(Q).
Thank you for the a2a! I have a habit of making mental errors; some funny, some not. This one just happens to be funny. We had "open critiques" in art school. The idea was A- to point out how we could do it better, and B- to toughen us up for the advertising world. It's brutal, cruel, and cutthroat, and get ready for your stupid clients to ruin your tasteful design and fuck it all kinds of up to put a picture of their ugly-ass crotch dropping on there, or a huge starburst that says "SALE SALE SALE!". You had to learn not to care, and do your fulfilling artwork on the side. It's just a job; nothing personal. We were in the middle of a critique, and it was turning ugly. The only time our professor would jump in was if it turned personal. It had. He laid back and let us fight it out, until someone told the girl we were critiquing that "with your taste from growing up in a trailer park, looks like you'll be working for the Auto Trader" (a shitty, newsprint magazine that people sell used cars in- the worst of the worst design jobs). Before our professor could comment, I blurted out "For fuck's sake, Mom." I was about to say "tell them to break it the fuck up!" until the laughter started. Then I realized I'd called my professor, who had an MFA and spent 20 years in advertising at Saatchi and Saatchi, "Mom". He responded with such amazing, quick wit; "Ms. Hood, I admire your devotion to your mother; just remember she stays home while you come to class." I caught hell for it that entire semester. Luckily, we (almost) all had pretty tough skins, so it was amusing, even to our somewhat staid professor. He wrote on my end of semester assessment "Respectfully, Not Your Mom." I still keep that assessment to remind me to wear life like a loose garment. We all say stupid shit sometimes; just laugh at yourself and enjoy the silly moment. How long did the semester last at art school? - About 18 months - About 12 months - About 3 to 4 months. - not enough information
(A).
About 3 to 4 months.

(Q).
His eyes were open and his head bobbed around at an impossible angle. He was sitting in about forty feet of water, stone dead, one arm pinned between the rocks. As best I could tell, he had been dead when he landed there. The mud and ooze around him were as serene and smooth as he was. The cop who was assisting me swam over and made a palms up gesture. I shrugged back at him and began to work the body loose. The corpse had only one leg, and as I worked I wondered what he had been doing in the lake. I got the arm free and kicked toward the quicksilver surface above me. The body turned bloated and heavy when I broke water with it, and it took three of us to load it into the police launch. I dried off and got a coke out of the cooler. It was getting to be another Texas scorcher, and the sunlight bouncing off the surface of the lake felt like it had needles in it. My mouth was dry from breathing canned air and the carbonation burned like fire. Winslow, from the sheriff's office, sat down next to me. 'I appreciate this, Dan,' he said. 'No problem.' Sam Winslow and I had grown up together about twenty miles outside Austin in a little town called Coupland. We'd fought a lot as kids, and there were still plenty of differences in our politics and educations. But being on the police and fire rescue squad had brought me closer to him again, and I was glad of it. A private detective needs all the friends he can get. 'What do you make of it?' I asked him. 'Accidental drowning, looks like.' I raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. 'He's got a bump on the head that could have come off a rock. We'll see what the coroner says.' 'Any idea who he is?' Winslow shook his head. He'd gained weight in his face recently and his jowls vibrated with the gesture. Dan probably retrieved the body in: - not enough information - a few minutes - a few days - a few hours
(A).
a few minutes

(Q).
Normal practice when handling ancient artifacts is to move carefully and minimize any sudden movements. Shaking the object is definitely not encouraged. But that's exactly what wea group of museum curators and conservatorsdid when this exquisite Greek black-glazed kantharos (wine cup) was temporarily removed from display during the reinstallation of the Getty Museum's antiquities collection at the Getty Villa. One of just a handful of "rattling cups" that survive from the fifth and fourth centuries B.C., we wanted to learn more about how it was made.(1) Although we were eager to find out what was below the surface of the cup, we started by examining its exterior. The kantharos's distinctive shape, with profiled lip, tall foot, and elegant, upward-sweeping handles, is characteristic of black-glazed pottery made in the second half of the fourth century B.C., and replicates the form of luxury vessels in metal. Although the cup is currently catalogued as South Italian, the shapeand its striking decorationare also typical of Athenian manufacture, and it may in fact have been produced there.(2) During the fourth century B.C., Athenian pottery was both imported into southern Italy and imitated by local craftsmen. The best South Italian versions were meant to be difficult to distinguish from Athenian examples, and we are continuing to investigate where ours may have been made. A Greek inscription applied in gilt around the rim reads: ("KASTORPOLYDEUIKES"). Kastor and Polydeukes were twin sons of Zeusknown together as the Dioskouroiand were worshipped as protectors of sailors, horsemen, and chariot racing.(3) The inscription indicates that the kantharos was dedicated to them, perhaps as thanks foror in hope ofsafe passage at sea or a successful race. The gold decoration supports this idea: because each brother split his time between Mt. Olympus and Hades, they were often represented by stars, depicted here beneath the cup's rim. Further, the wreath, garlands, and bucrania (skulls of... What is the name of the lead Curator? - Susan - not enough information - Mike - Aaron
(A).
not enough information