Blue Tile Skate

Not to be outdone by Drake ― who may or may not have made his 2016 album, “Views,” while sitting alone atop Toronto’s CN Tower ― Kanye West is now apparently creating his new album from an even more forebodingly tall metaphor for success.

According to TMZ, West is currently holed up somewhere on a mountain in Wyoming, hopefully creating his latest masterpiece. He’s apparently been up there for about a week, but was at the mountain retreat earlier this year as well.

West has recently been skipping public events, such as The Met Gala, that his wife, Kim Kardashian, has attended. Posts from his Instagram and Twitter accounts are also gone.

West is clearly up in the woods and disconnecting.

The artist previously had a legendary album creation process for 2010’s “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy,” where he lived in a Hawaii mansion with his friends and musical collaborators. Given the essentially perfect results of that effort, West’s time up on the mountaintop may serve him well.

Now, the only question is: How will West feel when he comes down from this mountain?

As evidenced from a 2013 viral photo of Kim and Kanye on a zipline date, Kanye doesn’t seem happy about the prospect of returning from the top of the world.

It really can be lonely when you’re so high. As the opening track to “MBDTF” posits, “Can we get much higher? / So high / Oh, oh, oh / Oh, oh, oh, oh / Oh, oh.”

I tried to illustrate the potential vibe by putting a mini statue of Kanye West’s forlorn-looking zipline moment atop a Twin Peaks mug. Hopefully this helps.

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

There are numerous benefits to being bilingual, and one Latina spoken word artist is adding “writing bomb-ass poetry” to the list.   

Anacristina Chapa’s poem “On Being Bilingual,” posted via YouTube on Friday, is an ode to the beauty of knowing two languages while also pushing back against anyone who views Spanish with contempt. 

“For the sensitive ears that can’t stomach the spicy sounds of the Spanish language,” the Latina says at the beginning of her poem. “Or for the sour mouths that spit stupidity into existence by saying things like, ‘This is America, we speak American in America.’”

The poet’s verses slowly build to a message of resistance against anyone who wants to silence Latinos, including President Donald Trump, with “white walls.”

“My bilingual tongue says, ‘Fuck your wall.’ My tongue doesn’t believe in boundaries or borders, it colors outside the box,” Chapa says in the poem, uploaded by the Write About Now Poetry channel.

Toward the end of her piece, Chapa lists the health benefits of being bilingual before spitting verses in Spanish then immediately translating them into English.

Watch the full poem in the video above. 

(H/T We are mitú)

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

What the Frakta?

In April, the high-end brand Balenciaga made headlines when it debuted a $2,145 tote bag that looks almost exactly like Ikea’s $0.99 blue plastic bags.

And ever since, people all over the internet have been jumping on the idea of turning the classic, crinkly Frakta bag into the latest fashion accessory.

And people have been getting pretty creative.

Here are the best of the bunch:

Ikea is in on the game as well. For instance, Ikea Poland posted a few uses for its Frakta bag on Instagram:

Your move, Balenciaga.

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

You may not think of NPR as a kid’s first choice in the argument over what to listen to in the car, but that could be changing. Because for the first time in NPR’s 47-year history, on May 15, the network will release a children’s program.

“Wow in the World” with the tagline, “a podcast for curious kids & their grown-ups,” will be aimed at kids ages 5-12 and focused on science, technology, discovery and inventions. It will be hosted by NPR’s Guy Raz and Sirius XM’s Mindy Thomas, who previously hosted an award-winning segment on Sirius XM’s Kids Place Live channel together. 

“Wow in the World is a place where we can tap into the crazy cool things that are happening all around us, every day!” says Thomas in a press release from NPR. “We want to help spark conversations between kids and other kids and also with their grown-ups that will ultimately lead to their own big discoveries.”

Upcoming episodes include a mix of information from the hosts and interviews with real kids, and will tackle such questions as “How did we Homo sapiens come to dominate the planet?” and “How do astronauts poop in space?” Some of the content areas explored will include space, dinosaurs, animals, technology and human origins. 

“As parents and caregivers, many of us grapple with screen-time,” says Raz. “This show is not just an alternative to screens but a show about celebrating the spirit of inquiry and encouraging kids to ask even more questions.” 

Perhaps this show will be the “Serial” for the grade school set. 

