Celebrity Sighting 101

Posted on May 27, 2013 by Michael

Paparazzi“A celebrity is any well-known TV or movie star who looks like he spends more than two hours working on his hair.” – Steve Martin

Los Angeles is the land of celebrities.  Leave Griffith Observatory to those wishing to gaze at the constellations, if you want to see the stars my friends, head to The ‘Bu, BH, and WeHo (Malibu, Beverly Hills, and West Hollywood respectively).  The stars shine bright here and seeing Jennifer Lawrence at Whole Foods is comparable to seeing an albino tiger in the jungles of Bengal.

There are those in LA who bemoan seeing celebrities.  However, I’ve learned in my six months here that if you buy an Angeleno a drink, they love to gush about the time they saw Richard Gere pumping gas or Catherine Zeta Jones yelling at a waiter.  I’ve also learned that there’s a code of etiquette in approaching your favorite celeb. Here are the three commandments that were passed down to me by the booming voice of Orson Welles from a burning bush on Santa Monica Boulevard.

Rule 1: Does thou care

Great! You just saw one of the Gilmore Girls at The Grove. Get as close as you can and breathe that intoxicating scent of fame and glamor.  Ok, so maybe you only saw the show once or twice when you were flipping through the channels.  But she’s a celebrity and you’re pretty sure her name is Lexi, or is it Alexis?  You should say something, right?  Wrong!  If you don’t know their name or flat out don’t like them, don’t suck up to them in real life.  If you see Neil Patrick Harris in Studio City and you went as Doogie Howser for Halloween, it is completely acceptable to say hello.

Rule 2: Speak trippingly on the tongue

Introduce yourself to NPH and let him know you’re a big fan.  There’s nothing wrong with expressing your love for one of your idols.  Insert any odd facts, or bit of trivia that you have to impress your celeb.  You’re not a run-of-the-mill fan after all, you know that Neil Patrick Harris voiced the Spider-Man video game in 2009.  Being a crazy fan is to be avoided at all costs.  If you see Jodi Foster in an aisle at CVS and say “Put the lotion in the basket!” it probably won’t make her want to talk to you.  A simple introduction will suffice and if you must snap a photo of you and them, try not to be a tool about it.  Besides, if the photo doesn’t come out great, you can always “fix it in post.”

3. Vox populi

Question: If you saw Benedict Cumberbatch at The Beverly Center but didn’t tell anyone, did you really see Benedict Cumberbatch at all?  After you’ve said farewell to your new celebrity BFF, and got their autograph or photo with you, it’s time to tell all your friends.  Brag to everyone about how cool they were, and how surprised you were to see them.  If you can’t think of anything to say, you can also rely on the old phrase, “they were nothing like the character they played – they were just like a real person.”  This will instill in them the fact that celebrities really are like the rest of us.  And they are just like us, except with nicer cars, bigger houses, and much better hair.

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My Own Private Delaware

Posted on April 30, 2013 by Michael

I was in Delaware this weekend for my cousin Chip’s wedding. It was a short trip that was filled with family.  It was great to be home, and the trip was such a whirlwind of festivities and fun, that it wasn’t until I was seated in the plane, gazing out the window and looking down at Delaware that the emotions began to flood over me.  I’ve looked at Googlemaps a bunch of times, and I analyzed the different neighborhoods, houses, and land, but I’d never flown over the state before. I was suddenly struck by the fact that I no longer live in the Delaware Valley.

Easter 1987There are moments in life where you reconcile your past life with your present one.  I looked down at my house in Darley Woods and looked back, as I replayed the moments my brother and I explored the forest as kids.  We climbed in storm drains, caught tadpoles, and found a rock that we swore was a diamond and would most definitely make us rich.  Then there was Ashbourne Swim Club, where I was a good swimmer, and the little league field off I-95 where I was a not so good baseball player.  Then Concord High School, where an angsty sixteen year-old played Dashboard Confessional in his Chevy Cavalier and thought that the education system was designed to make people slaves to the man.

Throwback Photos-2I remember all of the versions of Michael who grew up in Delaware and I smile – especially at the self-loathing teenager.  “Yes,” it will be amazing to see any R-rated movie you want to, and “Yes,” it will also suck when you have to pay your credit card bills and wonder where all your money went.  I look back at the Michaels in Delaware as a twenty-eight year old adult.  It’s suddenly apparent that I’ll be 30 soon and not only will my childhood be gone, but so will my early adulthood.

