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Lists, Part II: Causes of Death

In the Mutter Museum in Philadelphia, there's a wall of a hundred and thirty-nine skulls from the collection of Joseph Hyrtl, a Viennese anatomist (and, not surprisingly, phrenologist). Hyrtl collected skulls from all over the world, and this selection is entirely from Eastern Europe between 1868 and 1914. There's just enough information about each of them to make them fascinating: name, age, occupation, and cause of death. I stood in front of this wall for a long time wondering about these people. Here are the occupations and causes of death that I wrote down.

Brewer. Died of edema of the lungs.
Rope-walker. Broken neck.
Tailor. Dysentery.
Workman. Ascites.
Sharpshooter. Gunshot wounds.
Cabin boy. Phithis.
Robber and murderer. Hanging.
Suicide. Unhappy love affair.
Soldier. Typhus.
Sailor. Died in Hospital of the Holy Spirit, Venice.*
Soldier. Suicide by gunshot wound of the heart, because of weariness of life.
Ship's apprentice. Cholera.
Maidservant. Puerperal sepsis.
Calvinist. Suicide by hanging.

*I wrote this down because I misread it at first. I thought he died of the Holy Spirit.

Lists, Part I: A 1941 Yearbook

I have come upon a bunch of things in list format, so the next few posts will be lists of things. Today's list is from a 1941 women's college yearbook. In the men's yearbook, what they put under the students' photos were names of fraternities and sports statistics. Beneath the women's . . . it gets weird. The women have been given descriptive phrases. These are the more notable ones that I scribbled down on scrap paper with a stolen pencil (I was "working" at the time):

Sunshine in a Scotch cap
Pixy with a golden heart
Wheeee!!!!
Coal black midnight with the smile of dawn
Cherub with a kick
Choreography for gracious living
Peter Pan lurks behind Mona Lisa
Good books and the sheen of pearls in the firelight
Oh, shades of Beelzebub!
Seven no trump, redoubled and made
Sophistication in curls
Ebullient exothermal reaction
Agreement is a sign of weakness
Potential gaiety
Efficiency in pink
Science cuts caper
Hot tomales and honey
Insouciance in a red dress
The case for psychology
Rembrandt's only rival
The Gamma Gamma from Walla Walla
"Horses! Horses! Horses!"
The serious approach with an intrusion of accuracy
Amiable inanities in pastel shades
Pegasus and pink elephants
Pixilated Pandora
"Confoosin' but amoosin'!"
Whimsey takes the stage
Dreamy eyes over a centrifuge
The last of the conservatives
The daguerrotype-girl steps out
Still waters with golden highlights
Dark lady with a typewriter
Formula for charm

It's like a group of bad poets took LSD and wrote down their hallucinations. ("Horses! Horses! Horses!" I've never seen anyone on LSD but that's what I imagine they're like.) I have no other explanation.

The Dandelion

I would like to talk to you about the Dandelion.



It is a restaurant in Philadelphia.



But it feels like an English pub. Except there's no smoking. And you have to tip.



We were seated in the dog-themed room, which was silly, and entertaining.



The dogs were so highly bred I nearly felt compelled to start using Received Pronunciation.



I had a marvelous salad, with lettuce big enough to rig up and sail to Italy with, and Historian, Esq. enjoyed his burger very much.

And then we got to dessert. Historian, Esq. said his rice pudding with peaches and cream was the best dessert he had ever consumed.



And I can tell you quite honestly that these hot-from-the-oven orange-flavored madeleines with warm dark chocolate dip are the most delicious thing I have ever put in my mouth, full stop. After I was done eating it, I seriously considered asking for a refill. This is why I bring cameras to restaurants. I WOULD NEVER WANT TO FORGET THE HOT ORANGE MADELEINES WITH THE DELICATE CRUST AND POWDERED SUGAR I TELL YOU I WOULD DIE FIRST.



If you are ever in Philadelphia, this is the place you must go. Liberty Bell Schmiberty Bell. Eat something at the Dandelion. It will be so good you'll want to take pictures of it.

Philadelphia Zoo

The Philadelphia Zoo, for everyone's information, does not have a capybara. Or at least that's what they want you to think. The truth is they do, but they keep it hidden away because the capybara is the pleasantest, politest, and wisest of all creatures. They keep it in a secret room because being a zookeeper is a hard job, and sometimes they need to go and spend an hour having tea with the capybara, submitting to it their dilemmas, and accepting its wisdom. And its cookies. They can't do that if it's out in its cage spreading its wisdom amongst the masses. The crowds would be enormous, and people would be angry when they took the capybara away for personal use. So they keep it a secret. It's unfortunate for capybara enthusiasts such as myself, but I understand. If I had access to a capybara, I would hog it, too. (Hahahahaha.)

What the Philadelphia Zoo does have, or did the day I went with Historian Esquire, is unusually active animals. Normally when I go to the zoo all the animals are sleeping behind a rock, as if they don't like people milling around and staring at them or something. But the animals at the Philly Zoo were awake and playful, and if they weren't, they at least had the decency to sleep publicly.