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

British artist Damien Hirst’s exhibition “Treasures From the Wreck of the Unbelievable” opened in Venice last month, featuring a variety of sculptures, meant to be viewed as debris rescued from a shipwreck that never was. 

Amid the rubble lies a barnacle-encrusted sculpture of Mickey Mouse, a bust of a pharaoh with a peculiar resemblance to Pharrell, and a golden sculpted head, aptly titled “Golden heads (Female).” 

It was the latter piece that Nigerian artist Victor Ehikhamenor noticed while perusing Hirst’s exhibition, which he passed by daily while setting up for his own exhibition at the Venice Biennale. The bust appealed to Ehikhamenor because of its near exact resemblance to an iconic Nigerian artwork, known as the “Bronze Head from Ife,” or “Ife Head.” Made around the 14th century, it was unearthed in 1938 in Ife, Nigeria.

The piece, believed to represent a king of the Yoruba people, is notable in its naturalism and sophistication, especially given its 14th-century origins. Made before Britain colonized Nigeria, or Europe had any contact with or imprint on African culture, the piece displays the talent and technique of a civilization untouched by Western practices. 

“This is part of our cultural and artistic heritage,” Ehikhamenor wrote in an email to HuffPost. “It plays exactly the same role other important art or sculptures from a certain era play in other communities and countries of their origin, especially the classics. This is a well-known piece of very important work, easily identifiable by many Nigerians and art historians round the world.”

And yet for the many visitors flocking to Hirst’s blockbuster show, where the time-honored statue is stripped of its historical context, the piece appears as part of Hirst’s own vision. Ehikhamenor expressed his frustration with the act of appropriation on Instagram:

For the thousands of viewers seeing this for the first time, they won’t think Ife, they won’t think Nigeria. Their young ones will grow up to know this work as Damien Hirst’s. As time passes it will pass for a Damien Hirst regardless of his small print caption. The narrative will shift and the young Ife or Nigerian contemporary artist will someday be told by a long nose critic “Your work reminds me of Damien Hirst’s Golden Head”. We need more biographers for our forgotten.

Artists often blur the line that separates inspiration and appropriation, adopting images from other artists and cultures for their own creative fodder. While Hirst is not unique in co-opting traditional imagery for his own artistic purposes, his status as one of the richest living artists, whose works yield up to $5 million each, make the act of cultural poaching feel especially exploitative.

“I am not particularly against getting inspiration from other iconic works like this,” Ehikhamenor said, “but don’t weave a warp narrative around it and commercialize it to your own benefit. This was an outright copy with very minimal alterations. Don’t copy it outrightly and fictionalize what is a well-known fact. It borders on the line of broad daylight robbery. One must also be mindful of the past relationship Nigeria has with Britain in regards to carting away some of our best works during the Benin punitive expedition of 1897.”

From Ehikhamenor’s perspective, Hirst’s co-opting of traditional Nigerian imagery rehashes the power dynamics of British colonialism, under which British forces looted Nigerian cities in the late 19th century, plundering and seizing much of the native artwork. To ignore that historical event, or worse, unintentionally repeat it, seems less stimulating than ignorant. 

Intensifying the power imbalance is the fact that Hirst is one of the most well-known living contemporary artists in the world. As Ehikhamenor put it: “People will think he is the original creator of such an important artwork. He has a bigger PR machine and probably a wider reach, and the narrative can quickly change in his favor.”

In another caption posted on Instagram, Ehikhamenor writes: “I have read many reviews of ‘Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable’ and yet to see the words ‘primitive’ or ‘ethnographic’. These are two of the frequently used words to describe classic art from Africa.” He signed off on all the posts with hashtags including #abiographyoftheforgotten, #madeinnigeria, #lestweforget and #myforefathersdidit. 

Hirst is just the latest artist to find himself in the middle of a debate over what happens when artists create work from experiences and sources that are not their own. 

Hirst has long worked to collapse the boundaries separating past and present, high- and lowbrow, mythology and pop culture, fact and fiction. But given his wildly privileged position, Hirst’s interest in mixing up categories doesn’t justify his erasure of an image’s centuries-long history. 

The question isn’t can Hirst adopt traditional Nigerian imagery for his own artistic purposes, but why should he? Is the work interesting? Radical? Or does the work simply reaffirm the imbalanced power structures inside the art world and beyond it? 

