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| - I went to art school and I once owned the Andy Warhol banana poster, so I figured if I didn't give this place a visit then I'd be letting some invisible person in my life down.
We arrived on a Friday night, meaning two of us got in for $20. A normal night is $20 a person. Is it worth $20 for one admission? Hell no.
This was, for the most part, an enjoyable experience. You have seven floors of pretentious art. Warhol's most famous screen prints are on exhibit here (Marilyn Monroe, Campbell's soup cans), as is his worst work (a bag of kitty litter). One floor contains nothing but very odd films. I was particularly transfixed by a woman who did nothing but stare into my soul through the camera. This is deep stuff, people. You need black rimmed glasses and a chin rubbing to thoroughly grasp it.
My favorite part of the museum, aside from the gift shop, was a room in which fans blew around huge, silver, inflated pillows. We ran through there with glee, punching them at each other, as one of the unsmiling employees stood by. Ah, yes, the unsmiling employees. They're all over, watching and leering and making sure you don't rub your grubby little hands on everything. Most of them don't smile back at you so I theorize they're just robots put in place as some sort of artistic statement. They are definitely an awkward presence that kind of puts a damper on things, and I get the feeling they'd stab you if you dared to whip out a camera.
Go on a Friday. Try not to roll your eyes at the Chanel chainsaw made out of cardboard. I'm not going to condone the use of LSD, but I bet it makes the silver pillow room much more enjoyable.
EDIT: As we were leaving, I noticed a setup in the lobby with an open bar welcoming Yelpers. Nifty coincidence. Unfortunately, I'm not from around here. Bummer.
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