Dear god, make me a bird.

So I may fly far, far, far away from here. (Bonus points to name that movie.)

Got a call from a Dallas Morning News reporter the other day about an article I sent in about this super-cool art history course at the Dallas Museum of Art that is being jointly taught by instructors from UTD and SMU. They have decided to open it up to the general public to audit. Which is where my trauma comes in.

The reporter needed something to put in the story to tell people where to go for more info. And this brainiac gave her my work #. Big mistake. Big. Huge. (another delectable movie quote, peeps.)

Since the story ran yesterday, I have received no less than 130 phone calls from people who want to audit the class. Which is great for the DMA, UTD, SMU, the instructors...basically great for everyone but me. I do not have someone to answer my phone. I actually have other things I should be doing. But nope. This damn exhibit is taking over my life. I have updated my voicemail to reflect this - "PLEASE LEAVE ME YOUR EMAIL ADDRESS" - but still. The phone just won't stop ringing.

Most of the people calling in are...elderly...one lady said she was 79 and actually had an email address. Loves it. However, some of them don't. So I'm having to take down physical MAILING addresses.

Pardon me while I take this call.