Harry's grandparents paid us a visit this weekend, and we had a delicious brunch at the Old Fashioned which has the best fried cheese curds in town. And this is quite an achievement for a town like ours that prides itself on the amount of deep fried cheese it serves. Also? Not fried cheese curds are disgusting-- they're squeaky, which is not a quality I ever look for in my food once it's dead--and does cheese ever really live?.
While we were walking back to our car from the restaurant (the long way because we wanted to melt off some of the aforementioned cheese), we noticed that the State Historical Museum is running a Brewers World Series display, so we decided to check it out. I absolutely love the State Historical Museum, mainly because no one is ever there, so we can say whatever we want and touch everything and generally act like assholes. I also like it because the stairwell doors are locked so patrons have to take an elevator up one flight at a time. Lazy, cheese-filled Wisconsinites.
Here's Harry driving the giant tractor, which is part of the Wisconsin Farm Life floor and usually our favorite exhibit (although the Native Americans had some pretty cool stuff, specifically their deer skin shoes which look a whole lot like Robeez, and there's a pretty cool feminist dislay of laundry as women's (really freaking hard) work in pioneer days).
Harry having the run of the place. Really, empty museums are my favorite. Because even though the docent was quick to tell us that it was a wigwam, not a teepee, not a single other soul was around to hear our gaffes. I hate talking out of my ass about artifacts or paintings-- or even animals at the zoo-- when there are others around because I am afraid I'll be exposed as the fraud that I am. Alligator or crocodile? Monet or Manet? Teepee or wigwam? How the hell should I know?
Harry enjoyed the Aztalan house, which was just his size and had cool animal pelts on the walls. I have no idea what kind of animals they were, but since we were alone, I went with hamster and elephant-- reasonable choices, I think.
On Sunday, left to our own devices, we played an intense game of bone ball, which involves two grown-up idiots, one tolerant baby (all in their jammies), a whole bunch of hard plastic balls, a giant bone bat (which was supposed to be part of Harry's Halloween costume, but he isn't a dragon anymore, so now we just have a huge plastic bone), and some protective stuffed animal gear. Observe:
Shagging balls in the outfield
Picthing and catching
Batting (it's a home run if goes downstairs or in Harry's wagon).