Leave it To Gunther

I don't know myself as well as I think I do. This was made clear to me last night as I went with the Mighty G to see Body Worlds 2. For those of you who don't know, Body Worlds is a traveling exhibit currently at the science center. Through a process called plastination, a visitor can find nearly every organ in the body in either a see-through cross section or in its entirety, complete with tumors, hemorrhages, and various diseases. There's an even bigger part of Body Worlds, though, and that is the people.

They take cadavers, pose them ironically, and splay them out so you can see different pieces of their body. Recreational activities in Plastinated Dead People Land include skateboarding, ballet dancing, soccer, skiing, shotputting, lassoing, yoga, javelin throwing, ice skating, and standing very still while some German man cuts you into pieces.

HellCat thought she had a cast iron stomach. She oftentimes would be found riding rollercoasters over and over again with no ill effects. She loves the teacups at Disneyland. She has a soft spot in her heart for falling from high-up places. Horror is her favorite genre of film. But last night, my darlings, HellCat learned that she does not react so well to dead shiny people.

I walked in, and looked at a foot, a skull, and a hand. No problem. Then I saw the skeleton man looming before me, with his muscles standing next to him. My knees went weak. My stomach went sour. I felt dizzy. And the MIghty G just laughed at his exposed genitalia.

The funny thing about Body Worlds is that these kinds of models are for scientific purposes. They help doctors understand the nature of tendons, muscles, organs, and sickness better than any model ever could. But when you are a layman, that is easy to forget. I felt like some pieces were insensitive and were kind of saying, "Fuck you guys, we're scientists and we need to see this stuff." It's hard not to notice the skull you're looking at belongs to an infant. Female bodies with the latissimus dorsi raised up and out like wings (and then named "The Angel") can make you take pause. They even had fetuses at different stages of development, and it was simultaneously amazing and sad. All these things are dead. And now we're ogling them in a museum while talking on our cell phones.

These people all agreed to donate themselves, but I still felt kind of bad for them. Mom was right--I guess I'm a shitty scientist.

I had trouble enjoying the exhibit. I had too many emotions surging through me when I looked at the heart section. I imagined Eric's heart, and how much it must hurt right now. I examined the aorta and tried to visualize it ripped and weak. Then I wondered who was missing the heart that sat in front of me. And then I wanted to kill the man who was reading the description cards in some foreign language loud enough for the dead people to actually hear him.

One of the scarier things I saw was the comparison of the regular-sized man to an obese one. You could see the 120-pound man's innards just fine. The 300 pound man's insides were severely compacted. His fat hung over his knees, and you could fit the other man inside him easily. It was rough, but was a great deterrent from buying anything from the Candy Kart nearby.

I wish there had been an "I survived Body Worlds" tee shirt, because I really felt as though I had been through something. It was cool to see the camel's many stomachs, but the prison tattoo on the "3-D slice" man was a little much. When I close my eyes, all I see is fake eyebrows glued on to exposed red facial muscles. Ugh.

Aside from all of this, though, I think I might donate myself. I love museums and the plastination process would make me look way skinny.

filet o'grae friday. g