But is it art?

My friend Sam and me went to the Guggenheim a couple of weekends ago, as part of my ongoing "Explore The Hell Out of New York" series. We had been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art before. That facility of public knowledge was fine if you're into the whole "artifacts whose beauty transcends cultures and the centuries, nay, millennia, since they were created" sort of thing. But if you wanted to art, real art, the kind that looks like the time you left your Lunchables in the microwave for too long, then you've got to check out the Guggenheim, or as is known locally, The Gugg, Gugger, or El-Guggarino, if you're not into the whole brevity thing.

The most fascinating part of the Gugg is how its mere mention will get Simon & Garfunkel's "So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright" stuck in your head, as signs in and out of the museum will ceaselessly remind you how the building was built by … Simon Cowell. No, seriously, it's designed by Mr. Lloyd Wright, and although I know little about architecture, I will say this about FLW, as his blog calls him: the man got a lot of mileage out of a design inspired by a Dunkin' Donuts Styrofoam cup.

Upon entering Le Gúg, artistically minimalist signs inform you how you are free to appreciate the expressions of the artists whose work are displayed, but to take my camera and shove it – no artistic photos for you. Get all the images you want … at the gift shops, bitch.

Finally, once you give up your $16 admission fee, you enter Lady Gugu's massive rotunda, wherein the first thing you see is two people making out on the floor. At first, I thought, maybe some people had fallen into distress, and were now writhing upon the floor in what a bit of performance art representing either erotica or what you look like when you're dreaming that snakes are crawling over you in slow-motion.

Once you avert your eyes like a decent person, you'll notice that someone stole all the paintings. No art on the walls of the rotunda. Sorry, but I'm guessing the viewing public can enjoy strange, mind-bending bits of art from 6 a.m. to 6:15 a.m. on March 21, 22 and 23, and at no other time.

Thinking maybe they stashed the art somewhere in one of the closets further up the rotunda, Sam and I began walking upwards, only to find a precocious little girl, who introduced herself, shook hands with us, and then asked, politely, "What is progress?"

"You're f***ing with me, right?" I asked. Or I wanted to. I don't remember what I said, exactly. Whatever I said, it led this little girl to hold a conversation with us about progress, whether it's good or bad, and try to seek a definition. Exasperated, I finally told her, "Progress is the illusion of evolution within our lifetimes." It was that kind of pure, BS answer that helped me earn my BA, despite only attending classes when it suited me, and never, ever reading text books. Meanwhile, Sam looked like she desperately wanted to ditch this kid, and who could blame her? But you can't just ditch a 9-year-old like that. How would she ever find out what "progress" was?

Eventually, she handed us off to a teen, with whom I debated the merits of developing nuclear energy vs. vaporizing hundreds of thousands of civilians in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

The teen, in turn, handed us off to a woman, who wanted our opinion on why some dude kissed her and then told her it meant "nothing."

"I don't know, how does that make you feel?" I said, using my only psychological means of escape. "

I want justice," she replied.

Oh, Jesus.

Finally, we handed over to an old man who talked with us about sports, leading us to the top of the rotunda where our experience in "Progress" was completed, conveniently, next to the museum's gift shop.

Turns out we had been sucked into an interactive exhibit, the kind of thing that made Hank Hill vomit a little on the show "King of the Hill." You can read a more accurate assessment of "Progress" here. As for us, we just wanted to see some art that wouldn't entail us having to debate the merits of … whatever … with real live people.

We did see some Picassos in the galleries. And I can say without exaggeration that, while the majority of work elicited a definite "meh" response from me, there were a couple of pieces, notably "Memory," that sufficiently blew my freakin' mind.

So, if you're feeling adventurous and want to get out of your comfort zone, do check out Das Guggenheimmner. It's a very, uh, clean building. Just make sure you don't trip over the couple making out on the floor on your way out.