Philly, as far as I know is this mystical place. So mystical that I wasn’t really sure where it was, or at least had zero scope regarding the area it was in. This was the place our founding fathers signed documents, declared freedoms, and, as Chris noted, probably urinated in bushes outside their local pub. A glorious place indeed. But I had no idea that it was a hop away from New Jersey and a jump to New York and this new set of information, this new idea of proximity was amazing to me. It still kind of makes me uncomfortable, after all, it’s suppose to take you all day to drive the length of your state, or at least four hours to get out of it. Apparently the East Coast is excepted from this rule. Once I acclimated to that, the rest of the weekend was a breeze.. well sort of.

First stop into Philly was Chris’ place. His house is nestled in between two others, as all things that are nestled are, over on 17^th where it sported a fancy front door with windows and nice solid hardwood floors, an opera singing neighbor, an old woman with a cute granddaughter neighbor, and some other regular type people about. The house was a pleasant and impressive three stories, I wish there were four because then we’d have been on the roof, but three would do just nicely and it did. All other Philly activities were similarly straightforward and simply enjoyable… to the fullest extent of the phrase.

I saw Chris’ TFA headquarters, we ate cheese steaks, ‘wizz-wit’, saw Jen, parked in the middle of the street, rode on the back of a moving truck, took subways across town and into New York, and drove to Atlantic City. The last two being of great importance. First, New York.

New York.

It was a first time for John being in the ‘Big Apple’ in the ‘Melting Pot’ the ‘City’… or what ever other name I could make up for it right now. Anyway, first time, so simply being there was neat, to say it in one word. New York is a city of substance. It’s still fake, like LA or Phoenix, or San Diego, or … I don’t know… but it’s got some substance to it underneath all the flashing lights, billboards, and photo opps. It’s neat to know that it was America’s port year’s ago, it was where American culture was, is, would always be (though now we know where it really is..) It was built on top of the poor by the rich and never seemed to stop. It is a mammoth of a city and every turn has a tale. It was neat. Cousin Mike gracious picked us up from Penn Station and drove us about the city for the morning, periodically allowing me to jump out of the car and gawk. We then met up with Jenette and had some lunch, after which we, Chris, Mike, and I, went for a walk from Times Square back to his place on 36^th. It was a hike, but worth every step. The night emptied into tai food and beer and darts and then Mike left Chris and I to our devices, or vices. We walked up the street to the next bar, which so happened to be entertaining with Karaoke, we ordered scotch, three ice cubes, and enjoyed the music.

Once our feet were back outside walking down the street it was clear what the mission was: drink scotch at every bar we pass along the way until we can’t drink scotch no more. And so it was done. At bar number six there was a connect four game and Chris challenged the bar tender, rendering her with out a shirt (well, really she just flashed the bar, but who’s keeping track) as well as winning a couple of drinks for us and then it was over for me. I vaguely remember putting some of what I had drank away in the restroom and then doing a fair amount of stumbling, shouting, smashing, running, dancing, jumping, and the like. Chris and I fell asleep in the vacant apartment three floors down from Mike’s place on the wood floors, I’m sure glad they had a working toilet. Pancakes in the morning when we finally made it up the last three levels and then back on the train to Philly. It was quite the first day in New York, I think I covered my bases.

Atlantic City.

This is a much easier thing to relate. Two hours there by car. Twelve hours later I’m up $350, Chris is up $3,000. We eat a free steak dinner and drink free blue martini’s and we’re back in Philly with half an hour to spare before we need to catch my 5:30 AM flight back to Tucson. It was quite the first day in Atlantic City, I think I covered my bases.

I ended up opting for a later flight out of philly and made another two hundred bucks, sat and watched a philly sunrise over the airport, as the planes yawned away and made it to a seat aboard flight something or another just in time to catch my body into a relaxed bit of sleep.

