(By the way, I'm not sweating anymore about ending sentences with prepositions. Grammar Girl told me its OK.)
Here's a hint: It has a lot of wacky looking objects like this:
(That's supposed to be a cross-section of epidermis. Totally obvious in retrospect, right?)
Most of them have long-winded explainations like this:
(Fifty bucks to the first person who can click on the photo, read the paragraph and then can EXPLAIN it to me. Maybe I'm too blond these days, but it reads like one of those Charlie Brown adults: "Wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah.")
It also has a wall of graffiti for children to climb:
And an empty concrete room with aquatic videos projected on the walls:
So what's your guess? A modern art museum? What happens when good designers use drugs? IKEA gone horribly, horribly wrong? A rave for kids?
(Remind me to tell you the story about the time Corey ended up at a rave in downtown San Francisco, by the way. Hy-ster-i-cal.)
Of course, it's none of the above. It's a children's museum, which you undoubtedly know if you read my 5 Minutes for Parenting post today.
Warning: It's a bit of a rant, which isn't always my style. But I've been stewing on this one ever since our trip to SoCal in February. It's time to let it out.
