da MET.

I recently attended a field trip with a friend of mine. She goes to Bard. She's taking a class on Decorative Arts, which is to say, in her words, "I'm taking a class on furniture." Regardless, all this meant was that she wished my company to go to the Met with her class, attempt to impress her professor with my knowledge of art history, and look at all the boring rooms while rushing through my favorite rooms. I found myself to be the oldest one the in group and also, the one telling the dirtiest jokes. Which makes me wonder if we really are innately the same people we have always been. Like since birth. Dirty jokester trouble maker.

For me, museum experiences tend to evoke all kinds of existential crises.

I only took enough philosophy in college to effectively screw me up for the rest of my life. Or at least thus far. Maybe you can help me figure out what it all means.