“I understand he is fictionalizing his ideas, but sleep should not be comparable to death, as my people would say,” Ehikhamenor concluded. The artist expressed his wish that Hirst credit the sculpture properly, paying homage to its origins in Ife, Nigeria. He also advised that the work not be sold. 

type=type=RelatedArticlesblockTitle=Related… + articlesList=58ece936e4b0ca64d91959c0,5718f025e4b024dae4f1414a,58d3bc8ae4b0f838c62fda9d

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

Warning: Some of the below images may be considered upsetting or triggering to those who have struggled with addiction or experienced trauma.

We like to think Disney princesses live happily ever after. But what if they were confronted with some of the uglier aspects of reality?

Shannon Dermody, a 20-year-old photographer who lives in upstate New York, decided to explore the issues characters like Belle, Ariel and Tiana could face if they lived in modern times, like domestic violence or pollution.  

“Each photo shows a different problem that is going on in the world,” Dermody told HuffPost. “I want people to not look away from these problems. They do exist.”

There is also a reason why Dermody decided to merge these two worlds. “I tied in fantasy with real issues to show that these can happen to anyone,” she said.

Dermody, who initially shot the images for a project in a photography class, posted the photos to her Facebook page in April and they’ve since gone viral — receiving 106,000 likes and 118,000 shares as of Tuesday afternoon.

“People need to realize this is happening in the world,” Dermody said.  “Even if it doesn’t affect you.”

Check out some of Dermody’s work below.

Domestic Violence

Pollution

Police Brutality

Alcoholism

Rape

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

“Just don’t worship anything.”

Such was the unsolicited advice I received from a grinning night guard at the American Museum of Natural History last Friday night. I was standing in the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians hours past the institution’s normal 5:45 p.m. closing time, gazing up at a Kwakwaka’wakw mask squeezed between a sprawling display of totem poles. The lights were dim and I didn’t see him coming.

“No, for real,” the guard added as he trotted back into the darkness, leaving me once again unmonitored in one of New York City’s most cavernous attractions.

His counsel was questionable, for sure, but not off-brand. That night, I was one of approximately 200 adults who voluntarily crammed themselves onto very small and uncomfortable cots beneath the museum’s suspended Giant Blue Whale. VIP lanyards around our necks, we were making nerdy tweenage dreams come true by spending an actual night at the museum.

The AMNH has been sporadically hosting sleepovers since 2006, the year the first Ben Stiller-fronted film “Night at the Museum” debuted, introducing audiences to sophisticated characters like Rexy the animated T. Rex skeleton and a series of otherwise lifeless artifacts that rouse after dark. Unsurprisingly, the sleepovers are more often targeted toward children, but every once in a while, there’s an adult version that, according to Michael Walker, manager of media relations at the museum, almost always sells out.

The cinematic schtick was one even the security guards agreed to act out that night, to the utter delight of the grown-ups who paid a whopping $350 per ticket to be there. (Disclosure: I had a comped press ticket to cover the event.) Just to get the FAQ out of the way: Did we have free reign of the museum? Yes. (The public halls, at least.) Was there alcohol at the sleepover? Yes. Did we physically sleep? Yes. Did anything move as if empowered by an ancient Egyptian tablet? No.

To best illuminate what happens during one of these adult sleepovers, here’s a rough retelling of my itinerary. Behold, a night at the American Museum of Natural History:

7 p.m.

I checked into the sleepover a bit late (doors opened at 6:30 p.m.) due to dramatically massive amounts of rain deterring subway travel. After heading in through the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial entrance in the back of the museum like I owned the place, I was greeted by Walker, who walked me to the check-in table to retrieve my itinerary, maps and the very official lanyard badge I’d wear all night.

After making sure I was aware of the T-shirts and activity books that came free with a ticket, Walker escorted me to the impressive Milstein Hall of Ocean Life, where the Giant Blue Whale hovered above hundreds of very closely positioned cots. He suggested I pick out a sleeping spot sooner rather than later. Since the cots on the edges were all taken by then, I settled for one sandwiched in the back, slowly acknowledging the fact that I would literally be sleeping next to strangers, hospital ward-style.

Really, at this point, I was just amazed by how industrious people were, with their inflatable pillows, certified sleeping bags and slippers. I asked Walker if any of these incredibly prepared individuals were returning slumber party guests, but he was unsure. 

7:15 p.m.

