One less blog

People have asked your Center City Correspondent why I haven’t written lately.  I didn’t have a real good answer because life here in Center City has been great lately.  I could tell you about the new bars and restaurants we’ve been to, or the half-price shows, or fireworks on New Year’s Eve.  But you’ve all read that stuff before.  So it made me think harder for a real answer.  And then it came to me.  This blog wasn’t about life in town, trying to convince you the reader to give Center City a try.  I realized that this was a love letter to Mrs. CCC, trying to convince her that Center City is a great place to live (and work).  And I think I finally succeeded.  When I hear her tell people how convenient things are, or how she wants to explore other parts of town, or how she gets tired of driving up and down I-95 to do things when she can accomplish the same things closer to home, I feel like she has finally turned the corner and accepted our new way of life.  I knew she would finally realize that, she’s smart and adaptable and I love her for that, and a million other reasons.

So this will be my last posting on this blog.  Taking on a new persona was fun.  Trying to get people to realize the gem of a city we live in was challenging and fulfilling.  My hope for you is that you find someplace where you are as contented as I am, where the stresses of daily life are overwhelmed by the peace you find within yourself.

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A night out

Your Center City Correspondent took Mrs. CCC out on a date last night.  Frequent readers will know that we like to go to the theater and if we can go for a discount, that’s even better.  We went to see Our Class (not to be confused with the American classic Our Town) at the Wilma Theater on Broad Street.  We got half-price tickets thru Groupon.  We didn’t want to break the budget so we ate dinner at home then took the bus over to the show.  Stopped into Ted’s Montana Grill for a quick drink beforehand, but stayed long enough to know that we wouldn’t be going back anytime soon; the wait staff and cooks kept shouting at one another and if the service wasn’t rude it was non-existent.    Kinda like going to your in-laws for Sunday dinner.

Quickly finishing our drinks we crossed the street and settled into our seats, center stage, 10 rows back, took one last breath and did not exhale until intermission.  Took another deep breath as the second act started and didn’t breathe again until it was over. The show, based on a true story, is about a class of 10 kids in a village in Poland and how their lives changed as World War II swept over them.  It divided the village into Poles and Jews and the travesties that befell each group.  One theme that played throughout the show was how power changed the way people treated one another, whoever had it mistreated the group that was out of favor.  The show is intelligently written, well-acted, provocative and above all, intense.  Not the most pleasant night at the theater, but well worth the price.  I don’t know if I’d recommend it for everyone, but I’d invite those who enjoy theater for more than the songs to give it a try.  Afterwards, a quick cab ride home and we were drinking our nightcaps with our slippers on within 15 minutes of the final bows.  I got an extra hug from Mrs. CCC for our little excursion that made it all worthwhile.

A quick note on the Occupy Philadelphia group that is camped out near City Hall, right across the street from the front door of my office.  What a rag-tag bunch of people.  Dilworth Plaza is a decrepit place on a good day, but they have turned it into a recreation of Coxey’s Army.  When asked how long they’re staying, their reply is “Until it’s over.”  If it was up to me, it would be over now.  The city is going to be refurbishing the plaza starting next month and the campers are going to be moving across the street to the Thomas Paine Plaza that surrounds my office!! Oh, rapture!  As Mr. Paine wrote, “These are the times that try men’s souls . . .”

All for now.  Enjoy your fall weekend - carve a jack o’lantern, take a hay ride, tour a haunted house, drink a pumpkin beer, watch a football game.

Therapy

As part of my Columbus Day weekend therapy to try to erase the bad memory of the Phillies, your Center City Correspondent and Mrs. CCC went to the Art Museum to view the special exhibit Rembrandt and the face of Jesus.  Rembrandt, a Dutch painter in the 17^th century was a very religious man, painting numerous pictures of the life of Christ.  He humanized Jesus, eliminating the saintly look and halo, and painting him more like a prophet or ascetic.  He used local models among the Jewish population of Amsterdam, dressing them in plain robes, making Jesus appear to more human than God-like.  The exhibit also explained how Rembrandt did his etchings on copper plates, and was able to recreate his masterpieces over and over.  Very enlightening and entertaining.  Two of my favorites works were Christ at dinner in Emmaus and Jesus preaching to the children.

