In the 24+ hours since returning to my hometown, I’ve driven past my senior high, junior high, and grammar schools, been to The Mall, and had a beer with my high school sweetheart (where I saw my orthodontist’s assistant doing shots at a bachelorette party). Flashbacks, anyone?
I have not, however, made it to the creek in my Mom’s backyard to sit a while in the Adirondack chair.
Last night’s livingroom show was the most intimate yet. But I’m marking myself on quality, not quantity. And because you have to believe me that a large part of every performance is completely beyond my control — that is, when it’s going well I have nothing to do with it except to not get in the way — you won’t judge me as too narcissist for saying that it was one of my best solo sets ever. Funny, huh? Guy plays for less than a dozen people and he kills it.
Franny and I took the Philly morning easy, drinking coffee, walking on Penn’s Landing, and nursing our hangovers at the South Street Diner, before I hopped the Septa R5 for Paoli.
Home — Valley Forge, Pennsylvania — is awash in green. It’s easy on the eyes. Just as the fresh, sweet air is easy on the lungs. Sadly, the well-paved and copious highways aren’t easy at all, seeing as I’m a man of cabs and subways. I spent the better part of the afternoon in Mom’s Jeep, picking up my race packet for tomorrow’s race, hitting the aformentioned mall (my tim there: terrifying, and brief), and going to the old neighborhood bar, Casey’s, for a beer (ok, two), one of their world famous roast beef sandwhiches, and some catchup with one Amy Christine Langan.
And while I’d love keep spinnin’ yarns, I have to be up and out of here in less than eight hours. The Broad Street Run starts in ten. Meetcha’ in the Adirondack chair shortly thereafter.