With over a half hour until dinner, I headed straight for the well-stocked champagne station on the Milstein balcony. Access to most of the museum’s first, second, third and fourth galleries began the moment we got our hands on our badges. In fact, those who wanted to stray from the makeshift bar already could request a plastic cup to take their booze to go. By the whale, a few musicians called the 12th Night Trio played a selection of jazz covers of Britney Spears and Red Hot Chili Peppers. The evening became gradually more surreal as time wore on.

7:30 p.m.

Orientation was relatively painless. Brad Harris, the museum’s senior director of visitor services, went over the itinerary and a basic set of rules. (No outside food, no smoking, lights out at 2 a.m.) When I asked Harris if there were any off-menu attractions he’d suggest I check out, he preferred to stick to the schedule ― the 122-foot Titanosaur was a must-see. I’d need a flashlight, Walker added. I felt like I was at camp and I did not hate it.

8:15 p.m.

After spending some quality time in the Hall of North American Mammals (where champagne-tipsy people were already snapping selfies with bears, mountain goats, big cats, etc.), Walker summoned me for dinner. We ventured to the second floor and stood in line for a pretty substantial buffet: chicken and fish, rice, asparagus, salad, rolls, mini puff pastries, after-dinner coffee. There was a final bar with to-go cups, of which many, many people took advantage. Some fraternizing occurred, and I learned this was the first adult sleepover for most. People were pretty eager to start exploring. Some actually ran out of the dining area once they’d indulged in their last opportunity for booze.

Note: If you are wondering, at this point, whether or not people were consuming mind-altering substances beyond alcohol, my best professional guess would be: Yes, definitely. 

9 p.m.

I bid Walker goodnight and my self-made tour began. I opted to first visit the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians, where I was mostly alone save for that secret security guard, until the 9:15 showing of “Humpback Whales” in 3D at the Lefrak Omnimax Theater. Then I watched 40 minutes worth of Ewan McGregor-narrated whale hagiography. The sheer gravity of this night at the museum was starting to be felt.

9:45 p.m.

Here’s when the bulk of my exploration began. I rounded out the first floor: Hall of Human Origins, Hall of Meteorites, Hall of Gems and Minerals. Guided by the sweet sounds of climate change advocacy playing on a few gallery screens, I went on to spend about half an hour staring at rocks while simultaneously contemplating the horrors of overpopulation. Nearly everyone I passed rightly made a whispery joke about jewelry heists.

If I’ve yet to fully illustrate this, most of the museum’s lights were dimmed to pleasantly shady levels throughout the night, so I did indeed use my cellphone’s flashlight to navigate. Next: T. Rex, Stegosaurus, Triceratops, the massive Titanosaur on special exhibition. Were rogue grown-ups trying to touch the massive bones? Yes. Were there guards around to police the shenanigans? Yes, but they were surprisingly kind and lenient. 

Onto the mummies. To locate the fourth floor gallery that housed them, one needed only listen for the hushed sounds of a diverse 21-and-older crowd having the collective time of their life. If anything was going to rise from their sarcophagi, 20th Century Fox-style, they were going to do it there. Spoiler alert: They didn’t. At around this point, I noticed two standout sleepover attendees ― an emotional support dog who had more than a few accidents throughout the night and a 20-something in Superman pajamas with a full cape.

11:20 p.m.

Knowing that there was a live animal demonstration at 11:30 p.m. that no adult in their right mind would miss, I took the opportunity to stop by the so-called Lunar Lounge where we were advised to go if we were in need of snacks, beverages, outlets for charging our phones, or just a place to chat. It was pretty packed. The cookies and hot chocolate were OK. 

I also stopped by my cot, where people were already napping. (A visibly drunk woman was sprawled partially on my blanket, and when I went to snatch it from her, she resisted.) I soon learned that snorers were being corralled in separate areas away from the primary smattering of beds. Pro tip: Claim your disease and you’ll get an isolated spot on the Milstein balcony. Worth the shame, people.

11:30 p.m.

Up until this point, everyone had been behaving, for the most part. Faced with the prospect of live animals, though, the adults began to unravel. After a staffer took too long introducing the live animal show in Kaufmann Theater, a man in the audience began speaking over him, claiming that the staffer was hindering his ability to get to the proceeding space show. “Give me live animals or give me death,” was the general sentiment. After the agonizing revolt, an older gentleman finally took the stage with a parade of small creatures ― an owl, an eagle, an alligator.

