city of Brotherly Love

I don't ever wonder why Philadelphia is called the City of Brotherly Love. Every time I go down there, people are friendly, interesting, and generally a breath of fresh air from the frantic, appointment-only socializing of New York City. That it is the perfect halfway point between New York and D.C., where our friend Becca lives, made it an ideal destination for a mini-Williams reunion.

We spent some lazy days in the Old City, where Becky lives, on Pine Street, one among many streets named for trees down there. We got caught in the rain, walked around, had an "un-barbecue" (defined by every intention to barbecue on a grill, being put off of it due to the heat, and making a big salad and guacamole instead). We went to see music at a gallery, we went dancing. It was a lovely weekend full of good food and plenty of catching up.

Some more images from the weekend:

Becky running the slide-projector at a multimedia concert on Bainbridge Street.
This was not choreographed.
Lounging behind 732 Pine.
I'm getting addicted to adventures in America's great cities. I've done embarrassingly little travel within the continental United States, and now that my friends have spread themselves around, I intend on making more short trips to see them. I loathe to think of myself as a tourist in my own country -- I mean, I hate it anywhere, but in America, in particular -- and I picture myself as conspicuous as the knee-sock wearing, white trainer-clad, visor-topped tourist on the streets of New York, Chicago, Philly. Hopefully I'll get rid of this hangup, because as Becky might say, it's really "my issue."