Some people celebrate Labor Day with hot dogs and beer. Being the type of person I am, it was celebrated with something of a momento mori trip to Philadelphia.

We started off at the glorious Mütter Museum, which is an offshoot of the College of Physicians in Philadelphia. If you've never heard of it, it's a collection of examples of medical oddities-bones and dried parts, photographs and wax models. Most of it is a throw back to days when collecting skulls was a gentlemanly hobby, and obtaining medical samples smacked more of grave robbing than anything else. For example, they had a copy of the Irish Giant, Charles Byrne's, death mask and made mention of John Hunter obtaining his body for dissection after death. They didn't go into the details (this actually, is a less lurid description than some I've read, which had Charles actually hunted and stalked prior to dying by anatomists hell-bent on being the first there and calling "dibs" on the poor guy's bones)

The museum doesn't allow pictures, so forgive me for borrowing some from online to give a general idea. It seems most others have snuck pictures, so the quality I'm finding is questionable, at best. Almost the whole place is outfitted with hundred year old cabinets with brass pulls and warped glass. The two newer exhibits seem out of place and just don't hold your interest in comparison. Photography and germs? Give me some good old fashioned tumors in jars.

Ah, and you'll be so inundated with bits and pieces of previously living things. A few semesters of biology/anatomy/physiology will do you well here, as the amount of information they give you varies greatly from display to display. One shelf will have a lengthy write up on corrugated plastic that outlines everything from the biography of the patient to the prognosis to the treatment. The next shelf will just have some withered thing only annotated with a faded scrap of paper and one or two Latin words inscribed by some long dead hand. You either pass over those displays, or crane your neck wondering what is it? Where did it come from? Jesus, have they found a cure for that yet?

Actually, after a while, you become a little numb to the ailments you see. Unlike the Bodies exhibit, where the focus is on anatomy and the human condition as a whole, this museum is more about the limits of what can go wrong. When you turn a corner from an exhibit featuring horribly deformed figures and see a wax limb with a commonplace ailment like, say, arthritis, it's almost a shock. (Or, alternatively, you feel like the wax form is unduly complaining compared to the plight of it's neighbors). The fact that you're staring at a two headed baby in a jar and it's almost par for the day is unnerving. I left feeling strangely healthy. Yes, stuff is wrong with me, but it's not that bad, and at least it doesn't show.

I've read up on most of the major exhibits--the soap lady, the conjoined twins display, the giant colon (more giant than expected), etc, but I still found a lot of little things to intrigue me. I loved the skull collection. You could look at each one and tell the difference between it and the face next to it. The death and religion of each was posted, along with sometimes hysterical brief observations ("short skull, small face"). There was a small historical forensic exhibit at the entrance, and they had two entire doctors offices set up. I decided, hygienic or no, I would respect a doctor behind a mahogany desk long before I would one behind a melamine counter.

The best part is the other guests-no matter what you pigeon hole the average guest of the Mutter as being, you're wrong. There were austere-looking old academics and trendy hipsters, there were students and couples, there were even whole families bringing along the kiddies. (Mommy, what's that?) Some looked nauseous, some looked bored, some were interested. One woman kept breaking into tears. I guarantee you couldn't get this crowd in the same room otherwise.

Apparently, this sort of museum was historically popular with Victorian gentlemen, and their visits had the reaction of sparking a hypochondriac reaction. (Remember, this is the age when common knowledge stated syphilis could be cured by sex with a virgin. Probably the wax sculptures of horrible facial scarring that stated otherwise sent the poor men into fits in their too tight waistcoats) There actually used to be doctors on hand to check you out afterwards, to give you a clean bill of health from all the horrors they had just willingly toured. Anymore, you sort of check off from a list all the diseases you saw that can now be easily cured, and feel relieved at the lengths we've made. Then, you think of the small percentage of people who actually have access to those lengths, and the horror sort of re dawns.

Afterwards, we headed to the Eastern State Pennitentiary, but I'll save that (and the fabulous accompanying photos) for another post.