Let's start with this pygmy marmoset. This pygmy marmoset was very difficult to catch in focus.



This pygmy marmoset also appears to be very angry. The secret capybara would not approve, for the secret capybara knows that anger only makes you unhappy. Better to let it go, pygmy marmoset.

Sloths, on the other hand, never get angry. Sloths don't have that much ambition.



The secret capybara doesn't approve of this either, but it's decided to pick its battles.

Historian Esquire has a friend who works at the zoo, and she wandered around with us and told us interesting tidbits. For example, apparently nobody knows what giraffes use their little fuzzy horns for.



Historian Esquire's current theory is telepathy. The secret capybara can neither confirm nor deny this.

Now for some examples of public sleepers. First, the leopard:



Predators need not be fast all the time, says the secret capybara enigmatically.



This lion was sleeping in a row of lions all laid out on the grass right next to the window. It was extremely convenient.

This fellow, however, was well aware of the people on the other side of the glass. He ate some food with his back to us, and bounded around a little, and then came over and did a variety of poses.



After this he turned his back again and did an over-the-shoulder pose. It was very weird. Also, he might be a she. I have no idea.

I was perhaps most impressed by this jaguar which was up and about playing with its toys. Animals never play with their toys when you're in front of their cage! It was like The Miracle of the Zoo. (What would also be a miracle is if I could tell a jaguar apart from a leopard. This might be a leopard. The other one might be a jaguar. Rest assured they are both spotted cats of some kind. They may be the same cat. They may be the same animal, even. I am not sure.)



Hey hey.



We're the monkeys.

The polar bears are very old, and look it. The one in front has clearly just had enough.



Doesn't even get up for visitors, can't be bothered to control its tongue. Little does it know that it's a young whippersnapper compared to these turtles.



The oldest one is a female, born in 1928. She is 84. She had a bit of trouble eating her lettuce, but frankly, I have trouble eating lettuce, so I don't think that's to do with her age. The secret capybara says it's okay: everyone has trouble eating lettuce sometimes. I love the secret capybara.

My personal favorites were the kangaroos. First, because their family name is "Bouncepants." Every time I think about that, I laugh.



But second, they obliged us by hopping around on their giant feet, and then some of them boxed! It was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen! Actual boxing kangaroos! Magnificent. Just don't tell the secret capybara I said so. It's a pacifist, of course.

Honeoye Pirate Festival

I don't know why I bother celebrating the 4th of July when I could just wait for the Honeoye Pirate Festival. No matter how you celebrate the Fourth, I guarantee you that the parking at the festival is better, the corn-on-the-cob is better, the selection of pirate gear for sale is better, and the fireworks display is twice if not thrice as long. I mean, my butt hurt by the middle of it, and I was sitting on sand.

My crew and I arrived when it was still light, and had some dinner, and watched a woman do a demonstration with her hawk, who did not like the random booming coming from the water and basically refused to perform. I sided with the bird.



And then, when it got dark. The fireworks began.



It went on. And on. And on. I looked at my watch. It kept going. The moon rose. The moon set. The fireworks went on. The sun came up again. The fireworks continued.



All of the children were delighted, and continued to be delighted. The rest of us could only marvel at how much money that many fireworks would cost. Honestly, it was astonishing.



Three days later, when we were all deaf from the booming and blinded by flashing lights, it finally stopped, and we all staggered back to our cars and drove home, and made plans to come back next year because dude it is so awesome.

GCVM Agricultural Fair

I very nearly went to the Genesee Country Museum enough this year to justify buying a membership. Somehow I got on their mailing list, so I kept finding out about things I didn't want to miss, like the Agricultural Fair, which promised all kinds of silly period entertainment and an entire tent of goats. I forked over sixteen dollars before you could say Baa-ah-ah-ah-ah!

It turned out the goats were actually the least interesting part. I was not expecting to be so utterly delighted by everything I saw. When I got into the main square, it felt like a circus. Since I've been so many times lately, I knew that my first order of business was, necessarily, to stop by the general store and buy a maple sugar cookie. Once the cookie had been safely deposited in my stomach, I was able to roam about happily with my camera.

The first tent I came to was the Punch & Judy tent. Punch & Judy have always creeped me out, but I was betting on a child-friendly show, and I was correct. This is Punch doing battle not with his wife but with an alligator.



The woman who was interpreting the goings-on for the children was delightful, and the puppeteers were top notch. I thought it was great that they were even dressed in period clothing when they came out and took their bows.



The next tent really was a bit of a circus: there was a lady inside )who seemed to have some relationship with Italy), and who walked a loose-rope, and juggled flaming sticks, and cajoled us into giving her money. I liked her so much that I went back for her second show.







It was the perfect day for being outside in the fall: the leaves were changing and it was pleasantly cool and, of course, it smelled like woodsmoke.



Most of the buildings were either empty or closed, however.



Some with good reason.



This one (below) never seems to be open, but right after I took this picture, a girl walked by with her cow, as if she were taking for its morning constitutional. Which is why I love places like this.



Speaking of our bovine friends:



This bull had much to say, and vehemently.

