That Time I Went To A Museum

statue of Abraham Lincoln

The year was 2009.  It was a cold January morning.  You can tell it was cold because in the pictures I'm wearing my winter jacket.  And I was there.  I remember it being cold enough to wear a winter jacket.  Or even a light jacket with a really heavy sweater, but that might not have been all that comfortable.  Winter jacket it was!

I had a hankering to go to a museum.  But before I went to that museum to see all the fine historical pieces of art and bones, I knew it was important for me to have a good, solid breakfast.  You see, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  At least that's what we're told.  It's probably a scam from the media or the government, but how am I supposed to know that?  And if breakfast truly is the most important meal of the day, then why is it always the least expensive on the menu at any restaurant?  You would assume that the boneless rib steak with garlic shrimp and twice-baked potato with a side of grilled mushrooms and a lovely glass of red wine would be the most important meal of the day.  That little feast can easily set you back a good fifty dollar bill or more.

There I go getting off topic again.  I'm pretty bad for that sometimes.  I have an important story to tell about my trip to the museum.  This is no time or place for grilled mushrooms.

So I woke up, remembered it was cold enough to need a winter jacket, and decided to have a healthy breakfast.   Pancakes are my favorite food, so naturally I gravitated to something that would involve putting them in my belly.  And what goes perfect with pancakes?  Why, bacon of course!  And pancake syrup.  The good stuff.  It's gotta be made by that lovely lady Aunt Jemima or else it's just not good enough to touch my lips and tongue.  Sorry to burst your bubble readers, but when it comes to pancake syrup, I'm kind of a snob.

While we're on the subject of syrup - do you say "sir-up" or "seer-up"?  It's this strange debate I've been having with people for years!  You might try and pull the whole "tomato/tomahto" case of 1972 as your backup, but really, a good bottle of Aunt Jemima's finest deserves to have a unified, decisive and agreed upon title given to it.  So sir-up it is.  Spread the word.  Anyone who says seer-up is a communist.

And not the good kind of communist either.

I'm studying the remnants of a tiny people village.  I'm looking through the entrance to the town and the welcome sign.

When I make pancakes, which is about once a week or so because like I already mentioned above, I'm a bit of an enthusiast - I like them to be thin.  Not so thin that they're crepes mind you, after all I'm an Irish lad not a French garcon, but I don't like them to be super thick and fluffy.  If they get to be too thick, then you can really only have one or two pancakes for breakfast and that's just not enough to fulfill my pancake appetite.  I like to be able to knock off five, six, sometimes seven pancakes in one morning.  Seven is a good round number.  I'd go so far as eight, but I'd hate to look like a pancake glutton.  What would our darling Aunt Jemima think of me?

It's also important to use a non-stick frying pan when making pancakes.  You don't want those bad boys sticking to the pan and falling apart on you.  No, a perfect pancake needs to keep it's perfect figure, much like a sexy lingerie model, looking you directly in the eyes as if to say, "Hi.  I saw you standing there.  I want you to ravage me."

I get shudders just thinking about those perfect pancakes.

Where was I?  Right.  Going to the museum.

So once my pancakes were finished and on the table, I sat down and gazed at them.  Marveled at them really.  They were a thing of inexplicable beauty.  I light dusted them with some margarine - I'm too cheap to buy real butter - and then slowly glazed them with the Aunt Jemima syrup.  (sir-up!)

They looked so pure and innocent that I almost couldn't bring myself to cut off that first bite.  Did my pancakes have feelings?  I made a little half frowny face at my plate, all the while trying to decide if I really should be eating this wonderful creation.  What would you do?  Imagine yourself face-to-face with the Mona Lisa herself.  Would you kiss her?  I'm talking about the real Mona Lisa here, not that silly painting.  Who wants to kiss a bunch of paint?  Weirdos, that's who.

I finally decided to just eat the pancakes.  If I didn't someone else would probably come along and break into my house while I was at the museum and then eat them from right out under me.  That would be a bastard thing to do, to steal someone else's lovely breakfast like that, so I shoveled the pancakes into my mouth, one at a time until they were all devoured and in my stomach.  The initial work was done.  My part was over.  The rest was up to my stomach acids to take care of.  They rarely disappoint me.  We have a good working relationship, and I love them so.

I wore a winter jacket, because it was cold outside.

I rinsed off my plate because if I didn't then I'd have a hard time doing the dishes later.  Dried-on syrup is tough to get off, especially when it's of such high quality as Aunt Jemima.  I contemplated just doing the dishes right there and then because all I had was my plate, the frying pan, and my coffee cup and - - oh no!  I had forgot to make some bacon to go along with my pancakes.

Boy was I stuck in a pickle.  Do I make a small side of bacon to eat after I'd already had my pancakes?  Should I keep the museum waiting any longer?  I do like bacon.  It's like opening up a birthday card from a cheap relative that you don't expect to have any money in it and then - BAM!  Five dollar bill!  That's how good bacon is.

I contemplated.  Thought about it.  Mused the idea.  Let the notion roll around in my mind a bit.  I was starting to get a bit too warm at this point.  After all, I had been wearing my winter jacket since this whole breakfast thing started.  I decided to save the bacon for another day.  A special day.  Maybe Veteran's Day.

Now was the time to go to the museum!

Then I went to the museum, and a few hours later came home and went to bed.

The end.

- ryan