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A New Life

We put an offer on a house in Philadelphia today. I don't want to say much about it here yet, for fear of jinxing it, but we're very excited.

I'm really glad I came out for this little house-hunting trip prior to the move (especially as it ended in us making an offer), but now that I'm here, I wish I could stay. I know that there's a bunch of stuff yet to be done in California, and Annie to retrieve, but I was just starting to get used to the idea of living in Philly. At first it felt like some weird vacation, but now I get it: this is home.

At the same time, I am eager to return to California because I miss Annie terribly and am nervous that *she* is nervous. She didn't seem to cope well at all with my last week at work, which involved me leaving the house between 8 and 9 each morning and not returning until between 10pm and 1am, and now I've abandoned her again. I have a feeling she's not going to be too excited about me returning to take her to the vet on Monday, and then on a scary plane ride on Saturday... Hopefully she'll be able to adapt to the apartment, and then again to the new house (which, if we get it, we'll probably move into in November).

It is with these mixed emotions—joy, excitement, worry, confusion—sore feet, and a strong desire for sleep that I box up my old life and unpack my new one. I hope it all works out.

[Originally posted at lori-and-al.com.]

Halloween Won't Be the Same This Year

I am very excited that we've finally found a house in Philly, but I'm a bit bummed that we won't be moving in until late November or December. Why? Because we won't have a place to decorate for Halloween, of course!

I've set aside our orange napkins with the black cats on them so that we can celebrate Halloween inside the apartment, but there won't be much to make the exterior very scary. I imagine we'll get a few trick-or-treaters anyway, since the Ben Franklin House is a huge apartment building, but there will be nowhere to put our tombstones or to display our blacklight.

Now that I think of it, it'll probably be a bit hard to decorate our new house next year, too—since it's a city townhouse, it has no yard in which to hang all our scary stuff. There's a little garden area next to the front steps, though, which might make a good spot for our tombstones. Might look very Haunted Mansion. We could probably put the black light behind the glass block that backs the little garden, too... oooh, that would give the tombstones an eerie glow!

See how I relish this stuff? Halloween is my favorite holiday (followed closely by Christmas and Valentine's Day), and for the past two years—the first that I've had a house from which to hand out candy—I've kept an all hallows eve blog to chronicle our visitors and their candy choices. I don't know if it'll be worthwhile to do it again this year, since I'll have no windows through which to observe the kids' approach and to inspect their costumes. Maybe we'll invest in a baby gate (to keep Annie inside) and prop the apartment door open. That way, we'll be able to decorate the inside and give the kids something to look at while we admire their costumes. Hmm, that really could work... maybe I should set aside the Halloween decorations before the packers come tomorrow morning!

Hello Youse Guys!

Greetings from the Borders at Chestnut and Broad in Philadelphia, where I've stopped to check e-mail and upload a couple about town II photos. (Speaking of photos, one of my photos of some interesting urban textures I noticed at the San Carlos Caltrain station was posted on Lalaland on Saturday. Fitting, as it was our last day in California!)

Al, Annie, and I all survived the move intact, though for Annie especially it was a bit stressful. She'd never been on a plane before, so there were all kinds of crazy new noises to contend with... not to mention the extra security screening she and I were subjected to at SFO. They actually needed to *manually search Annie*, even though I'd carried her through the metal detector. What did they think, that I'd strapped plastic explosives to her belly? (Of course I didn't say that to the inspector, or I would have been led away in cuffs I'm sure.)

Anyway, Annie seems to have adapted to the apartment quite well, and I'm just starting to develop a routine. (Well, I'll wait until the end of the week to determine how "routine" it is.) So far I've got more things to do than I can fit in a day. How did I ever find time to work before?

One Unwired Day

I totally forgot that today was a free wireless day at T-Mobile hotspots around the country, so I signed off after my usual hour this morning. I'll have to go back down to Borders to post this—and then spend the afternoon surfing the web. :)

I was going to write about how I was a bit sad that my scrapbooking materials weren't here yet, because if they were, I'd spend the day scrapbooking. "Even though it's a nice day out?" said Al when I mentioned it to him. Yes, it's true I don't like to waste nice days in Philadelphia (they're scarcer than in Mountain View), but I've done a LOT of exploring on foot over the past three days, and it would be nice to have a day to sit still and work on projects. Given that it's a free wireless day, however, I suppose I should be glad that my materials won't arrive until tomorrow. There's nothing to stop me now from spending all day online. Bwahahahaha! (Well, lack of battery power might; I don't like to drag around the heavy A/C pack.)

Before I realized it was free wireless day, I was thinking about going down to the park I found at 3rd and Chestnut and sitting on a bench to read. I might still do that, actually. I can always duck into the Starbucks when the predicted afternoon rain arrives. I wish I could check ahead of time whether the Starbucks on 3rd has wireless... but of course I'm not online now. It really is difficult to live without both Internet access and a phone book (the apartment has neither). Al and I use the web to look up everything; only when a business doesn't seem to have a site and Bigbook and Google searches have failed us do we resort to the phone book. I was talking to my mom on the phone the other day, and she said, "did you get my e-mail about X?" I said, "oh, I only get to check e-mail once a day now (if I'm lucky), because I have to go down to the Borders to do it. I won't be able to respond until tomorrow, sorry." She replied, "Don't be sorry! This is how most people deal with e-mail: they check once a day or once every other day." You mean other people don't check mail every 5 minutes, and respond every hour or so? Really? Huh.

This Had Better Be (Fat) Free

I checked online, and sure enough, the Starbucks at which I am sitting (at 1201 Market Street in Philadelphia) is participating in One Unwired Day. I can't find any catches or caveats, so theoretically all this wonderful, glorious Internet time—which I have been spending chatting with my former boss and my husband, reading the New York Times online, and catching up with some of my favorite blogs—has been wonderfully, gloriously free.

Lest you think that I have chosen the hermetically-sealed, air-conditioned environs of this Starbucks over the sunny, breezy day on offer outside, I did spend at least an hour reading (and trying to keep from dozing off) in the park at 3rd and Chestnut. If I'd only had a blanket to stretch out on in the grass, I would have stayed longer. I also walked around Old City and enjoyed the most delicious fat-free soft-serve chocolate ice cream cone I've ever had (from CremaLita on Chestnut; apparently the shop just opened today). It didn't taste fat-free at all. How did they do that?

Get Out Your Sweaters!

In between all the football games and season premiers yesterday, the local news affliates kept telling us that the temperatures would be dropping. "It's time to get out your sweaters, folks! Details at 11!" I purposely watched the 11 o'clock news to find out just HOW COLD it was going to get. I, for one, have been dying for fall to get here. Finally, here was some news of its arrival. Sweater weather! Yippee!

So how cold is cold to the Philadelphia weather folks? Around 11:18pm last night, I found out. It's... 65 degrees fahrenheit. (And on Thursday, we're going to get all the way down to 62!) I was so disappointed. 65 is a WARM day in San Francisco. "You might want to dress in layers," said our weather woman. Lady, layers have been my LIFE these last 7 years. I come from the land of microclimates, the place where the evening news reports highs of "60s at the ocean, 90s inland," where driving down from Tahoe in the summer means a temperature swing from 80 as you leave Truckee to 100 in Vacaville to 55 as you cross the Bay Bridge. I couldn't help it: as I listened to the weather report, I had to laugh. 65 is cold! Ha ha!

"Don't mock the weather woman!" Al yelled from the bathroom. "Why not?" said I. "She thinks 65 is cold! She's suggesting I wear layers on Thursday, when it dips to 62! I thought for sure on the east coast cold would mean COLD."

"You're tempting fate," replied Al. "She's going to have her revenge in January, when the definition of cold will be revised to something horrific. If you mock her now, we'll be in trouble later." He's probably right; I guess 65 feels "cold" if you've had nothing below 75 (and many weeks above 90) for months on end. "Cold" here really means "10 degrees colder than yesterday." On the other side of winter, 50 will be lauded as a temperature at which you can run around outside without a coat, and 65 will be described as downright balmy.

In the meantime, I'll be tempting fate and continuing to laugh at the weather woman. And waiting for the day when I'll be able to wear a sweater without sweating.

Let it Snow!

While walking to the K-Mart at lunch on Tuesday I experienced a snow squall. From the description of lake-effect snow on the Weather Channel that morning, I'd have sworn that's what it was—except that we don't live near the Great Lakes. Is it possible it was river-effect snow, since we live between the Schuylkill and Delaware rivers?

In any case, that little squall—bounded on both sides by sunshine—was only an appetizer. It's now snowing for real outside. The forecast for today through Sunday is "wintry mix and wind". There's no mixing right now, though: All I see is giant, swirling, coming-down-like-crazy snowflakes. Judging from the fact that they occasionally seem to be falling sideways, I'd say the wind part was right.

I have a workout to complete, a bathroom to paint, a tree to decorate, and Christmas cards to write, but there's no way I'm not going out in this. It better still be snowing by the time I get all my outerwear on; walking to the Starbucks in the snow is the perfect way to get in the Christmas spirit, I'd say. Today might be the day I finally splurge on a Peppermint Mocha.

At Home in Philadelphia

On the day before we moved into our new house (aka My Sister's Birthday), I started compiling a list of the Top 10 Things That Will Take Some Getting Used to About Philly. I only ended up with six items; I figured that I'd come up with the remaining four over the next few days or weeks. A funny thing happened on the way to number ten, however: Philly started to grow on me.

It's partly because I *am* getting used to it, partly because I'm starting to find some good restaurants and favorite haunts, and partly because I'm staring to look at Philly as "my town" rather than eyeing it with the skepticism I usually reserve for public toilet seats. In order to put this newfound appreciation for Philly in perspective, here's my original list of six items, which for the most part still apply:

1. The honking. People honk at the drop of a hat here. (And at the change of a light: There's a 1-2 second delay between when the cross street's light turns red and yours turns green. People honk as soon as the cross street's light turns red. If they're first in line, they just go, often getting to the other side of the intersection before the light even turns green.)
2. The lack-of-service attitude. If you ask anyone behind a counter (or a badge) what's the first word that comes to mind when you say "service," I bet they'd respond, "huh?"
3. They salty food. There *are* other seasonings, you know. And kick it up a notch, for pete's sake!
4. The need to assert your rights as a pedestrian, as loudly and aggressively as you can, to avoid being mowed down (though you WILL get honked at regardless—see item 1).
5. The accent.
6. The smokers. I know, I know: I moved here from California, a state with a reputation for health (among other things), where there's no smoking in restaurants or bars. It's not so much the smoking in bars that's surprising here; it's the smokers on the street. These people aren't smoking to look cool—in fact, they look anything but, with cigarettes protruding from pursed lips or slack jaws as they drive, stand in line at the cheesesteak cart, or shuffle down the street. They're smoking because they have to, and they're EVERYWHERE. I find myself running to get in front of the smokers, so I don't have to walk in their exhaust trails.

And herewith, a list of things that make me feel at home in Philadelphia, mixed with recent discoveries that give me hope for the future:

1. You *can* get good Thai food here; I had some last night at Erawan (23rd & Sansom). When the waiter asked how spicy I would like my red curry shrimp, I replied, "I can take more spiciness than the average Philadelphian, but I'm not Thai." He replied, "medium spicy, then." I'm pleased to report that "medium spicy" was measured on the Thai scale, not the Philadelphia one; the dish was right at the limit of my spiciness tolerance, and not too salty.
2. I've found an allergist and an endocrinologist, which means I'm no longer living on borrowed time (and dwindling prescriptions). Next on the list: a good dentist.
3. Everything except the Home Depot is in walking distance (and most trips to Home Depot require a car to lug back the lumber and paint anyway). I can walk to my doctors' offices, the bank, the post office, the drugstore, the bakery, Whole Foods, Starbucks, K-Mart, Lord & Taylor, and a whole lot of non-chain restaurants and shops. On Saturday, Al and I walked around with no particular destination, just because we could—and there was a lot more to see than there would have been in Mountain View.
4. There's a Dmitri's at 23rd & Pine! Several people (including a culinary connoisseur friend) have recommended this restaurant to us, but we've never been because it's all the way over at 3rd & Catherine. Well, on our "aimless" walk on Saturday, we discovered that there's a Dmitri's at our end of town as well. We can't wait to try it out.
5. There's an ice rink 15 minutes away in Pennsauken, NJ that has Friday-night pickup hockey, and the University of Pennsylvania Class of 1923 Ice Rink, which has open skating sessions just about daily, is 10 blocks away.
6. We can take the subway to see Flyers and Phantoms games. No waiting in line for $13 parking, and no waiting in a longer line to get the hell back on the highway.
7. The end of the kitchen remodel is in sight, which means we'll really feel like we're living in our new house (not just camping in it).
8. Along the same lines, we finally settled on a new couch. It'll be here January 15!
9. The flood of mail addressed to the former occupants of our address has slowed to a mere trickle.
10. We've had visits from three friends, and from my sister and her kids. I wish we'd known about the Dmitri's on Pine when the friends came, but we found (and re-visited) a yummy Italian place called Bronzino on 17th at Rittenhouse, and we got to visit some of Philly's historical sites with the kids. (Funny how when you live in a city, you never really check out its tourist attractions unless someone from out of town comes to visit.) The yummy Italian food made me realize that instead of looking for California's specialties (Mexican and Asian-of-every-persuasion), we should learn to appreciate the excellent Greek and Italian places here. And running around town with the kids made me see Philadelphia as a more-activities-than-you-can-possibly-try-in-one-day kind of place. J and M have already made a list of all the things they want to do next time they come, and they've requested an overnight stay.

From 53 to 35

Advice

I was out walking and taking photos yesterday, and as I passed through Washington Square, a tiny old woman asked if she could take my arm as we crossed the street. In the block and a half that we walked together, she told me about her Parkinson's (incurable), the strangers who clean her house and do her shopping (because all her friends and relatives have died), and all the doctor's visits she'd had in the past week ("if I didn't have Parkinson's, I'd have something else by now"). Her advice to me: "Don't live too long."

Down, But Not Out

I haven't felt many strong urges to update this site lately (except during the Presidential press conference the other night); mostly I've been writing for myself, not for public consumption. I'm still recovering from a nasty bout of bronchitis, and it's left me a bit tired and listless.

The good news is that after a week of rain, spring has finally sprung in Philadelphia. I've managed to get out of the house and walk a bit over the past few days, and yesterday I re-potted our tomato, pepper, and swiss chard sprouts (I grew them from seed). I really should go to Home Depot today and get some more soil so I can get the rest of the sprouts out into the 80° sunshine, but the Red Sox are playing the Yankees on ESPN-HD, and I'm expecting a UPS delivery this afternoon.

On Wednesday I'm planning to drive up to Hunter, NY to see my grandmother, and this weekend my in-laws will be visiting us for the first time in Philadelphia. I'm still not sure how I'm going to deal with this flurry of human interaction, after being quiet and cocooned for the last couple weeks...

A Philadelphia Story

I just related this story to Al over the phone, and he remarked that it was a good Philly story, so I decided to repeat it here. Two things are necessary to know before I start my story: (1) We live in a relatively safe neighborhood in Center City, but we assumed that the house came with an alarm system and the sliding glass door to the deck had a broom handle wedged into it for a reason (namely, security). Al usually locks the front door when he leaves in the morning, and I usually lock it when I come and go during the day. (2) Our TV is on the fritz AGAIN, and the TV repair guys were here from about 1:30 to 2pm today. The lead guy brought my claim ticket up to where I was working on the second floor when they were done; I didn't see them out.

