Saturday, February 24, 2007


That's what it says on the sign outside the window where I'm sitting. I'm in Philadelphia, again. Three times in six months. But, as I said before, this trip is a literal “ego trip”. I'm here purely because I have a big head and couldn't turn down the opportunity to tell people, “Oh, yes, I'm off to Philly this weekend to be interviewed for a documentary,” as if I was some kind of jet-setting subject matter expert. I'd like to think that I am but I doubt that that's the case. Think of this, rather, as a sad attempt to be self-important.

Apparently noon is just too darn early to try and check in to a rinky-dink hotel. Took me forever to find a quiet, warm corner of the world. I wandered around asking folks with Starbucks cups where I could find one nearby. Everyone I hit has gotten their coffee across town and just happened to be on my block. I wound up at a Cosi (which I had skipped, looking for a place called “Cozy”-- I think I was the victim of the Philly accent) without internet access but with terrific hazelnut cappuccino. I have three hours to kill and three remaining bars on my battery. Let's see which lasts longer.

Dressing for success was quite a torment for me this weekend. Do I wear a t-shirt to cross-promote myself or my friends? Do I dress to look like I know what I'm talking about? No, rather, I decided on my blue-collar workshirt with the “GEEK” name tag above the pocket. Nothing says “chic” like “geek”. If nothing else I may prove memorable as “the geek guy” if my interview makes it beyond the cutting room floor.

I've been reading a book this trip called Dot Bomb. I was afraid I'd be stopped at the airport for being a terrorist, even holding a book with the word “bomb” in the title might be breaking some kind of rule that goes into effect when we're at an orange security level. The book is fairly dry thus far and there are too many “characters” that are nothing more than a name—no description or personality. Makes for the kind of read at which my eyes want to cloud over. If the writer is good at anything it's prompting me to remember my own days back during the same era in which the book's set. I didn't necessarily miss the train of the internet boom. Instead, I got hit by it while I was stalled at the crossroads of my life.

Fodder for an upcoming blog entry or piece for Cashiers du Cinemart, I'm sure.

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