the smedley log - suburban scrawl

Walking man

Posted by mobile phone:
I’ve been hosting my brother-in-law Steve this weekend, for his trip to Philly to run the marathon. As a non-participant, I’ve still managed to cover a good distance on foot since the race began. I’m currently resting (and finally getting some food) at Starbucks at Market and 18th. Just locating a place not mobbed with race watchers has been an adventure.

One unexpected bit of fun arose this morning when, just after dropping Steve off, I discovered a parking spot on Race Street (which I drove down thinking the name of the street might have been a sign).

The space, while incredibly close to the marathon finish line, did pose a challenge to my somewhat rusty city parking skills. I’m even a little proud of myself for squeezing the car in without incident; I may post a picture of it when I post a couple from the marathon itself.

Creativity and generosity

This evening in Philadelphia, my favorite music frontman will collect a little recognition for something non-musical. U2 singer Bono is about to receive the Liberty Medal at the National Constitution Center in a ceremony I wish I could attend (though I absolutely cannot, for a variety of reasons).

The thing that has struck me about Bono’s humanitarian side is how willing he is to tackle huge issues, like third-world health and poverty. There are a few voices in the wilderness who still speak out against his effort, but I prefer those who bite off more than they can chew to those who merely sit in the corner criticizing idealism.

I, myself, am usually somewhere in between.

“Don’t admire people for their wealth, but for the creative and generous ways they put it to use.”
- H. Jackson Browne

unmetered verse

basking in the glow;
ignoring the change-grubbing
monsters of Ludlow.

One week after impact

I appreciate all the people who’ve expressed their sympathies after last week’s auto mishap. Of course, some of the well-wishing emanated from offline contacts of mine, a surprising number of which were folks I didn’t know were reading this site until they shared those wishes.

I’m feeling quite a bit better this week, and I think the worst of the muscle spasms and aches has passed. The car is still awaiting its visit to the auto surgeons, but there’s no desperate hurry.

I attended Marisa’s relatively public birthday celebration last night with many other fascinating folks, a few of whom I didn’t know prior to the big event. It was a lot of fun, even if I was a bit tired throughout most of yesterday.

And this afternoon I’m cleaning, and sneezing, for a few hours before I decide what the rest of the day is going to bring.

Could be a lot worse

“…one shot of perspective,
a couple more to kill the pain.”
- Bill Mallonee

Yesterday was long. In many ways.

It started as a typical Mother’s Day. During its first half, I spent some time with my mother, which was nice. Then I got to see the majority of the Phillies game on TV, though I left before the disappointing finality of it could sink in.

Then I kept myself busy with a variety of small tasks until it was late enough for me to travel to the airport to pick up some girl from a flight that was delayed far too long. After about half an hour standing by the baggage claim carousel, we were on our way.

Let me say that at this point, the day already seemed about twelve hours too long to me. Not that it was a horrible day, but I was hoping it would wind down relatively quickly from there.

Which is why my more cynical self should have suspected what came next. It involved a disabled vehicle in the middle lane of a notorious Philadelphia expressway. Add three other cars having varying degrees of success avoiding said vehicle.

For reasons known only to a little card from the insurance company, I’m not really supposed to discuss it in detail, but suffice it to say, the vehicular skirmish lengthened the interminable day by at least another hour. Thank God it was only an hour, and all injuries appear to have been minimal. The car is damaged, but drivable; for the most part, so am I. I just have to wait for the soreness to subside.

On the bright side, these events took us into the earlier part of today, which just happens to be Marisa’s birthday. Which is a good thing, especially since we made it to this point alive.

It could have been much worse, but I’d still like to think it could get better.

261

blood in the street sings
a mournful anthem, pleading,
“let it be over.”

(context)