Sculpture parks are where people go at night to get it on. It's a fact, since the dawn of time. If there are no sculpture parks in your town, you go to a rose garden somewhere. No rose garden? Go to makeout mountain. If you live in a town that doesn't even have a makeout mountain, just get your ass behind a Quickie Mart. (Interesting fact: most American babies are conceived behind Quickie Marts--a depressing sign of our horrible infrastructure/public sex options.)
Anyway, sculpture parks can also be visited in the daytime when you are fully clothed and not even planning on kissing with tongue (though you really should watch where you step). Jimmy and I went to one such park in Queens, the Socrates Sculpture Park, and I brought my camera phone just in case we happened upon any nudity.
It appears that we happened to visit the park on a week when things are in flux--pieces still being worked on and such. But I think we got the gist.
This piece is going to be great when they unveil it.
That furniture warehouse is not part of the sculpture park.
These cakes looked delicious but they tasted like cardboard.
The site of a gruesome crime against whales.
Shit! That reminds me, I left my jam box at Trina's.
My favorite piece because I love hoodies.
That dog needs a hoodie.
A rat. Behind the guy.
This piece reminds me of this time I was at the Park Hyatt hotel in Tokyo just browsing around looking at all of the art in their many lobbies and I sat down and looked beside me on the marble bench-type-thing I was sitting on and there was a fork so I tried to pick up the fork so I could take it to the reception desk and practice how to say "I found this fork, is it yours?" in Japanese, but the thing was, the fork was glued to the marble. It was art! That's what this piece reminds me of. Oh wait, that's my bike chain.
