There is something peacefully satisfying about looking words up in a real print-and-paper dictionary. Hardcover is even better.  A part of me always feels slightly vindicated when finding a specific word within what is, essentially, one huge list of words.  Even when I don't find the word I want, I find joy in the distractions along the way.  Discovering which words the publisher has decided to illustrate has also never ceased to intrigue me.

I have a dictionary at work that I found in a pile of used supplies. For a short time it was kept in one of the overhead cabinets in my cubicle, but I've learned to simply never put it away.

judged at the museum

Yesterday, a friend and I went to a local art museum for their Thursday night event.  It was opening night for a photography exhibit, local quartet Jelloslave was lending their funky, jazzy music to the air, and the museum offered prize drawings, a cash bar, and other free activities. Not to mention the fabulous people-watching.
Running with the photography theme, one activity was creating cyanotypes.  These involve laying two- or three-dimensional objects on treated paper and exposing the paper to light.  The finished product is a blue and white image.  
I'm usually excited for free activities, and my friend and I set to arranging objects on transparencies before heading into the darkroom.  However, when we got to the doorway of the adjoining room and saw the line of people waiting to process their creations, I lost interest pretty quickly.  We hovered in the doorway while I weighed a take-home-art experience against the wait in line in order to create said art.  While I debated, two men approached and asked if we were the end of the line, to which my friend replied, "No, she's deciding whether she wants to wait in line."  One man looked at me and said, "Really?"  He sounded surprised or taken-aback.  I felt judged by his reaction.  Making eye contact, I responded, "Yes. I just don't know if it's worth it."  Then I stepped aside to lay my collection of items on the nearest table and said, "I don't care enough, to be honest."
He did not seem to know what to say or how to react.   Fine.  Good.  
As my friend and I walked around a gallery later, I remarked that I wondered if the man thought I was not appreciative of art, or not open to new experiences, or just impatient.  We agreed it would have been interesting to see his reaction had we told him that my bachelor's degree is in Studio Art.  While I don't like being labeled or judged any more than most people, I do like being honest and speaking my mind, which is what I did.  The finished prints that I had seen were fuzzy-edged, the objects were picked-over so I did not feel very attached to what I had arranged, and standing for five to fifteen minutes in a crowded, too-warm room did not appeal to me.
I felt more creatively stimulated exploring the photography exhibit, which we hadn't even made it to yet. Facing The Lens: Portraits of Photographers proved to be an immensely better use of my time at the museum and with a dear friend.