Dear Italian man who rides a vespa into center city,
Can we carpool?
Love,
That blonde girl you keep passing
P.S. I'm not actually doing renegade blogging -- we entered blizzard part THREE last night, so when I stepped outside this morning with my bedraggled attempt at an outfit and looming sore throat, and then saw my Italian friend zooming past, I decided to call it a day. I'm trying to convince myself this is in fact not "giving up" or "losing" but rather "being smart". However, as the kid who prides myself on the fact that I never missed more than two half-days from K-12th grade (half the fact I have freakish nordic genes and rarely get sick, half the fact that I loved school too much), it's a bit of a hard sell.
P.P.S. I realize that, in my haste, I forgot an AHFOD last time. The horror! SO, I'll make it up to you by giving you a super awesome one (again, "super awesome" in the context of historical facts, so...it's all relative). Nevertheless, as my thesis is on newspapers and I'm currently knee-deep in thesis-ing, this one will be newspaper themed: In case you were ever wondering, the terms "cliche" and "stereotype" actually come from the early printing days, and were synonymous back then. When a phrase or whole block of words was used repeatedly, printers would make a ready-made plate cast of the text, so they wouldn't have to set things letter-by-letter each time. So, any over-used phrase was then quickly called a "cliche"!
Anyway, just a penny for your thoughts. Here's hoping these blizzards won't continue to rain on my parade. I'm not holding my breath, but perhaps third time's a charm?
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
In which there are birthdays and bromance break-ups
For the 18 years that we've been friends, February 19th has been Queen Lauren day*. Because it usually fell during President's Week (mm I miss random vacations...), Queen Lauren "day" most often became Queen Lauren "week". But, sadly, as we are now in the quasi-real-world, the whole week thing doesn't really fly anymore, and we have to confine all sorts of merriment and queen-ness into 24 hours.
*In case that isn't clear, today is Lauren's birthday.
**Lauren is one of my oldest (long-term-est? whatever that phrase is) friends from home, and happens to be at Penn too. We have a weird habit of not straying particularly far from each other.
SO, tonight we're off to dress up fancy and inhale vats of melted cheese and chocolate (separate vats). We've always enjoyed that the least classy-sounding meals can turn into much classier-sounding restaurants when you call things "fondue".
But onto the archives! Today, once again, I had a run-in with Parson Weems and the ongoing saga of the Bromance of 1801 (which really, is no longer 1801, but 1803). And, unfortunately for Weems and Carey (but ever so entertaining for the rest of us), this Bromance is fast becoming a hot mess of epic proportions.
It seems that Weems got a little carried away with his own writing (the cherry-tree George Washington biography), and a little distracted from his actual job (vagabond book selling for Carey). He also somehow misplaced about $500. However, the most hilarious moments of 1803 involve Parson's many passionate attempts at quitting before he got dumped (...fired). It kind of becomes a case of the man who cried "I QUIT" but keeps writing you letters anyway. And, in this case, "letters" were really unsolicited monologues with over-the-top exclamations about the depths of his misery. As you can imagine, they are quite longwinded, and oftentimes nonsensical (I think he was rather overcome at the prospect of losing the man it seems was his only friend...). SO, I will offer you my two favorite snippets, which I feel capture the desperate tizzy of 1803, as Parson tried to hold onto a friendship (and a job) that was epically failing.
August 24th:
"Let me assure you that I never for a moment lose sight of your interest. Even now I am broiling on the red coals of torture on your account! Even now! I have so been for a fortnight."
Dec 7th:
"I shall lose much more than you are aware of, and very much more than I know you like that I should lose. I have greatly offended the Mount Vernon Family."*
*This was by far my favorite. Not only is it incredibly random, I enjoy that he thought "Mount Vernon Family" would somehow be less obvious than just saying "the President". Well played, Parson.
Nevertheless, I was a little distraught at the prospect of an absolute break-up (in his typical flair for drama, Parson opened every letter with "this will perhaps be my last..."), so I breezed ahead a few years (I've become oddly invested in their friendship), and can happily report that they patch things up in time. But, it's a bit of a bumpy road till then. More on that next time, in the next episode of (get ready for the newly expanded name) the On-Again-Off-Again Bromance of 1801 and Beyond.
*In case that isn't clear, today is Lauren's birthday.
**Lauren is one of my oldest (long-term-est? whatever that phrase is) friends from home, and happens to be at Penn too. We have a weird habit of not straying particularly far from each other.
SO, tonight we're off to dress up fancy and inhale vats of melted cheese and chocolate (separate vats). We've always enjoyed that the least classy-sounding meals can turn into much classier-sounding restaurants when you call things "fondue".