It’s also when I’m thousands of feet in the air that I remember one of my favorite books growing up, Winesburg, Ohio.  My favorite part was the end where the reporter, George Williard, gets on the train to leave his town and thinks about the small things, the people and places that touched him, and he’s reminded that the town he grew up in was the background needed to paint the dreams of his future.  Delaware is one of those strange, small places that I’m happy to call home.

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Life on the 101

Posted on March 10, 2013 by Michael

I lost my way, that’s what she said, back to the 101 – Albert Hammond, Jr.

los-angeles-trafficThe intersection where the 101 meets the 405 is the most congested intersection in the United States. I drive through the bottleneck traffic jam everyday to get to work.  A sixteen mile commute from my apartment in Hollywood to the Warner Center in Woodland Hills, can take as short as twenty-five minutes, and as long as an hour and ten minutes. When driving on the freeways in Los Angeles, one has to resign themselves to the fact that their commute could take double – or even triple – the time they expected.

When traffic is moving and the sunshine beats down on the palm trees and rolling hills in the distance, the 101 feels like a road leading you to paradise.  When traffic is at a standstill and the freeway becomes a parking lot, the 101 feels like hell at a stand still. My commute in Philly consisted of me taking the 34 trolley to work every day. Even when a trolley broke down or I had to jump over vomit on the steps leading up to the seats, it was a shared experience. We’d all grumble together and blame SEPTA.  Their “We’re trying” motto on the subway billboards was an acknowledgement that even they knew they were sub par.  When you’re stuck in traffic in your car, you place the blame internally, “Should I have taken Ventura Blvd?” “Why didn’t I check Sigalert before I left the house this morning?”

You'll Never Get to Work in TimeJust because you’re alone, doesn’t mean you’re not provided with prime people watching opportunities.  Women apply makeup in the mirror above their driver’s seat and men brush their teeth as motorcycles split lanes and whiz by – a practice completely legal in California, which still manages to startle me even when I see them coming in the rear view mirror.  The 101 is the main artery into the San Fernando Valley and whether its clogged or the traffic is coursing heartily through its veins, on a weekly basis I see bits of tire, detached bumpers on the side of the road, or a totaled car.  A sober reminder, that according to the National Highway Safety Administration, there are at least 30,000 fatal deaths from car crashes each year.

In LA, a city that feels like it has never lost the buzz and excitement of the gold rush, where “making it” seems just one phone call away, and the odds of fame and fortune seem stacked in your favor, the car crashes are a visual reminder that some people don’t make it. I’ve been haunted recently by talk of people leaving LA because “things weren’t working out for them.” When I hear this news, the same thought enters my mind when I see a car crash, “That could’ve been me.”  Yet, it’s not me – I feel optimistic about the future and while it may be naivete, I feel that taking small risks, like driving a car, or large risks, like moving across country to pursue a dream, is better than a life of regret.

I try to remind myself of these things when I’m stuck in gridlock traffic on the 101 watching someone floss their teeth in a Prius.

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My Silver Linings Playbook

Posted on February 21, 2013 by Michael

Roll out the red carpet, call Harvey Weinstein, inject some botox in Joan Rivers, and don’t remind Leonardo DiCaprio – Oscar time is fast approaching in Los Angeles. Hollywood Boulevard has officially been closed off between Highland and La Brea in anticipation of the big event at the Dolby Theater this Sunday.

I won’t be attending the 85th Academy Awards this weekend, but I can beam with pride knowing that my likeness has been captured on celluloid in Silver Linings Playbook, one of the nominated Best Picture films. I know as an actor, you’re not technically supposed to mention extra work on your resume, and many think it’s demeaning, but critics be damned, I think it’s kind of cool.  Sure I’m only in a few blink-and-you-miss scenes where I’m dressed as an astronaut and a wolf during the Halloween segments, but it’s fun to feel some invested interest in a movie.  Although invites, nominations, and heck even SAG eligibility escape the extra, it does give you the right to say things like, “I remember when David O. Russell was setting up that shot, and Bradley Cooper had to do five takes because he kept messing up.” or “Jennifer Lawrence really is grounded and probably our generations’ Meryl Streep.”

I’m rooting for SLP of course, although I’ve been informed that Argo is slated to win. Argo can win and Hollywood can feel good about itself – especially after they’ve come under fire this year from Congress about violence and gun control issues – knowing that the movie industry played an integral part in the rescue of American hostages in Iran.  Silver Linings, however has grit.  It’s a damaged love story set in Philly and is about second chances and hope in the face of despair.  When I went home for Christmas, my Mom and Dad watched the movie together.  They pointed me out of course, but laughed and cried along with the film.