OK, so now the story: After I finished up what I was doing on the 2nd floor, I went down to the living room to look out at the tomato plants to see how they were doing. They didn't look like they needed watering just yet, and some of them were growing really big. I started to wonder when we might get our first tomatoes, so I lifted the broom handle out of the sliding glass door track and stood it on end, slid open the door, closed it behind me, and went out on the deck to check the seed packets for harvest dates. As I grabbed the first seed packet, I heard a clunk.

I walked back to the door, where I could no longer see the broom handle standing up. I tried the door, which didn't budge. "Oh, FUCK!" I said, rather loudly. Yep, the broom handle had fallen... right back into its burglar-proof position in the door track. "I can't believe I just did that! Fuck, fuck, fuck! How could I be so stupid?"

"Fuck!"

Just then I heard a man's voice say, "Did you lock yourself out?" I looked across the alley that our deck overhangs, and spotted him in a window above me: cigarette in hand, bandana around head. One of the guys working on renovating the flat behind us. "Yeah," I said. "Do you have your keys?" he said. "No, but keys aren't the problem. There's a bar that keeps the door from being opened, and it fell back into position when I came out." He thought about this for a second, while I looked over the railing at my options. Too far to jump.

"Do you know what time it is?" I asked him. "No, but I'll get it for you," he replied. He was gone for a few seconds, then returned to report that it was 2:20. "Well, shit," I said. "My husband won't be home for three hours, and it's too far to jump." He kind of chuckled, ruefully rather than nastily, I thought, and said, "that's a long time to wait." I was on the verge of asking him if he had a cell phone with which to call Al when an idea occurred to me. "The front door might be unlocked."

"Do you want me to go around and check?" he asked, stubbing out his cigarette. I said sure, if he didn't mind. "No problem," he said. "What's the number?" I gave him our house number, and he disappeared from the window. For the next 60 seconds, I prayed that the TV guys hadn't turned the lock on the door handle on their way out, which they've done before, and that the construction guy wasn't a murderer or a rapist in his off hours. I barely had time to get all my praying done before I saw my bandana-clad rescuer inside, trying to open the door. I pointed at the broom handle, which he lifted. The door slid back easily. "THANKS!" I said. "No problem," he said again. "Good thing you heard me swearing out there!" He smiled and said it was hard to miss. I thanked him again, and he dashed out. This time I followed and locked the door.

I went back to look out the sliding glass door again, and saw him up by the window, back at work. Indeed, it would have been hard not to hear me swearing. It's times like these that I'm glad I live in a city, that the view from our back deck is the side of a building, that said building is being renovated, and that occasionally, you can actually feel the brotherly love. Dudes, you can block my driveway with your truck any time.

Celebrity in the Hood

My husband is no fan of blogs, blogging, or bloggers. He loves me, of course, but he tries to forget that I blog. Despite this aversion to blogging—and because of the connection I feel to certain bloggers and their chosen subjects, and my penchant for telling him what I read that day—he knows who Mightygirl, Defective Yeti, Chez Miscarriage Woman, and Rittenhouse Guy are.

Ladies and gentlemen, Rittenhouse Guy has moved into the neighborhood. He's literally right around the corner from us. There is a possibility of coffee in our future. I am petrified.

I am petrified of being boring. Of being ill-informed, ill-read, ill-prepared to discuss current events. Of being far more interesting on my website (ha!) than I am in person. Of being judged, as much for what I have as for what I lack. I think this (and the fact that it usually takes a Herculean effort to drag me out of the house for any social event) is what kept me from going to more Girls' Brunch events when I lived in the Bay Area. A Girls' Brunch book-swap/brunch is where I met Maggie, though she probably doesn't remember me; I also met a bunch of other cool women who happen to have blogs at that and another GB event, but instead of really bonding with these women and developing real-life friendships, I felt like the least-cool person in the room both times and just sort of slunk away.

So, I am petrified. I'm looking forward to meeting Rittenhouse Guy, of course, since he's the source of most of my Philadelphia knowledge (I started reading his blog in preparation for the move), but I also harbor a secret wish to remain anonymous behind my keyboard. Given that he's likely to be out on his front steps smoking a cigarette someday as I pass on my way to the library or to Whole Foods, a meeting seems inevitable. I just hope he doesn't think I'm a dork.

My husband, meanwhile, is a little unnerved. The only thing that could possibly be weirder is if dooce moved in next door.

Uniquely Qualified to Judge

I've decided to start reviewing bathrooms around Philadelphia (and probably further afield, if we travel in the next three months), mainly because I've been seeing so many of them lately, and I've noticed that I review them mentally anyway. Since I'm starting a new category for these reviews, and it's conceivable that a new reader could happen upon it without having read any of my other posts, let me explain what makes me uniquely qualified to judge public restrooms in the city I live in: I'm pregnant. I'm nearing the end of the second trimester, and at this point I'm lucky to be able to make it 10 blocks between bathroom visits. I certainly have to go before leaving the house, and again upon reaching my destination (if not en route as well). I imagine that by the ninth month, I'll be down to three blocks at most; my husband and I are already planning our nightly walking routes accordingly. Even before I got pregnant, however, I knew about several of these spots—mainly because I often take long walks around the city.

Before I start reviewing, I want to say that I appreciate that these bathrooms are available to me at all; I've learned over the years how to find a bathroom in New York City when necessary, but it's still much easier to find one here in Philly. My bladder thanks you, providers of public (or semi-public) facilities in the City of Brotherly Love. (Btw, for those who don't yet know how to find a bathroom in New York City, I've got one word for you: Hotels.)

I've got a backlog of bathrooms in my brain (and obviously, a penchant for alliteration, but that's another topic...), but I don't know how many I'll be able to stay awake to review tonight. Possibly only one. :)

Standing O Bar
Location: Corner of Broad & Locust, inside the Doubletree Hotel
Shortest route to restroom: Enter on Locust, walk straight back past the bar; bathrooms are in the hallway.
Ease of access: Good. I've noticed the staff watching me walk back to the bathroom single-mindedly, but no one's ever said a word.
Quality of facilities: Average. The women's room has only two stalls (now that I'm pregnant, I have to use the wheelchair-accessible one because I can barely clear the belly when I shut the door in the other one) in a fairly cramped space, and the cigarette smoke tends to drift in from the bar (either under the door or through the ventilation system, I'm not sure which). However, there's usually soap in at least one dispenser, seat covers in the stalls, actual paper towels (I'm not a fan of dryers), and, most amazingly, two-ply toilet paper. Fairly soft two-ply toilet paper, especially for a commercial establishment.

Sheraton Rittenhouse Square
Location: Corner of 18th & Locust, on the east side of the Square
Shortest route to restroom: Enter on Locust, via the door next to Potcheen (one of the hotel's two restaurants). NB: This door is often locked in the evenings; in this case, enter through the main hotel entrance at the corner of 18th and Locust, pass the reservations desk, and walk straight back until you see a hallway (up two or three steps) to your right. The bathrooms are in this hallway.
Ease of access: Good. I had to ask the location of the restrooms on my first visit, and I was directed pleasantly. Access is very good indeed if you can enter on Locust.
Quality of facilities: Excellent. The women's room is large (at least 6 stalls, maybe more—I'll update this post later with the actual count), with a lovely sink area and comfy chairs if you need a rest or a place to apply a bandage to a blister; the stalls are standard size and have hooks for bags. As for paper products, there are seat covers, facial tissues (aka Kleenex), and a good supply of paper towels. The toilet paper is standard large roll commercial grade.

Philadelphia Marriott Downtown
Location: 1201 Market Street
Shortest route to restroom: From Market Street, enter through revolving door and walk counter-clockwise (i.e., to the right) around the rotunda. Pass the restaurant and lobby cafe, and look for a hallway on your right past the potted palm (it's adjacent to a seating area and across from the reservations desk). From Filbert Street, the hallway is on the left (enter at either end of the seating area across from the reservations desk).
Ease of access: Excellent. This is a busy downtown hotel with lots of natural foot traffic. Despite the posted signs that "restrooms are for hotel patrons only," no one will notice or mind if you use the facilities.
Quality of facilities: Good. I think there are four stalls in the women's room, all of average size. They're not in great shape (some are missing hooks, and the in-stall receptacle shared by two of them has been mangled, but the location and accessibility of this restroom can't be beat (it wins hands down over the lines at the entirely-too-small women's room in the adjacent Reading Terminal Market), so I'm not complaining. The toilet paper is standard small roll commercial grade (each stall has several rolls available), seat covers are provided, and the sink area has a nice granite countertop, soap in at least one dispenser, and thick paper towels as well as a dryer. There's also a full-length mirror in which to make sure your skirt is straight or your belly isn't hanging out as you exit.

Is The Septic System Really That Feeble?

Another bathroom review, as observed on two recent visits to Strawbridge's.

Strawbridge's Department Store
Location: 801 Market Street
Shortest route to restroom: Take the elevator to the 4th floor and turn toward women's shoes. Turn left in the shoe department and follow the aisle to the end. Women's room is on your left.
Ease of access: Good. No one ever looks askance at you for using a department store bathroom, so no need to sneak in. However, the location is a bit tucked away.
Quality of facilities: Weird. There are 80 zillion stalls, far more than will ever be used at one time, especially in a somewhat-past-its-prime department store. The toilet paper is the thinnest I have ever seen in my life—it's literally more transparent than tracing paper—which would be bad enough when it comes to keeping your hands dry, but it's also virtually useless as a substitute for a seat cover (there aren't any here). If it's a warm day, you're bound to be sweating, so in addition to providing no protection from the germs and spritz of your predecessor, the ultrathin tissue is guaranteed to stick to your skin—and be next to impossible to peel off. Expect to be picking bits of toilet paper off you later in the day, or to be squatting as best you can over the seat (PLEASE be neat and wipe up if you spritz!). The water faucets are difficult to work; you have to press down *very* firmly—and hold down—to maintain a flow, which means washing one hand at a time. On the plus side, the flush mechanism for the toilets is designed to be foot operated (no leaning over the bowl), the few soap dispensers that aren't broken usually have soap in them, and there are actual paper towels rather than dryers.

Photo Walk

I'm starting to feel sluggish and slug-like these days, kinda like I did during the first trimester—I want to exercise so I don't feel like such a blob, but my energy level is pretty low.

Yesterday I resolved to go out for a long walk first thing in the morning, before my energy dropped off to the point where I could barely get up the stairs or lace up my shoes. Since I haven't been on a photography trek in a long time, I brought my Canon 10-D with me to get some about town snaps. (I also figured that this would force me to rebuild the about town II blog, which has been languishing in limbo ever since the database got corrupted a few months ago.) I got a few nice photos, which I'm in the process of posting over at about town II as we speak.

It was nice to get out in the fresh, fall-tinged air, though I ended up walking so far afield (and at times at such a brisk pace) that I kind of overtaxed myself. By the time I got within about six blocks of home, I was shaking. I'm fine now, despite almost being run over at 21st and Market by an idiot on a bicycle who (a) WAS GOING THE WRONG WAY, (b) RAN A RED LIGHT, and (c) MADE NO ATTEMPT TO LOOK OUT FOR PEDESTRIANS. Hello?!? You're riding RIGHT AT a pregnant woman, you fucking moron! I screamed "JESUS! YOU'RE GOING THE **WRONG WAY**!!" at him when I recovered my wits, and incredibly, he turned and shrugged.

I'm getting really fucking sick of bicycle owners (decidedly *not* cylcists) who can't seem to observe the simplest of traffic laws (i.e., stopping at red lights, going the right way down one-way streets or riding on the proper side of the road on two-way streets, riding in the road instead of on the sidewalk) much less common courtesy. Do the cops in Philly really think that these people aren't worth ticketing?

There's Hope for Reforming the Idiots on Bikes

I was complaining yesterday about the seeming obliviousness of the city to idiots on bicycles—the fuckers who can't seem to obey simple traffic laws—but today I have hope. On the way back from our pre-natal visit this morning, we saw an electronic sign in the road adjacent to the Penn Bookstore. It read:

BIKES 
Use Bike Lane
Ride With Traffic
Violators Will Be Fined

Alright Philly! (Or UPenn, at least. :)

Food Finds

I wanted to mention a couple tasty items I've come across in the past few months and that I've enjoyed again recently.

The rootbeer floats at Taylor's Automatic Refresher in the Ferry Building in San Francisco are the best I think I've ever had. The rootbeer is delicious, with a nice peppery finish, and the ice cream is smooth and creamy and has a fresh, authentic vanilla flavor. Best of all, the proportions of rootbeer and ice cream are perfect; most floats I've found elsewhere have had too much ice cream and not enough rootbeer. At Taylor's, you have a chance to eat a few spoonfuls of the ice cream, but there's still plenty of rootbeer to quench your thirst—and your curiosity. I loved trying to identify the faint herbal flavors that lingered on my tongue after each swallow.

Taylor's also has excellent garlic fries—better than the ones at SBC Park, IMHO. They're a bit thinner than the SBC/Gordon Biersch variety, with a better distribution of garlic. The result is a more subtle garlic flavor and fries that remain crispy all the way to the bottom of the cardboard basket. They're well complemented by malt vinegar (which can be found near the ketchup dispensers) and a bit of extra salt. Next time I think I'll try the sweet potato fries for variety... as long as someone else at the table gets the garlic fries. :)

On the eastern side of the country, the white pizza with spinach at the Fresh Grocer at 40th and Walnut in Philadelphia is not only delicious, it's also an amazing value ($1.60 per humongous slice, including tax). The crust is thin, buttery, and alternately chewy and crispy (think of a very thin pita brushed with butter and lightly broiled), and there's plenty of yummy cheese, garlic, and fresh (not frozen!) baby spinach leaves on top. For me, it's totally worth the nearly 20-block walk each way—and I can usually pay for a slice with the change at the bottom of my backpack.

One word of caution about this Fresh Grocer: While I've found the service at the prepared foods counter to be fairly good, it leaves something to be desired in the rest of the store—especially at the checkouts and the "customer service" counter. Employees seem more interested in picking up their paychecks and chatting with their colleagues than in waiting on customers. The lack of service attitude is appalling, really, even by Philadelphia standards. I wouldn't recommend buying groceries unless you're feeling especially patient and in good humor. One way to put a smile on your face: Eat your pizza first. :)

In the Eyes of the Beholder

Yesterday Bill Clinton, and later John Kerry himself, were here campaigning for the Kerry/Edwards ticket. There was a big rally in and around Love Plaza, which I usually walk through to get to Al's office; yesterday I was turned away by the crowds at 17th Street, about a block and a half away. It was good to see so many supporters of the Democratic ticket earnestly doing their parts to cheer on the nominee and the former President.

In addition to the crowds of supporters, there were also zillions of policemen. I want to like the police in Philadelphia, I really do—but my few experiences with them so far have left a bad taste in my mouth. The main tone-setter was the incident that happened about a month after we moved out here: In attempting to cross Broad Street, a large, divided avenue where that day traffic was being directed by two cops, the first cop signalled us to cross after we'd waited more than five minutes with no walk signal in sight. We made it to the median (about 8 of us, plus at least one baby in a stroller), where the other cop pointedly ignored us until I finally said, in what I thought was a jovial tone, "little help here?"

