Bright lights in Philadelphia

I spent Friday night in Center City (aka "downtown" for those non-Philly denizens) with some friends. It was a decidedly low-key evening-- dinner and drinks at the Fieldhouse on Filbert Street, followed by dessert and drinks (and dinner and drinks for some latecomers) at a Szechuan place in Chinatown. For as much as I rant and rave against Philly-- working in Philly, living in Philly, living around Philly, paying taxes to Philly, etc.-- I'm still drawn to it. Walking down 10th Street on a Friday night with Trip (not her real name) and Fox (not his real name*), I felt drawn to the city, like there's a special energy in Philly that its citizens feed off of. 
(Or maybe it's like this in every major city). I'm frequently reminded of my late grandmother who, after years of being sent all over the country because of her job, settled back in Philadelphia in 1950. She often said that Philadelphia got into a person's blood. 
Then there's this: I was at a Confirmation last night in a typical diocesan parish. The choir was led by a cantor, who sang beautifully-- she could have held her own with any professional diva. At the beginning of Mass, she instructed the congregation to, "please join us in singin' [sic]" [insert song title here].
That's just how we roll in Philly. 








*I get bored and I like to make up nicknames for people.