It was, in my experience of it, a wonderful rainy Saturday morning in the city and I felt romantic about my urbanity. I got a latte from Pipers — where they seemed too stressed by new hires for small talk about the weather, and I felt that — and drove up Kingshighway from there to the Art Museum. Now the first choice I made after that was to duck into the parking garage. I’d been just a few weeks prior and it happened to be free parking that day. I wondered if perhaps I’d discovered a loophole, as parking under the museum is supposed to be $15/day for non-members. But no, I had to pay full freight.

Next, when I went to the parking deck vestibule door I knew to hit the handicap button, because the door is absurdly heavy, and I then promptly swung my camera bag around for the security guard to inspect. He looked inside and said “You seem to know what you’re doing,” and I thanked him solemnly while my heart leapt at being recognized as museum pro, which of course I am, and in I went. Now that isn’t essential to the story except that I was primed to think about my stature with the St. Louis Art Museum.

If you don’t live here, just know that it’s free. I got to get my ticket for ‘Roaring’ and I ask the teller, “So how much would an annual membership be anyway?” Real casual like that. “Seventy five dollars,” she says, “But if you paid for parking today we would take the off the top and you wouldn’t have to pay for the exhibit.”

Having paid $15 to park and facing another $15 charge for entry to the exhibit, my brain crumbled at the cost / benefit analysis before me and I would up securing a year long “membership” to our free museum for just $60. Plus free parking for the day.

Anyhow afterwards I saw a movie at the Alamo with friends, followed by dinner at the Foundry, and it was all very Saturday-y