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.