Saturday, June 4

Sarah Vowell, charmingly weird little Goth-cum-history addict that she is, describes one of her vacations:

"Supposedly the fellow who swoops over to great me is the museum director, but he speaks in the hushed low voice of a funeral director. He warns me about the 'sensitive nature of our exhibits.'

"Please. I actually giggle when he tries to steel me for seeing the re-created 1920s embalming room, as if I'm not wearing Bela Lugosi hair clips; as if I didn't just buy a book for my nephew called Frankenstein and Dracula are Friends; as if I was never nicknamed Wednesday (as in Addams); as if in my eighth-grade English class, assigned to act out a scene from a biography, when all the other girls had chosen Queen Elizabeth or Anne Frank, I hadn't picked Al Capone and staged the St. Valentine's Day Massacre with toy machine guns and wadded-up red construction paper thrown everywhere to signify blood; as if I'm not here to see the replica of Abraham Lincoln's casket; as if I'm not the kind of person who would visit the freaking Museum of Funeral Customs in the first place."

--Sarah Vowell. Assassination Vacation, Ch. 1.

I wonder what she would think of the Museum of Purgatory?

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