In Philadelphia

Well, I got into town and wandered around for a little before settling in at the Louis Kahn park to read for a while. Amy called me back and talked for a while about my coming back in November to do her reading. I'm looking forward to it, actually. So much so that it's overpowering my "I don't want to leave New York -- especially to go back to Pittsburgh" snobbery to a really large degree. I know that a lot of my Pittsburgh friends are going to take that as a snub to Pittsburgh, but it's really not meant that way. It's no secret that I have a love/hate relationship with my hometown. Some of the people I love most in the world are there (or as in the case of the Lagemae, will be back there soon enough), and it will always be the place I go when I have familial duty; but I left Pittsburgh angry at -- for want of a better target -- the theater community I also loved and longed to be a part of, and I think that anger, much like a wound that hasn't finished healing, is less sharp but still there -- a more deeply-rooted pain than cutting, a nebulous dark knot in my heart that can be felt at the extremities, too.

I suspect when I go back and re-read that passage, it's not gonna make sense.

Doug just called and left me a message -- someone stole his cell phone! And I thought that the universe delighted in taunting me! That poor guy has even worse luck than I, methinks. Except that he's, you know, wealthy. Maybe I get to hang out with Doug as an object lesson in learning that even the rich have their problems, so envying them is probably a pointless exercise.

Philly has a more densely concentrated population of just plain angry people on her streets than any place I've ever been. People muttering to themselves as they stumble along, barely-contained rage seething just beneath the surface.  And believe me, I know something about barely-contained rage!

I had forgotten it was like that, I'm afraid.  I'm disturbed by it when I'm here, and the fact that the population is so angry is probably the biggest reason I'd give for being reluctant to live here. I said on the phone with Amy that if I could have a lot of money and never have to leave Old City, I could live in Philadelphia. Though I suspect that pretty much goes for anywhere.

Later, at Old City Coffee: This is where I should have come if I was looking to indulge memories. On the walk over here I found that I had absolutely no memory of where Dito lived. I wandered the length of Spruce Street, hoping I might stumble on his apartment building, but without luck. Probably sorta of a metaphorical corollary to my infatuation with him -- a journey keen with longing for something but best left unfulfilled.

Still -- it was fun, once I'd crossed the point where I was sure I'd missed his place, to take pleasure in seeing the places I'd treasured while I was here. I got to see 1111 Lombard Street, which used to be actor housing for the Arden, and I had a nice nostalgic stroll through Washington Square -- the site of the candle-light vigil after the September 11 attacks. Passing the Painted Parrot, which isn't there anymore, the building sitting empty. Or seeing that, at some point after I left Philly for the last time, the magnificent old row house/brownstone/mansion I coveted was finally sold but there's still a "for rent" sign on the apartment building next door. Or pass the Snow White Diner on the corner of Market & 2nd and wondering -- but unable to summon the nerve to go in and ask -- if that wonderful, gruff but loveable waitress, Donna is still working there. Or passing the boneyard/gardens of Christ Church, the site of so many Arden rehearsal break lunches and journaling sessions. And passing A.K.A. music, the wonderful (but over-priced!) record shop where I bought Grace Gonglewski her opening night gift of Nat King Cole songs, because she'd recently discovered the charms of "Nature Boy."

Nostalgia is a wonderful thing, but it can be both a blessing and a curse.  Too easy, I think, to waste today pining for an idyllic past.