Why Some Museums Suck

After being spoiled with Edinburgh’s impressive museum, Ireland’s exhibits were somewhat disappointing.  The Natural History Museum of Ireland houses a collection of stuffed animals in glass cases.  These aren’t the stuffed animals one would buy for children.  Had the museum been devoted to plush toys I would’ve stayed longer than five minutes.  Unless you are fanatical about taxidermy, I don’t see the allure of staring at beautified carcasses.

After browsing the frozen mammals, I decided I would rather watch a nature documentary if I wanted to learn about animals.  Ultimately, I’d prefer to go on a safari, but I’d even settle for a zoo, where the animals at least move occasionally.  Fortunately, the museum was free.  At the least, I used the bathroom there, so the trip was not entirely fruitless. 

The Archaeology Museum is a tad better.  My opinion is biased because I am not titillated when I stare at poorly preserved cookware that was lodged in the ground a thousand years ago.  I assume Neanderthals did not buy silverware from Target, and that knowledge is sufficient for me. 

My intention was to explore the history of Ireland, but this nation was not so willing to divulge its secrets.  I later learned the Celtics were known as the hidden people because they rarely recorded anything.  However, I managed to discover that Ireland was invaded by the Vikings who eventually assimilated into an Irish society.  The archaeology museum’s main event was the Battle of Clontorf in 1014 in which Ireland’s national hero Brian Boru was slain in battle.  He was the first king to reign over all of Ireland.  A few hundred years later, Cromwell came over, uninvited, and that’s why the Irish speak English.  If Great Britain hadn’t conquered its neighbor, then the Irish would predominately speak Gaelic, a language which still thrives today, especially out in the boonies. 

Staring at chipped Viking swords made me want to watch A Game of Thrones instead of reading the dense descriptions the museum offered.  The objects are not fascinating in themselves.  A pot does not become interesting just because it is old.  I do no salivate over my cookware, so why should I drool over someone else’s from the 8^th century? If there is an interesting backstory about the pot, I may remember it.  Sure, it is intriguing the pot is still around after all these years, but surely it must have been designed for that specific purpose. I can’t fathom why a pot-maker would design a faulty dish prone to the elements.  When future races dig up ancient Ford pick-up trucks, brush away the dust and realize they were “built to last,” should they be surprised? I imagine they will be, and so another generation will salivate over the ancient automobiles housed in stuffy museums.

A true gem that has survived several centuries is the Book of Kells, an illuminated manuscript expertly crafted by monks around the year 800.  The book contains the four Gospels as well as the New Testament.  Even after all these centuries, the manuscript’s colors are rich and lavish, like a freshly-printed, vibrant comic book.  Currently, you can see four pages of the Book of Kells underneath the library at Trinity College.  

The manuscript is protected by a glass case and illuminated by faint light so as not to deteriorate the delicate pages.  A guard stands by to ensure no funny business.  Photography is absolutely prohibited due to copyright reasons and to prevent damage from the flash.  Signs with crossed-out cameras and announcements of NO PHOTOGRAPHY are everywhere, yet a few sneaky wankers hover over the book and compose a pretty picture.  When the guard warns them aggressively that photographs are not allowed, the chump pretends not to know he wasn’t allowed to photograph Ireland’s finest national treasure.  Oh well, he must be thinking, pictures of things in glass cases never come out well anyway.