The exhibit comes to Philadelphia from the Louvre museum in Paris, and for me, could not come at a better time.  With all the recent turmoil in the Archdiocese of Philadelphia, my faith in the church and the hierarchy has been shaken to its 60-year core.  (I’d better tread lightly here; Joan of Arc was burned at the stake for the same thing.)  But my faith in Jesus has not been shaken, in fact I feel that it’s stronger because I’ve cut out the middlemen.  Seeing the devotion that Rembrandt put into his artwork helps make that bond stronger.  Like I said, therapy.

The exhibit runs through October 30^th.  It may not be for everyone, but if you want a look at a real Dutch Master this is a great way to see it.  Check out the link below for more info.

http://www.philamuseum.org/exhibitions/409.html?page=1

Mudville

If this seems like a disjointed post, that’s because that’s how my mind is right now.  Why does Philadelphia always get the short stick?  We deserve better than this.  We don’t deserve to get our hearts ripped out and stomped on every time, every year.  For those who say, don’t worry, the sun will come up tomorrow, it’s tomorrow already and it hasn’t shown up yet.  Does the sun dare to show its face here, knowing that the citizenry wants to wallow in its despair?

What promised to be a beautiful holiday weekend has been made gloomy and dreary and overcast by the events of Friday night.  I’m not going to recap the series here or assign blame; the only thing I’ll say is that the bad karma started when Cliff Lee could not hold a 4 run lead in the second game – they should have left town with a 2-0 lead and won it the next night on Francisco’s miracle HR.  But no, the Fates or God or destiny will not let that happen.  All of them are against us.  When we do win, it's in spite of them.

I’ll say this now (but more than likely retract it next year), – I’m not going to get mentally engaged with the Phillies again.  I tried it a few years ago and it worked for a while but I got sucked back in; after what transpired last night, whatever heart I have left will be made of stone.  I won’t be fooled again.   Maybe I’ll stop by the Edgar Allan Poe house today – it might lift my spirits.

Usually the title of these posts is the last thing I think of, but not today.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in Mudville - mighty Casey has struck out.

10 years on

I was at work, like a lot of us were.  The one advantage I had over most people was that I was able to see what was happening on the TV right above my head.  I was able to see it but I was not able to comprehend it, could not process that two planes had flown into the World Trade Center, and denied to myself that both towers had collapsed in a matter of hours.  I could not believe that the towers I had watch being built, had been in them on both business and pleasure, had seen where the tightrope walker had autographed his name on the wall the day he traversed the distance between them, had both come down in a huge tragic pile.  Just recently, I looked through a book I had bought at the time and the pictures of the huge fireballs, and the people hanging out the windows and then hurtling in the air, the piles of rubble, and the clouds of smoke and ash and debris, all still have the power to take my breath away.  As always, my thoughts turned to the people I knew there and the thousands of others who lost their lives that day.    

What have we learned in the ensuing 10 years?  A lesson that has been reinforced is that violence begets more violence.  We have lived in a near-constant state of war since then, and the grim statistics keep piling up.  Another lesson that’s been reinforced is that we leave the killing and warfare to our military; us civilians have very little to do with the war.  We ask our soldiers and sailors to put themselves in harm’s way, but we do very little to help them except pay them lip service and applaud them when their pictures are flashed on the message boards at ballparks.  If we were asked to sacrifice our plush lives to end the war, would we?  Would we accept rationing to bring the men and women home quicker?  I wish somebody would ask those questions; I’d like to know how I’d respond.

Hey buddy! Wanna buy a bridge?

