I Am A Real American

This past weekend I went in search of an early summer, and landed in Philadelphia where there was much of it to be had.

A whole lotta planning and expecting and general patience culminated in an awesome American long weekend in which I played the role of international visitor, dropping in on friends that I otherwise do not get to see very much (or at all; some I was meeting for the first time). Nice Melissa and husband Rob played both hosts to myself and friend Devon at their still-sparkling condo across the river in New Jersey, and guides into the city as we finagled an insider’s tour of anti-tourist-traps like a buzzing Saturday morning Italian street market and a darkened museum of medical oddities.

Primarily though, the weekend was spent doing what good friends do, whether they live next door or 2,000 kilometres apart. We ate Geno’s Pat's cheesesteaks before noon, chased by giant slices from Lorenzo’s. We sleevefaced at a thrift shop. Bumbled through Rock Band. Bowled badly. Talked baseball, babies and bosses.

The weekend served partially as a small reunion of holdovers from the 2006 HOW conference in Las Vegas. Alongside Melissa and myself, we hooked up with my Sin City roommate Dave for a tour of the Mütter Museum, and good friend Keith, who mach-fived right on over – complete with badass skills and attitude – in his custom-painted Mustang.

Devon commented on one of my very first posts to Jeopopolis; this was our first time meeting face-to-face. Patti, matriarch of the venerable zines I’ve taken part in over the years, met me with affection typically afforded to a long-lost pal. Karma, Steph, Nikita, David – all of whom took real estate from a valuable and cherished stateside long weekend – joined us for a Saturday evening roof-raiser. I departed for one day and night to Keith’s place where we yelled at an asteroid-strikes-Kansas-City TV disaster movie, witnessed the gut of America at the Quakertown market and laid down ink and made prints with wife Jenn on a muggy, stormy night.

Good people and good-timery always makes it hard for one to come home. At least there is now a semblance of summer at home though, to help the rest of me catch up to my sunburned neck.