The cop pointed to the "don't walk" signal without looking at us and said, "that's what you get for crossing against the light." Several of us spoke up at once, "But the other cop told us to go!" This cop then shouted at us, "No he didn't!", which was (a) merely an assumption on his part, and (b) patently false. He then muttered something about stupid tourists, and Al said, "what did you say?" He replied, "I said go back where you came from, asshole!" Yep, that's our friendly Philadelphia cop for you. Way to make us feel welcome, buddy!

So anyway, back to yesterday. There were policemen everywhere (and Secret Service, I'm sure, though I didn't spot any): some directing traffic and pedestrians with a slight overuse of the whistle, some sitting in their cars with the engines running, and some milling about in small groups, chatting. Al passed one of these groups as he walked in to work, and he overheard a snippet of their conversation:

"Who you voting for?"
"Me? Bush."
"Bush."
"Bush."
"Yeah, I'm a Bush guy."
<pause>
"Yeah, you can see it in his eyes."

When Al related this conversation, I was like, "see what in his eyes, exactly?" The vacuous gaze of a Texas steer? The look that says, "I'm in over my head"? A resolve to stick to his guns against all reason? "Leadership, apparently," said Al. "They said something about the fact that he was a leader." OK, for the sake of argument, he's a leader. But hello, do you like where he's leading you?

Al remarked that he'd so wanted to stop and say, "did you know that Kerry has the endorsement of the International Brotherhood of Police Officers? That he voted to put 100,000 more cops on the street and supported the ban on assault weapons? That he has the support of the Boston Police for refusing to cross their picket line in Boston?", but he didn't. No sense provoking another "asshole" remark from a bunch of guys who, like our current President, obviously value gut feeling (or a vapid stare) over logic and truth.

Where's My Voter Information Guide?

When we lived in California, we got an official Voter Guide for every election—one that listed every candidate and every proposition on the ballot, including arguments for and against each. It also listed our polling place on the back, and usually included an application for an absentee ballot (handy if you knew you'd be travelling on election day). I've been waiting patiently for such a book to show up at my house in Philly, but so far, none has come.

The other day I happened to catch my friend Valerie, who moved from San Francisco back to Maine a few months ago, online. When I IMed to see what she was up to, she replied that she was taking a break from her violin practice "to see if I can find any info on our local bond measures so I can send in my ballot. Unlike SF, we're not inundated with info [here])." To which I replied, "Yeah, same here -- I'm like, 'where's my voter information guide?'" Valerie: "Exactly!"

I decided to try Valerie's technique and search the web for information. I found all kinds about how to register to vote, how to actually vote, how to determine whether I qualify for a provisional ballot, and what constitutes proper voter identification, but NOTHING ABOUT WHO THE CANDIDATES ARE. (Nothing at all about initiatives, either. Are there no ballot initiatives in Pennsylvania? Have my expectations been colored by living in proposition-happy California?)

When my searches of official websites failed, I tried the sites of local free weeklies. (In San Francisco, the SF Bay Guardian, a liberal free weekly, published a voter guide that was really useful; I remember voting a "straight Guardian ticket" one year, except for one proposition that I didn't agree with them on.) I even picked up an actual paper copy of Philadelphia Weekly yesterday, but alas, no voter guide. WTF? (I did find a couple of endorsements on the Philadelphia Weekly website, but they hardly constituted a guide.)

Today we received in the mail our voter information cards—which informed us of our polling place (I'd already panicked when one of the official local election websites said I'd need to check the newspaper (!) to find out where to vote, and subsequently followed a link from the Rittenhouse Review to Hallwatch.org, which gave me the scoop), our ward and division numbers, and the fact that we'd have to show ID because this is the first time we're voting in this district. It struck me as a little late to be telling us this stuff, but maybe the Voter Registration Office wanted to make sure we got it close enough to the election that we wouldn't misplace the info.

Along with Al's and my voter information cards, we also received one for the male half of the couple who used to live here; I guess he never re-registered when he moved (or maybe they finally moved out of state, as they intended to eventually, and word has not made it back to PA). In between the voter information cards were two slightly larger, four-color cards, one of which showed a photo of Yasser Arafat with the caption "Role Model and Statesman? John Kerry Thinks So." The other showed a nice Jewish lady by the name of Janet Kreisman, who, we are told, is a Registered Democrat, with the following quote: "I FEEL SAFE WITH PRESIDENT BUSH."

Once again I was left to puzzle, WTF? Why are we getting scare mail...? And then I saw the addressee. *We* are not getting scare mail; the former occupant, who happens to have a Jewish surname, is. I was pretty shocked, and yet glad for once that the former occupant's forwarding order had expired, while his voter registration had not—it gave me an opportunity to see some shady scare tactics that otherwise would have escaped my notice.

Here's my question (and at this point, I've obviously strayed pretty far from my original rant about the lack of voter information here in Philly, though I'll return to that in a moment): Does Bush-Cheney '04, Inc., which authorized the Arafat mailing, or the RNC, which paid for it, really think all American Jews vote based on a single issue—namely, Israel? I find that kind of hard to believe, but not being Jewish, I can't say for sure.

The other mailing, paid for by the Republican Jewish Coalition, focuses more broadly on the war on terror and 9/11 (though it also mentions "President Bush's unprecedented pro-Israel policies"). Ms. Kreisman goes on to say in the mailing that "I've always been a pro-choice Democrat, but party loyalties have no meaning when it comes to my family's safety." (I thought it was kind of interesting that the mailing would make reference to that other famous "single issue": abortion.)

Anyway, seeing Ms. Kreisman's smiling face over the Republican Jewish Coalition's pitch made me think of one more place to try for voter information: The League of Women Voters. Yay, women voters! While this non-partisan organization of course provides no endorsements, they do at least tell you who (and what) is on the ballot in your area. (Just enter your zip code into the box under My Races.)

It was so cool to at least see who was running in my district; now I can Google their names, look up their records, and check for endorsements by various news organizations. I didn't see any ballot initiatives listed, so to test whether (a) the LWV doesn't give info on ballot initiatives, or (b) there just aren't any here, I entered my old address in San Francisco to see what would come up. Sure enough, there was a huge list of initiatives for SF, so I now know that the answer is (b), there just aren't any here.

Now, go vote! (On Tuesday of course. Wait until Tuesday!)

Bathroom Review: Ritz Carlton Philadelphia

Last night Al took me to the Rotunda in the Ritz Carlton Philadelphia to partake of its Friday and Saturday night Chocolate Dessert Buffet (a fabulous birthday present, I must say; if you go, be sure to try the bread pudding with the chocolate sauce). Of course, having walked there while 8 months pregnant and having drunk (decaf) coffee white snarfing down yummy desserts, it wasn't long before I had to pee.

I made my way to the bathrooms just off the Rotunda (behind the elevators on the City Hall side of the building), passed the one marked Gentlemen, and continued down the hall to the one marked Women, which was next to The Vault. Nobody else was in there at the time, so I picked the first stall and entered. (There was plenty of room between the toilet and the stall door, so no need to move to the handicap stall—something I've had to do lately in many bathrooms because there's either not enough room to (a) shut the stall door without banging the belly, or (b) lean forward far enough to heave myself off the toilet seat.)

The first thing I noticed in the stall was that the wallpaper on my right was peeling; the second thing I noticed was that there were no toilet seat covers. The toilet paper was of a decent commercial grade, however, so I made do with that. As I sat down to pee, I heard someone else enter the bathroom; while I completed my quiet tinkle, she poured forth like Niagra Falls. Since the Rotunda also houses a bar, in which many elegantly-dressed Philadelphians were downing Cosmopolitans and martinis, I figured that my neighbor had just had a lot to drink and had held her water a bit too long.

I manged to get up off the seat with little trouble (again, nice spacing between the seat and the stall door) and went to wash my hands. I honestly don't remember what the soap or the faucets were like, because as I looked up in the mirror, I saw the back of a man standing in the handicap stall (the door was wide open). I panicked for a second, thinking, "Jesus, did I go into the wrong bathroom?" No, I'd definitely passed the sign marked 'Gentlemen,' so this had to be the women's bathroom. He must be in the wrong spot.

I quickly reached for a (very nice) rolled washcloth with which to dry my hands; I was hoping to get out of there before he emerged, so he wouldn't be embarrassed. Too late—he started out of the stall, saw me, and immediately popped back inside, drawing the stall door partly closed. I was seeing all this out of the corner of my eye, so I don't think he saw me see him. I stifled a giggle as the door to the bathroom opened, and one of the waitresses from the bar walked in.

Unfortunately, she walked straight to the handicap stall and entered... only to gasp, "oh my! I'm sorry!" when she bumped into the poor guy inside. He was like, "oh no! I'm in the wrong one!" which of course he already knew because he'd seen me. She turned around and headed for another stall, looked at me, started shaking with laughter as I smiled and as the guy, cover hopelessly blown now, emerged from the handicap cubicle.

He continued to express his apologies and bewilderment, and exhorted both of us not to tell anybody as he walked out with me; I said no worries, I wouldn't. So OK, call me a promise-breaker, a flip-flopper, whatever—this was just too funny to keep to myself. And I haven't identified the poor man in any way, so hopefully even if he or his friends or family see this, only he will know I'm talking about him. Anyway, I pointed out the men's room to him, and he slipped in there to wash his hands, while I practically ran back to the Rotunda, laughing all the way, to tell Al.

Ritz-Carlton Philadelphia
Location: 10 Avenue of the Arts (Broad Street)
Shortest route to restroom: Enter from the Market Street/City Hall side, through the doorway under the maroon awning. Restrooms are on your right, in the hallway that leads to The Valult (the cigar bar). Please note that the Women's room is the one directly adjacent to The Vault; the Gentlemen's room is at the Rotunda end of the hall.
Ease of access: Very good.
Quality of facilities: Good. The bathroom is clean and elegant if a bit shabby, with washcloths to dry your hands instead of paper towels or blowers. I didn't see any toilet seat covers, but the commercial-grade toilet paper is of sufficient thickness to line the seat.

Dia de Los Muertos

Happy All Saints' Day, aka Day of the Dead, aka November 1st! We experienced our first Philadelphia Halloween last night, and while fairly different from our Mountain View Halloween experiences, it was a great success. Several friends and relatives outside of Philly have asked to see my Patrick Starfish costume, so here it is (click on the photos to see larger versions):

	The original prototype, aka The Pink Klansman. The shirt is from the maternity department at Target, the hood is just a yard and a half of pink fleece pinned together, the gloves are pink wool-lined suede from Kohl's, and the lounge pants, turned inside out, are from Gap Body.
	We realized a fter taking the first photo that we'd need to put some stuffing in the pointy bit on top to keep it pointy. Since I couldn't see through the fleece, Al helped me mark where the eyeholes should go with tape. He got a bit ambitious and decided to mark where he thought the eyebrows and mouth should go as well. I'm kind of amazed that this photo isn't blurry, because Al couldn't stop laughing as he was trying to take the picture.
	The completed costume. Since I don't sew, everything that would otherwise have been sewn is held together with safety pins. The pink feet are toddler-sized pink tights cut in half, pulled over my clogs, and held up first with rubber bands (which cut off my circulation) and later with clear hockey tape (which stuck to my skin, but it was still better than the rubber bands). The belly is real (and I have to say, this is probably the first time I felt really skinny while pregnant—the real Patrick is much shorter and wider on the bottom than I am).
	The eyeholes are behind the pupils (and thus they're very small). I realized as I was painting the hood that Patrick's head wasn't as pointy as I'd thought, so I tucked the point in a bit.
	This is me attempting to blog about all our trick-or-treaters with the hood on. Thank god I know how to touch type.
	Again, Al was totally cracking up as he took this photo. I couldn't decide what he thought was funnier: the costume, or the fact that I was blogging in it.

About Town II Special Edition: Election Day

I'm posting the photos I took between about 11am and 12:30pm today over at about town II. I have a few more to add (including two more of Bush supporters), but we have to leave for our childbirth class now. I'll add them when I get home tonight.

One important thing to note when you look at the photos: I didn't photograph every Kerry sign I saw, but I did photograph every Bush sign I saw. (If I had photographed every Kerry sign, I would have run out of room on my camera's memory card before I'd made it 10 blocks from home.) Of course, since I'm limited to a slow shuffle by the weight of the belly and my flagging energy levels, I was only out in the Logan Square, Penn Center/Libery Place, and Rittenhouse/Fitler Square areas today. When I went out walking in Society Hill a few months back, I saw more than one Bush/Cheney sign (including a huge one plastered on the side of row house).

Back in a couple hours!

Election Day Photos Are All Up

We're back from the childbirth class, and I've finished posting the remainder of the election day photos. A thumbnail sampling of a few of the shots:

News Flash

It's snowing. For the first time this winter. Yay! WHITE CHRISTMAS! WHITE CHRISTMAS! COME ON, WHITE CHRISTMAS!!

News and Weather

I mentioned in a post a couple weeks ago that the weather in Philadelphia had been quite balmy lately, but in the past few days, it's been positively screwy. On Wednesday Austen and I left the house at 10:24am (I was timing us) en route to my six-week post-partum checkup (I'm fine, all systems are go). I was wearing my fuzzy-collared winter coat, but I didn't bother donning my hat and gloves. Soon I even had to unbutton the coat. While not exactly *warm* out, it was too warm for wool and fake fur. By the time we left the doctor's office around noon, however, I was glad I brought my hat and gloves. The temperature was dropping, and the walk home proved a chilly one.

Yesterday was the complete opposite. The temperature in the morning started out about the same as it had on Wednesday, but throughout the day it got *warmer*. Wait, you're thinking, isn't that normal? Doesn't the temperature usually rise as the day goes on? Well, yes, but generally it drops again after dark. Not so yesterday; when Austen and I left on foot at 5:30pm to meet Al at his office, it was about 65 degrees. I was wearing a tiny short-sleeved t-shirt and a lightweight hoodie, and I was plenty warm. I'd say it was still over 60 when we went out again at 10pm in an attempt to quiet the screaming kid, which is where the News portion of this post comes in—more on that in a second. Minutes after we re-entered the house, the skies opened up, and it began to POUR. And guess what? The temperature started to drop. It was 48 degrees when I got up this morning around 8:30 (and still raining heavily), and by noon Philadelphia is expecting snow flurries. Biz-fucking-arre. I'm just glad that by 3pm it's supposed to be partly cloudy, so the kid and I can get out for a walk. I hate being trapped inside with him all day (although right now he's snoring sweetly on my chest and being so kind as to leave my hands free to type).

And now, the news. I mentioned to Al when we were out walking that I was behind on my blog posting; I'd only just finished the posts I'd started on Monday and Tuesday that afternoon, and I hadn't even started writing the one I'd intended to post on Wednesday. The subject of that one was going to be how seeing the Metro headline "Codey: N.J. Should Be Stem Cell Leader" made me wonder whether the passing of California's Prop 71 would start a competition among the states to see who could pour more money into stem cell research. Although I agreed with my friend nj's reason for voting against Prop 71, I can totally see now that *how* the research was funded wasn't the issue: it was that it was funded at all. Prop 71 is probably more powerful as a symbol than as a vehicle for advancing scientific research (although it's likely to do that, and maybe even be more successful at it *because* of its symbolic status).