Back in Tucson I had one day to get everything I needed ready for classes, Paul moving in, and our ten days of sailing in California. So when Jon said he’d pick me up, it was clear there was no doubt that I would love to go rock climbing with him and Austin for the afternoon. What did I have to do instead?

(apologies for the poor narrative – it’s late and such is writing when it’s stream of conscientiousness)

On the flight back to Orange County, leaving behind family in more than one way.

We left a bundle of new found relatives, folks from Jamesville, North Carolina and the surrounding burbs, to get back to their daily routine in tears; any of them I’ll probably not see again unless they venture out west. We left Pop, Melanie, Steph, Craig, and their gang at church this morning while we drove off in our rental micro-van to the airport. And Tripp and Karen took the keys from Mom and, as we taxied, were driving toward the coast to celebrate their first anniversary, then they’ll return to their respective homes, Michigan and Chicago.

It’s odd first of all going to an event like that. Essentially it’s like a college party, where you show up, you only know the people you brought, and perhaps the people who called to tell you about it. The first thing you do is look for the beer and a comfortable protected spot to use as home base and then you proceed to make idle chat with a whole bundle of folks who you may or may not run into again, but perhaps you’ll see them later on in the party, so your amiable. The only difference is everyone is a lot older, there isn’t any ping pong, and you’d best stay away from any attractive ladies – this is a Family Reunion. Fortunately this BBQ didn’t turn out anything like how I’d internally predicted it to.

The first part of my plan was on target, we arrived and looked for the beer, and really didn’t know anyone but Pop, but as the party went on our relatives were a bundle of warm, welcoming, good natured people. They might not have been Californians, though Andrew might hold that against them and for the most part that made it even easier to get along with, but they were decent human beings that apparently loved us just as much as they’d love any of their own children. The made jokes and more importantly could roll with ours, played football, cooked and ate food like no other, loved cats, were eager to share their tales and stories, and truly their welcome mats meant come on it, for real. I couldn’t have imagined it. Thus, when we left, there were tears in the eyes of our hosts, hearty hugs and hand shakes, and a real commitment from a good many of them, to keep in contact via emails or visits. I think some of us Californian folk would even consider moving there.

The life style was mellow, slow, comfortable. Perhaps this was just a show, perhaps there are uptight people everywhere in the world and we just so happened to have a weekend party without any of them showing up, or letting loose, but if that’s not the case, North Carolina is one of the most relaxed places in the world. … and remember just because they talk slow, doesn’t mean they are….

The night before we left.. last night, Anna some sort of second cousin removed and then re-added in, an 18 year old relative who’s just graduated and going to North Carolina State, took a couple of us out, kind of. After dinner we were antsy, we wanted to carouse, see, hear, do something.. anything to prevent sitting in the hotel room till we passed out. So she generously offered to take us about. After much harassment of things and places in the area I think she became frustrated with her perceived inability to ‘show us a good time’ in her home town. I didn’t mind, I had a great time just driving about Jamesville and such watching the dark fields and lit-up houses go by. One particular stop was upon the “Screaming Bridge,” a haunted bridge that, if you stopped up on it you could hear the screams of the woman who was hung off of it. I heard no screams but my own in an attempt to rile up the car a little, followed by pounding on the roof and driver’s window.. In any case – just like Mission Viejo, or any other home town – we perceive them as boring as we grow up there and then come to learn later that they’re built and filled with character and thrills. Well, maybe not the thrills, but certainly character and this North Carolina had it for sure.

With a quick stop at Bojangles in the morning for breakfast with Anna and her mom and then to the church to see everyone off, we drove from Jamesville to the airport in a hot and muggy environment and I couldn’t stop thinking about how amazing it is that thus far every place I’ve visited on this earth has the exact same people living there. People who love and are loved, people who welcome, people who laugh, people who forget about what they’re bad at, people with compassion, and most of all, people who smile. Everyone, no matter who their master, and who their enemy, smiles and it’s great to know I’ve got kin in North Carolina who are damn good at it.

Touch-down.