Living in Philly: Past Reality, Present Dream

Today we played Bocci Ball in South Philly. It's a great little game who's closest relative is probably sitting in a chair (in terms of energy expending physical activities). Really. If you can stand up in lengthy tiresome five minute intervals (sometimes even less), then you possess the uncanny potential for Bocci greatness. That's why the Philadelphia Bocci Ball courts are always crowded with aging Italian men (if anyone's even there at all). That's all they've got left in this world, so let them have it alright?

Anyway, my roommate Dan, my neighbor Candace and I went to the nearest sizable park and set up shop (unfortunately, we came to the sad conclusion that the set we were, in fact, holding in our very hands was a croquet set albeit one trained in the fine art of deceptive Bocci set-ery. Neither were the balls weighty enough, nor were they appropriately colored. The nerve of some people drives me straight off the cliffs of insanity sometimes. How could they deceive me so carelessly as if they weren't smashing my ever-beating heart against the wall. It's all lies, I tell ya.

It's been good to see all my old friends (again, with the use of the word "old"). Unfortunately, I didn't even get a chance to see them all. There were broad swaths of them that I simply didn't have the time to see. (If I didn't get to see you, I apologize again and again. There were simply too many people that I hadn't seen in close to four months. They had to sustain the warming radiance of my shining personality first. I'll hang with you guys next time I'm up there though) They're all so caring and awesome. Where would I be without them? Probably in the worst place in the known universe--a South Philadelphia gutter (Adam, sound familiar?). Clogged with trash, used needles and other unmentionables (use your imagination), that's where I'd be stuck for the duration. Caring friends certainly do make hard life experiences much easier on the ol' ticker.