Well, I've done enough hands-on activities to know exactly what sort of things I hope never to have to do (or at least as little of possible) when I am employed in the museum sector. For instance, today, my partner Cat and I finished up our inventory project. The assignment: we are given a list of one hundred objects that live on four shelves at the Peterborough Museum and Archives, which then have to be examined in order to check off each object's accession number as it appears on a master list. Any objects that are missing get noted and any additional items found also get note on a separate list. Sounds simple enough. We were told to sign up for a two-hour slot that would normally be ample time for all those objects.

For those who don't know it, an accession number is that line of numbers (and sometimes letters) you see inscribed on objects displayed in museums. They should be unobtrusive and preferably somewhere out of sight should the object be on display to the public. Typically, this means on the bottom or somewhere at the back. So, our shelves turn out to be roughly 70% cameras and related equipment, 20% seal/stamp presses, and 10% miscilaneous office equipment.

It became painfully obvious within the first ten minutes that things were not going to go smoothly. First there was the adding machine that didn't belong. Never mind not belonging, it was the lifting and turning-over in order to locate the non-existent accession number that nearly killed us. Now, I worked in a barn for two years and that involved a lot of lifting and flinging of hay bales which generally weighed about sixty pounds, give or take. This adding machine required both Cat and myself to get it down off the chest-high (chin-high for Cat) shelf. I manhandled the thing back onto the shelf after we'd discovered its lack of number and when I got my hand stuck under it, I needed Cat to pry it up so I could get my hand out. We figured it weighed MINIMUMLY 85lbs. That is fucking heavy.

It only went downhill from there. You see, whoever was responsible for marking the majority of cameras with their numbers either didn't know the difference between unobtrusive and ridiculous, or they had a sick, sick sence of humour. We were dealing with antique cameras, so it isn't as simple as popping open the back or the battery door. These cameras extended, came in boxes, opened in three places, required pushing, snapping, twisting, whatever - they were ALL different. It became a puzzle to figure out how they opened. At the end of day one, we'd only managed two thirds of the inventory over the course of three hours.

Today went much better in that we left the camera equipment behind us and focused only on the presses and other odds and ends. In the end, our inventory took five hours and had about twenty objects missing and about fifty objects that didn't belong on our shelves. It was back-breaking and hard on our eyes (we spent most of our time hunched over a little card table under a single crooked flourescent light) and if we never have to do it again, it will be soon enough. And yet, it was also weirdly satisfying.

In other news, last night was the Pixies concert in Toronto (well, Mississauga - who knows why?) and I left school early in order to drive in. I promised my mother that I'd stay the night if the weather was bad, but it wasn't necessary. The drive in was spectacular in places. Between Fowlers Corners and Orono there had been freezing rain and since it was cold out, it hadn't melted. By the time I was driving through, the sun was bright, the road was clear, and the trees and fields were shimmering with silver. Had I my camera, I'd have pulled over in order to capture the gloriousness of the scene. It was enough I got to witness it, though.

I picked Rick up from his office and then drove to York Mills to pick up Nick and a girl named Maria, whom I'd never met before. We co-ordinated meeting up with Nick and Maria's friends, Ryan and Jessica and enjoyed dinner with them at Swiss Chalet near the airport. We headed to the International Centre, where the show was taking place, parked and went in. We met Nick's friend, Keith, whom I'm certain I'd never met before, but he says we had... Anyway, we caught the last song and a half of the second opening band (who kind of sucked), and then had about forty five minutes to hang out and get positioned for the Pixies.

The show didn't last long, only about 90 minutes, but believe me when I say it was the most intense, densely packed hour and a half of music I'd ever witnessed. They didn't stop between songs longer than about five seconds and half of the songs were totally bridged together so the concert just rolled along at a rocking pace. Overall, it was a good show, despite the drummer missing several cues and (possibly) spraining his hand, at least according to the hand gestures he was making at the end. I had a good time and the vibe was good, too. Lots of happy people. On a side-note, I have never seen so many people working so hard to look like they just threw on whatever was closest before leaving the house. It was kind of mind boggling.

Rick was a bit put out that I wasn't going to drop him at his house. I dropped everyone (and Keith) at York Mills in order to not have to cross the whole damn city, again. Nick pointed out that it was very nice of me to be dropping everyone off at the subway at all and Rick got over it. I did call my mother just to check on the weather in the Petes as it had begun to snow in Toronto. The report said clear so I headed home. It did snow, almost the whole way, but lightly in those tiny diamond-sparkling flakes that dance in headlights and drift gently over the road. It was pretty and an easy drive with hardly any traffic. It was a very good day.