I think because we were tangentially discussing the Governator and his love of funding projects with bonds, and because Al wondered aloud if Arnold weren't perhaps a Democratic trojan horse in the Republican party, we then started debating whether foreign-born U.S. citizens should be allowed to run for president. Although Arnold started the debate, we were discussing the principle rather than whether Arnold himself should be allowed to run, and I have to tell you that it was thoroughly exhilarating. I am as attracted to Al's mind and conversational skills as I am to the rest of him, and it was such a thrill to talk about politics, current events, and Constitutional law for like 30 MINUTES STRAIGHT without being interrupted by the baby. My mind is still buzzing this morning, and I almost hope that Austen requires another walk or drive tonight so we can talk some more. (I'll be scanning the newspaper boxes when I go out this afternoon for fodder!)

In any case, I was arguing that naturalized U.S. citizens wouldn't necessarily have divided loyalties and thus would make perfectly fine presidents, while Al argued the opposite. I felt that any loyalty issues would come out during the campaign, but Al felt that the last couple campaigns just proved that any idiot could be elected president, even over the strong and logical objections of many—that the media couldn't be trusted to raise the right issues, and that the voters couldn't be trusted to vote on them. Actually, now that I think of it, even if there aren't any interesting headlines in the news boxes today, we'll still have plenty to talk about tonight. We'll just pick up where we left off last night. :)

Black & White

While at the Reading Terminal Market this morning afternoon (I keep thinking I'm getting out in the morning, but really it's usually around noon), I stopped at the Metropolitan Bakery stall in hopes of getting a cream cheese brownie for later. It's an intensely chocolate confection, and the closest thing to an Andronico's Adult Brownie that I've found out here. Anyway, the tops of the cream cheese brownies looked a bit brown to me, so I opted not to get one.

While scanning the display for an alternative, something that looked like an oversized Oreo with fluted edges caught my eye. It was labeled "Metro Cookie," which wasn't much of a description. I inquired, and was told that it consisted of two chocolate butter crisps (I'd call them wafers) with a filling of mascarpone cheese. The top wafer was sprinkled with huge sugar crystals. It was only $1.50, compared with the $2.00 cream cheese brownie, so I bought one to try.

I'd just stashed the bakery bag in the bottom of the stroller when I realized I hadn't had breakfast. I retrieved it and began noshing on the cookie. Absolutely delicious! It was a very unique taste, and quite satisfying as a breakfast item—especially since my breakfasts usually involve chocolate of some kind. The cheese filling was a perfect accompaniment to the chocolate wafers, and the sugar crystals were wonderful on top. I've never seen this cookie at the Metropolitan Bakery before, but if you spot a plate of them, I highly recommend spending the $1.50.

Update, 01.28.05 ~ I asked about the Metro Cookies at the Market today and was told that they usually arrive on Wednesdays (which would explain why I haven't seen them before—I usually go to the Market on Thursdays or Fridays—and how I happened to get one on the 19th).

Incidentally, Austen experienced his first snowfall today. It started as we were on our way to the Market, and it was coming down hard (and sometimes sideways) by the time we returned home. Of course, he slept through the whole thing. I propped him up near the sliding glass door when we got home, however, so he could see the marvelous white stuff.

We just went out again a little while ago to get some cards and photos at the CVS, and I must say that although I love our stroller (it's really just a frame for the carseat), for the first time I wished we'd gotten an all-terrain model. It was very difficult to steer in the inch or inch and a half of footprint-packed powder that covered the sidewalks, but then again, most people were having trouble just walking in the stuff, so I guess the stroller didn't perform too badly. And of course having something to lean on helped me keep my footing, which was nice. As tough as it was to push the stroller, I don't think I'd have preferred the Baby Bjorn in this situation, since it would have impaired my balance rather than improving it (and I still don't have a coat that's large enough to go around both me and the Bjorn, so in 25° weather, one of us would surely freeze).

What Are We Teaching These Kids?

I was just outside walking the baby around my neighborhood so I'd have a break from nursing, and as I walked down 21st Street toward Cherry, a girl hung out the window of a school bus—A SCHOOL BUS!—and screamed "WHITEY!" at me. A very large, seemingly very angry boy hung out the adjacent window and screamed, "FUCKING CRACKER!" At me, a woman pushing a stroller. Out the window of a school bus.

I'm still shaking my head over it.

Sunshine Day

When I was a kid growing up in Massachusetts, we'd always look forward to the day when you could finally go outside without your coat after a long winter. Usually that day would be in the 50s, a temperature that would cause you to don your coat in fall but that in spring felt wonderfully warm. Today was that day here in Philadelphia.

I managed to get outside for no less than *three* walks today, which probably accounts for my good mood despite a relatively sleepless night. (The sleeplessness was my fault, not the boopster's—he slept for about six hours straight.) Austen was also in a fabulous mood today, whining only rarely and crying only once, if I remember correctly. [Aside: It always bugs me when people ask if Austen is a "good baby", as if there's such a thing as a "bad baby", but I suppose the people who ask are imagining a string of days like today when they think "good".] Austen seems so far removed from the squawking little alien we brought home from the hospital 11 weeks ago.

It's not just a size thing, although he is, admittedly, huge. It's that he's alert and hyperinteractive and vocal and happy. There's more to him now than just sleeping, eating, and crying. He now has smiling and singing and flailing to his very own iTunes playlist in his repertoire. He spent an amazing amount of time awake in the stroller today, which made the walks even more enjoyable. And to top it off, we explored a new neighborhood and took some photos for about town II (I'll post them over the next few days). Yay, it's a sunshine day!

Friday Miscellany

Herewith, some random observations that have been on my mind for a while and which I have not managed to blog about before now:

Reading Material
I don't know what I was thinking when I stopped at the library the other day; I'm still not done with Founding Brothers, I haven't finished the February issue of Martha Stewart Living (although like all good porn, MSL is pretty timeless), and I'm drowning in Wall Street Journals (I find those crazy pro-business conservatives so amusing!). Luckily both of the books I wanted, Chain of Command and It's My Party Too, were checked out. Of course, yesterday I added another title to my list after the TiVo refused to cooperate and changed to CNN's interview with the author instead of Your Weather Today on the Weather Channel: Honeymoon With My Brother, by Franz Wisner . Sounds like my kind of book (note to self: mention it to brothers Eric & Matt, who've also traveled the world together).

And Marijuana is Still Illegal?
In the WTF department: A new beer from Budweiser with caffeine, guarana, and ginseng. Rather than "beer with something extra", call it "Red Bull with alcohol".

WTF Part II
Last evening Al took Austen out for a walk so I could get some work done, and the plastic cover he put on the stroller to keep Austen warm & cozy blew off. A woman helped Al retrieve it and then exclaimed over the cuteness of the baby. "I wonder if he'll grow up to run a dry cleaners or a restaurant?" she said. When Al related the story, it took me a minute to realize why she identified those two particular possibilities. Weird that both Al and I would experience racial prejudice in the same week (the same week we happened to see Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, which identifies—and pokes fun at—so many racial stereotypes).

What is Life Teaching These People?
Speaking of weird things people have said to us about Austen, in the first two weeks of his life no less than three women—at different times and places—remarked on his cuteness and then followed up with, "who would ever want to harm a baby?" Uh, yeah. Luckily these comments stopped (for a while there every woman I met on a street corner asked instead, "are you breastfeeding?"), but then something weird happened in the La Colombe coffee store the other day: An old homeless gentleman was trying to engage the baristas in conversation, and in so doing he was blocking my access to the bar where the baristas set up everyone's coffee. The female barista brought this to his attention, and the homeless man turned to me and said, "You know, I would never hurt your baby." When he saw the startled look on my face, he followed up with, "you know why? Because then I would die." "Yes," I replied. "At my hands."

Can I Move Back to San Francisco Now?

Mistaken Identity

Last Tuesday I had my first dentist appointment since moving to Philadelphia (I need a crown and two fillings, gah). The dentist's office is in Al's building, and you have to check in at the security desk and get a pass before you can go up. When I arrived at the desk, there were two security guards, one of which was helping a man who couldn't remember the phone number of the person he was there to see, and the other of whom was on the phone. There were two ledgers, one in front of each guard, and a clipboard in a notch at the center of the desk.

The ledger in front of the guard on the phone was free, but I wasn't sure if both ledgers were essentially the same, or whether you had to sign in a particular one depending on whom you were there to see. I caught the not-on-the-phone guard's attention, pointed at the ledger, and said, "sign in here?" Instead, he pointed at the clipboard. "But that says 'COURIERS ONLY'," I said. He nodded. I stared at him for a second, and then said, "I'm not a courier." He looked surprised. "You're not?"

Maybe it was the hair? Certainly couldn't have been the stroller... could it?

Food News

All kinds of food items to share today, from the gastronomical delights of our last hours in New York this weekend to local Philadelphia finds. First, New York: Al and I got up early again on Sunday (though not quite as early as on Saturday) and made it out for another morning walk, this time with Al's brother Carl for company. We walked down Broadway to the Starbucks at 81st, where I ordered a cappucino and (as usual) got a latte. The coffee was smooth and the milk heated to perfection, however, so I didn't complain.

From there we crossed the street to Zabar's, but since it was only 8:30 and Zabar's opens at 9am on Sundays, we weren't able to browse or buy. Instead we cut over to Amsterdam so Al could get a bagel sandwich at Barney Greengrass. On the way there (at 83rd, maybe? somewhere between 81st and 86th, anyway) we passed what appeared to be a new outlet of Le Pain Quotidien and picked up a couple pain au chocolates, a blueberry muffin, and a banana chocolate chip muffin. Al then got his bagel sandwich ("for $11, this better be the best bagel sandwich ever"), an extra plain bagel, and a package of Tate's chocolate chip cookies, and we headed back toward the apartment.

Luckily the street we chose to walk down was the same one that Tris and Henry had taken to walk toward us, and we ran into them about halfway up the block. We determined that we had enough baked goods to have a breakfast picnic, so instead of going home, we went to the hippo playground (real name: Safari Playground) in Central Park to eat at the picnic tables.

I had the banana chocolate chip muffin (wonderfully dense and flavorful... but how did they manage to get the batter so yellow—and so completely devoid of those little brownish-black fibers that are the hallmark of banana bread?) and a couple bites of Al's bagel, which was piled with three slices of the freshest-tasting nova lox I've ever had. Al declared the sandwich to be absolutely worth $11. Austen, meanwhile, noshed on a bit of his first-ever NY bagel (the plain one).

After breakfast, we played with the kids for a while in the canoe and among the hippos, and then we climbed up to one of the treehouses and chased each other around. (Had to burn off breakfast so we could make room for lunch!)

And speaking of lunch... As soon as we'd had a proper rest back at the apartment, we trekked back down to 83rd and Broadway to eat at Artie's. We'd been promising Henry a bowl of matzoh ball soup all weekend, and it was time to make good on that promise. (All that promising had given Al a craving for matzoh ball soup, too.) Instead of the cheese blintzes I'd planned to order (and which I'd so enjoyed last time), I decided at the last minute to get chocolate chip pancakes instead. (I later completed the chip trifecta by having a Toll House cookie bar for dinner.) Al got the soup, a potato knish, and a chocolate egg cream, and both of us noshed on the communal cole slaw and pickles the water guy had brought to the table. We agreed that the cole slaw was excellent—creamy-tasting but not dripping with sauce—but we split on the pickles: I prefer the "new" (half-sour), and Al prefers the "old" (full-sour). I don't mind trading a little bitterness for extra crunch.

Artie's is popular with the stroller set

The chocolate chip pancakes were yummy, and the matzoh ball soup and egg cream very filling, so Al got the knish to go. We ate it for dinner when we got home, and I can say without reservation that it was the best knish I've ever had. As I said to Al, "this knish is to ordinary knishes what Mama's falafel is to ordinary falafel"... which brings me back to Philadelphia food news. I've been meaning to mention Mama's here (though Al has been begging me not to, lest it get more crowded than it already is :) for a while now; it's the best falafel I've had since college, when I used to haunt the Gyro Wrap on Broad Street in Athens, GA. Most falafel is dense, hard, and sometimes dry, while Mama's is crispy-crunchy on the outside and tender and moist on the inside. I could eat the falafel balls with no toppings or salads whatsoever and enjoy the heck out of them, but the fact that both the Mama's Sandwich and the Mama's Platter come with hummus, tahini, cucumbers, tomatoes, and a wonderful, slaw-like cabbage (not to mention a homemade pita baked in a special oven from Israel) make them absolutely heavenly. Try the sandwich or platter with a grapefruit drink (I forget the name of the one we like, but it's in a clear, nubby bottle with an orange cap), or make your own grapefruit spritzer with equal parts unsweetened grapefruit juice, Sprite, and plain or lime selzer. Very refreshing! Oh, and if you get a chance, try a "cigar"—a miniature egg roll-like snack that's filled with a potato mixture—for an extra $1. It was the perfect antidote to my knish craving on Monday night.

Sadly, I discovered yesterday that another Philadelphia food find (and hip hangout) is no more: Hamburger Mary's on Chestnut Street (and the Dragonfly Lounge above it, home of the city's best Lesbian dance party, according to Philadelphia Weekly) is now closed. We only got to eat there once, but I've been making a homemade version of their bleu cheese (veggie) burger ever since. HM's had avocado on it, but since a good, ripe avocado is usually hard to find when I have a craving for the bleu cheese burger, I make mine without. The recipe is simple: microwave a Boca burger for 90 seconds while you toast a sliced Kaiser roll. While the burger rests, spread bleu cheese dressing (I like Marie's) on each side of the roll, and then squirt a bit of ketchup on one side and a bit of mustard (I like a grainy horseradish version I buy in Canada) on the other. Stick the Boca burger in the middle, slice with a serrated knife, and enjoy. It's messy but oh so delicious.

Finally, I forgot to mention that Austen has also tried yogurt and ice cream in addition to his regular fruits and veggies. I've read that you're not supposed to introduce yogurt until 9 months and other dairy products until 1 year, but he seemed so interested in Al's ice cream on our trip to Vancouver and my yogurt last month that we let him have some. Both dairy products came right back up within a few hours, so we're going to wait until September to try again. In the meantime, Austen has lately been making a meal of his feet; I saw him try to shove his toes in his mouth last week without success, but on Monday he finally got the hang of it, and he's been noshing on baby toes and doggie shoes ever since. Yesterday he also tried a bit of my Kaiser roll and seemed to enjoy it. Ummmm, white bread: just like paper, only better.

Is This Hot Enough to Fry an Egg On The Dashboard?

NOW Can We Get a Stop Sign?

Most cars approaching 21st Street on Cherry do one of two things: (1) Assume that the cross traffic also has a Stop sign, pause, and go; or (2) Actually stop, wait for the slightest opening in the cross traffic, and then gun it across the intersection. This car apparently chose option #1. Click the photo to see a slideshow of the aftermath on Flickr.

Incidentally, while cars choosing option #1 do more damage to themselves, the cars they broadside, and the cars parked along 21st Street, as a pedestrian with stroller who must cross Cherry, it's the cars choosing option #2 that I fear most.

NY Has Noticed Us

My brother-in-law forwarded us an article from Sunday's New York Times called Philadelphia Story: The Next Borough, and I finally got around to reading it. It's fairly upbeat about Philly's hipness, though it ends on a rather snarky note. (Why they asked a Soho gallery owner what he thought of Philly, I have no idea.) Anyway, the takeaway is that the artists and hipsters are coming, and that's a good thing for all of us.