But onto the archives! Today, once again, I had a run-in with Parson Weems and the ongoing saga of the Bromance of 1801 (which really, is no longer 1801, but 1803). And, unfortunately for Weems and Carey (but ever so entertaining for the rest of us), this Bromance is fast becoming a hot mess of epic proportions.
It seems that Weems got a little carried away with his own writing (the cherry-tree George Washington biography), and a little distracted from his actual job (vagabond book selling for Carey). He also somehow misplaced about $500. However, the most hilarious moments of 1803 involve Parson's many passionate attempts at quitting before he got dumped (...fired). It kind of becomes a case of the man who cried "I QUIT" but keeps writing you letters anyway. And, in this case, "letters" were really unsolicited monologues with over-the-top exclamations about the depths of his misery. As you can imagine, they are quite longwinded, and oftentimes nonsensical (I think he was rather overcome at the prospect of losing the man it seems was his only friend...). SO, I will offer you my two favorite snippets, which I feel capture the desperate tizzy of 1803, as Parson tried to hold onto a friendship (and a job) that was epically failing.
August 24th:
"Let me assure you that I never for a moment lose sight of your interest. Even now I am broiling on the red coals of torture on your account! Even now! I have so been for a fortnight."
Dec 7th:
"I shall lose much more than you are aware of, and very much more than I know you like that I should lose. I have greatly offended the Mount Vernon Family."*
*This was by far my favorite. Not only is it incredibly random, I enjoy that he thought "Mount Vernon Family" would somehow be less obvious than just saying "the President". Well played, Parson.
Nevertheless, I was a little distraught at the prospect of an absolute break-up (in his typical flair for drama, Parson opened every letter with "this will perhaps be my last..."), so I breezed ahead a few years (I've become oddly invested in their friendship), and can happily report that they patch things up in time. But, it's a bit of a bumpy road till then. More on that next time, in the next episode of (get ready for the newly expanded name) the On-Again-Off-Again Bromance of 1801 and Beyond.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
In which I officially become a history nerd.
I have 2 very important developments to report on:
1) I've made a friend.
2) I may have been inducted into the most awesome secret society ever.
I feel these may require explaining. SO...
1) I have a new neighbor in my suite, and when she moved in....(drum roll) she smiled at me and said "hello!" Based on the lukewarm enthusiasm of the rest of my suitemates, I jumped at the opportunity to make a neighbor-friend. Desperate times, people. Turns out, we walk to the same part of the city in the morning, so she joined me yesterday (and she walks as fast as I do. She's a keeper.) She's Brazilian, works as a flight attendant, and is here for a month to improve her English for work. As we walked, I helped her with some new phrases. Somehow, our first English lesson involved me explaining what a "nerd" meant. Apparently pointing to the archive and then pointing to me didn't suffice. Nevertheless, she eventually caught on, and has decided that she'll cook me Brazilian food and I'll help her with homework. I may have added in the cooking bit. But, I'm liking the arrangement.
2) After work yesterday, I met up with my professor/grad student mentor from my fellowship this summer. He was in town, so we grabbed dinner, and then he took me to what has now become my nerdiest pastime ever: a secret historians gathering. It was in the house next door to the archive, and basically involved wine, cheese, and a few too many jokes about Ben Franklin. Lots of professors and grad students in the Philly/NY/DC area get together each month, location TBA, and have someone come and talk about their upcoming book or project. We sat in a candlelit living room, enjoyed some healthy intellectual sparring, and finished around 10. Though I didn't actually speak during the talk, I did awkwardly mill about in the beginning, jumping into conversations with things like "Hi-I'm-Casey-I'm-the-Library-Company-intern-and-I-was-a-fellow-there-this-summer" to somehow prove that I was legit enough to be there. I think it worked. That and I had a pencil in my hair.
And now onto the AHFOD! I've been doing some fun research on the artifacts in the collection, and I'm putting together an exhibit on neoclassical influence in Philly, which, surprisingly enough, is quite extensive. Little did I know, Philadelphia was once known as the "Athens of America" (Boston also claimed this title, but we'll just ignore that.) Starting in the 1810s, people complimented Philly for its classical architecture, and its longtime dedication to education and free public services (score one for B.Franks!) And, Philadelphia's nickname "brotherly love" is actually what "Philadelphia" means in Greek. So it all comes full circle! However, the whole Philly-is-just-like-a-beautiful-ancient-city thing didn't last long. Example: there was once an ad campaign in the 1970s to convince people that Philadelphia was worthy of visitors. Its slogan: "Philadelphia isn't as bad as Philadelphians say it is." Ah, how far we've come.
1) I've made a friend.
2) I may have been inducted into the most awesome secret society ever.
I feel these may require explaining. SO...
