A Day at OMSI

One of my favorite places in Oregon is OSMI — the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. It’s in Portland, on the banks of the Willamette River.

A lot of folks think it’s for the younger set and only go there with a pod of kids or grandkids in tow. Actually, I find that kids get in the way when I go to OMSI. It’s awfully hard to do a chemistry experiment or launch a water rocket when you have a bunch of sixth-graders trying to shove you out of the way.

I mean, I’m doing science here, and all little Jacob/Justin/Johnny/Joseph/Jeremy/Jared wants to do is impress his buddies with how big a turkey he can be.

That’s why last Thursday was so pleasant at OMSI. When we got there, most of the folks were going to the meat market — I mean, Body Works. For those who have not heard, OSMI is hosting an exhibit with a whole batch of cadavers, minus the skin. Some German guy invented a way of preserving their musculature using plastic.

I had been interested in checking out the exhibit, but I decided that the expense and the fact that I’ve seen more than my share of dead people over the past 50-plus years, made it an unnecessary stop.

I’ve seen murder victims, car-wreck victims and drowning victims. I don’t really have a need to see any more, even though the German guy has his dead bodies posing in all sorts of different ways, such as riding a skateboard and jumping over a hurdle.

I’ll tell you what: If some dead guy ever comes skateboarding toward me, that’s when I’ll know I’ve had too much ice tea.

At any rate, we found OMSI was blissfully quiet, just the way I like it. We did a bunch of experiments using an infrared sensor, went to the chemistry lab for a while, solved a batch of puzzles, watched a movie about mountain-climbing in the Alps and toured a submarine.

To me, it beat looking at dead bodies by a mile.

However, there was one exhibit that bothered me way more than the dead bodies. There’s a computer that shows people what they will look like when they get older. It starts with a photo and, using computer graphics, “ages” you.

I watched a few kids do it and then decided to give it a whirl.  The only problem: I was starting at 54 instead of 12. By the time the computer added 20 years, I looked like one of those photos the cops show kids of methamphetamine users to scare them.

I looked hideous, with more wrinkles than a basket of dirty laundry.

“I don’t think so,” I told the lady who was looking over my shoulder and laughing at the “older” me. “I look like Keith Richards’ older brother.”

 “Oh, you don’t look so bad,” she said. “You don’t look anything like a meth addict.

“You still have your teeth.”