Today is International Hug a Medievalist Day. Do I really want to hug a medievalist?, you wonder. Yes! you do. Medievalists are the best kind of historian, in my opinion (which is why I majored in medieval history in college): they are always very interested in the body, the bawdy, and the beautiful, by which I mean they have a profound interest in the nitty-gritty of Western culture—in its material composition and the spiritual and intellectual urges that give rise to it. Perhaps because they delight in details and see worlds within them, medievalists are uniformly possessed of an excellent if slightly juvenile sense of humor, which becomes more pronounced when they drink and their inherent social awkwardness wears off. They drink most nights, usually at dimly lit pubs or sitting in tight clusters on the floors of grad-student apartments, and they prefer to drink red wine or ale. The caveat to this is that at least once a year, in every medievalist cluster, someone has the idea of hosting a medieval-themed party, at which they serve a) mulled wine b) mincemeat pies and c) some multi-animal mishmash like turducken. If you are very unfortunate, someone will attempt rabbit stew with cinnamon and mace, which no one will eat. But such comical failures are part and parcel of the medievalist lifestyle.

No doubt I’ve convinced you of the hug-worthiness of medievalists, but how, you wonder, do you hug a medievalist if you don’t know any? You go online: International Hug a Medievalist Day is a Facebook concoction. So far, there are 3,721 attendees on the invite page (including me), and basically everyone is posting comments with digital hugs in them + also of course some fine medievalist humor. For instance, one Franko Hashiguchi has left the following inscrutable joke:

What do Scandanavian Fisherman play to accompany their odes to Odin? The Lutefisk!

Franko, my dear, I’ve really no idea what that means, but it does make me want to hug you.