Thirty-six years ago today, Dan was born. So of course we had to celebrate.
We headed to the World War II Museum for a free lecture given by our friend Pacrac on the early naval battles of the war, and then we passed the time over at Galatoire's, which neither Dan nor I had been to since before we moved to NYC. Good times, good food, good wine, great company.
The WWII Museum, formerly and still the D-Day Museum to da locals, is in a nifty seven-year-old structure, and its orientation room, where the lecture was given, was outfitted with a computer and a projection system that allowed Pacrac to control his PowerPoint presentation with ease. While waiting for Pac to finish schmoozing with some of the folks who came to hear his talk, one of the museum's employees saved his slides and exited the program. He pulled up the "Start" menu from the Windows desktop and I saw an icon I didn't expect to see.
"What's a Second Life icon doing on that menu?" I asked the guy.
Apparently, the folks at the WWII Museum are looking into ways to expand the museum. They're already doing some physical expansion, as evidenced by the demolition of a bunch of buildings across the street to make way for more exhibition halls and such. They are also seriously exploring the possibility of cyber expansion for those who are physically unable to schlep to New Orleans or who need to do research here and are unable to come due to terrorist attacks, unnatural disasters, flooding, or money woes.
So gee, what would be in store for Second Life visitors to the D-Day Museum for an admission fee (which is what I assume they are also looking into, and I'm not talking about Linden Dollars, though that is a possibility)? Something as pedestrian as a virtual tour of the museum facilities?
Or are we talking about virtual re-creation of the Normandy landings? Get to see what the inside of a Japanese submarine is like? Operation Torch, anyone...from Rommel's point of view?
God forbid - Second Life POW camps??????
The possibilities are creeping me out.
Oh, and reading a kid's storybook version of the story of Noah's ark got this round of questioning from the little guy:
"Mom, why'd God flood the world?"
"To get rid of all the evil in it, honey."
We read about how the rainbow became the symbol of God's promise that another great flood like that one would never cover the earth's surface again.
"But, Mom, what about hurricanes?"
"Weeeelll...hurricanes and their storm surges only affect some areas of the earth, not the entire planet. God said there would never be a flood over the whole planet ever again."
I tucked the little guy in, kissed him goodnight, and walked away, feeling like I drew on some kind of perverse technicality in answering his last question.
This world doesn't make much sense, sometimes.