I love Philadelphia. I gather that's not a popular opinion, but there you have it. I think it has a really good vibe, and tons of great restaurants and shopping. It's cheap, it's walkable. Working-class people still live IN the actual city. Love it. Two of my best friends are from Philly, one of whom moved back last year. She has a fabu apartment at 3rd and Market, which is comparable to Dupont here in DC, minus the gay vibe (not that there's much of that in Dupont these days.) Anyhoo, her apartment is an enormous loft. Huge. And her street has several cute shops, a gym, a corner store, a Starbucks, a little sandwich place...I hate her. And she only pays...I won't say what she pays, but it's not very much. I deeply wish I was from somehwere that I might conceivably want to return to someday. But I can't see myself being seduced back to ol' Newark, OH any time soon. Though they did just get a Chipotle.
I was in Philly only briefly this weekend, just long enough for luch at the Continental. Then, we went to Atlatic City. My friend--the one with the fab loft--has a family beach house there. Well, actually in Margate. Despite my birthday blues (which I've been fighting heroically) something about being in a vacation home makes me happy. They all have that summery, seldom-used smell and old, smooth sheets. I've been to the Margate house several times, and it kinda feels like MY vacation house. Only different, because I don't own it or go there very often. But I love it when I do.
So, to re-cap: I have no beach house, trust fund, or gambling winnings. I'm from a town with no Starbucks, and until pretty recently, not even a Gap. I pay too much in living costs. Ummm....that about sums me up for today.