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Aaron N. Tubbs

Dragon chaser.

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So, we arrived in Philly Friday night, after about 4.5 hours in the car, and checked in at Club Quarters Philadelphia. Well, rather, we walked to the counter, our reservation wasn’t there. It was, actually, just spelled wrong, which is weird when you reserve on the Internet.

Run, screaming, before it’s too late.

Anyhow, the lady couldn’t change things in the computer, but we managed to get the reservation, and then ran across the lobby to a machine to actually get our room key. Then when we wanted a duplicate key, we had to run back to the desk in order to get the duplicate, then we had to run back to the machine to explain how to check out.

How fucking retarded is what?

Took the elevator (omg slow) up to the 10th floor, realized that 1022 is not 1202, and that I suck. Go up to 12th floor.

We have two beds. They’re not queen beds.

My reservation says queen bed.

Call the front desk. “That’s just a request, not a guarantee.” Oh, but my reservation says I have a queen bed. W-T-F mates? So we dicker back and forth, he realizes he’s out of rooms, and offers to convert to a California King. Fine. We head out to meet Bill and Krista; they’re about a 1.2 mile walk away; we run into them about midpoint, and then head to dinner at an Afghani joint.

Afghani cuisine is apparently fragrant, sweet, and not particularly spicy. I had a lamb dish with rose water, various nuts, candied orange peel, and saffron rice. I’m glad I tried it, but I’m not sure I’d bother with it again.

From there, we went to Eulogy Beglian Tavern, one of my favorite stops from our last visit. We sampled a sour ale, which was interesting; I think I’d drink that again. We had a round of beer, and ordered a 120-minute IPA from Dogfish Head. God bless the stuff. Looked at this point like the natives were losing steam, so we paid our tab and walked back to the hotel.

And went up to our room.

By the way, that means two elevator rides, as they blockade off the stairs.

Really. Fucking. Irritating.

But there was more irritation to be found. Upon reaching our room, our beds had been converted. A sheet was put on the bed and … nothing else. So I called the front desk. Was put on hold. Waited 20 minutes. Started just dialing random housekeeping numbers after that. Finally got somebody after a few dozen rings, and he said there was a rack of blankets on the 12th floor I could raid. Went there, the rack was empty. Went down to the 8th floor, found a bunch of blankets that were too small, and brought them up. Not ideal, but at least enough to sleep.

The next morning, we tried to eat breakfast downstairs, which was an ordeal in itself, the details of which aren’t really worth repeating, except to say that they tried to make it as difficult and painful as possible. Interestingly (and positively) they at least brought a bedspread the second day.

Enough about the hotel. Don’t stay there. Please. Put them out of business.

Right, so we met up with Bill and Krista, and headed towards the art museum in the morning. On the way, we ran into enema statue suite:

Really. Fucking. Weird.

We walked past the Rodin museum, though we didn’t go in:

And we played on the animals:

Only photo of me on the entire trip:

Art museum was cool. Took some illicit pictures of Ike Taiga’s work:


Cool lock:

And we hit the modern art stuff too:

All told a nice little tour. We were kind of tired after that, so went back to the hotel and relaxed for a bit before our trip to Morimoto.

After dinner we watched Little Miss Sunshine, which was surprisingly good (8/10, but don’t hold me to that; I need to watch it without 12 courses of booze first).

And, back to our lovely hotel; Sarah has to fly out to Florida tomorrow, so we left early Sunday. Fun times!