While I was waiting around for some kind of demonstration, I caught this fellow using a corn peeler.



Corn peelers are hilarious. You get the crank going, stick the corn in the hole, and listen for a zzzzzzzt. Then the kernels drop from the bottom and the naked cob flies out the side in a markedly comical manner. I got to try it myself, and I'm telling you, farmers have it easy. This is the most fun ever.

The demonstration I was waiting for was the horse-powered thresher. I was less interested in the threshing than the horse-powering, which is just what it sounds like: a horse on a treadmill.



I've never seen an animal on a treadmill -- apparently, though, it used to be very common even with dogs. This horse seemed well aware of its rights and was not thrilled. Perhaps that's why it was so bad tempered. When it was in its pen, it looked perfectly friendly, but it was LYING.



This lying liar tried to bite me. TWICE. I suppose the second time was really my own fault.

To comfort myself, I headed over to see the baked goods. It turns out, though, that nineteenth-century food that's been sitting around for five hours often isn't very appealing. But I was impressed with this:



And this:



The highlight of the entire thing, curiously enough, was the vegetable tent. They had made nice beds of dirt to display the vegetables on, and they looked so handsome and colorful! I took pictures of almost all of them. After a while, the proprietors of the tent started looking at me funny.



But it was magic in there. MAGIC, I tell you.



Look at these carrots! Have you ever seen such beautiful carrots!



And these peppers! Even the leaves arranged themselves to put these peppers at an advantage! Nature bows to these peppers!



These tomatoes! Holy Moses, these tomatoes are gorgeous! I'd get wallpaper of this pattern!



The color! The delicate texture! If this isn't the finest rutabaga I've ever seen, I'll eat my hat. Or this rutabaga.



This leek. I mean. This is a divine leek.



I had a revelation when I got to this tomato. It spoke to me. It said, "Simon. This is a tomato speaking. Listen: you need to eat more vegetables." It was so remarkable I had to go back to the goat tent to get ahold of myself.



The goat told me I needed more hay in my diet, so now I don't know what to think.

By far the strangest part (even considering the talking tomato) was the exhibit of Harry Houdini paraphernalia. I saw some personal trinkets, some handcuffs, a wand. Some photos. They were shown to me by some descendants of his niece or goddaughter or something, who were peculiarly obsessed with him and could not have thought him to be a more important personage if he had been Winston Churchill. It was all very strange. I felt like I had come upon actual nineteenth-century hucksters, except that they were very sincere. It started to get colder and windier at that point, so I decided to call it a day without having my character analyzed scientifically through phrenology. I can only imagine what insights I missed.

Before I left, however, I did stop at the tent of curiosities, which had, and I am not kidding, gen-u-wine artifacts of American and world history, such as George Washington's cherry tree (which looked awfully fresh even for the time period we were supposed to be in), a glass container of tea from the Boston Tea Party, the Donner Party's kettle, a mummy, a piece of the Great Wall of China (which was a broken plate), and many things of that ilk. A corner of the tent was sectioned off; that was where they kept the Man Eating Chicken (Alive).



It was very shocking, I can tell you. Oh, the tearing of flesh!

The only thing that would have made this agricultural fair better was a butter sculpture. Other than that, I really couldn't ask for a more pleasant, amusing, informative, delicious, and light-hearted good time.

Transportation Slam

All the posts you've read in the past six weeks were written in the space of about five days, and I must say, I'm starting to feel like I'm doing very uninformed school reports on field trips. That's why, for the Transportation Museum, I am going to do a poem. It is a rough draft.



Our fair city once had a subway
And this car is all that's left



The outside is disastrous
And the inside looks bereft.



We took a ride on the trolley,
Which long ago was hopping,
Back when women needed to know
The hour for good shopping.



They ferried us in little cars
Out on the trolley tracks.
It was so hot in the open
We nearly had heart attacks.



The station was quaint and old;
Not much had changed within,



But the oil cans sat behind glass,



And the stationmaster was not in.



I wanted to push all the buttons,
And to tell the truth, I did,



And I also snapped a picture
of this adorable kid.



She was in the red caboose,
Which looked brand new to me, or



At least cleaner than this cooler,
(Secured by ADT).



The refrigeration car was pretty cool;
Please excuse the pun.


The sign says: "You will notice you are standing on a wood slat floor that keeps you up above the car's actual floor. This was done for air circulation. However, it was also necessary to clean the cars out of any perishable material that may have fallen below the slat floor. Therefore, my job is to hold up the slat floor which is made of the hinged panels which left up from the center toward the outer walls of the car. I slip between two of the slats and hold the panels up so the car can be cleaned out!"

If you think I'm really sorry,
I'll pull the other one.



Here's a chart of train parts
I'd happily hang on my wall,



And here's a shot of a car
Tinted with a gloomy green pall.



We got a bit overexcited
About switching the trolley pole.
The driver couldn't help but notice
And thought we were rather droll.



But the best part of the museum
For a person whose humor is dark
Were these safety signs on display
Which frankly I thought were a lark.











When next you go by the railway
Remember these signs and don't scoff,
Because if you so much as look at a train
Your leg will come right off.