Highlight: When he noted that the frantically flapping eagle had imprinted on him, which explained the loving sounds heard emanating from the bird’s box anytime our guide spoke aloud for the rest of the demonstration. He also scared us into believing that New Jerseyans are really irresponsible when it comes to gator-as-pet ownership. Quit it, New Jersey.

12:15 a.m.

I need only say a few things about the “Dark Universe” space show that took place in the Rose Center for Earth and Space ― the pièce de résistance of the night, if you will. When the gorgeous expanse of our known universe took over the rounded screen, and Neil deGrasse Tyson’s bellowing voice filled the Hayden Planetarium, alerting the audience to recent advancements in space exploration, there were audible gasps. Someone actually ran out of the theater, but I think her reasoning had more to do with alcohol than being overwhelmed by the sublime.

1 a.m.

The excitement levels were dwindling. Many of the special exhibitions had closed at this point, so I lingered in some nearby first floor halls: Biodiversity and North American Forests, and back to the mammals. Several groups were rushing, nearly sprinting, to see bits of the museum before our curfew. I overheard a group of people from Pennsylvania remarking on how similar this night was to elementary school field trips, except this was better because they had access to alcohol and drugs. Fair enough.

2 a.m.

Second stop by the Lunar Lounge. Some old public domain films were playing on a projection screen. I caught the 1902 silent movie “A Trip to the Moon.” People were already beginning to fall asleep on the floor as they charged their phones. “I was a kid tonight,” a man said to his female companion.

2:30 a.m.

I strolled back to the big whale, impressed with my newfound navigation skills. Feeling pretty tired from walking what I imagined were miles through the museum, I decided to give sleep a try. I laid on my back and stared up at the belly of a beast, attempting to be as zen as possible, because when else was I going to be able to meditate underneath a giant sea creature? I was passed out by 3 a.m. I did not brush my teeth.

7 a.m.

Eyes open, it didn’t take long to realize the magic had faded. (This, despite the fact that somewhat loud whale sounds played me into consciousness.) Breakfast was not in the upstairs dining hall, but in the downstairs children’s cafeteria, consisting of a few pieces of fruit, yogurt and muffins. The galleries weren’t open to us like they were the night before. I wanted to leave quickly, in order to maintain the sanctity of my sleepover and not taint it with the disappointing break of day. I rushed out the same way I came in.

The next AMNH sleepover, should you be curious, happens on June 30.

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

“Just don’t worship anything.”

Such was the unsolicited advice I received from a grinning night guard at the American Museum of Natural History last Friday night. I was standing in the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians hours past the institution’s normal 5:45 p.m. closing time, gazing up at a Kwakwaka’wakw mask squeezed between a sprawling display of totem poles. The lights were dim and I didn’t see him coming.

“No, for real,” the guard added as he trotted back into the darkness, leaving me once again unmonitored in one of New York City’s most cavernous attractions.

His counsel was questionable, for sure, but not off-brand. That night, I was one of approximately 200 adults who voluntarily crammed themselves onto very small and uncomfortable cots beneath the museum’s suspended Giant Blue Whale. VIP lanyards around our necks, we were making nerdy tweenage dreams come true by spending an actual night at the museum.

The AMNH has been sporadically hosting sleepovers since 2006, the year the first Ben Stiller-fronted film “Night at the Museum” debuted, introducing audiences to sophisticated characters like Rexy the animated T. Rex skeleton and a series of otherwise lifeless artifacts that rouse after dark. Unsurprisingly, the sleepovers are more often targeted toward children, but every once in a while, there’s an adult version that, according to Michael Walker, manager of media relations at the museum, almost always sells out.

The cinematic schtick was one even the security guards agreed to act out that night, to the utter delight of the grown-ups who paid a whopping $350 per ticket to be there. (Disclosure: I had a comped press ticket to cover the event.) Just to get the FAQ out of the way: Did we have free reign of the museum? Yes. (The public halls, at least.) Was there alcohol at the sleepover? Yes. Did we physically sleep? Yes. Did anything move as if empowered by an ancient Egyptian tablet? No.

To best illuminate what happens during one of these adult sleepovers, here’s a rough retelling of my itinerary. Behold, a night at the American Museum of Natural History:

7 p.m.

