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I am not a good companion on trips to places like the aquarium. We have one near us, and I took my out-of-state friend there last month when she came to visit. My attention tends to be drawn to things that aren't meant to be main attractions -- in some cases, not attractions at all -- and I've noticed that other people don't really appreciate having these things pointed out to them.

For instance, at any given display you might hear this:

Other visitors: Oooo! Look at the blue poison dart frog! And there's a rainbow lorikeet! Cool!
Me: Ewww, crickets!

And everyone stares at me as if I've just ruined everything for them.

With all the living things in the exhibits, I am most fascinated by the single dead thing on display, a whale carcass that hangs for several stories. It is without a doubt the largest thing in the aquarium, so maybe that accounts for my fascination with it. Or maybe I just feel safer knowing that, it being dead for at least a century, there is no possible way for it to attack me. Whereas with the other things on display, even though they're in tanks or whatever, you just never know. There could be an earthquake or something that would burst the piranha tank, and boy would the people standing right there wish they had gone to see the dead whale instead.

My friend and I went to see a dolphin show (with live dolphins), which was really the whole reason she had wanted to come to the aquarium. She was feeling nostalgic about the old days at Sea World with Shamu and hoping she could feel some of that excitement again. And she wasn't disappointed.

"Wasn't that a great show??" she said afterward. I shrugged. Most of the show I'd been distracted by how dirty the tanks were, and how many different ways the child in front of me could get his mother to tell him to be quiet and watch.

In the Australia exhibit, there was pretty scenery, some interesting birds and fish, and even a waterfall. I saw a little log, though, that looked out of place, maybe because it had a glass window in it. While everyone around me moved on to more exciting things, I checked this log out. For my curiosity I was rewarded with a closer view of a tarantula than I've ever had in my life, certainly closer than I've ever wanted. I knew I couldn't keep this to myself. I called my friend over.

"Look," I said and pointed, "there's something in there." I conveniently left out what it was.

She screamed so loud even the tarantula was startled.

My friend was too polite to say so, but I know by this time she was wishing I would go away. I know this because she went away, joining herself unobtrusively to some other party who were exclaiming over all the right things.

Later we overheard a young boy, who was peering into a small tank in an effort to find anything living, saying in a rather grown-up tone, "How am I supposed to find something when I don't know what it looks like?" I could have told him a few things to look for, but his mom probably wouldn't have liked them.