We Spent Hurricane Sandy at Sotheby’s
What most people don’t know about Nimrod and I is that we’re hardcore art collectors. It’s in our Belgo-Jew-ish blood to dip our balls into the jaws of the art world, every chance we get. This passion for the finer things in life began a few years ago, when we inherited masterpieces, by the likes of Hirst, Elmyr de Hory, and Ed Harris (imitating Jackson Pollock), from our family’s vast collections.
Sadly, Hurricane Sandy’s flood waters wreaked havoc to our shared multi-million art stash in Chelsea, turning our timeless pieces into floating piles of canvas goo. To cope with our loss—and distract ourselves from the dead, powerless, and homeless hurricane victims we can’t stop hearing about on the news—we skipped uptown to Sotheby’s mega print auction sale. There, we could relish in the company of fellow art kooks who dispose of more Benjamins than any Hurricane Sandy relief fund could muster. My people!
Our flooded loft stank of wet garbage but the cozy air in the auction room smelled of sanitized money which, any art buyer will tell you, is a crotch-tickling aroma. Unless you’re one of those savvy, 2.0 bidding dilettantes who stream auctions and bid online in your underwear, you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about.
Our bidding style is completely below-the-belt, because we’ll do anything to restore the ocular stimuli into our lives. Nimrod even made a move on an elderly buyer who said Sotheby’s relocated her to a nearby hotel with power and running water. If the Sotheby’s scene is real, than all this climate talk must be a hoax.
While we returned empty-handed to our damp apartment, someone walked home with a cool $1.4 million Andy Warhol print. In the words of the great M.O.P. “Yap that fool.” (Zero proceeds from the auction went to the Red Cross.)
Above are some Sotheby’s vs Sandy pictures that give you an idea of what was going on at the fancy auction around the same time the tri-state area was being ravaged.
@museumbabes + @nnimrodd = ♥ @Sothebys

We Spent Hurricane Sandy at Sotheby’s

What most people don’t know about Nimrod and I is that we’re hardcore art collectors. It’s in our Belgo-Jew-ish blood to dip our balls into the jaws of the art world, every chance we get. This passion for the finer things in life began a few years ago, when we inherited masterpieces, by the likes of Hirst, Elmyr de Hory, and Ed Harris (imitating Jackson Pollock), from our family’s vast collections.

Sadly, Hurricane Sandy’s flood waters wreaked havoc to our shared multi-million art stash in Chelsea, turning our timeless pieces into floating piles of canvas goo. To cope with our loss—and distract ourselves from the dead, powerless, and homeless hurricane victims we can’t stop hearing about on the news—we skipped uptown to Sotheby’s mega print auction sale. There, we could relish in the company of fellow art kooks who dispose of more Benjamins than any Hurricane Sandy relief fund could muster. My people!

Our flooded loft stank of wet garbage but the cozy air in the auction room smelled of sanitized money which, any art buyer will tell you, is a crotch-tickling aroma. Unless you’re one of those savvy, 2.0 bidding dilettantes who stream auctions and bid online in your underwear, you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about.

Our bidding style is completely below-the-belt, because we’ll do anything to restore the ocular stimuli into our lives. Nimrod even made a move on an elderly buyer who said Sotheby’s relocated her to a nearby hotel with power and running water. If the Sotheby’s scene is real, than all this climate talk must be a hoax.

While we returned empty-handed to our damp apartment, someone walked home with a cool $1.4 million Andy Warhol print. In the words of the great M.O.P. “Yap that fool.” (Zero proceeds from the auction went to the Red Cross.)

Above are some Sotheby’s vs Sandy pictures that give you an idea of what was going on at the fancy auction around the same time the tri-state area was being ravaged.

@museumbabes @nnimrodd = ♥ @Sothebys


Babe Watch 2012: The Museums Are Infected
When Xavier Aaronson, the guy who asked museum guards their opinions on the art they stare at all day, asked me to spin together a blurb about his blog, Babes at the Museum, I had no idea what he was talking about. Even though we were chatting online, there’s this subtle European twang to the way he groups words together to form a sentence that makes it hard to believe he’s a real human being. He was like, “got a proposition for you, let me know if you’re keen or not.” And I was thinking he was going to invite me to travel with him back in time to be in the music video for “1979” by the Pumpkins or something. So when he had a legitimate solicitation it gave my brain that feeling you get when you go to pick up a can of soda thinking it’s full but it’s empty.
It makes sense, then, that a warlock like Xavier, who could make a mother smile at her only son’s funeral; who could do for Hitler what the Ghost of Christmas Past did for Ebenezer Scrooge, would expertly weave an uncanny simulacrum of every learned gentleman’s clever imagination with his inimitable website. I could sit here and physically type out what it “is” but I’m going to give you a little credit and guess you can figure it out from the title. They do have t-shirts though. That’s chill.
More photos of babes at museums

Babe Watch 2012: The Museums Are Infected

When Xavier Aaronson, the guy who asked museum guards their opinions on the art they stare at all day, asked me to spin together a blurb about his blog, Babes at the Museum, I had no idea what he was talking about. Even though we were chatting online, there’s this subtle European twang to the way he groups words together to form a sentence that makes it hard to believe he’s a real human being. He was like, “got a proposition for you, let me know if you’re keen or not.” And I was thinking he was going to invite me to travel with him back in time to be in the music video for “1979” by the Pumpkins or something. So when he had a legitimate solicitation it gave my brain that feeling you get when you go to pick up a can of soda thinking it’s full but it’s empty.

It makes sense, then, that a warlock like Xavier, who could make a mother smile at her only son’s funeral; who could do for Hitler what the Ghost of Christmas Past did for Ebenezer Scrooge, would expertly weave an uncanny simulacrum of every learned gentleman’s clever imagination with his inimitable website. I could sit here and physically type out what it “is” but I’m going to give you a little credit and guess you can figure it out from the title. They do have t-shirts though. That’s chill.

More photos of babes at museums