Sunday, February 19, 2012

words are like way-upons

Because I don't have several papers to write, jobs to apply for, and a Chinese visa to acquire in DC (*ahem*), today I decided to drive up to Philadelphia to visit a friend and the best museum ever, the Mutter Museum. (I am too lazy to figure out how to make an umlaut on here, but the former German student in me needs to point out that there should be an umlaut over the "u".) I also intended to eat a really good sandwich.

Disturbingly Informative.

The Mutter is dedicated to the history of medicine, with a particular focus on abnormalities, aka Fucked Up Shit. There are casts of faces with giant growths on them, the real corpse of a lady who turned to soap, sections of Albert Einstein's brain, two walls of shelves with deformed fetuses in fomaldehyde-filled jars, and so much more! What I was most excited to see, however, was the megacolon.

You are not supposed to take pictures at the Mutter, but I felt it was worth getting thrown out to take one of the megacolon, even though they sell a better picture in postcard form (which I bought for 40 cents). This poor guy was born with a nervous system abnormality which rendered his colon unable to, well, do its normal functions, and stuff accumulated, and it grew to unfathomable proportions.

I've had an ongoing list of heavy metal band names related to medical terminology. My current faves are Toxic Megacolon, Tenacious Sputum, Weepy Scrotum, and Anasarca.

The other highlight of the visit was getting hit on while looking at the aforementioned shelves of deformed fetuses. While that would be a meet-cute if ever there was one, I responded kindly but did not engage. When he said he wouldn't be able to eat again for a while, I refrained from telling him that I was about to go eat a giant sandwich.

Which brings me to the sandwich! I am usually opposed to waiting in line for anything, unless it's something I've bought a ticket for, but my friend Ellen said this one sandwich at Tommy DiNic's at Reading Market (which, for the Baltimore folks, is the same idea as Lexington Market, minus the crackheads) was "the best sandwich in the world," and, as a long-time sandwich lover, I felt I owed it to myself to have one.

The line was at least 30 people deep, but it moved pretty quickly, and soon I was rewarded with roast pork, sharp provolone, and broccoli rabe on perfectly absorbent Italian bread.

My poor friend was sick and just got a matzoh ball soup :(

Next time (AND THERE WILL BE A NEXT TIME), I think I'd hold the cheese, because, while I love cheese (duh), this was real-deal provolone, not the tasteless plasticky stuff, and the sharpness overpowered the pork. And god I love pork.

My day was concluded with a drive down I-95 in my Zipcar. I rarely drive, so when I do I play the radio real loud and it is such a treat. In just 15 minutes, I heard Incubus, Nickleback, and the theme song from The Hills. And then there were non-guilty pleasures like T-Rex and Led Zeppelin. And then, while I entered suburban Baltimore at dusk, the best song of them all came on. Life is alright sometimes.


Liz said...

Your posts make me

Miriam said...

"When he said he wouldn't be able to eat again for a while, I refrained from telling him that I was about to go eat a giant sandwich."

You are my hero.