date: 09.01.2002
entitled: "McFlurry Forceps"

I originally had no plans today. Upon waking up to raindrops tinking on our window air conditioner, and after Joe ran to the deli across the street to buy milk for my cereal, it turned out to be quite chilly outside, too. What better day than to go to a museum?! We decided on the Museum of the Moving Image, a mere two subway stops away, which Joe had visited thrice before, and I, none.

On the way, we passed a store sign reading "School Supplies & Cigars", and immediately agreed Joe should bust out his uber-nice camera and take a special trip there again to capture the sign's greatness. We also passed Kauffman Astoria Studios, where such no-name, low-budget shows are filmed as The Cosby Show, Sesame Street, oh, and WOODY ALLEN FILMS. i love living in queens.

Good times were had at MMI. We dubbed our voices over pre-selected lines in The Wizard of OZ and Babe. We read about televisions, and how images appear on them (I still don't really get it - perhaps because I don't want to). We peered through glass at eery face molds of many a famous actor. You could see every little imperfection and count every pore and eyelash on Christopher Walken, Al Pacino, and countless others. Creepily astounding!

All museum'd out, we headed for a small greek restaurant nearby, which had been recommended by someone we know at the museum. Big mistake. The menu included only 2 vegetarian choices other than salad, so we chose those. As I chewed my first bite of spinach pie, visions clouded my head like steam from a hot iron. The taste was like the smell of one of those tiny, old, musty cabins they have on display at Williamsburg, VA, or Greenfield Village, MI. The dough had a dank, dark, leathery taste, unlike the thin, crispy filo dough I am used to in Americanized spinach pie. Luckily I had filled up on french bread prior to the entree.

Heading home, we stopped at McDonalds so I could purchase ice cream for flavor relief. I always forget, except for one experience per summer, how much the McFlurry spoons at McDonalds remind me of the plastic forceps gynecologists use to open their patients' cervixes. Those of you with a cervix, go buy a McFlurry at McDonalds to see what I'm talking about. Those of you who do not have a cervix, go with the ones who do have one, and you'll see what I mean too. Or don't. I'd hate to see that many people supporting McDonalds - ope, too late.

song stuck in my head:

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