I was moved during a pivotal scene with Bradley Cooper when he says, “The world will break your heart ten ways to Sunday. That’s guaranteed. I can’t begin to explain that. Or the craziness inside myself and everyone else. But guess what? Sunday’s my favorite day again.”  As a lowly extra in a film, and an actor new to Los Angeles with great expectations, it’s dialogue, and a movie that I can identify with.  Now off to grab some popcorn and root for the home team.

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Los Angeles, I’m Yours

Posted on February 3, 2013 by Michael

This week will mark three months since I moved to LA.  The honeymoon phase has ended and the reality of settling into my newly adopted city has become a reality. I realize that in chronicling my journey out west on my blog, I never completed the last chapter. For those who read it, I’ve been stuck seeing Cirque du Soleil in Las Vegas, like some weird Sisyphean character that is forced to watch the same bawdy burlesque show night after night!  I apologize for not completing the journey. I’d like to say that I was holding off until I could make an accurate impression of what LA was and how I felt in it, but the truth is I didn’t know what to say.

Since I moved, I’ve continued the momentum by going full speed ahead. I landed a social media job at Kono Social, where I manage small businesses’ social media accounts. It’s similar to the work I did with ChatterBlast before I left. They hired me (after reading my blog no less!) and mentioned that they’d be willing to be flexible if I wanted to audition.  To my actor friends, I’m a sellout for having a full-time job, and to the finance department of my company, I’m a bohemian that gets to wear jeans and hoodies to work. I think I like it best that way. I had heard too many stories before I moved of young actors and comedians who came to LA only to work odd jobs that barely paid the bills.  They would leave after a year when it didn’t happen for them, feeling crushed and defeated. I refuse to believe that a creative life is synonymous with a life of poverty.

On a lighter – or dare I say sunnier – note, the weather is phenomenal and I’ve loved gloating to all of my friends back east when they complain about the cold. “Yeah, the weather’s been kind of bad here too, it rained for a little bit this morning but now it’s sunny and 72.”  I’ve started taking classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre (UCB) so that’s satisfying my performing outlet.  It’s humbling to start training again after being on a successful improv house team in Philly, but when I look back, I realize that I never really had a solid foundation at an acting or comedy school outside of Temple. I’ll admit that oftentimes my ego gets in the way of doing good work and training. It’s great to be at the center of the entertainment industry and to meet creative and inspiring people who are always working on something – directing a webseries, starring in a commercial, or writing a one-man-show.  There’s a buzz here that I love.  If Philly was a place to experiment artistically, Los Angeles is the place to use the tools you have to make it happen.

There are parts of the city that frustrate me to no end – the never ending traffic, the let’s hang out soon mentality of people who “like totally want to hang out,” but you can never track them down to schedule anything, and the high price of gasoline and everything else in the city. Full disclosure: LA has reminded me that for the past ten years I totally missed driving and I love having a car.  Through my darkest and most doubting moments, and there have been plenty, I feel confident in my move and I’m proud to say that my head is still above water.  In 1913, William Mulholland made a speech at the opening of the Los Angeles Aqueduct. The water system would help the fledgling metropolis to irrigate the land and create a population boom. Mulholland bellowed, “There it is. Take it.”  For me, those five words uttered one-hundred years ago are still a slogan for those that flock to the city in search of something more.

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Cross Country Pt. 4

Posted on January 6, 2013 by Michael

The desert can be unforgiving. Waking up in Holbrook, Arizona the temperature was 20 degrees.  My Dad and I packed our bags in the motel room and took them down the stairs in the brisk air and drove west, watching the sun – and temperature rise. We passed Flagstaff, the land barren and dry the entire way, and made a right at Kingman, until we detoured north to the flashing lights and ka-ching slots of that sinfully decadent city of Las Vegas.

It was almost by mistake that we happened to come across the Hoover Dam. The dam lies on Lake Mead, on the border of Arizona and Nevada, and its concrete arch is massive and impressive.  Constructed during the Great Depression, it’s a testament to the human will and a monument pays tribute to the hundreds of men who lost their lives during its construction.

