The Lowbrow goes to a gallery . . . I read about an exhibit in The New Yorker of juxtaposed photographs by Diane Arbus and Helen Leavitt, so I checked it out. (By the way, before I lived here, I think I disparaged the F line, but it really is a most excellent route. For example, it goes right to the Laurence Miller Gallery.) I've only been to one other gallery show, and although I'm over the Washingtonian's outrage at paying anything to get into a museum ever, I didn't really know what to do once I got off the elevator. I felt like a rube in a movie who's never been to a nice restaurant and doesn't know what to do with all the forks. Problem 1: Do I have to pay anything? The receptionist said hello, but then bent her head back below the desk ledge, so it didn't seem like it. Problem 2: The pictures didn't have any descriptions, just numbers on pins. There was only one other woman there, and she was holding a binder. There were two more on the desk, so I took one and now the whole thing really took off. I didn't buy anything--the prices ranged from $4,000 to $150,000--but I did like the show. My favorite was Leavitt's "Leaning Couple", of two old folks sitting on the sidewalk in Harlem. After that, I walked around in Sharper Image.

Tales of the Mass Transit:

A teenage girl talking to her friends said, "No one enjoys the age they are, everyone is always saying, 'oh, if I was older, I could do this' or 'if I was younger, then I'd be happy'. LIke me--I'm fifteen and all I can think about is I wish I was sixteen so I could get my tongue pierced."

One crusty old hippy to another, standing on the subway platform, "You can't call your woman your old lady unless she really is your old lady."