Category Midwest

Dinosaur Discovery Museum in Kenosha, WI

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Will I ever get tired of visiting dinosaur museums? In a word: NO. The Dinosaur Discovery Museum in Kenosha, Wisconsin packs a lot of dinosaur into a relatively small space, eschewing individual platforms in favor of one large grouping. It’s the only museum in the United States designed specifically to show the evolutionary transition between dinosaurs and birds and it does so with the largest collection of theropod dinosaurs in the country; by containing them all on one platform, it’s easier to compare them to one another. Especially delightful are the motion sensors which trigger dinosaur noises and make you feel as though you’re being stalked around the room.

IMG_0409I thought it was a trick question with the answer being “this museum!”

IMG_0419Although it’s not a scientifically sound theory, based on similar facial expressions, I postulate that this dinosaur may in fact be Napodog’s ancestor as they both appear to be pleased as punch to be tracking mud around like it takes no work at all to clean the floors. NONE AT ALL. Happy-go-lucky jerks.

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IMG_0412This guy just needs a little nap, evolution is hard work!

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IMG_0432Downstairs, you can watch fossils being cleaned and prepared for research. You can also assemble a dinosaur puzzle and do some coloring; of course we elected to do all of these things, for science. IMG_0470 As you can see, Jason’s Eoraptor explores how one might camouflage itself in the 1980s, and mine is exploring hipster fashion. SCIENCE!

“I don’t care what you say, I can taste the newspaper.”

While in Wisconsin, Jason and I paid a visit to the Jelly Belly factory, which isn’t so much a factory (as nothing is made there) but a warehouse distribution center with a tour and tastings. As a person who enjoys both tours and tastings, I felt it was a worthwhile stop. Jason and I arrived just as a tour was starting, and so we rushed to the back to hop on the tiny train that drove us around the warehouse (already a thrilling adventure, to be certain). We were also handed ridiculous paper hats and told to wear them. The people in the car in front of us were too cool to do such a thing, and just before we were to drive off on the wee train, the conductor said that if they didn’t wear their hats, we couldn’t go anywhere. Given that all of the candy in this warehouse is already packaged AND hats like this are useless in terms of food safety, I can only assume that the train is fueled by public humiliation and reduced sex appeal. Can you ever truly desire someone again after seeing them wear a paper hat? Also, we were not allowed to take photographs on the tour itself, as photography apparently causes mini trains to burst into flames.

Pre-tour, no tiny trains were put at risk by the snapping of this photograph.

The tour consisted of riding in the train around the perimeter of the warehouse and watching three videos about Jelly Belly brand beans: their rise to popularity (beloved of Ronald Reagan! First jellybean in space!), the production process (which is astoundingly long for something you can eat in a second, 7-21 days!), and other products made by the parent company (candy corn! taffy!). After the tour, we were given a bag of complimentary beans, a poster, and sent out into the place where I’m a Viking: the gift shop and tasting bar. We visited in the middle of the day on a weekday, so aside from the other family on the train, there was no one else there, we were the only people at the tasting bar, and the employee there was eager to give us whatever we wanted. After trying their new candy corn bean, I was on the lookout for other flavors I hadn’t tried, and I spied with my little eye a sausage flavor bean. “Sausage? It doesn’t really taste like sausage, does it?” Lickety-split, the employee handed over a bean, which I dutifully popped in my mouth. “Oh my god, it does taste like sausage! I assumed they’d just called it sausage to make it fit in with the Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Bean theme but that it would actually taste like a more normal bean flavor.” Rambling on, I made a terrible error: “Well, if the sausage tastes like sausage…what does the centipede flavor taste like?” Quick as a flash, a centipede flavor bean was in my hand before I could protest. And once it was cradled in my palm, it was like a bean-based gauntlet had been thrown. I couldn’t throw it away: that would be wasteful. No. The bean bar woman had dared me and thus I must put it in my mouth. As I chewed, Jason asked “So how does one decide what a centipede tastes like, anyway?” “Our chemists start with the smell and work backward.” I can believe they started with a smell…the smell of Hell. When I say to you that this was the most foul thing I’ve ever had in my mouth, I would hate for you to think I was exaggerating. My dog has emitted farts so pungent that I could actually taste the air and this was worse. Much worse. If pressed to describe the flavor, the best description I can conceive is “dirty curdled blood”–it was an strong earthy base with a sharp metallic tang and an awful creamy something tying it all together. The only way they could have made it worse is if there was a thick liquid core and it popped like a zit in your mouth…and that would only be barely worse. Still, I tried to swallow. I chewed and chewed and chewed, but my pharynx said “NO, MA’AM”. That wretched bean lady smiled and offered me a napkin in which to spit the horrid thing out. What did she give me as a chaser? A mouthwash flavor jelly bean. Oh HA HA, bean lady. After the bean incident, we walked out onto the front lawn to take Jason’s picture in front of the Jelly Belly sign, but all the while, I thought of the flavor of centipede. Even through the mouthwash, I could still taste it, crawling over my tastebuds with its awful rancid legs. My stomach roiled, and I thrust my camera and bag at Jason while desperately trying to will myself to remain calm. Calm isn’t my thing, and this is the story of how I ended up vomiting in front of the Jelly Belly warehouse in plain sight of a highway. Even though he had my camera, Jason didn’t document me chundering into a bush because he doesn’t understand anything about posterity. He is, however, a man who has seen me in a paper hat AND throwing up a mixture of jellybeans and chinese food in the same day and somehow still wants to marry me, so I’ll cut him some slack. I probably wouldn’t have posted a picture of me vomiting online, anyway: it probably wouldn’t have been a very flattering shot of my butt.

“Zookeeper! Zookeeper! Those two monkeys are killing each other!”

While on our trip to Ohio, we spent an evening visiting the Columbus Zoo. It was here that I discovered that I am an animal whisperer, as I could call animals to my side from the very back of the cages…or, as predators, they sensed a weak member of the human herd who had lost the will to live. One or the other. I’m conflicted about zoos. While I like having the opportunity to see some live animals that I assuredly would never see otherwise if zoos did not exist, and some animals (like the rhino) who are poached into extinction in the wild have at least a couple members of their species stagger on in captivity, I also feel sorry for the animals. These are hunters, roamers, animals that were meant to live in packs or herds, penned up into a small area, kept alone or with one or two other members of their species, being fed like pets, surrounded by bars, plexiglass, and screaming children…it sounds miserable. I wouldn’t wish that on my dog and he kept me up all night last night whining and pacing and generally making me want to heave him through the nearest window. There were three elephants in the Columbus Zoo’s elephant room, and what seemed like a small space to begin with was compounded by the fact that there were elephant droppings everywhere: the elephants couldn’t walk without stepping in their own shit. It made me want to cry. I shoved those tears down inside to save them for the next week when I’d be home and could sob in peace, and instead took some pictures of what you come to this blog to see: more statue-riding.

 

I can tell you one thing for certain: straddle a metal statue in freezing temperatures and your inner thighs are going to go numb for a while.