We got into Las Vegas on a Sunday, which was perfect timing, since the weekenders were leaving the city in droves and traffic was backed up for miles away from Vegas. We sailed into the city and hit the Vegas Strip. The city bills itself as “The Entertainment Capital of the World,” and is a sensory overload in many ways. There’s everything: bright lights, scantily clad women, and large monuments recreating historical landmarks: on one block there’s the Statue of Liberty, on another the Arc de Triomphe and Eiffel Tower, a Pyramid, and the Piazza San Marco. You can legally smoke smoke indoors, drink outside, buy designer clothes, and go to a strip club all with one block.  If that’s not America, I don’t know what is.  Needless to say, my Dad loved it.

We stayed at The Venetian, which had singing gondoliers, frescos on the ceilings, and a recreation of the Rialto Bridge. You can get a good price on a suite on Sundays, so we splurged. We gambled a bit and saw Cirque du Soleil’s Zumanity at night. It was a whirlwind and some much needed fun, after the grueling 2,000 mile drive. The essence of Vegas was spoken to me at the bar near the pool area.  When the bartender gave me my gin and tonic, I asked him, “Can I take the drink with me in the pool?” He responded, “You can do whatever you want.” Las Vegas is truly a city where anything goes.

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Cross Country Pt. 3

Posted on December 1, 2012 by Michael

If I’m being honest, it was in Oklahoma City, when I had my first “what am I doing?” moment. My Dad and I were halfway into the country and the terrain, air, and people were all different.  In the papers we read about a controversial law passed in the state called “open carry,” where Oklahomans had the right to openly carry their handguns while at a diner, worshipping, or going about their day-to-day business.

Getting wifi was also a seemingly impossible task. When I asked the hotel receptionist for the wifi password, she told me that I’d need to fill out a form with my address and phone number. When I told her that I just wanted to access the free wifi without entering any info, she apologized and said, “we just don’t do that.” That’s when I learned: in Oklahoma you’re free to carry a gun, but not get free wifi.

Oklahoma City wasn’t all bad though. If a woman hadn’t told us at brunch about Cadillac Ranch, we might not have stopped at one of the coolest pitstops along our trip.  We crossed into Texas and headed west for Amarillo.  Cadillac Ranch is an art installation of ten junk Cadillacs that have been buried longways at a 45 degree angle in the ground. They’re brightly colored with graffiti, and spray painting is strongly encouraged.  If Texas does end up seceding, I’m sure it will become a national landmark for the Texan Republic.

The pandhandle of Texas was easily passable, and we crossed into New Mexico after driving only an hour from Amarillo.  The “Land of Enchantment” must have cast its sleepy spell on me, because I was conked out for most of the time that I was in the passenger seat.  I only remember a blur of red rocks and mountains for the first half of the trip.  I do remember seeing a string of El Pollo Loco restaurants and wondered whether the fried chicken chain was the inspiration for the Pollos Hermanos restaurants from Breaking Bad.

We drove through Albuquerque, which was surprisingly gorgeous, and then kept going – crossing the 2,000 mile mark and into Arizona as the sun set.  By the time we got to Arizona, we had been on the road for over ten hours, and my Dad and I were both exhausted.  We had alternated talking, with listening to podcasts on my iPhone, and listening to music.  As we crossed into Arizona, and the hum of the road started to lull us to sleep, the only sensible thing seemed to be to blast classic rock like the Eagles and Creedence Clearwater Revival for the two hour trek to Holbrook, Arizona.

By the time we rolled into Holbrook, we had felt all of the 774 miles we had driven.  We checked into a motel in the town and headed downtown for Mexico food and beers.  My Dad and I went to Joe & Aggie’s, which was a perfect mom and pop restaurant that had been the inspiration for Pixar’s Cars.

There was a Route 66 mural on the side of the restaurant and the staff were friendly and lively.  We stuffed ourselves with burritos and tacos and called it a night.  The longest part of our trip was over.  Los Angeles was only an easy 557 miles away, but we wouldn’t be there for another day.

The bright lights and ca-ching of slot machines were beckoning from Las Vegas the next day.

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Top 5 Books About LA

Posted on November 27, 2012 by Michael

I read the Vice article about “Why Los Angeles is the worst” and wanted to create a rebuttal to what I thought was an unfair attack. Of course, I’m motivated by the fact that I just moved to LA and want to reassure myself that I’ve made the right decision and that “Los Angeles is really the best.”

I’m not overly naive and I’ve read up on my fair share of the dark side of tinseltown, but I still remain optimistic. Why? Well because I guess that’s in my nature.  My friend Tim recently told me, “Nobody reads in LA.” But I like to read and I want to live here.

