I love this so much, I'll even forgive them for having forgotten the L in Pennsylvania.

Via Phillyist's Proofreading Philly.

Teenage black guy talking about music to teenage white guy on train:

Black guy: "Who this Ella Fitzgerald people be talking about?"

White guy: "I don't know, but she sounds Irish. She probably sings Irish music"

From Overheard in Philly via steanne.

I'll be using my first PhillyCarShare car today! I am absurdly, geekily excited about this. It's a Prius.

Both of our household cars (PhooeyCars? CarsPhooey?) are down for the count, and don't see the mechanic til next week. Usually being carless is no big deal - we walk, or take buses or cabs), but today #1 must be fetched from his art program in West Philly, and I'm not interested in taking public transit, two legs each way, to do it. PhillyCarShare is less than $2 more than transit would be, and infinitely faster. Also, fun!

I keep thinking we should sell one of the two household cars in exchange for one single vehicle that could fit all six of us. But I don't want to be saddled with giant fuel costs. Maybe I should keep an eye out for a used hybrid Highlander. The mileage isn't quite as good as our little cars, but for a 6-passenger vehicle, not bad.

The holiday season has come to Rittenhouse Square, as well. On my way home, they were hanging the fairy lights in the trees.



I still miss the colorful ones.

I signed up to usher for the Choral Arts concert this evening, since it was the bargain way to hear the performance. oracne's been singing with them for ages, another reason we try to go to their concerts when we can.

I invited Mom Phooey to come along, and first she declined, but then wondered if she could come, and bring #1 along.

He attended his first concert at the tender age of three months (a candlelight music service at the Unitarian church in Pittsburgh on Christmas Eve 2004), saw his second and third at six months (one an organ concert in Venice, the other choral music in Rome). Which reminds me, we have some ground to make up where #2 is concerned.

So I went early, ushed, and they arrived shortly before the performance began. The music was beautiful, the chorus sounded great (benefitted enormously by the wonderful acoustics of St. Mark's at 16th and Locust, one of my favorite local churches), and #1 was a peach. He sat quietly all through the Palestrina, squirmed silently during the Schutz, and lasted 2 movements into the Brahms before I decided we'd asked enough of him.

We walked home together through the cold fall night, and it was wonderful.

I was running late this morning (due to a messy sirloin incident in my refrigerator), so I decided to take the bus. By the time we reached the corner, there were five or six people already gathered there.

SEPTA is one of the most screwed up public transportation authorities anywhere, so irregular service is no surprise. But that was a lot of people to find waiting, so close to 9 AM.

Peering down the street, I saw a bus come lurching along. But when it stopped a block down and half a dozen people got on, I knew it would be too crowded to even stop for us.

Fortunately, I peered down the street once more.

There were three more buses right behind that one.

Three.

All in a row.

The second of them? Was virtually empty. Meaning the two behind it? Were probably completely empty.

WTF?

I'm not sure I've gotten a seat on a bus in a while. I'd forgotten how uncomfortable they are.

But I was only two minutes late to work.

We (being myself, the spousage, the boys, and jumakiwi, visiting from Pittsburgh for the weekend) were walking along Walnut Street this afternoon, fresh from a delicious brunch at Rouge. #2 was asleep in his half of the stroller, and #1 was reclining peaceably.

The conversation had turned to synagogues and Jewish holidays. A woman walking just behind us piped in on the topic. She was very pleasant, and was wearing a beautiful skirt with pieced bands of color.

She mentioned that she'd celebrated Simcha Torah at BZBI (where the congregation's president drank a lot and danced exuberantly), and that she'd just had her hedgehog blessed (I forget where, either at an Episcopal church or in some sort of Muslim ceremony).

And then she stopped and reached into a small bag she was carrying, looped over her arm.

And took out a hedgehog. An actual hedgehog. A little fellow, about the size of her open hand.

Name of Conrad.

Have you ever touched a hedgehog? Their spines are thicker than I'd realized, and sharp on the ends, but smooth, and of course they all move a bit under your hand, since they are attached to the hedgehog's skin. They are related to anteaters, hedgehogs, and they've got dark eyes, longish snouts, and cute little feet.

A hedgehog.

Its carry bag had a picture of a hedgehog embroidered on it, and the word hedgehog.

After we all (and several other strangers who stopped to see the hedgehog) had a chance to pet him, she put him back in the bag, and we walked on, continuing our conversation.

Seems she's a pal of Ivy Meeropol, the granddaughter of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, who made a film about her grandparents, and her experience coming to terms with her history. Fascinating.

So then we talked about them as we walked, except that all the time I was thinking, "Hedgehog!"

Experienced like that are why I love living in the city.

The Phillies made the playoffs!

Making their victory even sweeter?

The hated Mets lost.

Ha!

What fun! I am off to meet littleblueghost for a coffee. She's visiting from Down Under.

Perhaps the best wholesale bakery in the city?

Will now be selling direct to the public at Head House Farmers Market on Sundays.

Bread. Yum.

The spousage was mugged this evening.

On our own corner!

He's fine, but two teenagers with a .357 made off with his wallet and his cell phone.

I prudently cancelled that, and his cards, before any calls were made/money was spent, though we'll have to notify the credit report people, since his social security card was in his wallet. As was his late mother's, as a keepsake, since it had her signature on it.

Turned out he'd gone to high school with one of the cops, at the same high school where the other cop's brother went (said brother held all the school basketball records at the time, and went on to play in the NBA). Small, crazy world.

So. He's fine.

But, oy.

He was ranting about wanting to do physical harm to the thieving morons, and I chastised him (mainly for saying so in front of the children, at least the one who might understand), but of course I feel the same way.

Especially since I'd walked past that very spot with the boys not half an hour before. While I believe I'd be sensible enough to just hand over my handbag rather than risk physical harm, part of me knows I'd be willing to kill to protect my children.

Oy.

I can already tell.

First, and most important? Anyone within shouting distance of Philadelphia must go to Capogiro for some red watermelon sorbetto.

Not only super delicious, but fat free!

Of course, you could pair it with some creme fraiche gelato, which tastes like whipped cream, only with a pleasantly more substantial texture.

I was good and split my small between the watermelon and the margarita. Which had salt in it! Divine.

I may have to go back again today. They don't have those exact flavors (check the website for that day's flavors - it's all made fresh), so I think I'd opt for a medium cup with three: raspberry (made from local fruit), white chocolate, and peaches and cream.

The fountain in the square:


( 3 more photos )

Found drifting about the sidewalk the other day:



It was like that scene from American Beauty. Plus artichokes.

• Happy birthday to dr_memory! 35 looks good on you, and your purple hair, too.


• Happy belated birthday to Surfal333, whose birthday on Friday I forgot because how on earth can you be one already? Stop that right now!


• mockduck! Do I have your mailing address? I have a present for Item.


• Shopping on one's lunch hour? Dangerous.


• Fruit for lunch afterward? Virtuous.


• Citizens of Philadelphia, take heed: it's sidewalk, not sidestand. Let this be a lesson to you! Or I will mow your cheesesteak-eating asses down.

ETA: Got it, mockduck! Package enroute.