Silly in Philly
Not much happens in Wilkes-Barre, and that's just the way I like it.
We may be recognized by HBO as the birthplace of modern cable programming, but I don't imagine we were ever in the running to be the fictional hometown for Tony Soprano.
People do seem to like it here though, and we have been a popular stop for many presidential candidates over the years, including Rutherford B.
Hayes, Grover Cleveland, Theodore Roosevelt, Harry S.
Truman, John F.
Kennedy, Richard Nixon, Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, and George W.
Bush.
Maybe it's because Wilkes-Barre was a stop on the Underground Railroad before the Civil War, and they were planning an escape route.
Sometimes, I get an urge to high tail it out of Wilkes-Barre for the bright-lights-big-city thing.
I was born and raised in Los Angeles, and a touch of that metropolitan madness still lingers.
So when I received a call from Jill, my old college roommate, suggesting we meet up for a weekend in Philly, my inner urbanite got loose.
Next thing I found myself in my Pontiac G6 Coupe roaring down Route 476 with Wilkes-Barre in my rearview mirror and the luxuriously hip Hotel Sofitel in my OnStar Turn-by-Turn Navigation system.
As the fates would have it, Jill and I pulled into the hotel's driveway at exactly the same moment.
We abandoned our matching G6s (scary coincidence number one), and leapt at each other with a fervor that turned heads and called into question the very idea of the City of Brotherly Love.
Eventually we settled down, checked in, and headed out for a night on the town.
One thing I love about this city is that you can walk just about anywhere; another is the indescribably wonderful restaurants that make it one of the best food destinations on planet earth.
With our Pontiac G6s safely stashed in the hotel garage, in all likelihood reminiscing about the good old days back at the assembly line, we strolled the streets of Philadelphia (apologies to the Boss) and did our own catching up.
We were sitting in Buddakan, one of the country's most talked about eateries, when both our mobile phones rang at the same time with the same ringtone (Chili Pepper's Charlie; scary coincidence number two and three.
) We whipped out our matching iPhones and declared "John" in perfect unison (scary coincidence number four and five), at which point we proceeded to engage in a frenzy of personal jinx mayhem that you can still see on YouTube thanks to the quick thinking of a social networking junkie seated at table four.
Following an extraordinary meal, much bowing, and profuse apologies, we wended our way back to the hotel.
After a drink at the hotel bar and apologetic calls to our respective Johns, we turned in for the night.
Breakfast involved room service and more giggles.
We then decided it was time to get serious, so we walked over to Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed.
Nothing like the smell of history in the morning.
We followed this up with a peak at the Liberty Bell, and continued walking with no destination in mind.
And then it started snowing.
No worries.
We passed the steps where Rocky Balboa did his macho training routine and headed into Fairmount Park where we built a snowman and then took part in a vicious snow fight that disassembled whatever was left of our thinly-veiled dignity.
Having had enough of the elements, we walked over to the renowned Reading Terminal Market, where we spent way too many hours stuffing our almost frostbitten faces on hot chocolate, Philly cheese steaks, and Amish sticky buns.
Our final night was taken up with salsa and merengue at Brasil's, in Old City.
Naturally we sampled the South American and Caribbean elixirs on offer, including a couple of caipirinhas, which is the Brazilian national drink.
(The word literally means leg loosener!) The next day, with a tender head and fond memories in tow, I bid farewell to wonderful Jill and eased myself into the Pontiac G6 for the drive back to Wilkes-Barre, where I could ease things down to a crawl and get on with my life in the slow lane.
We may be recognized by HBO as the birthplace of modern cable programming, but I don't imagine we were ever in the running to be the fictional hometown for Tony Soprano.
People do seem to like it here though, and we have been a popular stop for many presidential candidates over the years, including Rutherford B.
Hayes, Grover Cleveland, Theodore Roosevelt, Harry S.
Truman, John F.
Kennedy, Richard Nixon, Jimmy Carter, Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, and George W.
Bush.
Maybe it's because Wilkes-Barre was a stop on the Underground Railroad before the Civil War, and they were planning an escape route.
Sometimes, I get an urge to high tail it out of Wilkes-Barre for the bright-lights-big-city thing.
I was born and raised in Los Angeles, and a touch of that metropolitan madness still lingers.
So when I received a call from Jill, my old college roommate, suggesting we meet up for a weekend in Philly, my inner urbanite got loose.
Next thing I found myself in my Pontiac G6 Coupe roaring down Route 476 with Wilkes-Barre in my rearview mirror and the luxuriously hip Hotel Sofitel in my OnStar Turn-by-Turn Navigation system.
As the fates would have it, Jill and I pulled into the hotel's driveway at exactly the same moment.
We abandoned our matching G6s (scary coincidence number one), and leapt at each other with a fervor that turned heads and called into question the very idea of the City of Brotherly Love.
Eventually we settled down, checked in, and headed out for a night on the town.
One thing I love about this city is that you can walk just about anywhere; another is the indescribably wonderful restaurants that make it one of the best food destinations on planet earth.
With our Pontiac G6s safely stashed in the hotel garage, in all likelihood reminiscing about the good old days back at the assembly line, we strolled the streets of Philadelphia (apologies to the Boss) and did our own catching up.
We were sitting in Buddakan, one of the country's most talked about eateries, when both our mobile phones rang at the same time with the same ringtone (Chili Pepper's Charlie; scary coincidence number two and three.
) We whipped out our matching iPhones and declared "John" in perfect unison (scary coincidence number four and five), at which point we proceeded to engage in a frenzy of personal jinx mayhem that you can still see on YouTube thanks to the quick thinking of a social networking junkie seated at table four.
Following an extraordinary meal, much bowing, and profuse apologies, we wended our way back to the hotel.
After a drink at the hotel bar and apologetic calls to our respective Johns, we turned in for the night.
Breakfast involved room service and more giggles.
We then decided it was time to get serious, so we walked over to Independence Hall, where the Declaration of Independence was signed.
Nothing like the smell of history in the morning.
We followed this up with a peak at the Liberty Bell, and continued walking with no destination in mind.
And then it started snowing.
No worries.
We passed the steps where Rocky Balboa did his macho training routine and headed into Fairmount Park where we built a snowman and then took part in a vicious snow fight that disassembled whatever was left of our thinly-veiled dignity.
Having had enough of the elements, we walked over to the renowned Reading Terminal Market, where we spent way too many hours stuffing our almost frostbitten faces on hot chocolate, Philly cheese steaks, and Amish sticky buns.
Our final night was taken up with salsa and merengue at Brasil's, in Old City.
Naturally we sampled the South American and Caribbean elixirs on offer, including a couple of caipirinhas, which is the Brazilian national drink.
(The word literally means leg loosener!) The next day, with a tender head and fond memories in tow, I bid farewell to wonderful Jill and eased myself into the Pontiac G6 for the drive back to Wilkes-Barre, where I could ease things down to a crawl and get on with my life in the slow lane.
