Up I go!

I have taken hundreds of pictures of the Kimmel Center. In fact, someone recently asked me if there was an angle of the building I hadn't yet taken a picture of. I thought for a moment, then replied, "yes, there is ONE, but I have to wear a harness to get it!" Well, after waiting and wondering and wishing for 5 years, I finally got a ride in the lift that takes the window cleaners up on the roof. They fitted me with a full-body harness, showed me how to hold onto my rope, and flipped the switch on the lift's motor. I spent about an hour up there in the blazing sun and filthy grime. Those window cleaners are a unique blend of daredevil and perfectionist. They are particular about their squeegees, they make jokes about lift motor malfunctions, they clip, unclip and hop around up there like acrobats. It's truly impressive. My trip up there with them was a huge highlight of my 7 years here at the Kimmel. And I finally got the shot I was missing!

I'll post the photos I took of the cleaners on the Kimmel Center's flickr later this week.

City Survivor?

I'm a huge fan of "Survivor". I've written about it before. It's a great show. And I'm thrilled and excited about tonight's premiere, Survivor: China. It's a beautiful country, rich in aesthetically-pleasing traditions. But enough with the picturesque landscapes! When will Mark Burnett, Jeff Probst and the gang bring it to the streets?? I want Survivor in the city.

Survivor: Soup Kitchen
Survivor: Broad Street Concourse
Survivor: Crack House
Survivor: Subway

The possibilities are endless! And talk about challenging. The smells, the bodily fluids, the trash, the pigeons, the rodents, the locals, the commuters -- it would be a challenge just to watch!

Yo, Survivor: Philly. You got a prollem wit dat?

More than just ice cream

After a wonderful dinner with an old friend tonight, we met up with another good friend for dessert. The three of us don't get to spend much time together these days. Work, relationships, life ... they all get in the way. So time together is precious, and we never squander a millisecond. We savor it like home made ice cream.

After we ordered -- chocolate with sprinkles for one, butter pecan with chocolate sauce for the other, and peanut butter for me -- we hashed out the issues of the moment. No stones left unturned, no mishigoss taboo. It all poured out over ice cream.

Nuggets of life's mysterious wisdom come out of such conversations, like beacons or light bulbs ... pathways to clearer thinking. I treasure those nuggets (and the friends who inspire them) like gold.

My belly is full, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Put up a parking lot

A friend of mine and I were at the beach last weekend. It was Labor Day, so nearly everyone else in the Philadelphia region was at the beach with us. The weather was glorious, the water perfection. I couldn't wait to get to the boardwalk, though, to savor summer's last taste of my favorite confection: Kohr Brothers frozen peanut butter custard with chocolate sprinkles.

There's a Kohr Brothers on the Ocean City, NJ boardwalk at 10th Street. So we started looking for parking at around 6th. We drove all the way to 13th and back through to 2nd Street more than times than I care to admit, and everywhere we looked, someone else was pulling into a spot. But could we find one? Not on our custard-starved souls.

Finally, I pulled up behind one of the amusement park back entrances at 10th Street, put my flashers on, and we took turns running up to Kohrs while the other stayed with the car. It was surprisingly easy and went off without a hitch. We even got bold and drove up to 13th for Johnson's caramel corn. Again, easy as pie, very satisfying. And though part of me had hoped for a boardwalk stroll, our stealth maneuvers protected us from what could have been a chaotically annoying end to our lovely, serene day. The Ocean City boardwalk (especially on Labor Day weekend) is nothing short of a mob scene.

All of this struck me, several days later, as an apt metaphor for my life. I say I want the full experience -- chaos and all -- and I go about the chase of finding my place from which to launch the adventure, but I'm always one step behind everyone else. I watch the rest of the world secure their spots just before I get there, and there's nothing left over for me. Meanwhile, part of me feels like it's just as well, because somewhere in the back of my mind, all I really want is to grab an illicit, temporary spot from which to get the minimum, immediate satisfaction. Then I'm gone. No commitment to a lengthy stay required.

Dammit! I want to be ready to build a parking lot of my very own. A safe, secure place from which to launch any and all adventures life brings. A home base where my car will always have its spot. My tool belt is loaded with the appropriate stuff, and the bulldozer has leveled the ground. But it's a gravel pit until the right person comes along with the pavers to smooth the way.

20 years?!

There were only 48 kids in my high school class. Very small, very insular school. Which was good and bad. Good because it provided a sense of groundedness. It was a strong, solid community. Bad because it was so small, everyone knew everything about everyone. And if you started there in kindergarten, your social place was set in stone from then on. It was nearly impossible (or at least extremely daring) to reinvent yourself or try anything (or anyone) new. If, God forbid, you transfered in later (especially post-junior high), everyone immediately defined you by the first person you happened to stand next to in the hall. It could take years to undo any unwanted associations and create your desired social niche. And by then everyone was off to college.

What a challenge. I loved it.

Next weekend is my 20-year reunion. Well, technically, 21 years, but our class couldn't get it together last year to organize a party, so we hitched onto the class of '87. We're such slackers. They're not much better, considering that the party will be at the local dive bar where we all went to get served underage back in the day!

I'm nervous to see everyone. Mostly because I know they'll all be wondering why I haven't gotten married and had kids like the rest of them. I guess I wonder that too ... but I trust that my life has gone its own path, and with no regrets, I've enjoyed most of it. No complaints. Besides, I've always done things my own way rather than following the crowd, so it's probably what everyone expects of me! That was, after all, my place in the social schema.

What everyone expects shouldn't matter anyway, right? But reunions bring that out in the best of us.