Last time, we were introduced to Linda's friend, Judy Tatamumakil. We continue our story with Linda's day.
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It was another mind-numbingly dull day at the Idunnowat Museum of History, a tourist attraction renowned for its hideous exterior, inspired, as the architect liked to proclaim frequently to admirers, by a drooping snowman he had seen on a warm March day. Pretentious folk thought it – or claimed to, anyway – marvellously artistic and avant-garde, but the plain truth of it was that it was just as depressing and forlorn as a melting snowman tends to be. People often shook their heads as they walked by the off-white monstrosity; some even shook their fists, as though their gestures could somehow be transmitted to the critically acclaimed architect, who was at the moment rummaging through a recycling bin in search of more “inspiration”.
Inside, the Museum of History is infinitely easier on one’s eyes. The 20 foot-high ceiling above the entrance is painted in the softest shades of white, brilliant but subdued as a cumulus cloud floating in the summer sky. Spotlights were carefully aimed at precise angles to light up the thin gold lines that criss-crossed the ceiling. The result was a warm glow that mimicked natural daylight, diffusing like dust particles down to the main atrium below where the patrons milled around, pleasantly surprised at the contrast between the bulky exterior and the elegant interior. The walls were finely mosaicked to depict the various landmarks of Idunnowat: the North Forest of Richmondil, the Orange Mountain and the Southern Caves. Linda, quirky as she is, always liked to imagine that she was still outside, walking all over Idunnowat at superhuman speed.
On this day, however, Linda could not be so cheerful and whisked her tour group through the museum with a sullen face with death shooting out her eyes. Figuratively, that is. Needless to say, the comment cards she received that day were the worst in her whole career. Some samples:
"If a grasshopper curls its butt end while you're holding it, it means it's going to poop on you."
"If you give away your stuff, you'll give away your ass!"
"If you grew an extra pair of lungs on your shoulders, would you be able to breathe and sing at the same time?"
The board of directors of the Idunnowat Museum of History are now in their second year of debating on whether or not to clarify to the patrons that the comment cards should be about their experience at the museum.
After her morning tour was over, Linda wandered off to the west wing of the museum to visit her favourite exhibit: The Heroes of Idunnowat. The funny portraits usually cheered her up. For instance, there was a really famous painting of the legendary hero, Muskels, who had once subdued a marauding dragon using nothing but a super sized bottle of baby oil. (It was later discovered that the dragon had been suffering from scale rot, which tends to affect many a reptile in the dry winter months. Having been treated for its skin condition with the soothing effects of aloe vera baby oil, the dragon was tamed and became a pet in South Idunnowat. Even now, there is a giant house in the South Idunnowat town square with the name “Droopy the Dragon” painted over the door.) The painting depicted sunlight shining down on Muskels – triumphantly holding up an empty bottle – with a meek dragon at his feet with unusually shiny scales.
Linda passed by the portrait of Muskels without a glance. Instead, she headed straight for the golden statue of Snippy the Lobster, Saviour of Lotsawata Harbour, which was bathed in golden light from a lone lightbulb. A golden claw held up triumphantly (it is a well-known fact that all images of heroic deeds must portray said hero holding up an object triumphantly, be it a sword, a wand or a giant stapler, as in the case of Jules the Lucky Bastard), Snippy smiled beneficently down at Linda. After looking about to make sure that no one was around, Linda planted her feet firmly and held up her hand just like the heroes around her.
“Linda the Magnificent, who found the long lost Ookie Cookie of the legends!”, she whispered. Then she noticed the reflection of herself on the gold lobster tail of Snippy and felt…well, silly, and not in the best way. It is the sort of embarrassment one feels when caught doing something goofy that is by no means morally reprehensible (an example may be one’s mother opening the bedroom door unexpectedly when one is dancing and singing in one’s underwear). In this case, Linda had caught herself, and although it was less embarrassing than being locked outside in one’s pyjamas, she still blushed. What if someone had seen?
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Some notes:
The description of the Museum of History was written around the time I found out about the crystal renovation at the ROM. I wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, as you can probably tell. I wrote the second paragrah this week, because I felt that the museum needed more description and wanted to protest the white drywall that Josh reported in his blog post about the new ROM. White drywall? You mean the kind that's in my room? How can a museum be so bland?
The sample comments are taken from old Crazy E-mails. The first comment is me describing something that happened in my biology lab at U of T. The second comment is a Silly Saying (an ongoing segment in the latter years at Westmount) from Mrs. Crawford. The third is a Silly Saying from Matt after jazz choir.
Muskels is "muscles" as pronounced by Jenn when she is being goofy. She doesn't do that anymore, I've noticed.
I was using aloe vera baby oil at the time to moisturize my skin during a shower. I was very obsessed with lotions and moisturizers. I still am, but don't show it as often as before.
I've never been caught dancing and singing in my underwear by my mother. It doesn't mean I don't do it, though.
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