Silent Ph, as in phthisis

My recent return to Philthadelphia was slated to be an early highlight of summer. It was the culmination of an amazing seven day, three concert run, which started with my second row view of Death Cab and continued through an amazing hail-encrusted Mumford & Sons jamfest.

Ever eager, Samantha and I took the day off work to head up early. Our first stop was Tony Luke's for a cheese steak, a la Adam Richman's recommendation. I forgot the fact that I was sitting in what had the ambiance of a Bikram-inspired tractor trailer parking lot when I took the first bite. Hands down, the best cheese steak to date. The wax lined wrapper created a little au jus puddle that I would've lapped up, puppy style. Ah, Philthy was on it's way to redemption!

Next stop, Philadelphia Museum of Art. Again, beautifully done, Philthy! A lovely water fountain statue spritzing local bathing suit-clad youngsters. Bronze Rocky with his disproportionately long arms outstretched in victory. A well-placed wedding party snapping photos on the front steps. It was here that I began to believe that my first trip through this famed city was truly a fluke. True, I don't get contemporary art. Who decides that a Brillo pad box deserves it's own spotlight? A broken snow shovel suspended from the ceiling? A crayon signature directly written on the wall? Nevertheless, I had hope for Philthy.

Off to the Mann! Our only other experience with The Mann Center for the Performing Arts was a mind-blowing Arcade Fire show that sparked an impromptu two day scramble for tickets to the next Arcade Fire show later the same week...which, in turn, produced pit tickets...which, in turn, resulted in catching a drum stick in the front row...which, in turn, inspired the greatest Christmas gift ever. Therefore, The Mann Center is solely responsible for a profound amount of awesomeness.

This time, not so much. We arrived early to grab food, beverages, and whatnot. Borrowing from previous experience, we parked along the street just outside the venue. As we packed our belongings into the trunk, a woman began shouting in my general direction from the adjacent street corner.

"Who playin' tonight?!"
"Um, Bright Eyes?"
"Who!?"
"Bright Eyes!"
"Oh. Is that all?!"
"Um, there is an opener, but I don't know who!"

And then she turned away to chat with the very large gentleman beside her. Maybe I've lived near the Murder Capital of the World too long, but for a good long while I thought, oh my goodness...they're going to steal my car while we're at the concert. This neighborhood was significantly less appealing than the area surrounding the art museum. I posed the question to Sam, but she seemed less convinced. We headed out, and as my car became smaller in the distance, I resolved I would not worry. After all, they could have my car...all I really cared about was my iPod in the storage compartment. Of course it was safe there. No burglar would think to look in the storage compartment for valuables. Nah.

As our evening progressed, two themes emerged.

One, Philthadelphia was no more. We took our seats, mid-section, stage right. They were decent seats, so I was pretty stoked. As the show began, Samantha and I started to rise from our chairs in pure, unbridled, child-like excitement....only to be stifled by the abject lameness surrounding us. Poor Sam! She counted the days to this show as if it were Christmas Day itself, and now, bound by chains of lameocity, she was confined to her seat for the entirety of the show. Never before have I experienced a crowd so unresponsive to the entertainers. Everyone just sat there. No singing along, no dancing. Just polite clapping after each song, followed by nothing. Sing monkey, sing! The band sounded amazing, don't get me wrong. Conor belted out the entirety of the new album with his signature heart-wrenching delivery. The only explanation I could give for the distracting behaviour of my fellow concert-goers was that they didn't know the new album. Still, lame. It's been out for a few months now. Get with the program, people. In the name of you, text-message-and/or-sit-unresponsive-through-the-entire-bright-eyes-concert-goer, I rename your city PhLAMEadelphia. (It may be a stretch, but I'm going for it.)

The second theme of the night was less music related. As in, not related whatsoever. Over and over I saw really ordinary looking girls with amazing looking dudes. What is up with that?! I'm ordinary, where's my supermodel? In fact, look up 'average' in Webster's and you'll find my picture. It's true, I haven't felt myself lately. I've completely lost my mojo, in fact. If ever you find yourself repeatedly rejected by computer geeks, you know you're not at the top of your game.

So, staying true to my neurosis, I blamed my hair. I had been letting it grow longer in order to pull it into a pony tail while training for my races this summer. But clearly it was time to make a choice--the hair or my mojo.

You know you have a bad haircut when people simply say, "Oh, you got your haircut". Period. Just a statement of fact. I joke, in an attempt to make me feel less retarded. "Yes, all of them."

So much for my mojo.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I've converted my entire wardrobe to brown to match my brown Kangol...the only hat that I can wear without people mistaking me for a boy.

I think November is open, if you're free

In the past 42 days, I
ran--without stopping--my first official 5K race;
completed--without drowning--my first dragon boat race;
crowned myself Warrior Dash champion of the world;
enjoyed three concerts in seven days, nearly dying from hail wounds during one of them;
ran/walk roughly 827 miles, give or take a marathon, during Relay For Life;
and helped stuff books into 50,000 backpacks.

In the past 42 days, I've learned
a little determination and an immense fear of embarrassing yourself will help you finish pretty much anything;
when you work to the best of your ability and remain true to yourself, you inadvertently become the standard by which people measure awesomeness;
sometimes you just need to relax and let the mud go where the mud wants to go,
nothing soothes the soul like great music with amazing friends;
your family will always hold your hand and walk the mile beside you;
the greatest satisfaction in life comes when your son puts his hand on yours and says, "You're a good leader".

I'm neurotic today because...
...these old bones survived with flying colors the past month and a half...except for the front of my elbow, which mysteriously became immobile yesterday.

We Will Return to the Regularly Scheduled Baffoonery After This Brief Message From My Serious Side

Here's the thing. I like you, you like me. We should probably get together and do some good.

And here's another thing. It is really difficult to get other people as impassioned about something as you are...especially when it does not involve winning the lottery.

I'm not sure what has come over me lately. I have become a highly motivated do-good machine. If not for the fact that it is fiscally irresponsible of me, I would to quit my job to volunteer. Even with my microbiology degree within grasp, I'm eager to put myself further into education-induced financial crisis in graduate school, just to be able to officially help people who really need me. Probably more than anything, I have to physically restrain myself from beating the Bmore Involved page upside each and every one of my facebook friend's cyber-heads.

Perhaps it has been all the long soul-searching chats that Forrest and I have had lately. (He's sporting the Warrior helmet, btw. Quite dashing, I must say.)

I have so much more than I need, really. I'm a spoiled suburban brat, to be quite honest. How fortunate I am to live in a country that affords me such liberties! And yet, there are children literally down the street from me who have families that are either unwilling or unable to care for them. There are men and women living on park benches in the city, sweltering in the summer heat. The list is endless. (This is Baltimore--we need help.)

I like that I am a bit of a dreamer. I do believe wholeheartedly that if everyone gave just a little of their time in service to someone else that the world would be a whole lot better. You don't have to be smarter or more talented or more ambitious than anyone else; you just have to be willing to make time to fill a need. I believe we can affect positive change, however small, in the lives of those around us.

There is a fine line in asking people to give time they don't have. My over-eager pleas for involvement could cross into Obnoxiousville very quickly, this I know. Please know that I only hope that each person finds something in their lives to be impassioned about, and that you use what you have, to do the most you can, to the best of your ability.

I'm neurotic today because...
...I'm determined, come hell or high water, to live up to the most gracious compliment I've ever received. Thank you so much for your public display of affection this week, family.

You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
Kahlil Gibran