Openings and Closings

A few weeks ago, I walked Al to work and then continued walking southeast toward Society Hill. I was on my way to check out a place my babysitter recommended called Homemade Goodies (on 5th between Lombard and South), but I figured that on the way I'd stop at The Inn on Locust and ask to see the bathrooms. I practiced my speech as I walked: "I know this is going to sound insane, but we're thinking about remodeling our master bathroom, and every time we talk about the design, my husband says, 'I wish you'd seen the bathrooms at The Inn on Locust, because that's exactly what I want.' So I'm wondering: Would it be possible to see the bathroom in one of your rooms?"

It might surprise my friends and readers to learn this, but I'm actually kind of shy/chicken when it comes to talking to strangers. I'd much rather keep to myself and interact with others only if absolutely necessary. After four blocks of practicing my speech, however, I was prepared to march up to the front desk at The Inn on Locust and sound like a total nut. Imagine my disappointment-mixed-with-relief when I arrived at Locust and 12th to find a padlock on the door and a business card from a real estate agent taped to the glass. I contemplated calling the agent, since I now wanted to ask another question besides "can I see the bathrooms?" (which I assume are still as they were): What happened?

I know businesses fail—heck, most businesses fail—but as someone who hopes to open a business someday (more on that in a future post), I find myself wishing that more of the failures would post an explanation in their windows rather than a "thanks for your patronage," a For Rent sign, or a real estate agent's business card. I want to know what happened, to learn from others' mistakes, to understand the business environment in my city. I'd love to know the story behind the closure of Hamburger Mary's and Club Dragonfly; it always seemed busy at lunchtime, but perhaps that wasn't enough to keep it going. Would it have done better in the Gayborhood? Would The Inn on Locust, which was smack dab in the middle of the Gayborhood, have done better in Hamburger Mary's location? Perhaps the spillover from the nearby nightclubs, which would have been a boon to Mary's, were what doomed a boutique hotel full of business travelers who needed to get some sleep? I guess I'll never know.

In any case, the title of this post is Openings and Closings because Mary's and The Inn on Locust aren't the only businesses along my usual walking routes that have closed recently—and because several new and interesting businesses have sprung up to take their places. The most important opening (to us, at least) is Aya's Cafe, which took the place of Nick's Pizza on Arch between 21st and 22nd. We've been watching the new commercial stoves go in, the sign go up, and the interior get redecorated for the past couple months with much excitement. We love our neighborhood, but we've been saying since we moved in that if we could change one thing, it would be to add a small, independent restaurant or two. Aya's is exactly the kind of place we had in mind.

We tried Aya's, which is a Mediterranean BYOB, the first weekend it was open. They had a high chair for the Beaner, gave him his own bowl of baby carrots to nosh on (most of which he just dropped on the floor), and did a pretty good job of keeping plates, glasses, and silverware out of his reach despite the limited table real estate, so thumbs-up for baby-friendliness. The decor is really warm and inviting—a big change from Nick's—though I found the banquette that runs the length of the restaurant a little too high. The pillows that formed the backrest were great, but I couldn't sit with my feet flat on the floor (nor could I lean my elbows on the table comfortably, though I know that's considered bad manners anyway). I tried to balance the weight of my legs on my toes, but the edge of the banquette still bit into my thighs, and my back was sore from the balancing effort by the end of the meal.

As for the food, I had the stuffed mushrooms as an appetizer (I didn't need so much cheese, but the mushrooms themselves were very good—similar to the kind I make for parties), and I think Al had a salad. For entrees, I had the grilled salmon, and Al had linguine with clams. The salmon had a wonderful kabob-like grilled flavor, but it was overcooked for my taste and slightly fishy. The cous cous it was served on was nutty, buttery, and just plain excellent, however, and the grilled red peppers were great (I wish there were more of them than the green and yellow squash, which didn't grab me the way the peppers did). Al's pasta was also a bit overcooked; I like all pasta al dente, but especially pasta that's served with clams. When your flavoring is chewy, your pasta should be, too. Caffe Teresa in Princeton gets it just right: When in doubt, lean more toward undercooked than over. Other than that complaint, Al reports that the dish was tasty. The best thing we had was the rice pudding we shared for dessert, which was served icy cold and sprinkled with ground pistachios. Creamy and refreshing.

We left thinking that we'd surely go back, if for no other reason than to encourage a local business, but I notice we haven't been in a hurry. This is the problem with restaurants that are convenient but which don't serve food that knocks your socks off: You want them to stick around in case you need them, but it's hard to patronize them consistently when you don't love the food. Such was also the case with the Teriyaki Boy at Market and 20th, which closed this week; it was nice to have a fast food sushi/teriyaki place on the way home from Al's work—especially one that was open past 5pm—but the food wasn't so good that we wanted to go all the time. We're sad to see it go, but it was even sadder to see it empty all the time. I hope something even better ends up in its space.

Another sushi (and perhaps tapas?) place we kept thinking we'd try but never did, Cha Cha Sushi (on 19th), closed a couple weeks before the Teriyaki Boy. We lamented the missed opportunity for about five minutes, or until we realized that a new place called Devil's Alley had opened up almost simultaneously around the corner on Chestnut. Now there's a place we'll be patronizing frequently. We went for the first time last week, mainly because Al had noticed that they had a platter of three BBQ sandwiches on the menu (one each of chicken, pork, and beef). The trio of BBQ sandwiches was an appetizer (Devil's Alley also serves a BBQ sandwich entree, but that's limited to only one kind of meat), so Al chose a bowl of beans and the grilled sweet potato steak fries from the long list of side dishes to flesh out his meal. I had a really bad toothache that night and couldn't imagine eating a big meal, so I ordered a grilled caesar salad, which the waiter explained was a half a head of romaine thrown on the grill—"it's warm, not cold"—and then served with caesar dressing, parmesan cheese, croutons, and sun dried tomatoes.

The grilled romaine was FABULOUS, the BBQ sandwiches were huge (far bigger than their appetizer status would have suggested), and the sweet potato fries (with the blackened bits trimmed off) turned out to be the perfect dinner for the Beaner (Al couldn't finish them anyway because he was so stuffed from the sandwiches). I had assumed that the restaurant wasn't particularly baby-friendly because we weren't offered a high chair—and I was offered a sharp knife with which to cut my salad despite the fact that the Beaner was strapped to my chest in the Bjorn within easy reach of any utensils (I declined in favor of eating the leaves with my fingers)—and this almost prevented us from returning with Val on Thursday night. Memories of that grilled caesar salad kept floating through my brain, however, so we decided to go again despite the hardship of having to hold the Beaner.

As it turns out, Devil's Alley does have high chairs, they're perfectly OK with patrons parking strollers in front of the hostess stand, and they do have some wait staff with common (or at least kid) sense. This is a good thing, because I'm now totally hooked on the grilled goodness (or devilishness). My second salad was slightly smaller than the first, but every bit as tasty; the grilled vegetable platter we got to share was not extraordinary on its own, but it was excellent with the side of chipotle ranch dressing that came with Al's special, the dry-rubbed wings. I plan to ask for a side of dressing next time I order the grilled veggies. I'd definitely have another glass of the Forrestville Riesling, and I can't wait to try some of the sandwiches and more of the sides. For his part, Al is sad that the wings were only a special and not a regular menu item, but the bright side of that is that he'll definitely get to try something new next time.

I know I've already covered a lot of territory in this post, but I have one more opening to mention before I sign off—one that hasn't quite happened yet. In late winter the Midori Mart, a Japanese/Korean grocery and fresh fish market that had been between 21st and 22nd on Chestnut when we first moved to Philly and that had moved a block east not long after, closed its doors and posted a sign in the window. Not a "for rent" sign, not a "thanks for your patronage" sign, but something more encouraging: A "Korean restaurant coming in April" sign. When the end of April approached, a new sign went up that said "Open in May". In June, that sign came down, and newspaper went up. We've been passing by periodically, looking for signs that the venture is still on, that a restaurant really will be opening sometime soon. This week I saw one: A new sign that said "Waiter/Waitress Wanted." Woo hoo!

Education's in the Air

The very day that Michele commented about Quaker schools on my Independent Study post, and I responded that the nearby Friends Select School would be at the top of our list, cost permitting, I noticed that the cover story in this month's Philadelphia Magazine was a ranking of the area's top public and private schools. (This is probably no coincidence; what better time of year to write stories about education?) Since I'd failed to find any mention of tuition or fees (other than a few words on how to apply for financial aid, and who's likely to get it) on the Friends Select website, I thought I'd pick up a copy of the magazine in case the school and its tuition were mentioned. They were, and I'm afraid Friends Select is no longer at the top of the list.

I'm as encouraged as ever regarding the quality of the education Austen would get at Friends Select, which is number 28 on PhillyMag's list of top 50 private schools, but the tuition for day students is listed as $18,125. That's 10 times what my annual college tuition cost at the University of Georgia (granted, we're talking 15 years ago), and what a year of grad school at Stanford cost Al back in the mid-90s. There's no way we could afford that and still have money left over to send Austen to college. (I haven't actually run the numbers to see what we'd need to do to afford it—how much we'd need to set aside, what we'd have to do without, etc.—and I probably won't. I just object to K-12 education costs that high on principle.) The one upside to the high cost of Friends Select is that the average of the highest teacher salaries is $74,792, according to PhillyMag. I think of this as an upside because I believe teachers in general are underpaid, and private school teachers are usually paid less than public school teachers. At least some of the tuition money seems to be going to the staff.

Regarding Clem's question about what my home-schooling curriculum would look like, I don't have a specific plan yet, aside from the plan to do a lot of reading on the subject over the next three or four years. I do know that I don't believe in pre-school education per se (though the Montessori* approach mentioned in PhillyMag's "The $12,000-a-Year Pre-School" sounds close to my philosophy that play = learning), so aside from watching Sesame Street, singing everything from Aimee Mann to Ella Fitzgerald, reading books out loud, listening to Harry Potter and other audiobooks, and playing on the floor, I don't plan on educating Austen before age 4 or 5. [*Link goes not to the school mentioned in the article, but to the Montessori school that's just around the corner from our house.] This is actually one of many reasons why home schooling is appealing: If Austen doesn't have to compete to get into a public or private elementary school, I'll be less likely to cave to the prevailing societal pressure to start schooling before Austen is technically school age.

One idea that sounds appealing, either on its own or as a supplement to a home school curriculum, is online learning. More and more K-12 schools, both public and private, are offering courses online, which seems to me to be a good way for students to determine their own pace of learning and to be more self-directed while still getting the benefits of a tested curriculum and the guidance of a qualified educator.

Of course, Austen could turn out to be more like his dad, who enjoyed classroom learning far more than I ever did, than like me, and thus he might tell us when he's 5 or 7 or 10 that he *wants* to go to a regular school. There's a brief profile of a student who decided to attend public high school "after feeling he'd hit a wall with homeschooling" in the "Tales Out of School" story in PhillyMag, and I don't doubt that this would be likely with Austen as well—even if he turns out to be more like me—given that I'm probably unqualified to teach most subjects beyond the elementary level. I know I'll be relying on Al to give Austen an introduction to physics, for example, and I'll probably need someone else to handle biology, which I suck at. (For some reason I don't find botany nearly as confounding as biology, so I could probably cover that, if necessary).

I'm probably getting a little ahead of myself here; I know that Austen will need to learn how to add and subtract before he learns algebra and calculus, so I probably shouldn't worry that my math skills are a little rusty. This is where downloading or purchasing some established home schooling curricula will really help, since I'm not exactly sure at this point what kids are expected to be learning at each grade level. To a certain extent, a little ignorance of expectations is a good thing—expectations can as often limit growth as encourage it—but I don't want my first mistake to be to overwhelm my child with too much information.

ANYWAY! As usual, I'm overthinking this, I think. :)

One more thought on education before I conclude this post: I'm still not entirely clear on how the Philadelphia school system works, but I got a little information about it from two cashiers at Whole Foods and the woman behind me in line this morning. Apparently kids are assigned to schools by district, but there's also a certain amount of choice: My cashier said that there are special (magnet?) schools that kids can get into based on good grades, good attendance, or good behavior, and these are in addition to charter schools, which the woman behind me in line clarified are funded with public school money. You apparently apply to them (the charter schools, I mean) like private schools—and some have waiting lists a mile long—but they don't cost extra. I obviously need to find out more if we're going to stay in Philadelphia for more than a few years, but that's a start.

It's Cold, So Please Touch

Today, as it was yesterday, it is cold here in Philadelphia. On Tuesday (which was decidedly warm) I had taken my bicycle in to Trophy Bikes on Walnut to get a baby seat installed on the back, knowing full well that doing so would cause a cold snap that would mean the end of bicycling season. Ah well, at least I'll be ready for spring.

Anyway, having taken Austen out in the frigid weather yesterday, I knew it was really too cold for him to be out at the playground with the babysitter today. We were discussing possible indoor activities this morning when it occurred to me that Austen is now probably old enough to enjoy the Please Touch Museum, which is currently located 1 1/2 blocks from our house. (It's moving down near the Art Museum at some unspecified point in the future.) I figured that if an annual membership were $100 or so, it'd probably be worth it.

It turns out that a membership for 4 people (any four people over 12 months of age) is only $75 a year—a total bargain, IMHO. We walked over there together, I filled out an application, and violá, Austen and Hannah had an indoor acitivity. I can't wait to hear how he liked it, and to visit with Al on a weekend. Woo hoo!

Weekend Update

Al and I started our weekend right with "date night", our third since the Boopster was born. (The first was in February when my parents were here, and we went out to see Sideways; the second was in October, when we went to see a New Jersey Devils game for my birthday.) This time we went to dinner at Washington Square, a Stephen Starr restaurant that's located, as the name implies, on Washington Square, and afterwards to a movie.

Washington Square is supposed to be a hip, trendy place, a place "to see and be seen," as one review we read indicated. We ate really early, however, long before the hip crowd—or any crowd, for that matter—arrived, so the only people-watching involved the 12 or so waiters keeping an eye on us. We had the full attention of the kitchen at that hour, and the courses came promptly, which was nice. We both considered the Unlimited Wine menu option, which included an appetizer, an entree, a dessert, and all the wine you cared to drink from among about 8 choices (the food options were more limited, with only 2 choices for each course) for $55. It seemed like a decent deal and a good way to have the wine you wanted with each course, but in the end we each decided we could put together a meal we would enjoy more by just picking random items from the food and drink menus.

I had a gulf shrimp cocktail with wonderfully, perfectly HOT cocktail sauce, a savory vidalia onion tart, the mushroom fettucini, and an Orange Hurricane. Everything was delicious, and the portion sizes were just right. The only thing I would have changed were the flavor proportions on the tart—half the phyllo would have been sufficient, and twice as much goat cheese would have made it perfect (the dot on top was half the size of a pat of butter). Al had a wonderfully fresh tuna tartare, more pork medallions than he could finish, and a glass of Mark West pinot noir (which he also didn't finish). The bill was about the same as it would have been under the Unlimited Wine option, but as we suspected, we enjoyed it more for being able to eat exactly what we wanted. Because we had a movie to catch, and because the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke hanging in the air made it difficult to breathe (I actually had to take my inhaler), we weren't likely to linger over glasses of wine all night anyway.

