Spring at Night

I forgot to take photographs of the burger that R. made when I went over to C. and R.'s for dinner and laundry last week. It was a good burger. I did, however, take photographs of this spring tree and the street light. Then photoshopped them. It's fine.

Whispering Bench and Ethiopian Food

After parting ways with J. and the boys, G. and I began winding our way easterly. He asked me if I knew about the whispering bench, which elicited a truly blank stare on my part, so he told me to pull over so that I would live not another moment in ignorance (my words, not his). And it was neat. These long, curved, stone benches are placed on either side of a giant monument to military heroes (why don't you just click on the link if you want any more historical context), and G. told me to sit on one end while he went to the other. I was skeptical. Of what I didn't know. Then, as if from behind me, G.'s voice resonated in my ear. Totally a weird aural thingamabobber. Something about the curve makes voices carry in a truly eery way.
I should have taken a photograph of the whole bench so you could see the distance properly. As it is, just realize that this photograph was taken from my end of the bench. G. looks very small, which should give you a sense of distance.
After that there was a little regrouping and Scrabble before dinner at Ethio Cafe. I had recently purchased a Groupon for the establishment and it was finally time to put it to use. I paid $20 for $40 worth of food at the restaurant, which, we soon realized, came out to a lot of food. We shared the "Tour of Ethiopia," which included a combination of Doro Wot, Yebeg Alicha and Kitfo and served with a salad side. We also ordered the veggie combo, which provided us with a choice from five veggie dishes including spicy split lentil stew, yellow peas stew, collard greens, steamed cabbages, Ethiopian salad chickpeas ins picy sauce and green beans with carrots. We also ordered hot tea. The space is rather small, but we were the only other table at the time so it didn't feel crowded. There was only one woman serving and bussing tables, and perhaps she could have been a little more on her game, but I'm not really complaining.
I favored the tomato/onion dish with some sort of vinegar dressing and the chickpeas from the veggie options.
The greens were good too.
This chicken dish was quite interesting. G. nailed it when he said it tasted slightly like cheese, perhaps a sharp cheddar. When he asked the woman what might make it taste like cheese she didn't have a very good response. And when I asked what exactly was in it, she kept say that it was probably the 'red spices.' In my head I was like 'ok, but what are the red spices?' I kept it to myself though. While it was interesting, it didn't really grow on me in terms of my wanting to eat a lot of it. The chicken was tender though. There was also a lamb dish and another beef-oriented dish. Both were good, but not incredible.
My overall thought on the spot is that it was good. Have I had better Ethiopian food? Yes. But did it remind me that I like Ethiopian food and should try a few more spots in the area? Yes.

Sakura Sunday in Fairmount Park

After pho, L. scooted off to NYC while I drove northwesterly to witness Sakura Sunday. My plan was to meet up with J. and S. and N. and then to find G. somewhere in the crowds. All of this happened, but not without a fair amount of stupidity. First, getting off of 76 and driving in the direction of the festival was painful. Really, really painful. I sat on the 76 off ramp for a good 20 minutes before finally getting on the road proper, but the traffic remained gnarled. Then much confusion was had about where to park. But I won't belabor those setbacks. Eventually I did meet up with J. and S. and N.
S. gave me some flowers...and then I think N. took the daffodils originally gifted to J. and gave them to me. Or reverse that?
Pretty little flowers.
N. is a complicated character. He can be unbelievably sweet, but he can also stamp his foot and scream like you wouldn't believe. On this particular day, however, he was in total sweet mode. Holding my hand and kiss, kiss, kissing it. Though I think sometimes the kissing was just the closest he knew he could come to biting or licking without me suggesting that he quit.

S. got on J.'s shoulders to see some drumming. I was too far away to get a good shot.
At some point G. and I went and watched a karate exhibition while J. and the boys went to do arts and crafts.
The girl in the middle was f-i-e-r-c-e.







Bee.
I wanted at least one photo of me with blossoms and whatnot. I took this. Then G. took one, but my eyes were totally closed and I looked like a goober.
Goober? Then we all met up again in time to see S. and N. enjoy balloon swords ... and then grieve the popping of their balloon swords.

This was my first experience in West Fairmount Park. The Japanese house and the horticultural center seem like they have a lot of prettiness to offer, and my coworker later told me there's a tree house somewhere around there. So I'll have to go back on a slightly less stressful/crowded day.

Coffee and Pho c/o Ha Saigon

I was shocked to learn that L. was unfamiliar with the glory that is pho. I had talked it up a number of times, but we never quite got L. to a pho establishment. That weekend I also learned that L. has never eaten soft shell crabs. Blasphemy! I just don't know how we've been friends for ten years and she hasn't experienced soft shell crabs, but we'll worry about that later. Right now we can focus on the pho experience. It was bustling that Sunday, more crowded than I've seen it in previous visits, but not so busy that we didn't get a seat immediately. We had a new server, and he seemed skeptical of our ability to know what we wanted to eat. But his doubts didn't thwart my knowledge. I ordered a hot condensed milk coffee. It was potent.
We also had pork rolls, but the photograph wasn't that exciting. I went with straight up rare steak pho, which made the fact that all my steak was already cooked a little bit of a disappointment. L.'s fared better and still had pinkness to it. L. liked the pho experience. I was happy.
L. and I had different eating styles. I usually slurp up all the broth and leave a fair amount of noodles behind. She, on the other hand, gobbled up the noodles and steak but left plenty of broth. We combined our leftovers and asked to take it with us, which then became my lunch on another day. Win.

