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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 us