(no subject)
So. Mostly-drunk and livejournaling, and still obsessive enough to care about typos.
Today we (Adam and I) went to the Museum of American History before it closed for two years. You know, I hope that one of the things they fix in their rennovation is the ventilation system. The hallways were all nice, but the actual exhibit areas were kindof... "muggy" would probably be too strong a word for it, but only by a little. After a while, you start to think, "Wait, why is this in a museum? Is it old enough, special enough, significant at all? Do we care enough?" And then you realize that no, you really don't. Some of it is neat, and some of it is just sortof...
They have an exhibit of early comuter stuff that smell like Dad's workbench (the one that was in the kiln room, not the one in the shop), which was full of '70s electronics components. And I wonder, have they changed the plastics and stuff, or do components still smell like that? And does anyone else associate that smell so strongly with childhood?
They also have little signs everywhere that say, "Please touch this X," where X is the touchable object, such as a wooden model of the exterior of the house. Besides being low in detail, why the hell would I have any interest in touching it? It's not fascinating in a tactile way. The little square of bison fur, on the other hand... was kindof gross because enough people had touched it that it was actually furless in the middle of the square. Eeeeew... Ok, that's not so horrible, I suppose, until I point out that it's a bunch of strangers. Using this fur as maybe a napkin or a tissue or something, because eeeeew, all kinds of gross, "didn't wash my hands right before petting the bison fur" possibilities.
Also, we hung around the mall afterward and became acquainted with the king of the pigeons. Maybe the Godfather of the pigeons, but close enough.
I hope that combining milk and wine (in my tummy, not in the glass) won't make me horribly ill. I hope that most sincerely. (Have I mentioned my ongoing milk obsession? I'm watching Read or Die, which is interesting, and one of the characters drinks a lot of milk. I've been... well, let's say that on Thursday during my lunch break I bought a half-gallon, and left it at work, and that there was only enough for one glass for me on Friday morning. I don't think I had "help" with it, either. This was after discovering that a quart simply wasn't enough to keep in the fridge. The fridge at work. Because I need that much tryptophan during the day.)
The ferrets are trying to get into the couch. It's like Balin's tomb, but in reverse. Except not at all like that after all. Why the hell did you read this whole entry?
Today we (Adam and I) went to the Museum of American History before it closed for two years. You know, I hope that one of the things they fix in their rennovation is the ventilation system. The hallways were all nice, but the actual exhibit areas were kindof... "muggy" would probably be too strong a word for it, but only by a little. After a while, you start to think, "Wait, why is this in a museum? Is it old enough, special enough, significant at all? Do we care enough?" And then you realize that no, you really don't. Some of it is neat, and some of it is just sortof...
They have an exhibit of early comuter stuff that smell like Dad's workbench (the one that was in the kiln room, not the one in the shop), which was full of '70s electronics components. And I wonder, have they changed the plastics and stuff, or do components still smell like that? And does anyone else associate that smell so strongly with childhood?
They also have little signs everywhere that say, "Please touch this X," where X is the touchable object, such as a wooden model of the exterior of the house. Besides being low in detail, why the hell would I have any interest in touching it? It's not fascinating in a tactile way. The little square of bison fur, on the other hand... was kindof gross because enough people had touched it that it was actually furless in the middle of the square. Eeeeew... Ok, that's not so horrible, I suppose, until I point out that it's a bunch of strangers. Using this fur as maybe a napkin or a tissue or something, because eeeeew, all kinds of gross, "didn't wash my hands right before petting the bison fur" possibilities.
Also, we hung around the mall afterward and became acquainted with the king of the pigeons. Maybe the Godfather of the pigeons, but close enough.
I hope that combining milk and wine (in my tummy, not in the glass) won't make me horribly ill. I hope that most sincerely. (Have I mentioned my ongoing milk obsession? I'm watching Read or Die, which is interesting, and one of the characters drinks a lot of milk. I've been... well, let's say that on Thursday during my lunch break I bought a half-gallon, and left it at work, and that there was only enough for one glass for me on Friday morning. I don't think I had "help" with it, either. This was after discovering that a quart simply wasn't enough to keep in the fridge. The fridge at work. Because I need that much tryptophan during the day.)
The ferrets are trying to get into the couch. It's like Balin's tomb, but in reverse. Except not at all like that after all. Why the hell did you read this whole entry?