You go all the way out to Queens, spending 40 minutes on the train and $6 to get in, and you wait in line forever—conceivably to support the arts. Yeah, right. You really go to P.S.1's WARMUP SERIES to check out the hotties. Why else would you sit on an underwhelming "urban beach" when you could have stayed on the train and gone to the real beach? Because at the real beach you would only see fat parents yelling at their whiny children, that's why. At P.S.1, everyone's dressed to the nines in that casual I-didn't-really-get-dressed-up way, and everyone in the beer line sits and gawks openly at strangers for hours as if this were perfectly normal and not at all rude. I mean, didn't your mother tell you not to stare?