1) I have a new neighbor in my suite, and when she moved in....(drum roll) she smiled at me and said "hello!" Based on the lukewarm enthusiasm of the rest of my suitemates, I jumped at the opportunity to make a neighbor-friend. Desperate times, people. Turns out, we walk to the same part of the city in the morning, so she joined me yesterday (and she walks as fast as I do. She's a keeper.) She's Brazilian, works as a flight attendant, and is here for a month to improve her English for work. As we walked, I helped her with some new phrases. Somehow, our first English lesson involved me explaining what a "nerd" meant. Apparently pointing to the archive and then pointing to me didn't suffice. Nevertheless, she eventually caught on, and has decided that she'll cook me Brazilian food and I'll help her with homework. I may have added in the cooking bit. But, I'm liking the arrangement.
2) After work yesterday, I met up with my professor/grad student mentor from my fellowship this summer. He was in town, so we grabbed dinner, and then he took me to what has now become my nerdiest pastime ever: a secret historians gathering. It was in the house next door to the archive, and basically involved wine, cheese, and a few too many jokes about Ben Franklin. Lots of professors and grad students in the Philly/NY/DC area get together each month, location TBA, and have someone come and talk about their upcoming book or project. We sat in a candlelit living room, enjoyed some healthy intellectual sparring, and finished around 10. Though I didn't actually speak during the talk, I did awkwardly mill about in the beginning, jumping into conversations with things like "Hi-I'm-Casey-I'm-the-Library-Company-intern-and-I-was-a-fellow-there-this-summer" to somehow prove that I was legit enough to be there. I think it worked. That and I had a pencil in my hair.
And now onto the AHFOD! I've been doing some fun research on the artifacts in the collection, and I'm putting together an exhibit on neoclassical influence in Philly, which, surprisingly enough, is quite extensive. Little did I know, Philadelphia was once known as the "Athens of America" (Boston also claimed this title, but we'll just ignore that.) Starting in the 1810s, people complimented Philly for its classical architecture, and its longtime dedication to education and free public services (score one for B.Franks!) And, Philadelphia's nickname "brotherly love" is actually what "Philadelphia" means in Greek. So it all comes full circle! However, the whole Philly-is-just-like-a-beautiful-ancient-city thing didn't last long. Example: there was once an ad campaign in the 1970s to convince people that Philadelphia was worthy of visitors. Its slogan: "Philadelphia isn't as bad as Philadelphians say it is." Ah, how far we've come.
Monday, February 15, 2010
In which I learn how to spend a snow day (or three).
Hello from a brief blogging hiatus! Given my somewhat foreboding snowmaggedon-part-two post from last week, I gathered I should at least say that I am in fact a) in one piece and b) not frostbitten. Wednesday’s citywide snow day quickly turned into a Thursday snow day – and the Friday before a 3-day weekend then became a basic non-workday for any self-respecting lazy Philadelphian.
So, my Friday at the archive consisted of me awkwardly dawdling about as most people were stranded on various trains, and my Mister Rogers-historian going into a tizzy as he tried to figure out how to answer the phones (our front desk person was gone). Not a very historically productive day, but amusing nonetheless.
Since I haven’t really gone to work in a week (I’m rather giddy at the prospect of going back tomorrow. Strange, or awesome?), I’ll briefly summarize how I’ve ever so lazily managed to pass the time.
1) Lauren and I have quickly established this very basic equation for snow days/being camped indoors for more than 24 hours. Cereal + BBC/PBS Masterpiece Theatre, preferably of the Jane Austen variety + Cookie Dough + Naps + NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me = MAGIC. It’s a wonderful thing.
2) A snow day when it’s not actually blizzarding is perhaps the most glorious invention ever. My friend Priya and I took our artsy cameras for a spin on Thursday, traipsed into West Philly, and stumbled upon an EPIC sledding hill. We decided to pretend we were either a) journalists or b) parents in order to justify the amount of pictures were taking of giddy sledding kids. It seemed less creepy when were amidst the jubilance.
3) I trekked up to New Haven to visit Sara and her friend Victoria for the weekend, and very shortly realized one thing: Victoria has an amazing ability to cook epic feasts, we have an amazing ability to eat them. We make quite the triumvirate. We also did classy things like see the opera and spend the whole weekend in the same clothes (that may have been just me).
And, in honor of today’s “holiday”, the AHFOD will be a fun fact about Presidents Day. Because of a Uniform Monday Holiday Act from the 70s, Presidents Day was moved to the 3rd Monday of February, and now never actually falls on George Washington’s birthday, the man it was intended to honor. Hooray! Nevertheless, each state acknowledges the holiday differently. Some, like Washington’s home state of Virginia, officially celebrate the day as “George Washington Day” instead of its now more generic counterpart. Massachusetts celebrates GW, along with all Massachusetts-born former presidents. My favorite, however, is Alabama, who decided to observe the day as “Washington and Jefferson Day.” Somehow Alabama missed the memo that Thomas Jefferson's birthday is, in fact, in April.
