A Philadelphia Story is a pretty good movie. It stars Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart (whom I love). It is probably made better by the fact that it could happen in almost any city, and Philadelphia plays no large role in it. And that is better because Philadelphia sucks.
Yesterday I met Andrew in Philadelphia (its approximately the same distance for both of us) for the day and night, just so we could see each other when otherwise it would be almost two months. It was a rather spur-of-the-moment decision, so we didn't plan anything. Let me tell you, was that a bad idea.
I was to pick Andrew up from the train station at 11:30. I ended up being 45 minutes early because I always overbudget for travel time, so I thought I'd find a nice area to park until it was time. Easier said than done. I could not find a single parking lot (or space) in about 25 square blocks of city. I finally squeezed into a spot in a decal-only UPenn parking lot. When I finally picked Andrew up (which was basically a stand-on-the-corner-and-I'll-pause-for-you-to-jump-in affair because of the lack of parking) we spent about 20 more minutes trying to find our hotel in the historic district because signs are few and far between.
One good thing that happened: we were allowed to check into our hotel early, so we brought up our backpacks and had a quick rest before heading out for lunch. Now, we had decided just to wander around the neighborhood and find something for lunch, rather than make a specific plan. Taking a right out of the hotel brought us to a sidewalk with a highway on one side and a high dividing wall on the other. After 7 blocks of walking thus, unable to turn off the road, I spotted a high pedestrian bridge on the other side of the highway. We darted across, probably looking like Frogger, climbed the stairs and walked the bridge, thus finding ourselves on Market Street. Thirty minutes later, we had not yet found a place to eat. It wasn't due to persnickity-ness on our part. We literally had not found a place to eat. Except for the Philly Cheesesteak carts on every corner. I have never seen a city so lacking in public eateries. We finally stumbled upon and empty little pub, where, I must say, we did get an excellent burger.
After lunch, we decided to hit up some of the more historic sites--since that's really what Philadelphia is all about. The map we picked up at the hotel was woefully unhelpful, and it took us about 15 minutes to find the Liberty Bell center, which was, in fact, around the corner from our pub. While searching for the bell, we found both the First and the Second Bank of America, which were both closed. At the LB center, we found a series of artifacts and exhibits about the Bell, which we mostly skipped over because, let's face it, the Liberty Bell, while beautiful in its symbolism, just isn't
that interesting. We walked through the building, which was incongruously modern and smelled like the pool at a YMCA. When we finally arrived at the Bell itself, we found the bell, surrounded by a thin metal fence, one security guard and a handful of people (all looking at the front--nobody cared about the unblemished backside) in a room with white tiles on the floor and two walls, and a plate glass window on the third. It was about as boring a display as I've seen.
After three minutes, and the requisite photo op, we departed. On to the U.S. Mint. Closed. And the Consitution Center. Admission: $12. So, we opted out, instead sitting on a marble bench in the lobby for a few minutes, listening to some veterans speak about why they joined the military. It could have been a nice presentation, if only they had an audience, a few chairs, and better acoustics.
While we had planned to stay in town until dinner, it was only 4:30 and we had run out of things to do. So we traipsed back to the hotel, watched some tv and had a nap until we ventured out for dinner. This time, we did make a plan, to go to Triumph Brewing Company. But when we got there, after parking my car on the street--quite a feat on a road that narraow--we found the menu was not to our liking. So we ended up at a chic little place called the Bleu Martini, which actually was quite lovely and our steak was delicious. We washed it down with a chocolate fondue platter and I had an Expresso Martini. Coffee vodka, Bailey's Irish Cream and a splash of butterscotch schnapps. Let me tell you, that martini will forever be my fondest memory of Philadelphia.
Because soon after that, we walked back to my car to find a parking ticket. After all that trouble squeezing into a spot, and wrestling with the ridiculous parking meter set up they've got going on, I got a ticket. Granted, I did park in a spot that wasn't actually a spot, but the curb wasn't yellow, and all the signs around the area said it was ok, except for a tiny little corner on the sign behind the car. Luckily, I was riding the high from steak, chocolate and booze at dinner, so I didn't let it ruin the rest of my night.
Well, that was quite the novel, but it all leads up to one very important moral. And that is: Don't go to Philadelphia. Normal, sane, interesting people don't belong there.
And though I am not a Mets fan, I'll throw this in for Andrew: Phillies Suck!
Disclaimer: After re-reading this blog post, I realize that it sounds like I had a horrible time in Philadelphia. This is patently untrue. I actually had a wonderful time, and the best day I've had with Andrew in awhile. However, this was completely in spite of the fact that we were in Philadelphia.
