As is well documented, I am a complete museum whore (as well as movie whore and a Proust whore and a vanilla milk shake whore, and, well you get the picture). While I am normally drawn to art museums, I'm not opposed to the more obscure museums. I've just been celebrating the Witchcraft Museum, and I still make use of the museum book from the Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb, Croatia. However, not every peculiar museum is worth the trouble. Gary and I had precious little interest in visiting the Icelandic Phallological Museum (a museum celebrating, well, you know). I guess it was worth killing an hour on our first night in Reykjavik, and it allowed me get the appropriate tshirts for Cyndi and Craig - as well as shot glasses (which, oddly, I found buried in the bottom of my desk the other day, eighteen months later). Truthfully, it was probably worth it just for the picture below, me and an actual whale penis.
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Hint: I'm the one on the right.
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