Wow.  What a week.  In the history of, we’ve never had a week quite like it.

First, the Giants and Patriots both win in dramatic fashion to set up a rematch of the Super Bowl four years ago.  I know who I’m cheering for even if we don’t have David Tyree.

Second, we received not one, but two (!) requests from you, our great readers, for future posts — both were related to last week’s “naming” theme.  One, from an ol’  college roommate (and Pats fan) who expatriated from the east coast to a country far to the west called Los Angeles, was to detail the meanings behind some of those bizarre three-letter airport codes.  The second, from another fellow alum (football allegiance unknown), was to describe the meanings behind some of the more colorful town names out there, and in particular, Intercourse, PA.

We’ll tackle both of these requests this week.  And if you have a request of your own or a suggestion for a post, feel free to email me at matt [ at ] historicalness [ dot ] com.

But today I wanted to share a travel experience from this weekend which hopefully saves you from panicking next time you arrive at the airport only to realize you don’t have your driver’s license.

So it was that I found myself in the security line at Newark Airport without any photo ID.  I figured that they would automatically reject me from passing through.  But 45 minutes later, after getting to know 12 TSA agents, including bomb specialists who didn’t like the looks of my contact solution, I was waived on through to my gate.

More importantly, the process worked the same way getting home (actually, it was even easier — I didn’t have to deal with any extra security checks at all).  So I was back in NY to catch the Giants’ victory in its entirety.  What a week.