Thanksgiving Eve Souvenir

Philadelphia. I had no excitement to come here. It’s hard to believe that the place where I lived for eight years could seem so foreign. It’s really just a reminder of how I never felt at home here.

I arrived with kind of a bad attitude toward the place, so it’s probably partly my fault, but I haven’t felt anything joyful or welcoming. There seems to be nothing I miss. The airport was vaguely unpleasant, and Septa immediately pissed me off by charging $7 for a 10 minute train ride. A number of landmarks are missing now, notably the grain elevator by the airport. And it’s cold. So, after hemming and hawing, I decided to kill some time at Bucks County Coffee. Not because it’s good, but because it’s in a nice spot. Except it’s gone. I thought about going to the library, but I don’t have a Penn ID anymore. So I ended up at Cosi. I hate Cosi. And their wireless doesn’t work.

I’m having trouble understanding that there is no jazz or blues or anything otherwise funky playing in here. David Gray? U2? Who the fuck listens to that? Oh, right, the rest of the world. No brass band to welcome me at the airport, either. And people look different. Laughably trendy, too too made up, or just kind of effete. It actually seems hard to imagine a city so damn big where I could wander around all day and not run into anyone I know. Probably not have a conversation with anyone for that matter.

It’s not that New Orleans has one identity; it has many, depending who you are talking to. But Philadelphia doesn’t really have any. What is Philadelphia? Cheesesteaks? The Liberty Bell? Well, I guess being the birthplace of the constitution is not that different from being the birthplace of jazz, but you can’t dance to the constitution.

I wandered though the Penn campus on my way over here, right past the Fine Arts library and the building where I had all my classes. I wondered whether there might be anyone I know in studio. Doubtful. It really didn’t bring back a great rush of memories and feelings. Little ones here and there, disjointed. It’s experiences like that that make me realize that my feelings for New Orleans are not something that I’ve constructed, not something to fill a vacuum. It’s amazing that I could have so few feelings for this place, and proof that I never did fit in here the way that I do there.

The Marbles have been my defense along the way. They usually are when I leave New Orleans. I would never think of listening to my ipod when walking around there, but here it’s like a necessary defense. Anyway, the Marbles have been helping a lot. But also reminding me how sad it is that Meschiya is not with them anymore. That combination was so perfect. And I love the duets between her and Kiowa.

At a loss as to what to do in Philly for a couple of hours, it occurred to me that Riff Raff is coming here. I started hatching a plan to leave a surprise for them at the venue, thinking they would be here next week. They actually were here two days ago. Oh well.

When I opened up my computer, I saw on the NOLA.com page that the red streetcars are back. Among all the bad news, that seemed cheery, so I clicked on it. Of course there were a string of comments heavy on the racism, dwelling on the crime and danger of the city, and generally making it out to be the worst, most backwards place imaginable. Fuck y’all. Do something about it or shut up.

I guess I should be off now. It’s cold out there.