I checked into the sleepover a bit late (doors opened at 6:30 p.m.) due to dramatically massive amounts of rain deterring subway travel. After heading in through the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial entrance in the back of the museum like I owned the place, I was greeted by Walker, who walked me to the check-in table to retrieve my itinerary, maps and the very official lanyard badge I’d wear all night.

After making sure I was aware of the T-shirts and activity books that came free with a ticket, Walker escorted me to the impressive Milstein Hall of Ocean Life, where the Giant Blue Whale hovered above hundreds of very closely positioned cots. He suggested I pick out a sleeping spot sooner rather than later. Since the cots on the edges were all taken by then, I settled for one sandwiched in the back, slowly acknowledging the fact that I would literally be sleeping next to strangers, hospital ward-style.

Really, at this point, I was just amazed by how industrious people were, with their inflatable pillows, certified sleeping bags and slippers. I asked Walker if any of these incredibly prepared individuals were returning slumber party guests, but he was unsure. 

7:15 p.m.

With over a half hour until dinner, I headed straight for the well-stocked champagne station on the Milstein balcony. Access to most of the museum’s first, second, third and fourth galleries began the moment we got our hands on our badges. In fact, those who wanted to stray from the makeshift bar already could request a plastic cup to take their booze to go. By the whale, a few musicians called the 12th Night Trio played a selection of jazz covers of Britney Spears and Red Hot Chili Peppers. The evening became gradually more surreal as time wore on.

7:30 p.m.

Orientation was relatively painless. Brad Harris, the museum’s senior director of visitor services, went over the itinerary and a basic set of rules. (No outside food, no smoking, lights out at 2 a.m.) When I asked Harris if there were any off-menu attractions he’d suggest I check out, he preferred to stick to the schedule ― the 122-foot Titanosaur was a must-see. I’d need a flashlight, Walker added. I felt like I was at camp and I did not hate it.

8:15 p.m.

After spending some quality time in the Hall of North American Mammals (where champagne-tipsy people were already snapping selfies with bears, mountain goats, big cats, etc.), Walker summoned me for dinner. We ventured to the second floor and stood in line for a pretty substantial buffet: chicken and fish, rice, asparagus, salad, rolls, mini puff pastries, after-dinner coffee. There was a final bar with to-go cups, of which many, many people took advantage. Some fraternizing occurred, and I learned this was the first adult sleepover for most. People were pretty eager to start exploring. Some actually ran out of the dining area once they’d indulged in their last opportunity for booze.

Note: If you are wondering, at this point, whether or not people were consuming mind-altering substances beyond alcohol, my best professional guess would be: Yes, definitely. 

9 p.m.

I bid Walker goodnight and my self-made tour began. I opted to first visit the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians, where I was mostly alone save for that secret security guard, until the 9:15 showing of “Humpback Whales” in 3D at the Lefrak Omnimax Theater. Then I watched 40 minutes worth of Ewan McGregor-narrated whale hagiography. The sheer gravity of this night at the museum was starting to be felt.

9:45 p.m.

Here’s when the bulk of my exploration began. I rounded out the first floor: Hall of Human Origins, Hall of Meteorites, Hall of Gems and Minerals. Guided by the sweet sounds of climate change advocacy playing on a few gallery screens, I went on to spend about half an hour staring at rocks while simultaneously contemplating the horrors of overpopulation. Nearly everyone I passed rightly made a whispery joke about jewelry heists.

If I’ve yet to fully illustrate this, most of the museum’s lights were dimmed to pleasantly shady levels throughout the night, so I did indeed use my cellphone’s flashlight to navigate. Next: T. Rex, Stegosaurus, Triceratops, the massive Titanosaur on special exhibition. Were rogue grown-ups trying to touch the massive bones? Yes. Were there guards around to police the shenanigans? Yes, but they were surprisingly kind and lenient. 

Onto the mummies. To locate the fourth floor gallery that housed them, one needed only listen for the hushed sounds of a diverse 21-and-older crowd having the collective time of their life. If anything was going to rise from their sarcophagi, 20th Century Fox-style, they were going to do it there. Spoiler alert: They didn’t. At around this point, I noticed two standout sleepover attendees ― an emotional support dog who had more than a few accidents throughout the night and a 20-something in Superman pajamas with a full cape.

11:20 p.m.

Knowing that there was a live animal demonstration at 11:30 p.m. that no adult in their right mind would miss, I took the opportunity to stop by the so-called Lunar Lounge where we were advised to go if we were in need of snacks, beverages, outlets for charging our phones, or just a place to chat. It was pretty packed. The cookies and hot chocolate were OK. 

