I went to the de Young Museum last weekend to see the early Impressionists show. I'm not sure why all the world loves the Impressionists, but you can always get people to the museum with some high-concept Impressionist show. I like the Impressionists too, of course, maybe because I've grown accustomed to their faces; their smiles, their frowns, their ups, their downs are second nature to me now.

It isn't world culture the way Michael Jackson is world culture, but pretty darned close.

These particular paintings are from the Musée d'Orsay, which has a lot of them, and their quality ranges from very good to breathtaking. Of course, I am not an art critic and should never be one, but I know what I like. Are they worth making the trip to see them? Ah, see, there's the question.

We arrived at 1 and got our tickets for the 1:30 flight, as it were, of Francophiles. It was crowded in the holding pen, but the guards were efficient, and the lineage (is that a word? I mean it to be the equivalent of "signage," the scientific study of peaceful crowd control among art lovers) was optimal.

We did not leave our holding pen until 1:50. We were escorted downstairs to the rooms where the exhibition was, but instead of the exhibition: another holding pen. It turned out that there were two lines for the show, Ordinary Oatmeal People, and Members and VIPs. Now, I can understand the first part of the Elite designation - if you're not a member, then you shouldn't expect to get their perks.

But VIPs? Surely everyone who has stood in line for the privilege of seeing the (not cheap) Impressionist show is, in one way or another, a very important person. Nor does the de Young even need to use the "VIP" designation; it just slips the VIPs into the members line and everyone feels better.

Museums do tend to have a tin ear on these matters. A golden eye, perhaps, but a tin ear.

So now we're in the second cattle call. I asked a guard why it was taking so long. "I just work here," she said, with the barely suppressed rage that many patient people have.

I understand that modern museums need blockbusters to bring in the souvenir-buying public and to support the permanent collection, which far fewer patrons see. More eyeballs on the Manets means more butts in the chairs of the cafeteria, where a stale BLT will run you $11. Want a drink with that? Let's make it an even $20.

But the boon of blockbusters is also their curse: too many people. The Impressionist show was by no means the worst; the Palace of the Legion of Honor does an even worse job of traffic control. I have literally been held motionless by a crowd at a Mayan exhibition at the Legion. I just stood there and prayed that Brownian motion would take me safely to the next room.

Then there are the audio-tour people, who require a tiny recorded expert resident in a wand to tell them what they're seeing as they see it. They tend to crowd around the paintings that are mentioned in their tour, and those paintings tend to be the most interesting in the exhibition. Nevertheless, I spent some very nice time with Monet sailboats while the cute little Manet "Fifer" boy was surrounded by patrons.

My friend Brian, a lifetime artist of some distinction, says that when he visits a museum, he picks two or three pieces and just stares at them, analyzing everything, taking pleasure in everything. "After about four pieces, your brain is too full and your feet are too swollen," he told me once. "Who can see 100 pieces without going mad?"

I tried to keep to that plan, dodging the chunks of humanity and finding the road less well-traveled, but there was "Whistler's Mother," as she is popularly called, and I'll probably never see her again in my lifetime. Big as a mother, is that painting; daunting, even, and quite moving. I stood with the crowd.

Loved the Doré, too - there was just one - and the Cézanne - there was just one - but there is more to come as the second half of this show, replete with van Goghs, Gauguins, Renoirs and Cézannes, because a person needs more than one Cézanne, arrives this fall. Picasso, Matisse, Lautrec - not yet. That's a whole other blockbuster show, not yet announced - more lines, more foot pain, more eye candy.

There's so much to see, including the backs of other people's heads. Not that amusing.