Philosophers have argued for eons about the definition of the word "home."

Where the heart is?

In an abstract sense, my "heart" is currently in 1972 Georgia, and it's thumping to the beat of The Allman Brothers Band's seminal album Eat a Peach.

Where you hang your hat?

Certainly, I do not live underneath a pile of clothes in my apartment's messy bedroom.

There are two more concrete places I could call home: One could be State College; the other could be Philadelphia. You see, I love this place that I've grown to know in the past few years, but I've never really wanted to leave Philly.

It's mostly a crappy city, but it's my crappy city.

Supposedly, it's the ugliest city in the country.

I think it suits me well.

So anyway, I'll be making my way back to the crappy City of Brotherly Love this weekend, along with about 70,000 other Penn State students and alumni, apparently.

But just when I decided that I'd visit one of my concrete homes for the first time this semester, everyone in my current concrete home decided they'd take the opportunity to do all kinds of fun stuff.

Yesterday, my favorite pizza place in town re-opened its doors. This weekend, my friend plans on building a fort in his apartment.

And Derek Trucks, guitar extraordinaire and son of Eat a Peach drummer Butch Trucks, will play The State Theatre this Saturday.

Gee, thanks, home. I know when I'm not wanted.

Alas, I'll resign myself to basking in the sounds of the loudest crowd Lincoln Financial Field has seen this year, thanks in part to Andy Reid, Donovan McNabb and company.

And perhaps I'll take in Final Fantasy, aka violinist Owen Pallett, not the video game, on Friday instead of catching Assassins at Schwab Auditorium (page 9).

And I will most certainly grab a cheesesteak from Dalessandro's in Roxborough instead of any of the places mentioned in our look at State College's interpretation of the Philly classic (page 19).

You can try all you want to be my home, State College, but honestly, I left my abstract heart in the Illadelph.