I was trying to write something about the Met's punk show. About how it's called "Chaos to Couture," but it's all couture and no chaos.
I was trying to say something compelling about the fucked-upness of having a replica of CBGB's bathroom in a museum, where people who never would have set foot inside now stand behind Plexiglas to gawk at urinals.
I wanted to convey the icky feeling of exiting the show through the gift shop to find bracelets made of gold razor blades selling for $215, and designer-made satin clutch handbags covered in gold safety pins going for $1495.
I was going to say what it was like to hear the saleswoman crowing about how "These are the last CBGB t-shirts in existence. We got the last ones from their warehouse. This is it." And how I seriously considered buying one, but couldn't bring myself to do it.
But in the end there's just too much to say, and it's all too obvious. Fish in a barrel, really. So I'll just let this $9.95 Sid Vicious pencil set say the rest. (I did buy them; they were too ghastly not to.)