And with that...back to the archives tomorrow!
So, my Friday at the archive consisted of me awkwardly dawdling about as most people were stranded on various trains, and my Mister Rogers-historian going into a tizzy as he tried to figure out how to answer the phones (our front desk person was gone). Not a very historically productive day, but amusing nonetheless.
Since I haven’t really gone to work in a week (I’m rather giddy at the prospect of going back tomorrow. Strange, or awesome?), I’ll briefly summarize how I’ve ever so lazily managed to pass the time.
1) Lauren and I have quickly established this very basic equation for snow days/being camped indoors for more than 24 hours. Cereal + BBC/PBS Masterpiece Theatre, preferably of the Jane Austen variety + Cookie Dough + Naps + NPR’s Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me = MAGIC. It’s a wonderful thing.
2) A snow day when it’s not actually blizzarding is perhaps the most glorious invention ever. My friend Priya and I took our artsy cameras for a spin on Thursday, traipsed into West Philly, and stumbled upon an EPIC sledding hill. We decided to pretend we were either a) journalists or b) parents in order to justify the amount of pictures were taking of giddy sledding kids. It seemed less creepy when were amidst the jubilance.
3) I trekked up to New Haven to visit Sara and her friend Victoria for the weekend, and very shortly realized one thing: Victoria has an amazing ability to cook epic feasts, we have an amazing ability to eat them. We make quite the triumvirate. We also did classy things like see the opera and spend the whole weekend in the same clothes (that may have been just me).
And, in honor of today’s “holiday”, the AHFOD will be a fun fact about Presidents Day. Because of a Uniform Monday Holiday Act from the 70s, Presidents Day was moved to the 3rd Monday of February, and now never actually falls on George Washington’s birthday, the man it was intended to honor. Hooray! Nevertheless, each state acknowledges the holiday differently. Some, like Washington’s home state of Virginia, officially celebrate the day as “George Washington Day” instead of its now more generic counterpart. Massachusetts celebrates GW, along with all Massachusetts-born former presidents. My favorite, however, is Alabama, who decided to observe the day as “Washington and Jefferson Day.” Somehow Alabama missed the memo that Thomas Jefferson's birthday is, in fact, in April.
And with that...back to the archives tomorrow!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
In which the blizzard comes back for more.
Being from the Bay Area and therefore unaware of what "winter" actually means, I was under the impression that blizzards only happen once each winter. Not sure where I got this idea from (wishful thinking?), but I've clearly been misinformed. I also have yet to master the ability of the 36-hour forecast on my morning weather.com check. Let's observe the following conversation I had with my boss today...
Boss: Sooo, it looks like it's going to start snowing a little earlier than they expected.
Me: It's supposed to snow today?
Boss: *laughs* uhhh...yes.
Me: Oh...like a lot?
Boss: Casey! It's going to be another blizzard!!
Me: ...that can happen?
Boss: ...yes.
Me: Huh.
Boss: So, just wanted to let you know that tomorrow's going to be a snow day, so we won't be opening.
Me: SWEET.
(I love my job, but what Californian doesn't get way too excited about the concept of a REAL SNOW DAY)
So, I made my way home tonight in epic time. When you're racing impending blizzard clouds, you tend to move quickly. But I did discover some gems in the archive today -- most importantly, I have now found my new favorite song. While perusing a collection of sheet music, I stumbled on a classic that I couldn't pass up. Not sure how this little ditty never made it into the history books, but I'm feeling the need to bring it back. It's entitled "My Mustache is Growing", written sometime around 1860. The first verse goes a little something like this...
"My mustache is growing
Its genial warmth bestowing
Its beauty takes the eye of all of Chestnut Street
Come forth like a fairy
So stiff and so hairy
And ramble on my upper lip so neat"
I really wish I could have been a fly on the wall when the men of the tavern all joined in on this one.
Now onto the AHFOD (awesome historical fact of the day, in case you've forgotten...and today it's themed! Just go with it.) In addition to looking through unfortunately-forgotten ballads from the days of yore, I also spent some of the day perusing a print collection, which happened to include a set of Valentine's Day cards from the 1840s and 1850s. Eager to read bromance-inspired exclamations of love, I started looking through them...only to find that V-Day back in the day was quite different. Apparently, sentimental valentines were on the pricey side; so, people, being generally cheap, usually bought comic valentines instead, which ran for about a penny. And apparently, nothing said comic affection quite like insults wrapped up in a jaunty limerick. Here are two of my favorites, taken from actual V-Day cards:
Card #1: Daughter of the Devil
If all that God e're made was good
Some things like you we must find evil
And we must think, at least we should
That you're the offspring of the Devil
Card #2: Queen of the Ugly Club
While monarchs are trembling on Europe's thrones,
The Queen of the Uglies need have no fear;
There's none, I'm sure, in these Western zones
Who will ever dispute your title clear.
