Sometimes I break away from BlueSky & venture out into the real world, which is even more unsettling. And how I wound up at the Guggenheim on the closing weekend of a disappointing show but still came home with some indelible images: Maurizio Cattelan’s “Comedian,” the banana duct-taped to the wall, and one young woman in a “Daddy’s Little Meatball” Epstein-eyebrow-raising crop top and another in a “Make Produce Organic Again” t-shirt. A) It is. B) And if it isn’t, it could be because the cost of certification puts the organic label out of reach. (The banana, BTW, has to be replaced on the regular, and not because it’s stolen like Cattelan’s Trump-prescient golden toilet was. Real food rots.) 

Somewhere there’s undoubtedly a Republikan plotting how to take credit for saving poor Americans from diarrhea lettuce by whacking SNAP. (If you can’t buy the fecal greens you don’t need health care, either.) But given how bare the toilet paper shelves have been at Holy Foods since the outbreak showed Project 2025 turned the CDC into an outhouse, you almost wonder if Big Biz would be diabolical enough to have greens and tissue producers colluding. 

(We went in search of an Aperol spritz after the Guggenheim and wound up at a sidewalk table on the Upper East Side across from a Taco Bell, where the log-in for free WiFi said “you’ll thank us later.” Yes. Everything is shitty right now.)