The Great NYC Lie

Ladies and Gentlemen of America, the Met is a crock. Seriously.

I have experienced this cultural/historical/whatever marvel for myself. Since I was unable to go the last time I was in the city, I have since made the Metropolitan Museum of Art a major priority to experience. After church today, I headed north to this famed and revered place.

As you and I both know, the Met is a big deal. Artists, teachers, historians, and even Americans know that it houses an abundance of the world's greatest and most remarkable artwork from all corners of the world. New Yorkers take pride in its location, using it to house benefits, black-tie galas and exclusive company events. 90% of gay males on the island are members. You know this because you hear them chattering on the subway about all of the 'exclusive openings' (ahem, artsy gay speed-dating events) that they attend during the season.

I am here today to dismantle the lie. It's not even worth it. This museum is used to suck money, time, and vitality out of the people of this world.

My first qualm with the Met was that, upon entry, I find that the $20 admission fee is merely suggested. I hate this pretentious nonsense. If you want to charge a twenty, then charge the damn twenty. Dont pretend to be all "equal opportunity, I can pay as I see fit", just to give me dirty looks and point to the sign that says "your full contribution is needed to maintain this museum" when I want to pay half. (On a side note, I witnessed this when the lady in front of me in line wanted to pay $10. I, was effectively bullied into the full twenty. I thought it would be worth it. Hum). I like businesses that say what they mean and vice versa. This immediately put a bad taste in my mouth, but my spirits were still high. I was still going to see the most extensive and meaningful art ever put under one roof in the United States. I can be artsy-fartsy. I have just as good an eye as any snooty gallery goer.

Upon touring oh, three hallways. I am lost. Every hallway and room in the Met is named for some benefactor or historical figure. However, the maps only read the general sections. I had to literally place myself into my map several times a minute in order to achieve some direction. The place is like the labyrinth from Hell; not only are you constantly lost but you have hoards of tour groups/strollers/generally annoying humans milling up and down every hallway, looking like they know where they are . I can assure you, they don't. Ever the patriot, I set out to see the American collection. Can't find it. My "easy to read, family friendly" map indicates white space in between the American Collection and the Musical Instruments. I am thus under the assumption that the American Collection is an island, and I therefore must cross a moat to get to it. Upon questioning one of the thousands of "Met Militia" that arm every blooming room in the place, I am directed a country mile to the men's bathroom. I decide American artists can't be worth all this and move onto the Europeans. Ah, Monet.

Screw Monet, he's not even worth all this. After wandering four collections, every painting looks the same. I have no idea what I'm looking at and am forced to sit down in every hallway because my legs now hate art. Asian tourists are huddled in mass tour groups, each yelling out loud: why the paintings have to be hung so high, why the women are always naked, what kind of a dog IS that?! The exhaustion continues. Upon further observation, I notice that the vast majority of people I see are wearing the same expression as I. I come to the realization that they hate it as much as I do. The Met, my friends, is filled with people who are trying to do the right thing. Every New Yorker they have consulted states the Met as a "must-see". Dutifully, they come en masse to appreciate and be educated. Instead, they are exhausted, hungry, and underwhelmed.

Intellectually, I know that these artifacts, paintings, sculptures, etc. are truly marvelous. They date back to times that I am fascinated with, and yearn to learn much about. I saw the first piano ever made. I saw many original paintings that are so famous and familiar to me. I saw a golden saddle from the 13th century Mongolia. I do not discount these experiences, nor do I deny thier value. I get it. However.

I have to further comment on the extent of the collections there. Repetitions ad nauseum. There is no humanly way to appreciate anything in this museum, because there is simply too much of everything. TOO MUCH. I saw forty swords from every decade since the 1400s. Do the math, I dare you. Grecian sculptures, in part and in whole, filling a hall the size of a soccer field. Does anyone care about historic relics after that many? I blame the Met for ruining my appreciation for history. and culture. and sight.

After two hours of this self torture, I give in to my uncultured, uneducated side and leave. I eat a pretzel outside on the steps, and for the first time today, truly enjoyed the Met. Still living la dolce vita.