Tomfoolery, French Fries and Wings c/o McCrossens

After the kebobs were consumed, S. and G. headed off into the night. L. and I, on the other hand, sat out on the deck and drank honey bourbon and gingerale and played Scrabble and talked about important things. At some point L. texted me about somethingerother, and it was decided that L. and I would join L. Ok, that's really confusing. Let's call them N.L. and P.L. (New York vs Philadelphia). So we would joing P.L. at McCrossens. It was hopping when we finally arrived. And everyone was in great spirits. T. looks a little red faced and close-eyed, but here we are.
N.L. continues to be an excellent photo bomber. Me and P.L., still not a couple.
I asked L. what this was about...she couldn't tell me.
Sometimes I look like this. It's hard to tell in most of these photos, but I'm rocking some serious glitter. In fact, at least two people started to refer to me as sparkles. I acted offended. But I wasn't.
The two L.s in the same place at the same time. Crazy.
Me. Me. Me.
Here you can see the sparkles a little. On Facebook I've said that this photograph represents rather accurately how I feel on the inside a majority of the time: scared, worried and convinced that the world is silently judging me. Yep. But at least I look good doing it. What? Also, this photograph makes it look like I have a huge head and tiny shoulders. I don't think that's accurate.
Here I made N.L. and P.L. stand as if I was in the photo...at the time I thought it would be great if then they photoshopped a photograph of me from Jamaica into the shot. Now I think that would be a lot of work.
Good thing we did a regular photo too. Thanks to L. for all the above shots.
Though we had eaten our fair share of kebobs, we still ended up eating the fabulous french fries and some of their wings. L. who, like me, is not an avid lover of wings, complimented them for both taste and size. They are quite generous.
Friends. Daughters. Wives. For life. Hopefully.

Scrabble, Beverages and Kebobs

After our walk L. and I stopped by a suburban shopping center. There we picked up honey flavored bourbon and supplies for a little grilling. Then we returned to the apartment and chopped and marinated the veggies and meat we purchased. While the chicken and shrimp marinated we played Scrabble. I believe I won. Or maybe I just wish I did? We played a few more times.
So I commandeered the marination because that's who I am ... it's another one of my best traits. The chicken was marinated in a mix of soy sauce, pressed garlic, lemon juice, rice vinegar, lemongrass and ginger. And maybe something else. The shrimp was olive oil, lemon juice and plenty of ginger.
I thought the chicken turned out especially delicious. I don't think one can really go terribly wrong when it comes to marinating and skewering meat, but I am pleased that each time I have done so the results were above average. L. made fun of me for putting the shrimp on the wrong way, but they didn't seem entirely impacted by the improper placement. The roommate and G., who also stopped by, had no complaints. Or maybe they did but the day drinking L. and I had been doing made any criticism slide right off my back.

The sky was quite pink and pretty. Hard to see here because drunk cc used a flash. Whatever.
Another lovely day with L. Without being creepy or anything, she is one of my all time favorites ever. Sometimes I like to refer to myself as her second husband, which would make her my wife, not my daughter ... and that makes so much more sense y'all. Y'all?

Spring in the Fairmount/Art Museum Neighborhood

After I pointed E. in the right direction, L. and I walked home, taking our time to soak in the sun and the pretty. Serious pretty was going on. Seriously.

Then we went to King of Prussia and bought shoes. And glitter. Well, I bought glitter. L. only bought shoes. I bought both, because that's how I roll. I can't wait for an occasion to wear my new strappy wedges. After the shopping part of our day was completed, we drove to Forbidden Drive and took a walk along the creek. We passed many a person fishing, and I made sure to take a few photographs of the newly green ground.


So. Funny thing. We were walking on the opposite side of the creek from Forbidden Drive. This meant that the path was far narrower and there were fewer people along it than the more well traveled/graveled Forbidden Drive path. As I already mentioned, we certainly saw a good number of folks. But the highlight of our walk is safely and surely when we ran into Chris. We didn't know Chris before he stopped us on the path and asked me if I was a photographer, but in the next fifteen minutes we got to know more about Chris than many people learn about another person on a first date. For example, Chris suffers from Lyme Disease. Chris was married for 28 years. Chris has a wooden walking stick; he had another one that he got from England in the early 80s but customs took it from him when he got back because it may have had some sort of bug on it or something. Chris likes a woman with curves. Chris and his 21 year old daughter bond over Jim Morrison and Led Zeppelin. Chris has lived in the area his whole life, and can tell you what the Fairmount park area and many of it houses were like back in the day. He also suffers from depression. He also realized late in life that all most women want is a man who will listen to them. Oh, you want to know another thing about Chris? He asked L. and me if I was her mother. Honestly. Honestly he asked this of us. He wasn't joking. Nor did he back down from the plausibility of that being the case when we guffawed and I acted vaguely offended (which I was). I think if it had been up to Chris we would still be jawing a week later, but we extricated ourselves and continued with our walk. And I swear to all that is swearable, if anyone suggests that there is any legitimate reason why a man would think that L. and I (born in the same month in the same year) could be confused for a mother/daughter team, well, shut it.