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first friday / philly
Apr. 5th, 2005 06:40 pmIn Philadelphia I met a beautiful woman who said to me, "I happen to find physics—and math&mdash incredibly romantic." Each syllable was enunciated in due care: in-cred-ib-ly ro-man-tic. Perhaps only in my mind.
Actually I believe that the reference to mathematics was to Ryah's benefit. I'd already been tipped off that she had "a thing for" physicists.
"Math is actually incredibly boring," answered Ryah modestly.
"It's all true," I assured her when it was my turn to evaluate my chosen field. "So very romantic."
She beamed.
I would then have gone into some story about the French Countryside or perhaps Amundson Scott South Pole Station and how, oddly, I am pining to be sent there. But it was a loud pub and the food had just arrived, or something.
* * *
In the morning we went to breakfast at the Trolley Car Diner (post card now adorns my wall) and to a rummage sale down the street at the Unitarian church.
Everyone had their finds.
Ryah picked up a copy of Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age and, much more exciting to me, a copy of Michael Pollan's The Botany of Desire.
We turned to the inside front cover of Diamond Age and found a portrait of the author. Long hair, leather jacket, manacing expression. "Neal Stephenson looks exactly like you'd think!" Ryan laughed. "Stereotypes work!" We gleefully announced in unison.
Liz picked up a handsome and perfectly-fitting fur coat, luxurious and over-the-top in exactly the way fitting the artistic avant garde. ("It's not like I killed it myself, with my bare hands!" she explained. "Un-fortunately," I intoned.)
But our find was perhaps best: a Religion!
One of their websites with internal communications starts, "Rather than saying, 'I'm a Unitarian Universalist because I can believe anything I want...' it's better to say that..."
I'm just a little confused about why they call it a religion.
* * *
At the diner, Liz said, "Did Brette tell you? I have a thing for Physicists."
* * *
In the afternoon it poured rain like I haven't seen in some time. Drenched, we ran up the steps to the Philly art museum, Brette and Ryah all the while making Rocky references that were, in my pop cultural ignorance, lost on me.
The museum is fairly impressive. In addition to the usual (e.g. Van Gogh!), there were entire transported ancient Persian ruins, a Chinese hall made of huge beams, a Roman courtyard. Sitting in the latter I came up with a plan to make a particular contraption utilizing a lot of LED's.
I came to Philadelphia to go to this big co-op event happening there but never made it. My phone battery died. No map, no phone. Pouring rain. Disappointing.
* * *
Philadelphia is amazing. It's a Real City. Driving into town through the neat artistic districts, through streets lined with shops and restaurants and so many people, I understood why nearly all of the prospective students to visit our Department last year chose UPenn instead.
First Friday in Philadelphia is amazing. On the month's first friday, all the art galleries have their openings or pre-openings or are, in any case, open late into the night and throngs of people go gallery-to-gallery, looking at paintings and grazing on the complementary wine, cheese, fruit, bean dip, etc.
Ryah and I roamed streets, through these throngs of people, me still hanging on to my plastic cup of wine from the last gallery in the hot evening. I ran away into multiple bookstores. In one hand I carried The Great Gatsby (Pardon Me, but I Didn't Have Tenth Grade English) and in the other, the autobiography and collected stories of Boris Pasternak. At one—two doors down and one that also dealt in espressos—I picked up Gonzo Papers, Vol. 1 and some random fare of William S. Burroughs. I sat in an armchair in the loft of a bookstore nestled between two galleries to read for awhile, and to watch the throngs in the street below, the acordian player, and gauge the flow of the tide of hipsters.
Actually I believe that the reference to mathematics was to Ryah's benefit. I'd already been tipped off that she had "a thing for" physicists.
"Math is actually incredibly boring," answered Ryah modestly.
"It's all true," I assured her when it was my turn to evaluate my chosen field. "So very romantic."
She beamed.
I would then have gone into some story about the French Countryside or perhaps Amundson Scott South Pole Station and how, oddly, I am pining to be sent there. But it was a loud pub and the food had just arrived, or something.
* * *
In the morning we went to breakfast at the Trolley Car Diner (post card now adorns my wall) and to a rummage sale down the street at the Unitarian church.
Everyone had their finds.
Ryah picked up a copy of Neal Stephenson's The Diamond Age and, much more exciting to me, a copy of Michael Pollan's The Botany of Desire.
We turned to the inside front cover of Diamond Age and found a portrait of the author. Long hair, leather jacket, manacing expression. "Neal Stephenson looks exactly like you'd think!" Ryan laughed. "Stereotypes work!" We gleefully announced in unison.
Liz picked up a handsome and perfectly-fitting fur coat, luxurious and over-the-top in exactly the way fitting the artistic avant garde. ("It's not like I killed it myself, with my bare hands!" she explained. "Un-fortunately," I intoned.)
But our find was perhaps best: a Religion!
One of their websites with internal communications starts, "Rather than saying, 'I'm a Unitarian Universalist because I can believe anything I want...' it's better to say that..."
I'm just a little confused about why they call it a religion.
* * *
At the diner, Liz said, "Did Brette tell you? I have a thing for Physicists."
* * *
In the afternoon it poured rain like I haven't seen in some time. Drenched, we ran up the steps to the Philly art museum, Brette and Ryah all the while making Rocky references that were, in my pop cultural ignorance, lost on me.
The museum is fairly impressive. In addition to the usual (e.g. Van Gogh!), there were entire transported ancient Persian ruins, a Chinese hall made of huge beams, a Roman courtyard. Sitting in the latter I came up with a plan to make a particular contraption utilizing a lot of LED's.
I came to Philadelphia to go to this big co-op event happening there but never made it. My phone battery died. No map, no phone. Pouring rain. Disappointing.
* * *
Philadelphia is amazing. It's a Real City. Driving into town through the neat artistic districts, through streets lined with shops and restaurants and so many people, I understood why nearly all of the prospective students to visit our Department last year chose UPenn instead.
First Friday in Philadelphia is amazing. On the month's first friday, all the art galleries have their openings or pre-openings or are, in any case, open late into the night and throngs of people go gallery-to-gallery, looking at paintings and grazing on the complementary wine, cheese, fruit, bean dip, etc.
Ryah and I roamed streets, through these throngs of people, me still hanging on to my plastic cup of wine from the last gallery in the hot evening. I ran away into multiple bookstores. In one hand I carried The Great Gatsby (Pardon Me, but I Didn't Have Tenth Grade English) and in the other, the autobiography and collected stories of Boris Pasternak. At one—two doors down and one that also dealt in espressos—I picked up Gonzo Papers, Vol. 1 and some random fare of William S. Burroughs. I sat in an armchair in the loft of a bookstore nestled between two galleries to read for awhile, and to watch the throngs in the street below, the acordian player, and gauge the flow of the tide of hipsters.
