I took JP and a friend of his in to New Orleans for the day today, took in the Mighty Mississippi, had a sno-cone, walked a bit in the Quarter, went to the aquarium, and also went to visit the … the Audubon Insectarium, which is, amazingly, a $15-a-head museum filled with bugs, some live, some not, many in cages, a few you can pet.
Now let’s put aside the airport-style security checkpoint you have to pass through to enter the museum [editor’s question: exactly how many terrorist attacks have their been in third-rate museums in America’s smaller cities?] and confront the central question: who came up with the idea for a bug museum?
I mean, I’m all in favor of science and all that stuff, but a bug museum where you can touch insects as big as my thumb? (They’re slimy, folks, in case you were wondering.) There was a jar of termites; and a case filled with some sort of cockaroach that looked suspiciously like the ones I’ve encountered in my kitchen late at night quite without thinking they merited an exhibit in a museum; and finally, a “spider’s lair” where you go in and a spider attacks you and kills you (I don’t actually know this—JP’s friend, who had been to the Insectarium, told me this because he was too scared to go in, and JP was already crying).
Am I the only who thinks that a museum specifically dedicated to frightening small children is less than a thrill? Someone write in with the Science Guy answer and I will respond that eating cookies in a bug-themed cafeteria is plain nasty. And no, I’m not letting it go—what’s with the fucking metal detector?
See what happens when it’s too hot to go to the damn zoo! Here’s the lesson of my vacation to date, ladies and gents: America, she’s out there, she weird, and she’s got bugs!