I got out of the airport in Philly in the midst of rush hour, and had a clenched-jaw, white-knuckle cab ride to my hotel. I got up to my room, which is reminiscent of that one on the current commercial where the businessman is missing his soccer-playing young daughter - barely enough room to swing a cat, toilet visible from the bed, yellow pastel paint on the walls. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my hair and teeth, and went out to get some dinner. I wandered along Market Street, which was pretty much closed for the night, and couldn't find anything, so I went to a bar directly across the street from the hotel. The chicken wings tasted like they came out of a Banquet box in the frozen food aisle - dry, stale, and crunchy, with a very boring hot sauce on the side. This was followed by the worst Philly cheesesteak I've ever had anywhere. One would think you could get a decent Philly in Philly. I must have gone to the wrong bar, I guess.

There is an upside to this, however. I've listened to both Romantic Warrior and Blues from the Lost Days while writing this rant, and thoroughly enjoyed them both. And this business trip is unlikely to go downhill from here!