We spent a rainy day here… And am saving another rainy day to come back… And if there are no more rainy days Rockstar still wants back…
Over a lighted work table where Rockstar and some other kids were messing with shapes and lights that reflect onto screens all around the darkened room, another mum addresses me, “Where did you get that bag?”
She’s referring to my trusty Donna Karan Messenger Bag from umpteen seasons ago – I bought it half off on net-a-porter.com ages ago, and recommend theoutnet.com, where last I saw it on sale.
“I’m going shopping!” she tells her little girl. “Should be at least half off…” Her little boy has already wandered off bored.
Even the back stairs boast beautiful murals… There’s a lot more stuff on walls everwhere, things for kids to do, things for kids to see…
Briefly we consider making a music video clip… But as we wait, Rockstar observes there isn’t a single other boy waiting for his turn…
And – just as I muse aloud if we should ask the crew if they have anything for Incy Wincy Spider, a very cute little blonde girl not that much taller than Rockstar, in a bubblegum pink puff-sleeved top, steps up to the mike and belts out:
“She wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts,
She’s Cheer Captain and I’m on the bleachers”
It’s unclear who initiates the quicker retreat – Rockstar or his parents.
The boys are in the next room pushing each other around on a green background, and a lone dad offers to clear his 2 sons out after a few minutes so Rockstar can have a turn. In fact, most parents we encounter are pretty much as nice as that.
“…..why can’t you see,
you belong with me-ee-ee…”
from the next room as Rockstar politely declines and we wander into a third room full of Apple Macs and photoshopping software.
I get a Marilyn Monroe wig, Kings a curly purple moustache. Rockstar chooses weird glasses, a spider and a snowman on his shoulders.
But we spend the most time browsing the artwork, reading the opinions expressed by the children and teenagers in their pieces. We’re pretty much alone – there aren’t many Asian tourists, and virtually all the Caucasians moving up and down glance just briefly at the art before proceeding to the activities rooms.
Here are a few. They speak for themselves.
No, not really. They’re screaming.