Middle Of The Night Thoughts
You remember him.
The guy who coined the phrase "famous for fifteen minutes".
The artist who is best remembered for a lithograph of a Campbell soup can.
The film maker best remembered for a bunch of soft-core porn films.
The social doyen best remembered for drug-fueled, sex-drenched parties with a guest list that included both the cream of the crop of the Beautiful People and the dregs of society, one of the latter of whom shot him.
The flamboyant gadfly who, to my knowledge, never returned to Pittsburgh from the time he moved to New York City to the day he was buried in the Pittsburgh suburb of Bethel Park.
And yet there is, just across the Seventh Street Bridge from Downtown Pittsburgh, a publicly-funded museum dedicated to the life and works of Andy Warhol.
I once heard a line in a movie trailer (I think it was Winona Ryder in Slackers) that went something like this:
"I may not be able to define irony, but I know it when I see it."