So, flying in the face of “here are the worst things in LA,” I present, the best books that are pessimistically optimistic. Some may call it disillusionment, but in the land of dreams, you need a healthy dose of the truth to get by.

5. Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, Peter Biskind

Peter Biskind’s book about the swinging sixties and seventies chronicles the rise of the auteur movement in American cinema and how it gradually gave way to the blockbuster and the corporatization of modern film. The book covers the great modern directors: Coppola, Scorsese, and Spielberg, along with the best actors: De Niro, Pacino, and Warren Beatty.  The book is a history and celebration of the film movement filled with scandal, triumph, and defeat in Hollywood.

4. Less Than Zero, Bret Easton Ellis

The 80s were a time of fast money and over the top extravagance, and Ellis wrote about what it was like to grow up in rich, glamorous LA. The listlessness is described by its narrator, Clay, who comes back to LA from college in New Hampshire. He does lots of drugs at parties with trustafarians, and drinks with movie stars and producers at The Polo Lounge.  At 20 years-old he has it all, but hasn’t earned any of it.  The novel portrays what it is like to grow too fast, too soon, and with too much money while coming of age in Los Angeles.

3. Hollywood Babylon, Kenneth Anger

Kenneth Anger never failed to provoke. His avant-garde films are poetic and visually stimulating, but his dalliances into the occult often alienate. His book on the Golden Age of the film colony that would eventually become Hollywood is the gossip column of its day. Filled with the juicy goings on of Charlie Chaplin, William Randolph Hearst, Douglas Fairbanks, and Louise Brooks, it’s shocking, titillating, and never dull. You might need to take a shower after this one.

2. Day of the Locust, Nathanael West

The ultimate disillusioned novel about those that come to Los Angeles to make it and realize that “the orange juice doesn’t taste any sweeter and the waves don’t crash any higher.” The book revolves around costume designer and painter, Todd Hackett, who witnesses the desperation of struggling actors and wannabes in Hollywood – including a businessman named Homer Simpson! – and ends in an over the top riot. The pain and desperation is palpable with each turn of the page. It was written during the Depression after all.

1. What Makes Sammy Run, Budd Schulberg

This is the Hollywood rags to riches story. Sammy Glick rises from tenement housing in Lower Manhattan to become a Hollywood executive. He is smart, vicious, and will stop at nothing to succeed. Written by Schulberg, who grew up in the Hollywood system, and won the Oscar for Best Screenplay for On The Waterfront, the novel is a no holds barred look at those who succeed in Los Angeles, and at what cost.  The book also contains one of my favorite lines about Hollywood:

“Hollywood may be full of phonies, mediocrities, dictators and good men who have lost their way, but there is something that draws you there that you should not be ashamed of.”

So perk up Vice and Jamie Lee Curtis Taete! The future looks bright and Los Angeles may be bad, but there’s some good in there too.

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Cross Country Pt. 2

Posted on November 20, 2012 by Michael

The biggest difference that I discovered between my Dad and me on our trip was that I think he wakes up entirely too early, and he thinks I’m a reckless driver.  I’m all for getting a head start on the day, but waking up at 5am to be on the road by 6am is a cruel act of punishment. While I admit to driving about ten miles above the speed limit, my Dad was constantly on watch for the police.  When we left the Hoosier State for the Land of Lincoln, he was convinced that there were speed traps just ahead.

“The speed limit drops here, it’s a trap. Watch it!”

“Dad, I’m sure we’re fine.”

“I see it all the time, the speed dips and then they catch you when you’re still going over. Look there’s a cop car on the shoulder.”

“That’s an abandoned car.”

My Mom back in Delaware, would call and ask if we were getting into squabbles – which we weren’t. My Dad and my temperament are very much alike. We are both high strung 15% of the time, but fairly easygoing the remaining 85%. If you figure we both sleep 33% of the time (or maybe 20% for my Dad), and being high strung is proportional to the amount of sleep we get, I was a nervous Redbull drinking mess with a sleep deficit, and my Dad was calm and relaxed.

We left Indiana and headed into Illinois. The environment was very similar to the east coast – houses and pine trees lined alongside an open highway. We joked that we could still be in Delaware.  We arrived in St. Louis, Missouri – the “Gateway to the West” around 10am.  We made a pit stop at the Gateway Arch and I had a photo-op at the Lewis & Clark Memorial.

Driving deeper into Missouri, and crossing the Mississippi River, you start to realize that the terrain starts to slightly change.  You also realize that the blue states you passed start to blend purple, then bright red for conservative. Being that it was an election week, the number of pro-Obama sings began to dwindle as we moved further across the Mississippi.

