Now you see Bub, now you don't (but I do!)...

...some co-workers who read this blog have asked what happened to Bub, who used to feature prominently in my posts. He's still my guy but some things have changed - the least of which is that he's no longer called Bub, his nickname evolved into something that is now a secret, and so even though calling him Bub feels like calling him Pete or Jackass, I'll call him Bub here.

The second thing is that his residency, as expected, has taken up a tremendous portion of his life. It's fascinating to watch a person undergo a transformation, and a little sad --but mostly incredible, as he shifts priorities and takes on challenges, and while certain things I loved about him take a backseat to new responsibilities, the essential Bub is always there. In some ways he was born to be a doctor - for one, he doesn't need much sleep; he also has this uncanny gift with people, any kind of person, that is a revelation to watch, he just always connects. Three, he has no problems with blood or poop, which I'm sure will come in handy someday.

But the insane travel and wild weekends have slowed and the weekends together usually involve a night in which he's working and I'm out with other friends, which is fine because they tend to be friends I love and don't get to see very often--but it stinks because he's still my favorite person in the world. And if someone is that important, you just learn to work around all the other little things like his profession and yours and enjoy the time you have together. He continues to make fun of me for needing more sleep on an average night than he does after working an 18-hour shift, but still.

So when we do manage to cut up a little, I figure it shouldn't go by without recounting it. Two weekends ago he had--gasp!--an entire weekend free, so he jumped on the train to DC. Amtrak being the wasteful, government-subsidy-ridden crapfest it is, it took him 5.5 hours to get from NYC to DC, so Friday night was shot. We went straight to sleep (he'd worked since 6AM the day before; I'd...gotten up as usual at 6:30 AND had an afternoon nap and I was exhausted) and the next day, we headed to brunch at St. Ex and then to Arlington Cemetary, which neither of us had been to. We saw all the "famous" graves including Joe Louis (who knew Joe Louis was buried in Arlington?) but couldn't find Oliver Wendell Holmes, sadly. After that we headed over to the Frank Lloyd Wright Pope Leighey House which is now my favorite Wright house, it's amazing how little space he used but still managed to convey a sense of privacy and quiet. It was getting dark (around 5PM) and so we were heading back to DC when I mentioned that I'd never been to Mount Vernon, which was right across the way. We turned the car around and rolled up to Washington's house and Bub went in to see if maybe there were any tours on Sunday, because it was pitch black outside and likely closed. But no sir, they were doing their evening holiday tour, so we quickly parked and managed to not be at the absolute end of the line. The tour was fun, if a little rushed and hokey (Martha Washington handing out her recipe for Great Cake) but we got to see the bedrooms, that are usually closed to the public.

We left Mount Vernon about an hour and a half later and headed back into the city. Now you're thinking - I bet they had a nice quiet dinner and a drink at Tabaq and called it a night. Yeah...something like that.

Sometime on Saturday we started discussing a trip to Philly to see an Eagles game, eat cheesesteaks, and eat some more cheesesteaks. "no time like the present" seemed appropriate, so we hopped in the car and while I napped, Bub got us there in just under two hours. We caught a late dinner at Buddakan (great food, epic portions, we couldn't finish) and in the morning, went down to South Street to grab Jim's steaks, which were awesome, if quirky -

So I can't eat bread, yada yada yada, and in a place like Jim's, they tend to give you that "hey, pretentious yuppie, we're not exactly big on the ol' calorie counting phenomenon, so maybe you could just pull up your big girl panties and eat a hoagie this one time" look, at which I quickly explain intestinal cancer at the worst and a lot of time in their restroom at the very least. So they're on board with the whole "no bread" thing but they have nary a plate in the joint. Nada. So the solution is to take a piece of bread, layer four or five pieces of wax paper, and then proceed as normal with meat, onions, mushrooms, cheese, etc. Hyper celiacs will tell you this is a problem because of the danger of cross-contamination but I counter that hyper celiacs were not standing where I was, with the tasty smell of meat wafting across the counter.

So I'm eating, and I'm loving, and Bub is loving and wants to make sure I'm loving so he's all, you love? and I'm all, yeah, but it's awfully chewy in places. And then Bub realizes I am eating wax paper, and a lot of it. We laughed all the way to -

The Eagles game! What is with you Philly fans? I loved the berating that every player, coach, and hot dog salesperson gets from the average fan. Woe unto you if you happened to be wearing a Giants jersey, hat, or the color blue that day - you were automatically subjected to chants of "Assssssssshoooooooole" over and over as you returned to your seat from the bathroom. The highlight was a- kid you not- 10 year old kid screaming "hey McNabb you f**king asshole! Learn how to throw!" and all I could think was, "gosh, I'll take that comment a lot more seriously when his voice drops". I loved the cold, the shouting, the fights, the spitting, and the overall hostility for the Philadephia Eagles displayed by their season ticket holders. Bub bought me an ear warmer and we ate fries and screamed at the Eagles along with all their fans. What a game.