Meant to publish this last night but I didn’t, so read it like it’s yesterday, I guess.
Another full day in the city of brotherly love (no homo). Last night’s show went surprisingly well, and it was a great room. There was an actual stage, places to sit, and there was walk-up music which was something new for me. In Boston the only walk up music I get to come out to is some guy in the back of the bar calling me a faggot. Usually it’s my dad.
Anyway, I had a surprisingly solid sleep last night, and hit the town early this morning. I copped a free ticket to Independence Hall, the place where the Declaration of Independence was, well, declared. Immediately I was bukkaked with history.
I showed up to the tour, and the guide was an absolute wildcard.
This man cared more about U.S. History than I care about myself. I hope my future wife loves me just half as much as this dude loves talking about the Stamp Act. He straight up rambled through the entire tour, and honestly I think at one point he started making up shit. He was pulling obscure dates out his ass like it was nobody’s business. Just a walking AP U.S. History textbook.
I ditched the tour early, because it was literally me, this guy, and a 4th grade class, and I wanted to get out before things got weird. I continued walking around the historical area by myself, and came to one single conclusion: This places fucking adores Benjamin Franklin. He’s their Tom Brady. Every single person, place, and thing here is named after that man. I swear my GPS would say “Walk straight on Benjamin Franklin Parkway, then turn right on Ben Franklin Avenue”. Then I’d have to walk through Ben Franklin park where there were two statues and three murals of that bastard. I would say this place has Ben Franklin fever, but I think that’s just called Syphilis.
Then I hit what I was most excited for, the Rocky Statue. It was like a 45 minute walk, but I made the trip regardless, because that’s how much I wanted to see it, definitely not ironically to make fun of it.
Through back sweat and sore feet, I finally found him
There he is, the statue of one the biggest sports icons in Philadelphia history, who also just so happened to never exist. Once again, I refuse to make fun of that. I refuse to talk about how if we’re doing statues for fictional characters now, then philly might as well have a Frank Reynolds memorial.
The next task was to get my hands on one of these Philly cheesesteaks. I asked around (google) and the concencus was the two heavy hitters are Geno’s and Pat’s in Little Italy, so I decided to walk on down there, once again, a solid 45 minute trip.
I was torn on which place to choose, so I do what any kingpin would do and went to both. Going in, I thought that Geno’s would be superior, because Geno sounds sounds like someone who knows his way around meat.
Boy was I wrong. Geno’s STUNK. The WOAT. Which I was really sad about, because they sold clothes and I really wanted a Geno’s Cheesesteak hat, but after eating there I knew I could never wear it truthfully.
Pat’s was good, but honestly not good enough to warrant it’s reputation. I mean I definitely enjoyed it, but this whole facade of Philly being the cheesesteak capital of the world just isn’t true. Maybe it’s just because I went two tourist traps, but with all the art and history shit philly has, I’m not sure why they chose Cheesesteaks as the thing to take pride in.
Then I went and did two shows. The one at Helium went well, and there were randomly like 100 people there. Also it was the first time I got to chill in a green room so that was wild. The second show was a bar show someone invited to do last night, and it brought me right back to earth. 9 people there. Most didn’t even know there was a show. Everyone was watching the Rockets game (including me). Basically everything that I’m used to. Nevertheless, I persisted.
DC in the morning.