Washington DC 3

Washington is full of museums of course.  I am not really a museum person.  Don’t misunderstand me – it’s not that I don’t love history.  It’s just that when you take an artefact, take it out of context, and slap a label on it, it’s hard to get enthusiastic.  For me, strolling around looking at all those items and labels is sort of like going around a really big supermarket, only they get a bit upset if you attempt to eat anything in a museum.  However, I was painfully aware I had a Young Person with me and I should be doing a whole Robin Williams Dead Poet Society thing here.  You know, opening a young mind to learning, sharing my knowledge.  Inspiring the lad with my unorthodox, yet illuminating views.  I had done precious little of this for Luke, and was feeling a bit guilty.  In fact, I should be honest with you here - as an uncle I am a bit shit.  On this holiday alone, I had already exposed my nephew to a guy I seriously suspected to be a Mafia captain.  Also, while in New York City, I had managed to screw up my Responsible Adult Speech.  It wasn’t entirely my fault, you see I didn’t know I was expected to deliver the Responsible Adult Speech, Luke just sort of sprang it on me.  In case you are not a responsible adult yourself, here’s a bullet-pointed idiot guide for you.

• Teenage Sex – You are anti this.
• Alcohol – One should NEVER touch drink.
• Drugs – Don’t inhale, kids!

So anyway, one night Luke and I made a run to the deli to pick up dinner, and he mentioned how he and a bunch of his friends wanted to take a trip to the hot party spot of Ibiza.  The conversation went something like this:

LUKE: I think it will be a good place to meet girls.
ME: Oh, absolutely!   
  (Thinks:  Hmmm should drop in the message about safe sex here).  
  You should DEFINITELY wear a condom though, right?  
LUKE: Oh, er, yes… 
ME: Wait.  How old are you again?
LUKE: I’m fourteen.
ME: Oh.  
(Thinks:  Oh shit.  I thought he was older.  How come he’s taller than me?  It just isn’t fair).  
Well.  Hmm.  In that case, you shouldn’t be having sex, right?  Because it’s bad.  I mean, no, it 
isn’t.  I mean, I don’t want you to get a complex or anything.  Sex is great.  
(Thinks:  Oh wait a minute.  Luke could be gay.  Say something positive about gay sex).
Gay sex is really cool.
(Thinks:  Oh dear lord.)
But not at your age.  Okay?
LUKE: Okay.
ME: So forget what I just said.  Except about wearing the condom, you should definitely do that.  But only if you’re having sex.  Gay or otherwise.  Oh, and don’t do drugs.
LUKE: Have you ever done drugs?
ME: (Thinks:  Oh well done opening that box of worms, fat-head).
Ye-e-e-s.  But that’s because I’m an idiot.
(Thinks:  Well ya got that part right).

So I attempted to redeem myself in Washington by taking Luke to the Air and Space Museum, where they had an actual lander from the Apollo missions, the X-1 jet, and bits of Spacelab - obviously these were just the test versions but it was still amazing to be able to walk around them.  As a soul with a scientific sort of bent, my keen mind soon lent itself to the most intriguing question at hand, which is How Exactly,Do Astronauts Go To The Toilet?  If you too, have pondered long and hard on such things, then this is definitely the museum for you.  Although I have to say that after I had been past the exhibit which showed the - gulp - EQUIPMENT that the astronauts had to - yikes - INSERT - I started to wish that I had been left in complete ignorance.  Those astronauts were brave, BRAVE men.  I mean, to go out in a liquid-oxygen fireball is nothing compared to the horror of inserting a turky baster into your urethra.  These men had guts.
 
I also overheard an interesting little history discussion from one of the museum curators on Why Those Darned Soviets Beat Our Boys Into Space.  "Well, you see, we had always planned on peaceful space exploration, and all our research was geared towards that.  But the Russians, see, they just put that Spootnik on top of a war-rocket, and that's why they beat us."
 
And there was me thinking all this time that it was purely because the Americans nabbed off with the Dumb German Scientists after the war, while the Russians managed to get the smart ones.  No, the simple truth is that the Soviets won the early stages of the Space Race because they cheated.  Now you know.
 
One truly astonishing exhibit that is bizarrely not more widely known is The Most Boring Man on the Planet.  His boriness has, in fact, been measured by a team of men on anphetamines and coffee, and exceeds even that of a Party Political Broadcast or an early Genisis album.  I was exposed to this chap at the planetarium where he spoke for only 30 minutes, but in that time – and I need you to know that I am not exaggerating – he managed to send three people in my immediate vicinity off to the Land of Nod.  I nearly succombed myself.
 
So that was Washington.  I don't think it would be mean of me to suggest that it is in many ways, a non-place, much like Canberra or Ottawa.  It's a town for politicians, and even if it is lovely and clean and pretty (except in area that sell baseball bats) it still lacks personality.  Apparently, 600,000 people live there, but they don't seem to have made much mark on its perfect marble facades.  It's a city of monuments, and it struck me as we were leaving, that the city of Washington is just one huge monument to itself.  
 
So we said our goodbyes to Sue and Luke, and left early the next day for Memphis.  Yep, that's right baby - The Birthplace of Rock And Roll.  Memphis, Tennessee, immortalised by Chuck Berry and the Home State of Davey Crockett.