For Labor Day weekend, your Center City Correspondent and Mrs. CCC agreed that it was time to get out of town.  We needed to see different zip codes, to slip the surly confines of Center City, to give our spirits a lift.  So we traded one big town for another, and went to New York for the day.  In the past we’d see a show for half-price, but this time we had our sights set on bigger things to do and see.  One thing that has always captured my imagination is the Brooklyn Bridge with its sturdy stone towers made almost spiritual by the beautiful Gothic arches along with the spider web of cables and suspenders.  To know that a man designed and men built the bridge lets me know that we are all capable of higher goals and accomplishments.  To me it transcends being a utilitarian conveyance and becomes almost a work of art.  A few years back we read a book, The Great Bridge by David McCullough which describes the concept and the building of the bridge, as if you were there.  I’d highly recommend it to anyone who wants to know the political, social and economic stories of two big American cities separated by more than a river, but ultimately brought together by a common undertaking.

So we got into lower Manhattan on a warm summer’s day, and after a quick walk around Ground Zero, we took the subway over to Brooklyn to start our stroll back across the bridge.  It’s all very clearly marked and up a short flight of steps and you have the whole bridge in front of you.  A lot of other people had the same idea too, and they weren’t all New Yorkers.  From what I heard there were people from all over the world who came to see the bridge, and if they are like me, they weren’t disappointed.  It’s less than 1.5 miles over the bridge and you are on a walkway suspended over the roadway so you hardly notice the cars, and it affords you a good view off both sides of the bridge.  Along the way you are treated to the sights of Manhattan, the river and harbor below, the Manhattan Bridge right next door and in the distance, the Statue of Liberty.  But the real treat is the bridge itself.  From a distance, the towers look small, but as you approach them you realize how big and massive they are and the delicate interlacing of the cables gives it a light open feeling.  You are truly standing on a work of art.  After a leisurely stroll back into Manhattan, we rode the subway up to midtown and did some shopping and sightseeing and caught the train back home, all in the same day. 

 
So if your spirit ever needs a little lift, spend a few hours on top of the Brooklyn Bridge.  And don’t let anybody try to sell you the bridge, because I already bought it.

Yo, Irene! Is that all you got?

So Hurricane Irene has come and gone and guess what?  Center City survived.  Was there ever a doubt?  When I hear the mayor and his henchmen along with every newscaster proclaim impending disaster it makes me wonder if they’ve ever lived through a hurricane around here before.  See, it’s a geography thing; once a hurricane gets this far north and this far inland it has dissipated most of its power and destructive force.  Sure, there are isolated pockets that get walloped, and the normal places that flood every time there’s a rain storm will flood during a hurricane, but I will never understand why our leaders and broadcasters spread fear, hysteria, and panic throughout the populace – what really scared me was when I heard that the mayor was going to close the bars and restaurants on Saturday night!  And shutting down the transit system had to be the stupidest thing to do during a storm – that just forces people to drive their own cars.  That doesn’t sound too safe to me. 

Mrs. CCC and I went to a hurricane party on Saturday night at our local, just as the storm was picking up.  We bonded with some of our neighbors.  The toast of the night was, “Irene, welcome to Philadelphia.  Now get out of town quick.”  I spoke to one young couple who had been there since the place opened and were planning on closing the place.  They told the bartender when their tab hit $100 to let them pay it.  They were working on their second tab when I talked to them.  We got home late and made sure we still had a roof and went to bed.

This afternoon I took a breezy stroll down to the river to see how it looked.  In a word, angry.  Usually there’s barely enough water to make it over the dam, but today it was zipping along faster than the traffic on the expressway.  It had overflowed its banks by 2 or 3 feet, but no damage to any of the buildings or boathouses.  So I thought we weathered this storm pretty well, but after an earthquake on Tuesday and a hurricane on Saturday, I can’t wait to see what Mother Nature has in store for us next week.