A Free Day with a Pair of Smarty-Pants

Is it really true that all good things in life are free? Hookers cost money. So do fresh kicks and T-bone steaks. But how long do these wonderful things last? Kicks get scuffed, steak gets devoured, and the thought of Sugarcat, your go-to Philipino hooker, evaporates after you literally kick her out of the alley behind the neighborhood bar. The memories you'll remember on your deathbed will most certainly not be Sugarcat and meat, oh no, quite the opposite. They'll be free museum Monday and free art museum every first Thursday of the month sponsored by the good folks at Target!

These are the staples in which both the Milwaukee socialite and cheap-skate salivate over. Every race, creed, and class can appreciate a diorama depicting Indians driving a herd of buffalo off of a cliff or a large white canvass with three small, black horizontal lines in the middle. This is a known fact.

Because my little ig'nint mind can't comprehend such abstract thought, I decided to call upon two of the smartest cats you'll ever know; two cats whose wit, charm, and physique is as large and supple as their capacity for artistic and cultural analysis: Micheal J. Lang and Spencer A. Murphy. I decided to meet with each one at a different museum (on free day of course) to discuss, analyze, and shoot the shit about the foundations which shape culture and society; and maybe talk a little art and science too.

A gust of cold wind hit me the moment I got off the bus and walked onto Wisconsin Ave. It was a chilly day for June, one of those chilly days where you know passer-bys are staring directly at your visibly hard nipples. I was to meet Mike Lang on the right side of the street--I knew he always made direct eye contact, so I wasn't worried him saying something about the two bee-bees underneath my thin shirt. As i neared Michigan St., I saw him holding onto the street light pole, intently reading something in which he held close to his face. I approached him and we shook hands. The book he held was, as he said, "an outdated book on Madrid." He'd be moving there soon and wanted to bone up on the city. We entered the Calatrava from the upper-level, whipping out our IDs and showing them to the pretty, short-haired desk girl. We heard cackling and the ting of silverware and saw that a hoard of old white women occupied the spacious lobby--it was a banquet of some kind. Their crusty old faces and colorful broaches was the perfect foreground to the calm, dead-looking lake behind them. I was excited to hear Miguel's analysis on some art; I told him to choose 3 pieces to discuss. Let's skip the rest of this boring narrative set-up and go straight to the discussion, yes? Fuck yes.

Miguel decides to discuss the Georgia O'Keeffe painting Patio with Cloud

NR: Interesting choice. What is your initial impression?
ML: I don't see the 'patio' too much. When I think 'patio' I think of chairs or something else. 
NR:Or a grill?
ML: Sure, 1950's America, flippin' burgers and what not. 
NR: I like burgers
ML: [silence]
NR: People say that you can find a vagina in every O'Keeffe painting, do you see one in this piece?
ML: Uhhhhmmmm, not really. I mean without getting too general and saying every hole is a vagina, no not really this one. I guess you could say that the door opening is a metaphorical vagina. It's dark and stuff.
NR: So a black woman's vagina?
ML: Not necessarily, it could be covered with dark peubs. Who knows. 
NR: Feminists were probably big on her back then, they saw vag in everything.
ML: "Power of the Vagina", like "Big Lebowski.... it strikes fear in men.
NR: It really does. Have you ever seen one in real life?
ML: A few. 

Miguel now decides to switch it up and take a look at a European Renaissance painting, Adriaen van Gaesbeeck's An Artist in His Studio       

NR: Initial thoughts?
ML: The color is very impressive--the brightness of it. I like the natural light shining over his "painting-within-a-painting". The still life in the bottom right corner is similar to the one in the meta-painting.
NR: Do you think he's married?
ML: Place is pretty clean, so yeah.
NR: Do you have a bigger wiener than him? It's the only natural question after looking at O'Keeffe's vagina pictures. 
ML: Probably. Dutch cock is usually small from what I hear.
NR: You mentioned the color earlier. Describe it in some detail.
ML: More so the contrast between the bright and the really dark, particularly in the upper-left hand corner of the painting--it's really dark! Interestingly enough, the cupboard is open too--and nothing is in there, just blackness.
NR: Kinda like Georgia's vaginas, yes?
ML:[silence]         

Micheal and I discussed another piece, Kiki Smith's Honeywax, but the sound on my recorder was inaudible. In it he talked about Bee farms and his love for the female foot. We decided to unwind in the infinity chamber before leaving. There, we talked about how cool it'd be to have sex in it and if one would go insane if locked there for a week. We answered these questions with a resounding "Really fuckin' sweet" and "Probably", respectfully. We also went to the gift shop and found this little nugget:

