Ok, I'll "touch" the museum issue. Who are you kidding? There are some serious artists here, but the vast majority of the images in the galleries are comic book schlock, soft core porn, and glorious, full-color, 3D bathroom scrawls. Sturgeon's Law run amok. My kids are not censored from seeing Michaelangelo and Francis Bacon nudes, and I don't worry if they spot a nipple in a Dillard's ad. But I don't want them looking at adolescent fantasies of sex-obsessed, women-hating Peter Pans. Let them show a little creativity. This "rights of the artist" BS always reminds me of the jackasses on the street with boom boxes blaring music I find tiresome, revolting, or both. Their "freedom" requires me to listen to that crap. Some jerk pulls up next to me while I'm listening to Vivaldi, and suddenly all I can hear (and feel) is the rumble of his base shaking my car while some threatening voice mumbles limericks. What happened to my "right" to listen to my own radio? "Freedom" is a transaction. We both have to give something in order to get what we want. You have to give a checkmark. Get a grip. M