the world has to offer her.
Samantha: Oh bullshit!
Miranda: What?
Samantha: That’s bullshit. I didn’t destroy the art. All of the pieces that were hanging in the permanent collection are at the Whitney Museum now. These protestors aren’t upset that there’s less art in the world. These snobs just don’t want to go below 34th street.
Charlotte: Well, actually Sam, the art isn’t up at the Whitney.
Samantha: Well then where did they take it?
Charlotte: They took it to the Whitney. But it’s in storage.
Samantha: That’s ridiculous! Why would they put it in storage? I sent them some great stuff.
Charlotte: Well, you know, most major museums only show a small fraction of the art in their collection.
Samantha: Then they should be protesting the Whitney. Not me. Keeping all of their art in some basement somewhere. They should be ashamed of themselves.
Carrie: Maybe you should display the paintings somewhere else. Somewhere where everyone could still see it.
Miranda: That’s a fun idea, Carrie! But where are we going to find a big enough building with empty walls and great lighting that we can afford? Oh, I have a great idea! Samantha, could we have it at your new house?
Samantha: You laugh, but I have another date tonight. And if those fuckers are still outside when I come home with him, I’m gonna go hire the same union-busters Amazon got.
Miranda: I’m sure that will win your new neighbors over.
Charlotte: Well, if we’re talking about our plans for tonight, I did have something I wanted to ask.
Miranda: Sure.
Carrie: What is it?
Charlotte: So do you guys remember that big gift basket I got at the art opening?
Miranda: Of course I do. I’ve never seen someone more upset about getting free food.
Charlotte: Well, something weird happened.
Miranda: Weird how?
Charlotte: There was some saltwater taffy in the basket from a store that closed a decade ago. And when I tried a piece, it took me to some other dimension.
Samantha: Then that wasn’t taffy, sweetie.
Charlotte: No, I wasn’t…tripping. I felt normal. I had all my wits about me. But it transported me to some old home with this sad, sick man and his…young doctor.
Samantha: That was quite the pause before…young doctor.
Miranda: Charlotte, are you telling us that you’ve hallucinated a handsome doctor?
Charlotte: I don’t know what’s happening! I know that every time I try the candy, I end up in the same room. I know that I can touch the doctor and he can touch me.
Samantha: Oh my!
Miranda: Are you saying that you’ve already…?
Samantha: Do you think I could get some of this taffy?
Charlotte: Nothing has happened yet.
Miranda: Yet!
Charlotte: No, you guys. It’s serious.
Miranda: Of course, Charlotte. Sorry.
Carrie: So what’s the problem? You have a handsome man you can visit whenever you want. Sounds like a dream.
Samantha: I’m serious, I’m willing to pay for some of the taffy, if that’s what you’re worried about.
Charlotte: No. Guys! He dies every night.
Miranda: What?
Samantha: Wait, so you get to stay all day?
Miranda: How do you know he dies every day?
Charlotte: He told me. He says that men come and kill him every night. That he’s tried running away or defending himself and they always get him.
Miranda: But you didn’t see him die?
Charlotte: No, he sent me away before it happened.
Carrie: Maybe he’s making it all up.
Charlotte: Well why would he do that?
Carrie: I’m about to die sex?
Charlotte: But we haven’t had sex yet.
Samantha: And why is that again?
Charlotte: Will you guys come with me?
Carrie: Come with you where?
Charlotte: Will you take the taffy with me?
Miranda: How do you know if we’ll even end up in the same place as you?
Charlotte: I don’t know. But I know that I have to try and save him.
Carrie: Do you have a plan to save him?
Charlotte: Umm…I thought that I would ask my friends to help.
Samantha: Well I can’t help tonight. I have a date.
Carrie: Ugh, I promised to get dinner with James and Bertrand.
Samantha: Who the hell is Bertrand?
Carrie: Oh, I forgot to tell you the craziest part of everything with James. He’s dating Bertrand Ellis.
Miranda: But isn’t that…
Carrie: My boss? Uh, yeah!
Samantha: And isn’t he married to…
Carrie: Oh yeah!
Miranda: So then, what is…
Carrie: All I know is that all three have some sort of arrangement.
Miranda: Bertrand is sixty, married to one of the most beautiful women on the planet, and he also has an arrangement?
Carrie: You’re telling me! I can’t even get a single date.
Charlotte: So no one is willing to help me?
Miranda: I’ll help you Charlotte. I don’t have any dinners with married men tonight.
Samantha: For the record, my guy is legally separated.
Miranda: Congratulations! We should throw you a parade.
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