 I was sweating my dick off as I exited the bus and walked onto Wisconsin Ave. The weather was just as June should be and my once erect nipples were now soft and gelatinous. I was to meet Spencer Murphy at his Mom's work and I knew his pale Irish complexion couldn't stand the sweltering heat either. As he would say "I'd sweat in a freezer." I was right, he was sweating too. But his was a sexy sweat, a light shimmer that could turn a bull dike straight.  My sweat on the other hand would make a straight girl munch carpet so fast, it'd make their head spin. Either that or kill themselves. Either way, my sweat-induced Jerry-curl screamed "OUT OF SHAPE FAT FUCK!" We shook hands and proceeded to walk the 4 or 5 blocks that separated Gesu with the Milwaukee Public Museum. We entered and I placed a couple pennies in that "coin vortex" thing. The copper went round and round for about a minute until I snatched them back up before they fell in the hole. (If that's not the definition of stingy I don't know what is) A pug-faced midget sitting atop a stool gave me a dirty look, but I didn't care because I know I could whoop her ass. Spencer and I flashed our IDs to an old, yet very cheery woman; she was no short-haired art girl, but she was cute in her own right. Spencer said he'd "do her". As we ascended the stairs, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah......

Spencer's eye catches an "African Waterlife" diorama. 

NR: Spencer, that eel-like thing looks like a lamprey. What's the difference between them?

SM: We'll Nick that's a good question and I'm happy you've asked. The first thing I notice is the gills. I don't see the gill flips like you would on a lamprey. I also don’t see a sucker that you’d  normally find on a lamprey. And then the dorsal fins—I’ve never seen anything like it--They are kind of spikey. The lamprey have them but they’re a nice single, long and smooth one. What else I notice about the difference between this eel and the lamprey is that…I don’t know... we’ll edit that part out [laughs] uhh what else? Next question.
NR:Which would win in a fight, that thing or Mr. Lamprey?

SM: A lamprey would dominate the shit out of that. It would suck on it and drain all of its blood out and it would actually kill it. The lamprey kicks way more ass, that’s a known fact, actually. Its taken down entire birds before.

NR: Wow

SM: Yeah, I'm just kidding about that.

NR: I see. You notice a blue fish in front of you. It is away from the other fish. Why do you think that blue fish is segregated from the other fish?

SM: Simple, Nick. The lamprey-looking fish is going to eat it.

NR: But they are 'swimming' in the opposite direction.

SM: It's a hunting strategy to make the fish think he doesn't want any part of it, then he attacks.

NR: What are your general impressions about Africa and its wildlife?

SM: It’s pretty wild. What I like to see most is the diversity that’s prevalent in it. Right now we’re talking about water life. We see that elephant over there with a bird on its back, a lot of furry creatures, a lot of different fish—it’s very diverse. 

NR: You're answers are a lot more thorough than Micheal's. Why is this?

SM: Well, Mike's a dumbass. 

We are now on the second floor, and a big mural intrigues Spencer. It is a Picture of John Muir, the founder of the Sierra Club and overall nice guy.

NR: I asked Michael a similar question during our Art Museum excursion: Do you think this guy has a large penis?

SM: I would bet he does. Just looking at the trees....they are probably proportionate to his cock.

NR: I disagree. It's small. He looks a lot like Freud, do you think he might be studying these large trees because of some kind of complex regarding his penis size?

SM: I could be wrong, but it says 1838-1914 so I don't think Freud even studied then.

NR: Doesn't matter. He looks like Freud, that's enough.

SM: You're right he does look like him. Touché. NR: Do you think John Muir loved nature so much that he ever masturbated in the woods while his crew were off doing something else? Maybe atop a tree or in the river or behind a fern.

SM: Indeed I do, Nick. He was trying to plant his own seed in nature.

NR: Good one. Do you think he hated black people?

SM: I believe he thought they were the reason for the forest being chopped down. So yes.    

 

 Spencer and I also ventured into the butterfly room. It was about 20 degrees hotter in there than outside, so we left. We also looked at poisonous bugs. 

I learned that the best stuff in life really is free, you just gotta go on the right days. Micheal's insightful critiques and Spencer's lamprey knowledge got me jacked on days where me and Sugarcat would usually be spending money on strap-ons, sneakers, and meat.

Tune in next time for "A Trip to the Zoo with Cooter"