illadelphia says, 'happy birfday america!'

After an hour and a half drive, which included learning how to utilize cruise control and realizing that driving through Philadelphia is comparable to navigating the seventh circle of hell, I spent a lovely two days in the birthplace of our nation. Weather smiled upon us as me, my younger brother, father, and Canadian cousins traipsed about the city, exploring the generically overcrowded historic sections, as well as the beautifully brimming South Street. Adventures that ensued included:

blatant picture taking of interesting people;
CANADIANS;
the modern tea party (what a shit way for Americans to celebrate America's birfday, really);
the best dressed American;
DARWIN!;
blatant picture taking of babies;
visiting my great-great-great-great grandfather;
taking pictures with said grandfather;
GRANDPA!;
much eye rolling at my uncle (he's swell, really, but talks in a way that is reminiscent to that cool kid slumped in the middle of the classroom, attempting a banter with a professor who could care less, but inevitably gives in with a smile in effort to recognize the students potential);
more blatant picture taking;
POODLE FIGHTS!;
BABIES!;
immersion into the vast array of Philadelphia's street art, including sidewalk chalk;
BROWNSTONES!;
telling my brother to jump off random buildings so I could photograph him doing so;
LOST!;
more jumping, but with my cousin involved. This picture is a great close-up;
SOUTH STREET!;
and all it has to offer;
UGLIEST BABY EVER!;
my uncle turned to me through the throng of people to state, in full accent, 'I really like this place - it has that, sorta, bohemian thing.' All I could do was laugh, and nod;
PANTS-LESS MANNEQUIN!;
early celebrators included much revelry outside a restaurant as we waited for a table; in said restaurant I was served alcohol neither carded nor met with disapproval by the parental and posse; blue moon is delicious; South St. also included RepoRecords (where the new, shiny Decemberist's record gleamed for a pricey $17.95 (which was rather unfortunate compared to the four dollars in my wallet)), experiencing the Gayborhood, sneaking cigarettes, until a total pass-out on the top floor of the Marriot Tower.

Then came time to venture out to Benjamin Franklin Parkway for the largest free concert celebration in the country, which included Harrisburg native Jeffrey Davies representing the 717, the Philly native Roots, and Sheryl Crow. There were people everywhere, everywhere!; a shoulder to shoulder expanse that began to smell as the music tumbled into the night and tempers rose to fist fights, and my favorite quote of the evening, 'FIRE DAT CRACKA!', shortly followed by, 'GET THAT BITCH OFF THE STAGE!'

I agreed. Sheryl was killing me, especially when she ventured into a Led Zepplin cover.

Most peculiar was the vast difference between the July 4th celebrations of Philadelphia in comparison to Washington D.C.'s: fireworks and orchestrated interludes are all very much the same, but the crowds are totally of their own worlds. In D.C. the setting in vast, all surrounded by iconic America, and in such setting, all sit, blankets, pillows and fold outs splashed in a sea of people all eagerly awaiting fireworks. Philadelphia, in the other spectrum, was a mass of people shoulder to shoulder, reeking in the foul mixture of cultural foods, smelly feet, and body odor, all the while people forcefully pushing against your still form so they can mash themselves further into the wall of people. The general camaraderie doesn't exist, and rather is replaced with a hostile environment evaporating after the 17 minutes of fireworks into a chaos of litter, yelling, and, what I assume, a gang battle outside of City Hall (it was the most peculiar thing; we were a block from the Marriot and all-a-sudden all the teenagers within the vicinity flocked to a point directly outside the building, and, moments later, all were fleeing. None knew what the reason was, and many were running opposite the location. Thankfully, we passed through and crossed to the next block just as cop cars began surrounding the building).

July 5th was filled with the Philadelphia Museum of Art, which housed many fantastic exhibits within its new building. After a few hours perusing the various exhibits (which included contemporary Japanese photography on gelatin silver prints, Shopping in Paris, an exhibit on modern furniture design, Hello! Fashion, and a full three rooms of Matisse and other French Impressionists from the South of France. All in all, a fantastic collection of work.

Then, a delicious meal of French Toasted filled with fig and cherry butter at the London Grill on Fairmount (next to the Penitentiary). The restaurant also had the strangest drink menu I have ever read. All the concoctions sounded surreally fantastic. I didn't try my luck twice, though.