From the restaurant we walked the few blocks to the Ritz to see Syriana. To avoid spoiling it for anyone who hasn't seen it, I won't go into the details; I'll just say that although it was excellent, were a couple scenes that really freaked me out. I squeezed Al's hand, pressed my lips together, and held my breath to keep from sobbing in one case, but I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face; in the other I had to hide behind Al's shoulder and try to plug my ears to keep from vomiting. Sounds horrific, I know, but I still recommend the movie, and the fact that I can now think of that first scene without bursting into tears makes me think I could see Syriana again. It's worth seeing twice. The casting was excellent except for Amanda Peet as Matt Damon's wife; I've never been an Amanda Peet fan, so I thought at first I was just biased against her, but Al also hated her in the role. I must say that it was a bit unnerving to see George Clooney looking so very much like my recently deceased Uncle Bruce, but that probably made a sympathetic character even more so in my mind.

OK, so now that I've spent four paragraphs on Friday night, I'll try to be more concise about the actual weekend. The summary is that I traded Al a Saturday of Projects for a Sunday of Cookie Baking. I was on baby duty all day yesterday while Al rewired light switches and outlets, filed down our bedroom door so it would close properly, assembled some storage cubbies in the basement, and did a bunch of other things that he never gets to do because we usually share baby duty on the weekends.

In return, I got to bake today. I'm almost done—the only thing that remains is the slicing of the Seven Layer Cookies (Gourmet, Dec. 2005)—and as usual, when I see what I have wrought I think to myself, "who is going to eat all of these things?" I'm sending some of the iced sugar cookies to work with Al, and I've assembled a sampling of each cookie type for our babysitter, but the rest will probably end up on our hips or going stale in their Rubbermaid containers. This is one of the things I miss about being in the Bay Area and going into an office on a regular basis: I used to have friends and co-workers with whom I could share my baking experiments.

Speaking of baking experiments, I did take a couple photos of the Orange Bread, but I forgot to post them along with the recipe. I'll be adding them shortly. Look for photos of today's cookies to be added to this post later right now, too.

Seven-Layer Cookies, Iced Cut-Out Sugar Cookies (top), and Rustic Nut Bars (bottom)

Whom Do We Have to Petition To Get A Stop Sign?

As I walked up 21st Street this morning on my way back from a doctor's appointment, I could see a Streets Department truck parked at our intersection. Two workers were straightening out the Stop sign on Cherry, which had apparently been run down by a driver eager to get his accident over with. (The guy who hit the owner of this grille on Friday evening around 7:30 was probably the impatient motorist in question.)

I hurried to catch the workers before they could jump back into the truck, and asked one of them if their appearance meant that we'd FINALLY be getting a Stop sign on 21st.

"No," said my informant, "but you need one."
"Yes, we do," I replied. "We have an accident here at least once a month."
"Yeah, when I worked sanitation we used to hate this corner. People use this street like a drag strip."
"And because of that, the drivers trying to cross 21st feel the need to floor it at the first break in traffic. We've been taking photos of the accidents and sending them to the Streets Department and our city councilman," I added, "but we've gotten no response."
The worker raised his eyebrows and shook his head in simultaneous gestures of surprise and resignation.
"Oh well," I said. "Bummer we're not getting a sign today. We'll keep sending the photos, I guess. Have a nice day."
"You, too!" he said.

The Accidental Litterbug

When I left the house for my usual weekend-morning walk with the Beaner, he was wearing a bib. Sadly, not the Korean bunny bib with the two snaps that he can't get off, but a disposable Pampers bib on which it's frustratingly easy for a toddler to pop the velcro. It wasn't until he started begging for the cream-cheese brownie I'd bought at the Metropolitan Bakery just south of Rittenhouse Square that I noticed that the bib was missing. Well, FART. Not only would he be getting mixed berry fruit bar crumbs all over him (I'd planned ahead and stashed one in the bottom of the stroller so I wouldn't have to share my chocolate treats), but I'd also managed to contribute to the piles of trash that deface Philadelphia.

At least I could blame that first bit of littering on the Beaner. The second bit (at least, I think it was the second bit; it's entirely possible that I left an entire trail of old wrappers and receipts in my wake) I can only blame on the 21st Street windtunnel and my poor positioning of the Starbucks coffee cup that said Beaner had been playing with before he conked out. As soon as we stepped into the jetstream at the corner of 21st and Market, the cup flew out of the bottom of the stroller and down the sidewalk. I chased after it for a bit, but when it went out into Market Street I decided to abandon the pursuit and return to my sleeping baby. FART! Again I say, FART! I've got to come up with a better way to secure my trash (as well as my non-trash parephenalia, like my only copy of our auto insurance cards—the ones with our address and insurance numbers right on them—that becomes trash when it blows out of the stroller).

In happier news, I learned from Hannah that the Beaner met The Baby, who was out and about with his Auntie, in Rittenhouse Square on Friday. Apparently much hilarity (not to mention memory-searching) occurred when Hannah recognized The Baby, and the SIL/Auntie recognized the Beaner, but Hannah and the SIL didn't recognize each other. It was finally determined, just before ratphooey and Mom Phooey showed up, that the SIL recognized Austen because Austen attended The Baby's birthday party (which was held at her house), and Hannah recognized The Baby because The Baby was at Austen's birthday party (and because two cute photos of his 7 month-old self show up now and then on our Mac screensaver). The SIL and Hannah, only having had attended one party each, had not met each other.

In any case, much fun was had by all, especially since there was a violinist performing in the Square at the time, and both babies love music.

You Call This Warm?

I just ate a Dove Promises square (milk chocolate, because that's all that's left here on my desk, and I'm too lazy to go downstairs and raid the cupboard with the dark chocolate ones in it). The text on the inside of the wrapper said, "Feel the promise of a warm day."

I find it especially ironic that the Dove Promise in question was from a bag I bought at half price because it was labeled for the holidays. The December holidays.

Spring Has Sprung!

Austen and I went out for a walk this morning before work, and we totally dawdled on the way back because it's SUCH A GLORIOUS DAY. Spring has sprung in Philadelphia, yay!!

I've opened the window next to my desk, and through it are wafting a wonderfully brisk spring breeze, the smell of pizza and hoagies being prepared at Pete's, and the sounds of buses and cars and workmen and walkers. I won't be dismissing any prompts to Run around the block! today.

More Parental and Neighborhood-y Miscellany

Austen is getting his molars. We noticed the little white prongs sticking up when he opened his mouth (probably to laugh) about a week ago, and they've been coming in fast ever since. At least one on either side of his mouth is totally above the surface now. We don't know if the molars are the reason Austen's been waking up screaming at 5:45 lately (instead of 6:00, 6:15, or 6:45, as usual); it might also be the extra hours of daylight, or the asshole with the car alarm.

Speaking of the asshole with the car alarm, we were talking to our neighbor at the end of the block the other night, and she mentioned that she'd called the police several times about it. She also said that she'd talked to other neighbors who've called the police as well, but so far they've declined to do anything. Al noticed yesterday afternoon, however, that someone in the 'hood had finally taken matters into his or her own hands:

This morning Austen wanted to come up to my office instead of going down to the kitchen after getting dressed. I let him sit in my new drafting chair (acquired a couple weeks ago when I realized that the fixed-position, non-adjustable metal stool I'd been using was contributing to all kinds of back and arm pain) and play Kneebouncers on my personal laptop while I checked my e-mail on my work laptop. The chair is quite high (because my desk is also quite high), but I was literally standing right next to him—the two laptops are less than an inch apart, and I usually have to bat Austen's hands away from my work laptop's keyboard. I should have paid more attention when he started pushing himself back from the desk and pulling himself forward, however, because all of a sudden he pushed back from the desk and managed to kick the chair out from underneath his butt. Of course he immediately dropped like a stone to the floor, and despite my attempt to catch him on the way down, he landed on his back and nailed his head on one of the chair's wheels. :(

Hannah arrived about 30 seconds later, and I brought Austen down to see her in an attempt to cheer him up and help him forget about the injury. I knew from the way that Austen was clinging to me that he'd been traumatized by the fall, but it was Hannah who noticed that his lips were totally white. I had to hold him for about 15 minutes straight before he was ready to get down and show Hannah his new bike:

We got the bike in Intercourse, PA, where we met my parents on Saturday for some grandparent time. It would have been a fabulous place to shoot had there not been about a zillion tourists all taking snapshots of all them quaint Amish, and if the Amish weren't photo-averse in general. I didn't want to be disrespectful, and I felt like I was being lumped in with every other camera-toting interloper, so I took very few shots. It'd be nice to return on a weekday and avoid the tourist areas, because the farmland, animals, and buildings were very cool. I *think* I could manage to get some nice photos without offending.

Two photos I didn't take because I was pretty sure I would offend: one of the sign outside the bridle shop next to Lapp's Coach Store, which said something to the effect of "NO TOURISTS (unless buying bridle or feed supplies) No Cameras" (had a young man not been tending to his horse outside the building, I might have attempted it, but I didn't want to be rude), and one of a farmer standing on his plow with a team of draft horses, having a shouted conversation with another farmer doing the same in the field across the road. That one we would have had to pull over to get, so there was just no way. But the broad smile on the farmer's face as he spoke is burned on my brain.

Hopefully, I'll have the photos I did take posted later today.

Questions For the Locals

Have you tried Out of the Blue @ 20th and Rittenhouse? If so, how's the food? The space looks modern and sparse yet somehow cozy, though not at all child-friendly. Al and I have been thinking about it as a possible date-night destination, and since date nights are rare, we don't want to waste one on a sub-par dining experience.

Do you have a massage therapist you like/would recommend? I'm looking for someone who isn't chatty; I'd rather not be talked to while I'm getting my knots worked out. I'd also prefer someone who isn't too new-agey, but who knows a thing or two about energy. FWIW, I found the massage therapist that I went to monthly in San Francisco at my gym, so I'm particularly open to therapists who specialize in sports massage or working with athletes.

Do you have a chiropractor you like/would recommend? Here I'm looking for someone who's willing to listen, work with me, and explain what s/he's doing—but not talk too much. I'd like to avoid Gonstead practioners.

Please leave any recommendations in the comments, so others can see them, too. Thanks!

It's Another Beautiful Day in Philadelphia

As I wrote back in 2003, shortly before moving to Philadelphia, I used to welcome each amazingly beautiful day that occurred between May and November in the Bay Area (and those beautiful days occurred, well, DAILY) with an exclamation of "it's another beautiful day in California!" as I pulled back the curtains in the morning. Believe it or not, I've had reason lately to do that here.

Philadelphia has experienced a positively glorious spring, a spring that every Bay Area friend and colleague would openly envy as they slogged through months of cold, driving rain. While spring has come late to San Francisco (it's just arriving now, a few short days before the start of summer), Philadelphia has been offering us crisp upper 60s and low 70s with little humidity and refreshing breezes day after day. OK, we've had a few bouts of heat and humidity—with more to come this weekend—but even an extra-warm, 87-degree day like today was made incredibly pleasant by a cooling breeze and fairly low humidity.

In short, for the past two-to-three months or so, we've been experiencing San Francisco weather—the kind of weather I've been pining for ever since we moved out here—while San Francisco's been getting shafted with storms. I'm not saying I don't still wish we could move back there sometimes (more on that in another post that I've been mulling over for a while but have yet to actually write), but for the moment I'm thrilled to be able to walk around the semi-quiet, semi-clean, mostly-hill-free city streets every morning and exclaim, "it's another beautiful day in Philadelphia!"

Eating Out

This morning Al and I had brunch at Cafe Lift for the second Saturday in a row. Al had stopped in for lunch there after a meeting in the warehouse district a couple weeks ago, and he fell in love. It reminded him of the kind of place that's common in South Park, San Francisco—in other words, an industrial, arty, high-ceilinged-yet-homey space where you can get upscale salads and panini—but much rarer in Philadelphia.

While I like the space a lot—it's roomy without feeling cavernous; has nice lighting, big windows with sheer, billowy curtains, and a variety of seating options; and offers artists wall space from which to display and sell their works—I'm still not completely sold on the food. The brunch menu has many options for a fishitarian like me, including several meat-free fritatas, salads, sandwiches, and specials, but I've yet to hit on something I can say I really enjoy.

The first time we went I was jonesing for protein, so I ordered the smoked salmon fritata. First problem: it was more like a soufflé or a french toast than the denser-than-a-quiche dish I think of when I think 'fritata'. Second problem: SALT. Oh my, was the smoked salmon salty, and the capers only made things worse. (Normally I'm a giant caper fan, especially with lox.) I'd thought that ricotta was a strange topper when I saw it listed on the menu—sour cream or cream cheese would have been more expected—but it turned out to be the one part of the dish I liked. I ended up scraping it off and eating it on the panino bread that was served as a side.

I couldn't stomach the fritata, but I did eat the potatoes that came with it. They were sort of a homefries version of the garlic fries we used to get at PacBell (now SBC) Park in San Francisco, only (of course) saltier. Aside from the extreme saltiness, they were pretty tasty. (I suspect the amount of salt is tuned to the Philadelphia palate, which is particularly desensitized to the stuff.) Another plus was Al's choice, the daily special salad of mixed greens, grilled shrimp, cranberries, goat cheese, and pine nuts in a balsamic dressing. I'd actually considered ordering the salad myself, but the NO SUBSTITUTIONS sign scared me off (I'm allergic to pine nuts). As it turned out, the waiter agreed, after a short pause and a glance at the specials board, to hold the pine nuts at Al's request. Because Al was willing to share, I didn't go entirely without protein at this meal.

This morning I decided I'd go with salad, since Al's had been a success. The shrimp and goat cheese was no longer on the board, so I got a Niçoise... even though the lack of potatoes, haricots verts, and even niçoise olives in the description gave me pause. (The salad was served with roasted red peppers—of which I'm not a giant fan—the ubiquitous capers, and gaeta olives instead.) The seared tuna and boiled eggs over mixed greens sounded nice, however, so the Niçoise got the nod over the spinach salad, which offered only gorgonzola and pistachios for protein. I ordered a side of the garlic homefries with the hope that they'd make up for the missing boiled new potatoes in the salad.

The mixed greens with balsamic part of the salad was very nice—just like the salad Al had last Saturday. The peppers, capers, and olives, luckily, were arranged around the outside of the plate, making them easy to avoid. The tuna wasn't what I'd pictured when I read "seared", though I may be the only customer who expected rare to medium-rare slices rather than a grilled slab of well-done fish. It was seasoned well (if a tad on the salty side), however, so I have no other complaints there. The eggs were poached rather than boiled (and therefore hot rather than cold); the yolks were runny enough that I ended up eating them on the panino bread that accompanied the meal (and which I otherwise would have left untouched).

The potatoes were, again, extremely salty, which suggests that this is their normal state. I wish Lift would let diners salt to taste, as the potatoes are otherwise very good, and the side portion is large enough for two people to share. I shared them with Al, of course, who had the Grilled Chicken Panino (a repeat of the lunch that had captured his imagination). Three good meals on his part means, I suspect, that he'll suggest we go there again. Luckily, there are still a couple things on the menu that I'd be willing to try before I give up entirely. After all, the space is nice...

