Brotherly love

Oh, right … with Carl taking a well-deserved vacation, the rest of us were supposed to step in and take up the slack. So, here I am.

By “here”, at this moment I refer to PHL. I got to the airport well in advance of my return flight to Seatac, and while waiting I’m quaffing a refreshing Yuengling Lager between keystrokes. Unfortunately, their Porter (a longtime favorite of mine) is rather more difficult to find.

I’ve been here in the mid-Atlantic for a week, largely to attend the annual SABR convention. Arriving several days ahead of the meeting, I also visited my brother in Bucks County (about 50 miles north of the city) and my 90-something year old aunt in Dutchess County NY.

The city of my youth is a much nicer place than it once was. Center City is lively, studded with restaurants and bars. Best of all, the convention hotel was immediately adjacent to the Reading Terminal Market, a space not unlike our own Pike Place Market … that is, if the food stalls carried cheesesteaks (wit wiz, of course), hoagies, roast pork sandwiches, pastrami, and such instead of that tasteless healthy stuff that populates the dull vegan-friendly cuisine of Pike Place and Seattle in general.

The principal difference — well, aside from the flavors and aromas — between the RT and PP Markets is that the latter is a venerable farmers’ market saved from the wrecking ball of “urban renewal” whereas the former is an exemplary reuse of a once-decaying anachronism. It’s been decades since you could Take A Ride On The Reading, and the line’s Center City terminal was nearly demolished before it was transformed.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time here in my old stomping grounds, but I’ll be happy to leave the heat and humidity behind. Not that it was unbearable this week, but I know it’s just a matter of a few days before the next bout of 90-90 weather.

Now, which gate do I need to find??