By Sarah Bennett

A series on the un-Google-able things that exist in my brain.

Back in the late-90s/early-aughts, I remember a gallery on Saint Marks Place, somewhere between Second Avenue and Avenue A, that was seemingly curated with the personal collections of whoever controlled the space, which you entered on the basement level. The exhibits, if you can really call them that, just appeared to reflect whatever the owner/curator was obsessed with that was popular at the time. When Ricky Martin broke in the US, the space turned into a Menudo exhibit, with a display of several posters, records, magazine covers, and souvenirs, like a velcro Menudo wallet and maybe a lunchbox. After September 11th, it became a mini-9/11 museum, plastered with newspaper and magazine clippings and large photos. It closed sometime after that, and it's probably a yogurt shop or cat boutique now, or it never existed in the first place and I'm confusing it with something I wish existed. Please let me know.

Did I Dream This?