HOT

Exhibit A: Scorching sunbeams

Exhibit B: New shoes

Why I Will Not Be Going Outside Today

Terminology

Last Friday morning I stopped, as I sometimes do while out on my morning walk, at the Metropolitan Bakery. I noticed a small quiche in the 1/2 price basket, inspected it carefully to try to determine its exact ingredients, and finally decided I'd have to ask. Hmmm, I thought to myself, what if they consider this a tart and not a quiche? Wouldn't want to offend anyone by using such a common term as quiche.

Me: Excuse me, can you tell me what kind of tart this is?
Nasty Young Gentleman Behind Counter: What kind of quiche is it? I think it's shittake mushroom, possibly with artichokes.

Here and There

The Beaner turns 21 months old today, and there WILL be an update later. I'm throwing down the gauntlet right now and declaring that I will not go to bed without posting one. (That's some incentive, because I seem to running on a sleep deficit that rivals the early days of parenthood. Well, maybe not THAT bad, but boy, is my ass dragging.)

In the meantime, you might want to check out a restaurant review I posted at PhillyMoms Dish, a new blog for parents raising kids in the City of Brotherly Love. (Yes, it's true, you can stay in the city after having kids!) I hope to be posting (or cross-posting) there fairly regularly on topics that would fit into both the parenthood and philadelphia categories here.

Oh, and geotagging? SO ADDICTIVE. Must. Stop. Now. (or else no work will get done today, and work must get done in order to allow time for blogging.)

What's Going On

I have a little list of things I've been wanting to write about, but which I haven't had time to address as of yet (and yes, I'm still behind on my e-mail—if I owe you one, hopefully you'll hear from me soon). Part of the problem—which isn't really a problem at all, given that usually we're homebodies who don't do much of anything—is that we're too busy DOING THINGS and HAVING FUN for me to keep up with, well, writing about the things we're doing.

Some of the things on my list:

• This one I don't need more than a bullet point to write about: I've been considering moving my about town and about town II photoblogs to Flickr for a long time because it's getting to be too much of a pain to edit and post the photos separately. (Consequently, the photosteams on the avocado8 home page—and the blogs themselves—are hopelessly out of date.) The only thing that's been holding me back is the thought of trying to find all the originals on backup CDs so I can upload those, rather than the medium-sized versions I've posted to the blogs. Now that Flickr has geotagging, though, I've finally decided to just bite the bullet, upload the medium-sized images, and move forward. I started the process yesterday and have uploaded about 20-30 photos from about town II (Philadelphia); obviously there are a TON more to get through, and I haven't done the geotagging yet, but eventually Flickr sets will replace the two about town blogs. (And if you're wondering why my photostream suddenly has a bunch of photos from 2003 in it, now you know.)
• Running toward the street. This is something I want to write about for PhillyMoms, but I'll probably cross-post it here. It's about how I've been acutely aware lately that we are raising a kid in the city.
• College towns: favorite haunts After our trip to State College (home of Penn State) last weekend, I've had college towns on the brain. Hopefully I'll get a chance to share my thoughts (and ask you to share yours, too)!
• Labor Day Weekend Yes, I'm aware that this happened almost three weeks ago now, but it sort of epitomized the busy-ness we're experiencing around here. On Friday Al, the Beaner, and I drove down to my parents' house in Westminster, MD so they could see and play with the Beaner, and I could ride with them up to Rochester, NY, for my Aunt Anna's 90th birthday open house on Saturday. Mom, Dad, and I left at 5:30am on Saturday, and Al and the Beaner drove back to Philadelphia a few hours later. Mom and Dad dropped me off in Philly on Sunday afternoon, about an hour before Al's brother, sister-in-law, and nephew arrived. We went to the Franklin Institute on Sunday afternoon, and Al and Carl played golf on Monday morning while Tris, Henry, the Beaner, and I went to Schuylkill River playground (something else I want to write about for PhillyMoms—the playground has been renovated) and picked up lunch. All in all, a crazy, wonderful weekend.
• And finally, we freecycled the high chair last week. The Beaner will still sit in high chairs in restaurants (occasionally), but he'd long ago started stiffening when we tried to force him into the one at home. He now eats at his little table for breakfast and lunch, and he sits in a regular chair at the dining room table when we eat dinner together. We looked for a booster seat a couple months ago, but we never found one we liked, and he seems happy to just sit in the chair, so that's the routine now.
• Oh, right, one more thing: Our morning routine has changed AGAIN. For a while there the Beaner was waking up between 6am and 7am and snuggling in bed with us until Al was ready to get up (often until I returned from my morning walk), but this week he's started demanding that Al get up and take him downstairs after only a few minutes of snuggling. In other words, we've returned to the routine of a few months ago. We're also experimenting with naps (no nap at all / changing the time / waking him up after an hour) and bedtimes to try to come up with a magic formula that will get him to go down quickly and sleep past 7am. Oh, how much better our mornings are when he sleeps past 7am!

A Thai Goodbye

I was all set to write about the new coffeehouse that opened up in the former art gallery space next to the Please Touch Museum recently—I even had photos!—but we ended up taking Hannah out for dinner tonight after work, and I feel like writing about that now instead.

Hannah had recommended Chabaa Thai Bistro in Manayunk to me a few weeks ago, and Al and I had noted its location when we were in Manayunk a couple days later picking out tile for our bathroom remodel (more about that in a later post), but we had yet to make it out there for a meal. Well, tonight it seemed like the perfect place to go for a last-day-of-work dinner.

Of course, I'd eaten an incredibly late (and incredibly large) lunch, so I wasn't the least bit hungry, and The Beaner kept repeating "no Thai food, no Thai food, no Thai food!" all the way to Manayunk, but in the former case, that just gave Al some cover to order more than one entree and take the leftovers home, and in the latter, we just replied, "ok, no Thai food. We'll just have noodles and rice."

The decision to go out to dinner was a late one, and we didn't call ahead to make a reservation. We totally lucked out, however, in that the host agreed to squeeze us in before an 8:00 reservation. (He was at first reluctant to do so because he didn't want to hurry us, but we assured him we could eat in under an hour, and we did. It's not like you can linger over a bottle of wine when you have a toddler with you... and in any case, we didn't bring one with us to this BYOB.)

Since I wasn't hungry, I only sampled tiny amounts of the food, but I can attest to its freshness and especially its flavorfulness (is that a word?). Our waiter was friendly and efficient, and he and the restaurant totally win points for bringing The Beaner's Thai Fried Rice with Tofu out first, as if it were an appetizer. The intimate venue is definitely better for a couple or a foursome of grown-ups than for a family with small children, but we were made to feel just as welcome as any other diners.

Al had the Chabaa salad, which was like no Thai shrimp salad I've ever seen, with fresh mesclun mix, huge jumbo shrimp with a light brush of sweet-spicy glaze, baby corn, pineapple, peppers, and broccoli. I horked one of his shrimp, and it was delicious. Hannah ordered the Pinapple Fried Rice with Chicken, and it was presented as an enormous cylinder with the grilled chicken on top. Gorgeous (and delicious, according to Hannah). The Beaner had the aforementioned Thai Fried Rice, which he really enjoyed. He ate the broccoli and the cucumbers (which he calls pickles), and then he begged some pineapple from Hannah before snarfing down the rice. He wasn't so interested in the tofu tonight.

As for me, I ordered Al's second entree, the Pad Thai with Tofu, and basically let it sit there while I helped The Beaner manage his rice and vegetables. I finally tried a forkful and found it, too, to be fresh and tasty (and not at all pasty). When The Beaner was done with his rice he had a few forkfuls of pad Thai as well and seemed to really enjoy them.

Dessert was a pineapple ice cream made with coconut milk (and served in a frozen baby pineapple); the texture reminded me of the coconut milk-banana-blueberry ice cream that Matt made for us up in Maine this summer. The Beaner LOVED it.

When we left the restaurant, I said to The Beaner, "Thai food is pretty good after all, eh?" He shook his head and said, "no Thai food!" I said, "oh right, you just had rice and noodles." I think there are likely more fabulous rice and noodles in his future—especially if Chabaa offers takeout.

Oh, and that goodbye? As Hannah herself said the beautiful card she gave us at dinner, "it's not goodbye. It's just a change in the frequency of hellos."

Three Perfect Nights

I can't believe how fast I slipped back into my usual mode of having tons of things to write about, but not making the time to write about them. (Notice I said making the time and not having the time; I obviously made the time in November.) Before the backlog becomes crushing and I stop writing for weeks on end (er, too late), I wanted to write about three really great evenings we had last week. When you read about them, you might think, "what's so great about that?", but what I liked about each night was that it gave me a warm glow. Each night made me feel happy. Each night made me appreciate my little family. You can't get more perfect than that.

Tuesday
I proposed walking to the Children's Place on Walnut to buy The Beaner a winter coat, but as they closed at 7pm and Al didn't get home until after 6, the odds of us being able to make it down there in time to shop were slim. We were about to attempt it anyway when The Beaner insisted on going in the car rather than the stroller. At that point we realized a trip to Cherry Hill Mall would kill several birds with one stone: I'd been wanting to check out the sale rack at Gymboree (and use my 20% off your entire order coupon), both of us would rather eat a food court meal than cook dinner, The Beaner would get his ride in the car, and the Children's Place was open mall hours (until 9pm, I think).

I found two pairs of pull-on pants (key when you're toilet training), a hooded sweater, and a fleece pullover—all on the Sale rack—at Gymboree. All sale items were marked down an extra 20%, and I used my 20% off coupon, so despite Gymboree's notoriously high prices, we got a pretty decent deal. I'd received a $100 AMEX gift check as a reward for something I did well, so I paid with that (and got lots of change).

Next we went to the Children's place, where we found winter jackets on sale (I think they were 30 or 40% off). The Beaner protested, of course, when we tried to zip him into the jacket, but he eventually chilled out when I explained very carefully that we were just trying it on for size, and that we wouldn't be so silly as to make him wear a heavy winter coat indoors. The size 3T fit well with room to grow, so we got that, a pair of gloves (to see if he'd wear those instead of the mittens he's rejected), three pairs of socks, and an orange-and-olive striped sweater. I used the change from the gift check, and still had money to spare.

From there we went back to the Food Court, where we agreed that bean tacos and bean Crunchwrap Supremes would hit the spot. We also got a Cheesy Fiesta Potatoes, a half-seltzer/half-Sprite from the Subway, and a vanilla milk from the Starbucks (for The Beaner). The kicker? I had enough money left over from the gift check to buy dinner. The whole trip to the mall was stress free: The shopping was easy, the cashier at Taco Bell was the friendliest I've ever encountered (I kinda wish I'd gotten her name, so I could say nice things about her to her manager/the company), we got everything we came for, and we had some lovely family time together.

Wednesday
I'd been craving lychee martinis ever since our dinner at Nobu, and for some reason I just crave alcohol in general during the holidays (it must be all those old movies where people ALWAYS have cocktails in their hands, because I'm usually just a half-a-glass-of-wine or two-sips-of-beer-and-then-abandon-the-bottle kind of gal), and I decided to do something about it. I proposed taking a family walk to the liquor store to buy a good vodka and some lychee liqueur, and to Tampopo to pick up dinner.

The only tough part about this walk was that The Beaner neither wanted to walk nor wanted to ride in his stroller, which meant I had to carry him. My arms cramped into twisted claws halfway to the liquor store, but I made it. Al and the stroller went to Tampopo to pick up the spicy pork, brown rice bibimbap with egg, and sushi rolls with egg cake and avocado that he'd pre-ordered by phone, and then he met me at the liquor store. Sadly, they had no lychee liqueur, but I made do with some Grey Goose vodka, a splash of dry vermouth, a generous dose of the liquid from the canned lychees I was using, and three actual lychees. Lychee martini + brown rice bibimbap + conversation with the family = LOVELY. Hm, I wonder if it'd be a bad thing to go make another martini right now...?

Thursday
I think we all ate separately, but we still got lots of family time in. While Al was changing out of his work clothes upstairs, I started unloading the dishwasher. The Beaner came over to see what I was doing, so I decided to try an experiment. "Do you want to help me unload the dishwasher?" I asked. "Yes!" said The Beaner. "OK, then, can you find all the plastic bowls and stack them together?" And he did. Just like that, he picked out only the four plastic bowls, stacked them, and handed them to me. He then reached for a porcelain bowl, tugged it out, and handed it over with a "here ya go, Mommy!" At first I thought, "oh no, what if he breaks something?" And then I thought, "who cares? He's obviously enjoying himself, and I really do want him to feel useful around the house—and to get used to helping." We ended up unloading the entire dishwasher together, with The Beaner handing me every glass, bowl, cup, lid, and utensil. Makes me smile just thinking of how well he did the job, and how proud he was when we were finished.

After getting something to eat, The Beaner voted to go out in the car again. I proposed that we go out to see some Christmas lights (which I prefer to do by bicycle, but The Beaner wasn't into that; I talked up the idea, though, so he'll be more excited about it next time). We drove up Kelly Drive toward Manayunk, and then into Manayunk itself. Sadly, we didn't get to see any real houses decorated for the holidays, but Manayunk's downtown was decorated nicely (I wonder if they got the balls that used to hang in Rittenhouse Square off of freecycle? ;). The Beaner requested "milk!" halfway up Kelly Drive, so we went in search of a Starbucks. We found one on the main drag, and I took him in to buy a vanilla milk (plus a latte for myself). It was a beautifully crisp, cold winter night, and the cozy coffee shop and the twinkling lights made me want to sing Sleigh Ride for the 100th time.

Al drove for the return trip, and he crossed Falls Bridge to get to West River Drive. I'd never been on that road before; I imagine as a commuter one would feel the urge to drive as fast as possible around its curves, but as someone who was in the mood to drive at a sleigh's pace, the 35mph speed limit seemed too fast. There was no one behind us, so I asked Al to slow down to 25. He did, and it was magical. Not quite as slow as a bike ride, but similar—and when the lights of Boathouse Row came into view, I forgot my earlier lament that we'd seen no houses dressed for Christmas.

---

So, were those three nights boring? Probably, to anyone who didn't experience them with us. But they're exactly the kind of December nights I could have over and over again, and feel like I was in a feel-good movie from the 1940s. Cocktails and sleigh rides in the stroller, anyone?

The Perfect Gift for a Proper Philadelphian

Overheard in the Starbucks yesterday, a conversation between two professional-looking women who were probably in their late 20s or early 30s:

Woman 1: How about cuff links?
Woman 2: No, he'll never wear them. He says nobody wears cuff links anymore.
Woman 1: [untranscribeable snort of shock] What? Does he LIVE here?

Street Submission

I submitted a photo to JPG Magazine's issue 9, in the Street category, and they've suggested that I might want to "pimp" my submission on my site. I'm not much for pimping, but this *is* one of my favorite photos, so I'll present it for your consideration. If you think it's a good fit for the theme of "Street", please give it the thumbs up!

The Cure For The Winter Blues?

Did y'all know that Daylight Saving Time is being extended this year? Instead of starting on the first Sunday in April and ending on the last Sunday in October, it'll now start on the second Sunday in March and end on the first Sunday in November. In other words, DST will start on March 11 this year instead of April 1, and it'll end on November 4 instead of October 28.

I'm trying to decide if this is a good or a bad thing. As someone who tends toward depression in the winter because of the lack of light—and as someone who's looked forward to Daylight Saving Time for her entire adult life the way I looked forward to Christmas as a kid—it seems like it would be a good thing. I'm so tuned to the way things are now, though, that I wonder if it will be a difficult adjustment.

