Alright, I came back from Tokyo. :(
But in an attempt to regain my sense of Americanism and stifle the withdrawal symptoms from leaving Japan, I recently took a trip to "Our Nation's Capitol." (If I hear the words "Our Nation's Capitol" one more time, I will scream.) Amongst the cherry blossom trees (no flashbacks of Tokyo there) I saw "the monuments" as the locals say. After that, I spent a few days in the Smithsonian and it turns out that lots of people bring their kids to the museums....all 150 of them. Unless you want to be caught amid wandering packs of school groups, my advice for visiting the Smithsonian: go on a weekend. The kids came in blue-shirted packs, orange-shirted packs, green-shirted packs, all of which read something like "Washington D.C. 2006" or "Visit to Our Nation's Capitol '06". There was even a pack of kids with red tie-dyed shirts that said "Canada." Apparently they were lost.
If I ever have to chaperone a group of kids to a museum I plan on keeping them in one big herd, telling them exactly what they should think is interesting, and taking them home. No free-ranging. I would not release them into the place to "learn" for themselves, because then you get wandering packs of kids not learning, but screaming and yelling all over the place trying to find each other.
"Matt!"
"Where's Matt? He said we were going to hang out together today."
"Matt!!"
"He better not be with Heather, I hate her."
"Maaaaaaaaaaatt!"
And invariably, in every dark hallway leading to a bathroom, there is an adult trying to console some overly-dramatic teenager.
"Cindy, stop crying, it's going to be ok."
"Cindy, what's the matter?"
"I know you saw Matt and Heather holding hands but you need to be an adult now."
"Can you do that for me?"
Once, while looking at an exhibit on Edison's lightbulbs, something hit me on the back of my leg. I looked down and a red kickball rolled under the exhibit in front of me. A kickball. The kids walking behind me had been dribbling it as they meandered through the museum. So while you can't get a nail file past the guard at the bag check, a kickball is A-ok. I left them as they tried to figure out who was small enough to fit underneath the lowest row of 150 year-old lightbulbs to retrieve the ball.