...and with that, I'm off to brace for blizzard part two. I may soon be investing in a waterproof snuggie.
Boss: Sooo, it looks like it's going to start snowing a little earlier than they expected.
Me: It's supposed to snow today?
Boss: *laughs* uhhh...yes.
Me: Oh...like a lot?
Boss: Casey! It's going to be another blizzard!!
Me: ...that can happen?
Boss: ...yes.
Me: Huh.
Boss: So, just wanted to let you know that tomorrow's going to be a snow day, so we won't be opening.
Me: SWEET.
(I love my job, but what Californian doesn't get way too excited about the concept of a REAL SNOW DAY)
So, I made my way home tonight in epic time. When you're racing impending blizzard clouds, you tend to move quickly. But I did discover some gems in the archive today -- most importantly, I have now found my new favorite song. While perusing a collection of sheet music, I stumbled on a classic that I couldn't pass up. Not sure how this little ditty never made it into the history books, but I'm feeling the need to bring it back. It's entitled "My Mustache is Growing", written sometime around 1860. The first verse goes a little something like this...
"My mustache is growing
Its genial warmth bestowing
Its beauty takes the eye of all of Chestnut Street
Come forth like a fairy
So stiff and so hairy
And ramble on my upper lip so neat"
I really wish I could have been a fly on the wall when the men of the tavern all joined in on this one.
Now onto the AHFOD (awesome historical fact of the day, in case you've forgotten...and today it's themed! Just go with it.) In addition to looking through unfortunately-forgotten ballads from the days of yore, I also spent some of the day perusing a print collection, which happened to include a set of Valentine's Day cards from the 1840s and 1850s. Eager to read bromance-inspired exclamations of love, I started looking through them...only to find that V-Day back in the day was quite different. Apparently, sentimental valentines were on the pricey side; so, people, being generally cheap, usually bought comic valentines instead, which ran for about a penny. And apparently, nothing said comic affection quite like insults wrapped up in a jaunty limerick. Here are two of my favorites, taken from actual V-Day cards:
Card #1: Daughter of the Devil
If all that God e're made was good
Some things like you we must find evil
And we must think, at least we should
That you're the offspring of the Devil
Card #2: Queen of the Ugly Club
While monarchs are trembling on Europe's thrones,
The Queen of the Uglies need have no fear;
There's none, I'm sure, in these Western zones
Who will ever dispute your title clear.
...and with that, I'm off to brace for blizzard part two. I may soon be investing in a waterproof snuggie.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
In which people in 1802 get sassy.
Welcome to the heart of Snowmaggedon. When I woke up this morning (and when I say "woke" up, I mean THROWN from my bed at 7am by the sound of my windows shaking from the snow vortex outside), I looked at my measly pile of non-existent food and then looked into the flurry mayhem outside...and then realized that when I saw people lining up at the grocery store last night, arms filled with every possible canned good, I perhaps should have taken the term "snowstorm" and "record-breaking" seriously. Apparently I needed to be staring into the heart of the snow tornado before I got the message.
SO, being the rational, sane person that I am, I decided to take a stroll in the blizzard. A stroll, only two blocks long, that included: sinking 2 feet into fresh powder, my hair literally forming icicles, and almost falling over onto a police car (it was parked. I think that makes that situation better...) And, naturally, I documented the storm as I went along.
Nevertheless, from the archives, I do have an update on The Bromance of 1801.
Unfortunately, The Bromance of 1801 quickly deteriorated into The Cat Fight of 1802. Let's just say 1802 seemed to be a bad year for Mathew Carey. Since I only read the letters written to him, I can only imagine that he fell into some depressive tizzy, stayed home, and refused to write a single letter in response to anyone, since most letters I read involved sentences like "WHY won't you return my calls." or whatever the 1802 equivalent of that was. Actually, the letters started to bring the term "passive aggressive" to a whole new level. Because, really, nothing says "passive aggressive" quite like angry cursive.
And, best friend forever Parson Weems really took the cake with that one. Apparently, Mathew wasn't giving him enough books to sell on the road, particularly the fan-favorite Family Bible, so he got melodramatic. Please observe. (Note: these are actual letters. I couldn't even try to make up a person as entertaining as Parson Weems)
Letters to Mathew Carey--
Feb, 11th: "Came here in the rain, a pouring rain, for more Bibles, but behold none! None! None! A whole and not a Bible! No a single Bible! Yours, Parson"
Feb 28th: "This is simply to inform you that I am alive. Yours, Parson"
April 12th: "I am unhappy...perhaps you'll hear from me tomorrow. Yours, Parson"
May 24th: "How perfectly cheerful I find myself under rain and sunshine, cold and hunger, were you to me what you ought to be? But how can I be cheerful when you so often neglected and ill-treated?"
