DUMPS OF DUMPS or: How I Turned 32 and Learned to Love the Dumpling

In a year full of dumplings, vivren and I decided this was the year of the dumpling literally days before any of that other stuff went public. It's called having your finger to the throbbing pulse of the world. The pre-game was the 32 Working Day Challenge, in which the Finance Department successfully ate a different dumpling every working day on each of the 32 working days leading up to my 32nd birthday. That's 6+ weeks of dumplings, in case you weren't counting. It was daunting at times but ultimately delicious—plus it survived non-consecutive trips to China & Poland. Now that's what I call dumps! Of course it was documented and color-coded by dumpling origin:

The 32 Dumplings That Were

Dumpling Finale: Polish Bison Vodka!

With all that out of the way, it was time for the actual 32nd Birthday. Crowds starting assembling Friday night at which point we drank wine out of measuring cups and everybody had their picture taken. The later was mainly a safety precaution, since we did have to walk down my tiny little deserted street to get home. Then we did that thing where you stay up until 5:00 AM drinking with friends listening to music really loud. 

Germany - c. 1945

The Morning I Turned 32

Thirty-two started just how I'd always pictured it, a little hung over and very brunchy. And despite claims to the contrary, the DumpFest really came together. There were birthday necklaces, dumps out the wazoo, cowls for miles, and an impromptu scavenger hunt. In what apparently is a hexadecennial tradition, The Trudeaus showed up with manhattans, the hunt, and requisite prizes. Anyone who plans to attend my 48th birthday should be forewarned.

Team Taylors, with prize.

With the night ending in boots of Miller High Life and Maker's Mark in retrograde, the 6:00 AM wake up call was surprising. Actually, that's not true. I hid my phone under and extra layer of pillow so I wouldn't hear it. Katie proved her early morning mettle though and got us all out the door in time to load up the scooter cooler for the double tailgate, in a 1976 Winnebago. First up: The Philadelphia Marathon. 

Ms. Barnebey supports sports/husband.

Go Runners.

Fun fact: this guy did not blow anything up.

Between 'gates we stopped for coffee, and bathrooms, and Cheetos. While I manned the cab, Jay Carrol parking in front of me and we talked high school marching band for a few minutes. I was wearing this little getup. So there's that.

Second up: the Eagles' game tailgate.

There aren't a lot of things in this world more fun that double-scooting around a Eagle's tailgate on top of your beer supply.

Post-tailgate Cheesesteak Success!

Taytay in Philalphia

A Tale of Two Asteriskses

Remember Milwaukee's asterisk? Turns out it's called "Calling", but nobody knows or cares about that. It's Milwaukee's one landmark, along with that Calatrava thing it sits next too and Jo-Cats. Turns out Philadelphia has one too. It's not quite as tall, but di Suvero was nice enough to paint it the same color. This one's called "Iroquois", not "Calling", obviously. And while not as easy to climb, it turns out it's perfect for jumping.

Hey, Phila.

The Barbs, On Two Non-Consecutive Occasions

Despite their seeming similarity, those two strips of from two non-consecutive events. Right along there with liking the way you look is that when you try to push 6 people into a photo booth there's gonna be a whole lot of somebody's head. I guarantee it. One of these came after a day-long birthday party on American street, watermelons and piñatas included. Also a thunderstorm. We showed up at 1:00 AM perfectly drenched to blend in with the the sweat-soaked crowd that was already there trying to finally topple building to the ground. 

A couple weekends later I was wearing a bowtie and we had all been at a wedding. It sounds more out of place than it actually was though; I was wearing shorts and we had ridden our bikes to the reception. And there's nothing The Barbary appreciates more than riding a bicycle to a fancy event. Beth & Rafiq had put on a little summer fête champêtre up at the B2G2, complete with a jumble of wine-inspired glasses.

The original plan of course was to pedicab the bride and groom to the reception down Germantown Ave., with a procession of bike riders following behind. It eventually turned into just Evan, my dad, Larry, and me making the ride. It'll still be hard to beat that time we took a warm summer evening's ride through North Philly in bow ties, seersuckers, and pink jackets though.

Or that time they had self-serve Vernor's and Evan Williams at the reception. The worst part of that sentence is Vernor's, but the best part is self-serve.

Also, the Trudeaus came. Because what kind of party would it be without them?

Divination

Saturday afternoon Meredith had a plan to put this together from the roof of The Divine Lorraine Hotel. That plan involved breaking into an abandoned building in North Philadelphia, climbing 10 stories, filming the sunset, and then sneaking back out again. In the dark. Because it's dark in abandoned buildings once the sun sets. All while avoiding its regular population of hobos, crack addicts, and down on their luck millionaires. I'd like to pretend she and Kate asked me to come along for protection. Because it would be stupid for two young women to do that alone. But let's be honest, nobody's gonna believe that. We all know how much I love roofs, abandoned things, and climbing. And don't act like this creepy building isn't just asking for a good mounting. It's been staring me in the forehead all my life. The only question is why did it take so long to do it.

