The Eleventh Date

The Time:  Saturday, July 24^th,  12 30 pm

The Guy: Scott, the dashing daring dater from date 10

The Place: Brooklyn Museum, 200 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn

What Creative Time Says: Only a small fraction of the public collection is visible on these walls- the rest of the collection is in storage.

Alright, maybe not the most lyrical description in the universe from our friends at CT but no matter, Saturday was a hot one and I was ready to spend the afternoon in the cool cool A.C. of the Brooklyn Museum!

Scott, my new interest from the tortilla spectacular that was date ten, and I decided to meet at Greenmarket, one of Brooklyn’s best farmer’s market located just steps from the museum at Grand Army Plaza. We were both sticky with sweat by the time we met (thank god it was mutual, I seriously considered hopping in a fountain before I met up with him but I figured that may be harder to explain than just, uh,it was hot…) under the shaded tree while a performer danced along a giant marionette puppet.

There have been many an afternoon where I’ve feasted on the fresh riches available at the Greenmarket and Saturday was no different. From smelling fresh peaches to photographing rutabaga, popping blueberries into our mouths and sampling pickles from Rick's Picks (will one of you marry me? Please? It is my dream to be a pretty princess for a proper pickle prince), the market is a feast for the eyes, ears and, of course, mouth. 

                               

Scott and I settled on a loaf mushroom ciabatta bread from Bread Alone and a heavenly tri-sampler of Lynnhaven goat cheese and found refuge in the shade by the Brooklyn Museum. We made friends with a very inquisitive four year old, discussed the delights of Prospect Heights (Scott’s a newbie, whereas half my friends from High School live in the area including this amazing blogger of the 'hood), and covered ourselves in flour from the freshly baked bread.

From there it was on to the museum! I think I cried a little bit inside when we entered the plated glass turning doors and were met with a delightful slap-in-the-face of roaring AC, like a really bad smell that overcomes you all at once, but this time in the best way possible. We greeted the Rodin sculptures (his garden in Paris is one of my favorites in the world) and entered the museum.

Today had a particularly fun challenge as my Key To The City Passport had been sucked into the giant black hole of my apartment-post-vacation and was nowhere to be found. Thus, we had no idea where the keyhole was! It was like a wonderful museum caper (Mixed Up Files anyone?) and Scott and I were partners in crime, searching out oil paintings of dead people, who would lead us to THE KEY.

I was hesitant to see what my next institutionalized experience would be like because in The Met, as you know, I struggled to see how the project intersected with a strict museum foundation. Brooklyn, however, in a somewhat more sweeping comparison, tends to be a tad wonkier, and friendlier, museum and borough (they have a whole room here for student art, and a feminist-centric wing to boot!) Adding the search made it a true joy.We spent the afternoon dashing through rooms only to be tugged by a painting, a photographer, or sculpture that caught our eye, was a jolly way to see the museum, as if every piece was a siren like distraction on our journey; Warhol battling with the Ancient Egyptians for our attention, trying to tempt us from the American Period Section. I could have spent the entire day imagining myself playing with Noah’s Ark wooden figurines in the meticulously curated 19^th century drawing room, (not to mention laughing at the 1852 painting entitled, literally "The Reprimand: Ah you naughty fawn you have been eating the flowers again!") but our fate and destiny awaited!

Finally, upon reaching the very top floor, I found it: the two stern looking portraits sidling an unassuming door with one key hole. Martha and George’s eyes were cleverly averted away from the site, so as not to draw attention to the wonder but Scott and I were too schooled in this game and we POUNCED on our enemy with vigor and stealth. The door was ours to open, AH HA, and the Russian secrets (they're everywhere!!!) inside, involving diamond-bedecked dandelions and miniature stern-looking bears, twinkled in the concealed glow of a jewel-heist’s glass case.

The adventure ended with a trip through the future, a place where paintings and textiles, bicycles and old

forks, are chronogenically frozen (or at least put into really sick boxes) until they are needed again in the museum’s rotation. Scott and I flashed the secret currency signs to ensure safe passage of the priceless collection: all in a day’s work.

And….back to reality.

Can you tell I had fun? I most absolutely did. Scott is a very sweet, funny guy who clearly loves diving into life as much as I did. I realized at the end of the date, however, that I was possibly relying too much on the key, the journey, the adventure, to create the spark of a romantic connection between us. As much as I wished and wanted to say “ah ha! Found him! I can finally take a break from searching all of New York to line up a few dates!” I knew that it wasn’t really the case  and it's super hard to admit that to myself, but sometimes you've gotta suck it up and face facts.  If I held everything in a magnifying glass I would see that, as attractive and delightful as Scott is, we really didn’t have that much in common, aside from getting excited about everything in sight. (Scott, if you are reading this, you are totally kick ass in every way, promise! Darn sparks getting in the way!) I guess that’s the wonder of NYC though: you can share any moment with any one person and have it turn into a swashbuckling adventure, even if for the afternoon.

At some point though, you’ve got to step back into the sweltering heat, roll up your sleeves, and get sweaty once more. And the sun was certainly shining as I re-entered Manhattan. 

Eating Flowers,

L.A.