I also stopped by my cot, where people were already napping. (A visibly drunk woman was sprawled partially on my blanket, and when I went to snatch it from her, she resisted.) I soon learned that snorers were being corralled in separate areas away from the primary smattering of beds. Pro tip: Claim your disease and you’ll get an isolated spot on the Milstein balcony. Worth the shame, people.

11:30 p.m.

Up until this point, everyone had been behaving, for the most part. Faced with the prospect of live animals, though, the adults began to unravel. After a staffer took too long introducing the live animal show in Kaufmann Theater, a man in the audience began speaking over him, claiming that the staffer was hindering his ability to get to the proceeding space show. “Give me live animals or give me death,” was the general sentiment. After the agonizing revolt, an older gentleman finally took the stage with a parade of small creatures ― an owl, an eagle, an alligator.

Highlight: When he noted that the frantically flapping eagle had imprinted on him, which explained the loving sounds heard emanating from the bird’s box anytime our guide spoke aloud for the rest of the demonstration. He also scared us into believing that New Jerseyans are really irresponsible when it comes to gator-as-pet ownership. Quit it, New Jersey.

12:15 a.m.

I need only say a few things about the “Dark Universe” space show that took place in the Rose Center for Earth and Space ― the pièce de résistance of the night, if you will. When the gorgeous expanse of our known universe took over the rounded screen, and Neil deGrasse Tyson’s bellowing voice filled the Hayden Planetarium, alerting the audience to recent advancements in space exploration, there were audible gasps. Someone actually ran out of the theater, but I think her reasoning had more to do with alcohol than being overwhelmed by the sublime.

1 a.m.

The excitement levels were dwindling. Many of the special exhibitions had closed at this point, so I lingered in some nearby first floor halls: Biodiversity and North American Forests, and back to the mammals. Several groups were rushing, nearly sprinting, to see bits of the museum before our curfew. I overheard a group of people from Pennsylvania remarking on how similar this night was to elementary school field trips, except this was better because they had access to alcohol and drugs. Fair enough.

2 a.m.

Second stop by the Lunar Lounge. Some old public domain films were playing on a projection screen. I caught the 1902 silent movie “A Trip to the Moon.” People were already beginning to fall asleep on the floor as they charged their phones. “I was a kid tonight,” a man said to his female companion.

2:30 a.m.

I strolled back to the big whale, impressed with my newfound navigation skills. Feeling pretty tired from walking what I imagined were miles through the museum, I decided to give sleep a try. I laid on my back and stared up at the belly of a beast, attempting to be as zen as possible, because when else was I going to be able to meditate underneath a giant sea creature? I was passed out by 3 a.m. I did not brush my teeth.

7 a.m.

Eyes open, it didn’t take long to realize the magic had faded. (This, despite the fact that somewhat loud whale sounds played me into consciousness.) Breakfast was not in the upstairs dining hall, but in the downstairs children’s cafeteria, consisting of a few pieces of fruit, yogurt and muffins. The galleries weren’t open to us like they were the night before. I wanted to leave quickly, in order to maintain the sanctity of my sleepover and not taint it with the disappointing break of day. I rushed out the same way I came in.

The next AMNH sleepover, should you be curious, happens on June 30.

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

Latinx graduates are giving us a major case of the feels for a second year in a row. 

As the class of 2017 celebrates the end of a chapter, dozens of Latino students have used Instagram to give a shoutout to their hard work, heritage, parents and persistence via some incredibly crafty and inspiring graduation caps. 

The #LatinxGradCaps hashtag was started last year by Latina Rebels founder Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodriguez as a way to celebrate what it means “to be young, brown and woke.”

“THIS is our future,” she told HuffPost last May. “They are the ones who will pave the way.” 

Now it seems the 30-year-old Nicaraguan’s idea could become an annual tradition. Check out 30 spectacular Latinx grad caps from the class of 2017:

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

Mother’s Day is a joyous occasion to honor moms and all that they do for their families.

But for many women, it can be an incredibly difficult day. If you’ve struggled to conceive, experienced a miscarriage or lost a child, Mother’s Day can serve as a painful reminder of that heartache.

Here are 15 cards that find the words to say to someone who may be struggling on Mother’s Day.

— This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.