Yay Handfish! Boo Davis Museum.

Highlights of the day were watching a BBC Blue Planet video in Vertebrate Paleontology (it is a WILD WILD WORLD on the bottom of that ocean. Now I want to be a scuba diving archaeologist. Did you know there are fish with HANDS?) and going for a six mile run and a heavenly hot shower afterwards. 

Regard..... the handfish!

Lowlights were trying to deal with the Davis Museum, who I am starting to develop a deliciously belligerent grudge against. You'd think merely getting to walk into the second floor print room of a college museum would be a simple procedure, not one that involves multiple walkie-talkie calls (10-4, back to base, copy that, base to security), escorts, and an elaborate check-in procedure both at the front desk and the glass windowed area blocking the print room. 

I might be more understanding if my original escort hadn't gotten lost and led me all around the museum as I protested, "Ummm, I know the print room is on the second floor. I've been there before..." and then had to wait as she radioed the base to verify her orders. And if I hadn't finally arrived at the print room only to be shown the wrong print. And if the student assistant had actually checked to make sure she had given me the right one when I said, "Ummm, I'm pretty sure this isn't the Degas..." instead of saying, curtly, "Yep. It is."

Because it wasn't. So I had to make another appointment for today, and wait through another twenty minute series of walkie-talkie calls from base to all the other stations just to verify whether I could even go in, and had to be paired up with another escort, who barked at me for leaning against the wall as we waited, for a half hour, for the guardian of the print room to show up. 

The guardian of the print room proceeded to insinuate that I was late, that I should have known to check the back of the print for its information (as if I would DARE get within a ten foot radius of one of these Highly Protected objects), and stood jangling her keys as I attempted to observe the work. When I looked up in annoyance, she pounced on the opportunity. 

"All done?" She asked. 

"I guess SO," I said. 

And that was my second visit to the Davis print room. I'm not particularly excited about my presentation on Degas, that grumpy old voyeur, and I'm pretty disenchanted with all this hullaballoo. That's why I love studying art history, so I can hate it.

 

I am also getting increasingly disenchanted with BERTHE MORISOT because everything I read makes her sound like a huge bitch who went around making snide comments about everybody all the time. I feel like I know the type. Tall and battle-ramish. But I digress- I'm off to more studying. Toodle-oo!