Nov 30th: "Think and Dream much of the best ways and means to employ my exertions to best uses."
...and with that, the ever-so-cordial year of 1802 ended. I'm eager for what the Parson/Mathew saga has in store for 1803. Until then, I'll try to avoid renegade blizzard videotaping (hi mom! promise I'm being safe!) and perhaps listening to the weather people when they start referring to apocalypses.
SO, being the rational, sane person that I am, I decided to take a stroll in the blizzard. A stroll, only two blocks long, that included: sinking 2 feet into fresh powder, my hair literally forming icicles, and almost falling over onto a police car (it was parked. I think that makes that situation better...) And, naturally, I documented the storm as I went along.
Nevertheless, from the archives, I do have an update on The Bromance of 1801.
Unfortunately, The Bromance of 1801 quickly deteriorated into The Cat Fight of 1802. Let's just say 1802 seemed to be a bad year for Mathew Carey. Since I only read the letters written to him, I can only imagine that he fell into some depressive tizzy, stayed home, and refused to write a single letter in response to anyone, since most letters I read involved sentences like "WHY won't you return my calls." or whatever the 1802 equivalent of that was. Actually, the letters started to bring the term "passive aggressive" to a whole new level. Because, really, nothing says "passive aggressive" quite like angry cursive.
And, best friend forever Parson Weems really took the cake with that one. Apparently, Mathew wasn't giving him enough books to sell on the road, particularly the fan-favorite Family Bible, so he got melodramatic. Please observe. (Note: these are actual letters. I couldn't even try to make up a person as entertaining as Parson Weems)
Letters to Mathew Carey--
Feb, 11th: "Came here in the rain, a pouring rain, for more Bibles, but behold none! None! None! A whole and not a Bible! No a single Bible! Yours, Parson"
Feb 28th: "This is simply to inform you that I am alive. Yours, Parson"
April 12th: "I am unhappy...perhaps you'll hear from me tomorrow. Yours, Parson"
May 24th: "How perfectly cheerful I find myself under rain and sunshine, cold and hunger, were you to me what you ought to be? But how can I be cheerful when you so often neglected and ill-treated?"
Nov 30th: "Think and Dream much of the best ways and means to employ my exertions to best uses."
...and with that, the ever-so-cordial year of 1802 ended. I'm eager for what the Parson/Mathew saga has in store for 1803. Until then, I'll try to avoid renegade blizzard videotaping (hi mom! promise I'm being safe!) and perhaps listening to the weather people when they start referring to apocalypses.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
In which Sara comes to visit and we never stop eating.
Since I last posted, my good friend/roommate came down from New York to visit me in Philly. (I should add /girlfriend, since people mistake us for a couple pretty much every day. I never know what to make of that. Usually amused, but always curious why when people see me waiting for Sara in a train station, smiling, carrying a box of cupcakes with a bow on top, they automatically assume "girlfriend." Go figure.)
Anyway, If you know me, and particularly if you know Sara and I together, you know we are rockstars at one thing in particular. And no, it's not running marathons, though, yes, that is very easy to assume when you meet us. I'll give you a hint.
...so yes. This is why I spent most of the last two days somewhere in that netherworld between food coma and sugar high. I've emerged unscathed and in search of pants with elastic waistbands.
Nevertheless, onto stories from the archives and things I have discovered in the last two days at work (get excited).
1) I think my historian buddy is the secret twin of Mister Rogers (of Mister Roger's Neighborhood). I'm waiting for him to walk in one day, sit down next to me, zip up a cardigan, throw on some sneakers, and give me a history lesson via puppeteering. I'll let you know if this happens. Until then, I've decided to call him Mister Rogers from now on. Just here. Not actually to him. Tempting, though.
2) When an esteemed historian asks "are you wearing a kilt?", the correct reply from now on will be "no..." instead of "Not yet. Philly just isn't ready for kilts." She did find this answer amusing, but I may have confused the rest of the people in the room.
Actually, better yet, stop wearing things that resemble kilts.
3) The people studying here have awesome projects. One of whom, in giving her presentation yesterday (which is on the occult in 19th America), asked us: "If you know of any mysterious immortals who inspired political movements, just let me know." She also definitely dropped the world "muggles" into her talk. Favorite.