Interestingly enough the left side of I-44 driving west were filled with religious scripture quotes in white text on a black billboard, while on the right side of the highway were adult bookstores and strip clubs. I wonder what outgoing Missouri Rep. Todd Akin has to say about that.

My favorite billboard was nonpartisan and located in Springfield, Missouri, home of The Simpsons:

The sun began to set as we entered Oklahoma, and it was pitch black by the time we arrived in Oklahoma City.  The air was still warm, in the high 70s when we arrived. A stark difference from the 50 degree weather we had woken up to in Indianapolis.  Since we had been in the car all day, we decided to see what Oklahoma City had to offer. We walked along the riverfront and, looking for something to eat, my Dad suggested Coyote Ugly. While we didn’t eat any wings, we did see plenty of breasts (covered of course – I am with my Dad after all.)

Men with cowboy hats sat at the bar as young buxom bartenders danced and lip-synched to Limp Bizkit’s “Nookie.” We had a few beers and watched the show, as the emcee bartender talked dirty into the microphone and dragged the cowboys’ girlfriends up on the bar to do body shots off them.

If we went in search of the Wild West, this was the wildest it was going to get. We decided to finish our beers and leave before my Dad was asked to do a shot of tequila off one of the Coyote girl’s navels. “Y’all leaving already,” said the emcee sadly, “They’re smart – they know it’s ’bout to get crazy ’cause the night’s just started!”

When you’re on the road with your Dad, it’s best to remain wholesome characters in a Modern Family episode, and leave the tequila shots, half naked girls, and dirty talk to an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

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Cross Country Pt. 1

Posted on November 15, 2012 by Michael

On November 1st I packed up my newly purchased, and slighted used 2009 Honda Accord in Philadelphia.  Six days and 2,872 miles later I was in Los Angeles. My Dad and I drove cross country on a father-son bonding trip. We plotted out the trip to drive 700 miles a day, and alternated taking two hour shifts for roughly twelve hours a day.

Here’s my journal of each day.

Day 1: Philly to Indianapolis

I said goodbye to Sean – my boyfriend of nearly seven years, and my roommate for two.  The night before on Halloween he was the life of the party as the Long Island Jew, Linda Richman, but at 6:30am he was in a bathrobe and was a sobbing mess.

We said our goodbyes as best we could, and he promised to visit in Thanksgiving. And then I was off.

I picked up my Dad from the University City train station and we drove west on I-76. We hit a ton of traffic getting out of Philly, but once we got past King of Prussia, it was smooth sailing. The five hour trek from Philly to Pittsburgh was uneventful, except for the snow. Hurricane Sandy had decimated the Mid-Atlantic, but it brought several inches of snow to the central part of the state.

It’s funny thinking about snow now, since today’s high in LA was 79 degrees as I write this. But there was plenty of snow near Allentown and west through Harrisburg. The snow stopped once we got closer to Pittsburgh. The tiny sliver of West Virginia that we drove through was blink-and-you-miss-it, and not much to report, but Ohio was vast and open. There were fields, sky, and scenes like this:

By the time we rolled into Indianapolis we had traveled 643 miles and felt every one of them. We went to a sports bar that my aunt suggested to celebrate our first leg of the trip with a few beers.  I always feel out of my element in sports bars. Although I consider myself competitive, I’m not a huge sports fan. My Dad, on the other hand, loves sports – at home in Delaware he has a basement dedicated to Philadelphia sports memorabilia including signed Eagles jerseys, rare Phillies Baseball cards, and seats from Veterans Stadium.  In that way, we’re the father son odd couple I guess.

The waiter at the sports bar told us he loved Philly when he asked where we were from (I guess he could tell from our accents, or lack thereof) and said his favorite bar was The Nodding Head, which coincidentally also happens to be my favorite as well.  We walked around Indianapolis, and we were approached by a man who claimed to have been stranded and all he needed was $15 to get on a train. My Dad fell for it and shelled out his money, while I shook my head.

The jaded Philadelphian in me has seen that trick a hundred times, but my Dad felt genuine pity for him. I guess that’s the difference between being hardened by a city and being a trusting suburbanite.  The midwest has a sense of charm about it. Good people, doing good things, in God’s country. Oh yeah, there was a lot of God and religion once we kept driving further west, but that’s for the next post.  I’ll leave you with this gorgeous view from our hotel window in Monument Circle.

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