I missed the “Night at the museums” by just one night. Imagine how romantic it is to be inside a museum near midnight. Would the exhibitions come to life? I must must visit Europe one day around mid-May to be at one of its museums till late.
Back to the arts and craft museum. Once I entered, I saw the guy with the most fascinating hair. He was, of course, very handsome with large brown eyes and stubble. Stubble seems to be in, judging by the number groceries-shopping men sporting the look, or perhaps the weather just encourages hair growth.
Anyway, while I think men who man (ho ho) museum counters are definitely top on my sexy list, this young man had the weirdest hair that I did not know whether to give him a sticker for being dashing or just imagine him with normal hair and give him two Well Done stickers.
His hair looked like something out of a Japanese manga. I am serious. Imagine having hair past your shoulder and putting half a tube of gel on your hair. Then you make all of your hair stand up like a mohawk. After the mohawk, push all your vertical hair to a side so that you have hair that is parallel to the ground.
That was what this brown-haired, brown-eyed, stubbly dashing man looked like. I dared not take even a papparazzi photo of him because I would definitely offend him. All I could do was snap photos of him with my eyes and keep the copy somewhere in my brain.
After saying my greetings, I asked for a musuem ticket for the youth, en anglais… He was kind enough to answer in English and asked if I was under-26. Indeed I am and turns out, my entrance is free. I also asked for a ticket to the Théâtre des automates which just so happens to have shows the day I planned my visit.
Then I asked for an audio guide–which I didn’t really use because I didn’t felt the need to listen about irons and abascus.
The nearest show would be on in abuot 40 minutes time so I walked around a bit, feeling impatient most of the time.
After 20 minutes of listless speed walking past machines and more machines, I was terribly bored. I decided to take a seat in the theater and wait for the show to start.
The theater is actually a semi-circle small room with benches set like stairs. Down there were several automatons, all behind glass walls.
I took a set in the center of the middle row, not sure which would be the best seat in the house.
While I stared at the lifeless machines, in came an American with his five-year-old (possibly) daughter. The child had very short hair a la Shiloh and was dressed in gender neutral clothing, alright alright, boys’s clothes. She was talkative, asking her father questions.
The father was tall and had curly hair. He was patient with each of her questions. And I realized that there are men in this world who are: wonderfully bilingual, patient with children and would bring their children to the museum. I have much more faith in mankind now.
One of the questions the girl ask was whether the demonstration would be in French.
-Yes, it will be in French.
-Why isn’t it in English.
-Because we are now in Paris.
The girl then went on to demonstrate that she speaks Father by telling her father in French that this (ticket) is his and that this ticket is hers.
As I listened to the little girl talk, my womb started sending my wireless messages that it is time to get my own little curly haired tomboy who spoke in cute French. But of course I need to find someone to donate their seed.
Finally, the theater was filled up. The curator came in. He was a large man and held the keys to the wonderful little robots.
Luckily, most of what he said I half understood. The little robots activated by the turning of keys. One of the things on show was a moving picture where the little people and clouds would jerk from left to right.
There was also Marie-Antoinette’s musical instrument playing automaton. You can see it in action here.
Something went horribly wrong when the curator started explaining about the Marie-Antoinette doll.
My phone started ringing. The Nokia ringtone. My face burned with shame as I dug around for the phone. I pardoned myself and dashed out, with my phone ringing all the while.
I heard in the audience in French, “Oh it [the automaton] has started playing.” I found that amusing.
I finally found my phone and it was a missed call from my parents. I must remind them never to contact me, and for only me to contact them.
When I returned to the theater, it was reaching the end of the show. The audiece said their thanks and filed out while some stayed back to ask questions.
I continued my tour of the museum. Nothing too fantastic except the first-gen Apple iPod I saw.
Also, there was a urinal in the public toilet. Imagine walking in on some guy taking a piss!
The cathedral part of the museum was lovely.
But I was really hungry. really really hungry. It was time to leave.