And now for the AHFOD: I had quite the archival adventure and sleuth chase yesterday (read: there was extremely fast walking and intensely vigorous whispering involved.) Basically, I couldn't read an occupation in a census, so I asked one of the archivists. Long story short, we discovered, amidst the dungeneous 7th floor city directories, that this man was in the "passeportout" business (naturally, the census used words that were not in English and in the most slanted cursive known to man. Thanks, census takers of 1860). Nevertheless! She told me that "passeportout" is french for "pass key" or "skeleton key" -- so the man made keys that could open any lock, an odd but particularly awesome occupation. And my new dream-job of 1860.
Tomorrow: the next installment of The Bromance of 1801.
Anyway, If you know me, and particularly if you know Sara and I together, you know we are rockstars at one thing in particular. And no, it's not running marathons, though, yes, that is very easy to assume when you meet us. I'll give you a hint.
...so yes. This is why I spent most of the last two days somewhere in that netherworld between food coma and sugar high. I've emerged unscathed and in search of pants with elastic waistbands.
Nevertheless, onto stories from the archives and things I have discovered in the last two days at work (get excited).
1) I think my historian buddy is the secret twin of Mister Rogers (of Mister Roger's Neighborhood). I'm waiting for him to walk in one day, sit down next to me, zip up a cardigan, throw on some sneakers, and give me a history lesson via puppeteering. I'll let you know if this happens. Until then, I've decided to call him Mister Rogers from now on. Just here. Not actually to him. Tempting, though.
2) When an esteemed historian asks "are you wearing a kilt?", the correct reply from now on will be "no..." instead of "Not yet. Philly just isn't ready for kilts." She did find this answer amusing, but I may have confused the rest of the people in the room.
Actually, better yet, stop wearing things that resemble kilts.
3) The people studying here have awesome projects. One of whom, in giving her presentation yesterday (which is on the occult in 19th America), asked us: "If you know of any mysterious immortals who inspired political movements, just let me know." She also definitely dropped the world "muggles" into her talk. Favorite.
And now for the AHFOD: I had quite the archival adventure and sleuth chase yesterday (read: there was extremely fast walking and intensely vigorous whispering involved.) Basically, I couldn't read an occupation in a census, so I asked one of the archivists. Long story short, we discovered, amidst the dungeneous 7th floor city directories, that this man was in the "passeportout" business (naturally, the census used words that were not in English and in the most slanted cursive known to man. Thanks, census takers of 1860). Nevertheless! She told me that "passeportout" is french for "pass key" or "skeleton key" -- so the man made keys that could open any lock, an odd but particularly awesome occupation. And my new dream-job of 1860.
Tomorrow: the next installment of The Bromance of 1801.
Monday, February 1, 2010
In which I burrow for 3 days straight.
I apologize for the posting delay! The weather has decided to turn Arctic on us, and apparently my default reaction when this happens is to drink tea, stay in my PJs all day, and watch 7 episodes straight of Friday Night Lights. Someday, I'll learn how people can be productive in this weather. Nevertheless, much to report on my last day of work!
Fridays are quickly becoming my favorite project day, mostly because I get to spend all day with actual documents, rather than digitized versions of them. So, please forgive the length and general excitement of this post -- I tend to get rather giddy at the sight of parchment and a good 19th century cursive script.
My project on Fridays is for my new best friend (the one who seemingly knew Ben Franklin), and it's actually at our neighboring archive, the other main archive in the city. My historian-buddy is a scholar on print culture and publishing, and particularly on Mathew Carey, the most famous American publisher and bookmaker from the 1770s through the 1820s. My task is to go through boxes and boxes of correspondence to Carey, and salvage any broadsides (or anything made with a printing press, rather than handwritten). These will then be scanned into a national database, so future scholars can discover them (read: probably one scholar in the next fifty years, let's be real.)
But, as my scholar-buddy basically told me, "don't worry about the broadsides too much. Read the letters, have some fun; if you find something interesting, just look at that." ....do I need to explain further why he's my new best friend? SO, I spent the first two hours in basic archive heaven, gushing over things like the fact that the wax on the letters was still intact (humor me). But then, I stumbled upon the best thing EVER....what I heretofore will refer to as the Bromance of 1801.
Before I started my project, my historian-buddy told me that many of the letters to Carey would be from one man, his distributor and sales agent Parson Weems. Little did I know that "many" actually meant "boxes and boxes" and distributor actually mean "best friend for LIFE". After spending nearly 4 hours perusing letters with your typical lavishly over-the-top and formal language of 1801, I was beyond excited when I discovered Parson. At first glance, his letters look more like an AIM conversation (the man used more exclamation points than a teenybopper, during a time when it seems exclamation points were generally shunned by men of standing). But what was particularly amusing was Parson's unrestrained admiration for his boss. I really can't do it justice, so I've decided to quote Parson himself, in what became one of my favorite letters...
