Day 11: Pooped

Today I went to an art museum and I learned something about myself: I don’t know what to do in an art museum.  Am I supposed to be impressed by a 6,000 year old bowl?  Can I touch things even if there’s no sign saying “Do Not Touch?”  Am I supposed to know who this dude is?

If my friends dad were about 100 lbs heavier and liked dressing himself in satin tablecloths, he’d look like this dude.  

By my estimates, the museum patrons were 65% rich old white ladies on lunch dates with other rich old white ladies, 30% summer campers, and 5% people who went with the vague notion that “me + museum = smarter.”  

I spent five hours in that place and I gotta say, I am fucking exhausted.  I don’t understand it.  I walked around and looked at things.  That’s what I do every day.  I walk.  I see things.  Nothing sounds tiring about that.  Put me in a room with glass cases and portraits of English noblemen and I feel like Kevin James running a marathon.


Anyways, I’m tired and I desperately need a full night’s sleep.  I’ll write more tomorrow!


Nine treatments down, twenty-six to go!



2 responses to “Day 11: Pooped”

  1. Rachel says :

    so are you smarter?

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