I always know when DST is ending because I was born on the day the clocks changed in 1968. Thus, the weekend of or just after my birthday is the sad day when we fall back (though as a consolation prize, we gain an extra hour of sleep). I'm sure there will be other reminders in early November, but it won't be the same.

When I was in my early teens I used to have to get up for school ridiculously early (partly because I had long, incredibly thick hair, and it took at least 20 minutes to blow dry it), often before the sun was up. I used to look forward to March, when the days were starting to lengthen but DST had not yet arrived because it meant that the sun rose before I did. I loved the early morning light streaming through my windows. It felt peaceful and wonderful and renewing to wake up in that light. Daylight Saving Time's arrival was often a disappointment, plunging me as it did back into morning darkness.

Now I wake late enough that the sun is up before I am even in winter, so I don't think moving DST will make that much difference to my mornings. I also sit by a window all day while I work, so I maximize the light I get even on short winter days. I've been noticeably less chipper in the past couple months than I was in the preceeding fall or summer, but it's really not that bad. I think the fact that Philadelphia can be sunny even when it's bitterly cold outside (as it is now) helps a lot; I remember being more depressed in winter in San Francisco, where I also sat next to a window during the day, possibly because there were more overcast, rainy days. Ditto Boston, where it's more overcast than here.

Speaking of winter and bitter cold, today is a sharecare day, so I walked the Beaner over to his friend M's house in the stroller this morning. OH MY GOD, IT WAS COLD. We seem to have gone from merely freezing to absolutely brutal, and I was caught with no tights under my jeans. What was I thinking? Here's where, if you're a seasoned parent, you'll be saying out loud, "wait, you're worried about not wearing TIGHTS under your pants? What about your KID, freezing his ass off in the stroller?" And you'd be absolutely right.

I called Al after I left M's house to tell him how the Beaner refused the stroller cover halfway through the walk, even though he'd gone silent minutes into the walk (usually he sings until he gets too cold to do so, so he must have gotten cold fast), and how he'd started to whimper as we turned onto M's street. "Only a little farther, buddy!" I'd said. "Yeah," Al said. "As I was riding up the elevator in my building this morning, I remarked to a colleague how cold it was this morning. The colleague replied, 'yeah, it was so cold I had to drive my kids to school!'" We both paused for a second to smack our foreheads. We could have DRIVEN the Beaner to M's house. Duh. "We should pick him up in the car tonight," said Al. Um, yeah. Sometimes we are so STUPID.

Out My Window

It's snowing today in Philadelphia. For some reason I'm not thinking of coziness and cocoa, probably because my mind is firmly in March, not February. I did appreciate the near-silent hush of my boots in the snow as I walked to Trader Joe's to pick up some essentials this morning, however, and I'm appreciating the snowy view outside my window right now. In fact, I've raised the somewhat-transparent sunshade on the window for the first time in months so I'd be able to see the individual flakes falling.

I Guess I Should Be Thankful He Saw Me At All

That sound you just heard, if you live in the vicinity of 21st and Cherry Streets in Philadelphia, was an asshole honking at me to get out of the crosswalk so he could floor it across 21st Street. Out of the way, <sneer>pedestrian</sneer>, I need to get on with the business of scaring the wits out of all the parents of young children who live on this block of Cherry Street!

The Real Estate Reality Check

About once or twice a year, something will happen that makes Al and me consider moving back to San Francisco. Maybe not seriously, but enough to check the housing prices and to start having theoretical discussions about what would be lost and what would be gained by moving.

I usually start the housing price check by looking at condos in San Francisco and houses in Palo Alto, but Al's method for determining the true state of affairs is more foolproof: Just check the listings in our old neighborhood in Mountain View for a Mackay with the same floor plan as ours. We used to live in the Monta Loma section of Mountain View, which had a few Eichlers and many, many more Mackays. There were only a few different floor plans, so it's usually easy to find one just like ours on the market.

I don't want to live in Moutain View again (it's lovely, but it's a bit too far south for me, and there wasn't much to walk to in our hood), so I never think to do a search there. After doing several Palo Alto, San Carlos, Burlingame, San Mateo, and Redwood City searches last night, Al said, "just go to Moutain View and find a Mackay". I did, and sure enough, there was a listing on a street one over from our old one. Same floor plan, but not nice as ours had been, IMHO... and listed for $250,000 more than we sold our house for in September, 2003. Yes, you read that right: The house was *not* listed for $250,000, but for a quarter of a million dollars MORE than we sold our house for less than four years ago.

It really did tell us all we need to know about the cost of moving back.

Before My Eyes

I was almost hit by a car this morning. I've had near misses before, but this was the nearest, scariest miss ever. I'd been out for a morning walk and was on my way back from a stop at Whole Foods when I reached the northernmost side of the Ben Franklin Parkway while walking south on 21st Street.

The light turned green, so I started to run (you can't make it all the way across in one light if you walk), first crossing the small side road and then the Parkway itself. I had just crossed the median when a car turned in front of me. It wasn't a turn I would have made had I been driving; a moment's pause, and that car could have turned behind me. It turned a good four paces in front of me, though, so it wasn't a big deal.

The next car that turned is the one that nearly hit me. Al said later that I should have kicked it, but I even if I'd had the presence of mind to do so, I didn't have enough room. I'm not sure how the tires missed my toes, in fact, nor how I managed to go from a running stride to a dead stop so quickly; I think it was probably that I naturally recoiled in fear when I saw the car enter my peripheral vision. I shrieked, "JESUS CHRIST!" like an insane person, and then just stood there in the middle of the road, staring after the car as it sped away. I was so shaken that I then yelled, "YOU COULD HAVE FUCKING KILLED ME!", but by that point the car was already at the next light.

I didn't think to get the license number of the vehicle—too much fear and adrenaline for logic—but I've never been more sure in my life that it was a very light blue metallic BMW 325 sedan (I think an xi). I couldn't see the driver at all because of the reflection from the morning sun, so I don't know whether s/he was on a cell phone, how s/he could have missed seeing me, nor whether s/he noticed my hip bones outside the driver's side window as s/he floored it, tires squealing.

Twenty-first Street is one-way, southbound. There is no oncoming traffic to distract left-turning drivers. The only obstacle in those drivers' paths would be a pedestrian in the crosswalk. Today I was that obstacle, that pedestrian. And I was almost mowed down.

I finally reached the other side in safety, still shaking in anger and fear, and noticed a homeless man on a bench. He waved. I said, "did you SEE that?" He pointed at his eyes with his first two fingers and replied, "I saw the WHOLE THING. Can't believe it." We shook our heads at each other, and then I called Al and burst into tears. I. Could. Have. Been. Killed.

A Little (OK, a LOT) of Noise for a Good Cause

It's a beautiful early fall day here in Philadelphia, with cool temperatures and dry air. No need for A/C, so I've had the windows open for the past few days to clear out the stuffiness. About 30 minutes ago, however, the noise became unbearable, and I had to shut the ones in the front of the house at least. At the same time, I took at look out the window to see where all that racket was coming from, and spotted a Streets Department worker jackhammering at a signpost.

I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I ran outside to inquire just in case... and was rewarded with exactly the news I was hoping to get: WE ARE GETTING A STOP SIGN AT 21st AND CHERRY!!! The Streets Department worker of whom I inquired was very friendly about it and smiled at my enthusiasm. I know it's unlikely that most cars will actually stop at this new stop sign, but I'm hoping it will at least slow them down and get them to consider whether there's some traffic on Cherry Street waiting patiently to cross 21st. I'm also hoping there'll be fewer incidents like this:

...and that there'll be no need to change the name of my Why We Need a Stop Sign at 21st and Cherry photoset on Flickr to Why We Need a Stop LIGHT at 21st and Cherry. Please people, OBEY THE SIGN!

And thank you, thank you, thank you to whoever gave the order to the lovely Streets Department workers making such a racket outside.

Guess Where Philly

In the tradition of other Guess Where? groups on Flickr (most notably Guess Where SF, to which my friend Kristin is an occasional contributor), I've started a group called Guess Where Philadelphia (Center City/West Philly). I'm sort of bummed about the long name, but Greater Philadelphia is rather large and encompasses places like Manayunk, Chestnut Hill, and NE Philly—places I'm not nearly as familiar with—and I wanted to limit the group to my stomping grounds. (I'm selfish that way.)

Anyway, if you want to play, please do read the group rules, submit a photo, or just guess where one of the existing photos in the pool was taken. Currently there's only this one up for guessing, but there will be more coming soon (from me, if from no one else!).

Puzzler

Can somebody tell me why this is my most-viewed Flickr photo of all time? It consistently gets 5-8 views a day, and almost all references to it are from within Flickr, not from outside sites or search engines. Is it coming up in Flickr photo searches? Do the members of the Graffiti group dive that deeply into the pool? I have no idea. Do you?

Eastern State Penitentiary

I've got a bunch of half-written posts in "draft" status, including the next installment of the Disney trip (yes, a MONTH later), but I'm going to post a few random small things rather than letting the longer posts clog up the pipe.

This post is to note that I finally finished posting the digital photos I took at Eastern State Penitentiary a couple weeks ago (film shots to be added to the set once I finish the rolls and get them developed). I *loved* photographing that place, and I'm already plotting my return. I'm debating whether to bring Al, to organize an outing with one or more local photographer, or to go alone again; part of me wants to share the place with others, and part of me is thrilled at the prospect of spending another 4 hours without speaking. There was something very special and almost spiritual about that quiet time.

Rockin' Out!

Last summer (I can't believe it's been a year!), I said to the Beaner, "it's time for music lessons. Would you like to do piano, guitar, or vocals?" He replied, "I want to play the drums." This I found interesting, as I, too, had wanted to play the drums as a child. Well, actually I wanted to play the flute when we were offered the opportunity to choose band instruments in fourth grade, but back in the olden days, when asthma wasn't well understood, I was told that asthmatics couldn't play the flute. "Then I want to play the drums," I said. For me this meant getting a drum pad and sticks and a drum teacher. For the Beaner, it meant calling the School of Rock.

I had noticed the sign for the (original Paul Green) School of Rock when I first moved to Philadelphia and read about it in an article online, and I'd seen posters on Chestnut Street for SOR shows. (And of course, since then, I've seen the movie.) In the intervening years, the School of Rock became a franchise, and there are now locations around the country—including several in this area. I picked the one in Philadelphia proper because that's where we live, and we arranged to visit the place and see if there was a program that was right for the Beaner.

The main School of Rock gig is the Performance Program, in which students have a private lesson in their instruments weekly, plus a 3-hour weekly rehearsal for a particular show (past shows have included themes like The Ramones, 90s Rock, Freedom Rock, Led Zeppelin, and Arena Rock) over 8-10 weeks. Each kid is assigned a few songs, and at rehearsals the participants in each song practice together as a band. At the end of the season, the kids play two shows: one on a Friday night at the School of Rock, and one the next afternoon at a real rock venue such as Johnny Brenda's or The Legendary Dobbs.

For younger kids, the School of Rock also has a program called Rock 101. This is what we signed the Beaner up for, since he was 7 at the time and had no experience playing the drums yet. It's similar to the Performance Program except that there's no show to aim for—just weekly 90-minute jam sessions with fellow 101 Rockers. The shorter rehearsal time was a better fit for his attention span as well as his experience. There was a drum lesson spot open just before 101 on Saturdays, so we took that.

I should probably mention here that the philosophy of the School of Rock is to get kids playing real rock music as soon as possible, and to teach music theory as they go. Putting learning actual songs first gives the kids the incentive they need to practice and to improve their technique. Thus it was that the Beaner was learning basic rock beats in his lessons while also banging out Blitzkrieg Bop and Hit Me With Your Best Shot in Rock 101.

We wanted to make sure the Beaner would stick with it before we invested in a drum set, so we started him out with a set of sticks, a table, a chair, and a shoebox. Al and I both worked with him for the first few weeks of home practice to help him with timing, but after that, his skill eclipsed ours. That's when we got him a drum set—a very basic kit that we will eventually upgrade when this one wears out (and it will if he keeps playing :-).

I'd started looking forward to spending a couple hours at the School of Rock every Saturday; I enjoyed listening to the kids play while getting caught up on random work tasks like fixing or triaging bugs and updating Trello boards. And sometimes I sang along from the kitchen area to whatever was going on back in the Rock 101 room. :-) When they started learning Seven Nation Army, though, I was actually inspired to get out the awesome bass guitar I'd bought during a bout of depression back in the winter of 95-96. I guessed that the bass line would be relatively easy to figure out, and perhaps the Beaner and I could practice a bit together. (Video password is the name of this site.)

This past June the Beaner graduated from Rock 101 and was invited to join the Performance Program. (Rock 101 had become so popular that the SOR actually started a Rock 102, I think on Tuesday nights, but the Beaner preferred to stick with 101 on Saturdays until they forced him out. Not really surprising; he likes to stick with what he knows and avoids change.) He requested The Monkees as his first choice show and got it. Summer shows are a little ragged because so many kids go on family vacations and miss rehearsals, but the Beaner had a blast—and my Saturday work sessions at the SOR went from 2 hours to 4. I helped him practice at home, mostly by singing and playing the tambourine rather than playing bass.

As usual, the Friday night show was held at the School of Rock. Here's "For Pete's Sake" from that show, with the Beaner on drums (apologies for the horrible sound quality; Al was standing right near the monitor when he recorded this):

On Saturday my parents came up to see the show at The Legendary Dobbs on South Street. Here's "Look Out, Here Comes Tomorrow" from that show, again with the Beaner on drums:

Right around the time the kids were doing their final Monkees rehearsal, Craig (Waxman, the GM at the Philly School of Rock) announced that an adult program would be starting up on Thursday nights. It would work similarly to Rock 101: you'd get a weekly lesson and a weekly 2-hour practice session with your fellow adult musicians. The goal (which I kind of ignored, since my goal was merely to finally learn to play my vintage P-bass) would be to play 3 or 4 shows a year in local clubs. I waffled for a couple weeks and then finally took the plunge. I've had two lessons and one practice session so far, and I'm so looking forward to the lesson and session this week. (Though I did kind of forget that I'd have to work daily practice into my busy schedule, which means something will have to give—and that something will be running... which I realize is yet another thing I haven't written about here. Summary: I went from not being able to run the bases at softball in April 2012 to running my first 5K race at a 9:47/mi pace in April 2013.)

After a brief break between show seasons, signups for the winter season shows took place today. The Beaner's first choice was Punk 'n Funk (he's a little unsure what to expect, given that there's no single band to learn about, but he's hoping that there'll be at least one Ramones tune in the lineup), which rehearses on Saturdays again. His second choice was "nothing," but I put in for Women Who Rock, which was not-so-secretly MY first choice. ;-) The Beaner thinks that's just for girls, tho, so he's not really interested.

Al will be splitting the 4-hour Saturday stints at the SOR with me this time, as the UWHL hockey season starts in early October, and we will have at least half our games on Saturdays. With bass lessons on Wednesday nights and Adult Program sessions on Thursday nights, though, I'm still going to be spending a whole lotta time at the Philly SOR. If you have kid who's interested in learning an instrument or singing with a band—or you want to get out that old Fender, or put childhood piano lessons to use on keyboards—come on down! I'll share the table in the kitchen area—or the microphone—with you.