TUESDAY, 4 JULY, 2000, PHILADELPHIA

The only thing I enjoy more than traveling is playing host to travelers. I am currently playing tour guide, concierge and merry sycophant to Mlle. Badjuju who has arbitrarily chosen the best weekend of the year to come to the States, it being that whole 4th of July thing here — and Philadelphia in particular, it being one of those patriotical-type cities. I get my vicarious travel thrills when I entertain guests. I’ve lived in Philly for a couple of years now, and while I still think it’s a perfectly lovely place to be, I have ceased to see it with those wonderful “new eyes” through which one sees new places. Mlle. Badjuju’s “new eyes” are quite contagious, and I am suddenly perversely enrapt with the Melrose Diner and its creamy mashed potatoes — with the erstwhile taken-for-granted architecture of the city — and I am even enamoured of construction workers and cops and burly men walking small dogs because of her excitement for same. There is always a tinge of danger involved with house guests, especially when they were previously Imaginary Internet Friends (IIF’s, to use the TLA). Frequently, even people one has known for some time can become monstrous when taken out of their element, plunked into a new city and told to find their way around because Daddy has to go to work now, darling. Some people are like Guinness — tasty and nutritious for the soul, but don’t travel very well. Others, like Mlle. Badjuju are simply quite ass, and there are no two ways about it. I, and those in my circle of Beautiful Ones who have met her, have marveled quite vociferously about her perfectly charming personality, sharp sagacity and wit, and resilience to being without luggage for nigh five days while Air France played dress up with her panties. Rare thing when you find yourself blithely offering to extend your hostly duties for “as long as you can stay”, and you inwardly dread the day your houseguest trundles off back home. But enough of my gushing love letter to my houseguest. I fear I shall soon compromise myself if I go on with it. I bet Lees™ and Kev® would make the ‘A’ list as well. Hint hint. Nudge nudge. Five days off from work was a necessary respite. Last year’s 4th of July weekend was comparatively tame. And much hotter. I seem to recall the 4th weighing in at a hefty 102°F, and Michele and I spending the entire day at Logan Circle playing in the fountain, trying to stay cool. This little spontaneous holiday has been full of trashy diners, afternoons in parks, bar debauches, fireworks, a play, museums, walking tours, stray dogs, movies, writing and other collaborations, stoop seshes, cocktail parties, hundreds of digital photos, this, that and the other thing over there, too. And while it’s a drag to be back at work today, the relative quietude of working is strangely soothing to my saturated soul and walked-off legs. Heh. Mlle. Badjuju passionately requested sloppy joes for dinner last night. That’s funny. They were yum-yum-yummay. Who eats sloppy joes any more? Bloody Americans.