The first challenge, after finding a parking spot for Meredith's Prius, was working up the nerve to walk up these stairs.

Creepstairs

If this were the most disturbing part of the event there would be a lot more pictures of the 2nd and 3rd floor crack dens. As it was, we were too preoccupied with the debris, empty Cheetos bags, and dirty mattresses to pullout our iPhones until we made it over to the big building. 

But are you getting a load of this place?

Here's the thing though. The only time I was actually about to shit my pants was just before we made it out to the roof. As I was about to grab the top of the rusted-out metal ladder leading up there, I saw the two socks that sheathed the topmost handhold. Which I was about to grab. With my hands. And I hope that that's the closest I've ever come to contracting a venereal disease.

That scare was totally worth it though, because look at this view:


And also this one:


And this one, which I sent to my dad just to brag:

And this one, with the ladies, on the roofs:

And then the sun went down. And it was pretty awesome. And we felt like kings/queens.

But then we had to walk back down 10 flights of stairs. In an abandoned building. By flashlight. Waiting for the moment when the guy frying eggs in the dark finally noticed us and the camera went black.

No, but seriously. That guy freaked me out.

Housing to the Oldies

American & Laurel - November, 1950

American & Laurel - January, 2012

2012 - More jeeps, more recycling, more street mattresses. Fewer broken blinds.

Analogue Marketing

You know what I like about Philadelphia? How it takes 3 weeks to get the library card that was supposed to show up in 3-5 days. And how when it finally gets here it comes in a hand addressed envelope from the Rodriguez branch.

And that expire date written in black sharpie. 

In which we go to Camden, and make it out of Camden also.

Camden has a lot of things—like a bridge to Philadelphia, half a 2000m rowing course, the highest 2nd highest murder rate in America (doin' it St. Louis), and half the police force it did a year ago. We were more interested in their not quite minor league baseball team. Well, and that bridge to Philadelphia. 

Here we are, on what could have been our last walk, headed towards some pubic transit over to The Jers'.  I like this picture but I'm glad it wasn't the end.

It's a great little stadium (and that view‽), but they really don't make it that easy to get to. Once that round trip ticket you've bought doesn't work you'll have to wait until the PATCO lady comes over the station loud speaker to tell you (yes, you) to pick up the emergency phone. And it's not until she's done remotely managing your ticket that you get to wander through after-dark Camden over to the stadium. The thrill of it!  These blurry times were had:

But so were these 4th row times, and these bird times. I don't know why that happened, but it did. And I love it, shut the door. Also, The Sway finally got into full gear.

We couldn't hang out in murdertown all night though; Roxyalotta was having a birthday bash. Everybody knows that the only thing more fun than Vacation Roxy is Birthday Roxy, so we weren't about to miss that. I came close when I broke both my ankles for a minute while Swaying, but we all recovered in time for some additional Philadelphia DANCING(!). 

Where's the bus? Call a Cab!

Here's something that I want every person's visit to Philadelphia to include: late night bar sing alongs to Motown Philly followed by late night cheesesteaks on my deck.

Sunday. Day Three. Brunch. Bloody Marys. This picture, depicting our various states of array/disarray. The realization that Crapples is still stashed behind The Barbary. Finding it hidden right where you left it:

Then taking a good look at the place you had had such a good time at Friday night. In the sunlight. Feeling both good and a little scared about it.

In the harsh light of day: The Barbary

Day drinking. Everything. No, literally, we drank every single thing they had on their menu. We may have played every single Crapples card that's been made in the process.

Waitress Lex gets in on the action.

This is a great game to play at a bar actually. Find their list and start from the top. Don't try to order what you want because you can't. Your drink is whatever is next on the list. Which proves to be amazing, hilarious, and unfortunate all at the same time. Bonuses are accrued when the barkeep &/or waitress gets invested enough to search out rare off-menu items just for the love of the game. Losses are accrued when you have to pay the bill.

Here's what you don't want to do—leave your credit card on the table when the group finally let's you go home to New York. There's gonna be some extra shots on it, which is your own fault, Schwenn.

He left us! He left us!

Here's the part of the story I thought I might not tell. As bad as the crushing return to reality was when I finally returned to work on Tuesday, my funsickness paled in comparison to Monday's umbral variation on a Whitney. I had so many questions about what was going on inside of my body. There was a lot of laying myself places, and only eating bits and pieces of my grilled cheese, and doing the old shakes in the grass routine. After putting Katie and Lynda really close to a train to the airport without waiting to see if they actually got on, I went home and ate this. I think it was a good idea. If you come visit me I'll make one for you too.