"Dear Mathew- Pigs, they say, by sleeping together, contract a fondness for each other. Is it wonderful then that I, of nature more noble and more generous instincts than a Pig; that I, after so long selling your books, so long eating your bread and drinking of your water, should have contracted an affection for you. Yes, M. Carey, I can shame the Devil and say that I have often experienced for you those feelings which so refresh our spirits when the image of a beloved brother rises on our thoughts. Believe me, M. Carey, it would afford me great pleasure to be assured that you write in the style of your last to nobody but myself." - Parson Weems, Dec 28th, 1801
...and thus begins The Bromance of 1801. I tend to write letters like this to my friends, so I'm happy to know that I have a kindred spirit in Parson. I have more on the tales of Parson and Mathew filed away, but I'll save that for the next installment of The Bromance of 1801.
Though I feel this could technically function as an AHFOD, I will leave you with one more fun fact: Parson Weems, though I'd like to think he could have been famous as best friend extraordinaire, was actually famous as the originator of the George Washington Cherry Tree ("I cannot tell a lie") story. He wrote a biography called The Life of Washington in which he called George "the greatest man who ever lived" and was generally over-the-top. So, perhaps Parson just wanted to be everyone's best friend. He's quickly becoming my favorite unfortunately-forgotten historical figure.
For now, I'm off to continue thesis-ing, and then find a heating blanket that can safely function as a face mask. More on that later.
Fridays are quickly becoming my favorite project day, mostly because I get to spend all day with actual documents, rather than digitized versions of them. So, please forgive the length and general excitement of this post -- I tend to get rather giddy at the sight of parchment and a good 19th century cursive script.
My project on Fridays is for my new best friend (the one who seemingly knew Ben Franklin), and it's actually at our neighboring archive, the other main archive in the city. My historian-buddy is a scholar on print culture and publishing, and particularly on Mathew Carey, the most famous American publisher and bookmaker from the 1770s through the 1820s. My task is to go through boxes and boxes of correspondence to Carey, and salvage any broadsides (or anything made with a printing press, rather than handwritten). These will then be scanned into a national database, so future scholars can discover them (read: probably one scholar in the next fifty years, let's be real.)
But, as my scholar-buddy basically told me, "don't worry about the broadsides too much. Read the letters, have some fun; if you find something interesting, just look at that." ....do I need to explain further why he's my new best friend? SO, I spent the first two hours in basic archive heaven, gushing over things like the fact that the wax on the letters was still intact (humor me). But then, I stumbled upon the best thing EVER....what I heretofore will refer to as the Bromance of 1801.
Before I started my project, my historian-buddy told me that many of the letters to Carey would be from one man, his distributor and sales agent Parson Weems. Little did I know that "many" actually meant "boxes and boxes" and distributor actually mean "best friend for LIFE". After spending nearly 4 hours perusing letters with your typical lavishly over-the-top and formal language of 1801, I was beyond excited when I discovered Parson. At first glance, his letters look more like an AIM conversation (the man used more exclamation points than a teenybopper, during a time when it seems exclamation points were generally shunned by men of standing). But what was particularly amusing was Parson's unrestrained admiration for his boss. I really can't do it justice, so I've decided to quote Parson himself, in what became one of my favorite letters...
"Dear Mathew- Pigs, they say, by sleeping together, contract a fondness for each other. Is it wonderful then that I, of nature more noble and more generous instincts than a Pig; that I, after so long selling your books, so long eating your bread and drinking of your water, should have contracted an affection for you. Yes, M. Carey, I can shame the Devil and say that I have often experienced for you those feelings which so refresh our spirits when the image of a beloved brother rises on our thoughts. Believe me, M. Carey, it would afford me great pleasure to be assured that you write in the style of your last to nobody but myself." - Parson Weems, Dec 28th, 1801
...and thus begins The Bromance of 1801. I tend to write letters like this to my friends, so I'm happy to know that I have a kindred spirit in Parson. I have more on the tales of Parson and Mathew filed away, but I'll save that for the next installment of The Bromance of 1801.
Though I feel this could technically function as an AHFOD, I will leave you with one more fun fact: Parson Weems, though I'd like to think he could have been famous as best friend extraordinaire, was actually famous as the originator of the George Washington Cherry Tree ("I cannot tell a lie") story. He wrote a biography called The Life of Washington in which he called George "the greatest man who ever lived" and was generally over-the-top. So, perhaps Parson just wanted to be everyone's best friend. He's quickly becoming my favorite unfortunately-forgotten historical figure.
For now, I'm off to continue thesis-ing, and then find a heating blanket that can safely function as a face mask. More on that later.
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