By TERRY TAYLOR
Associated Press

First, you have to say it right — and with the proper mix of defensiveness and pride: "Fluffia."

"Hi, I'm Terry Taylor and I'm from Fluffia."

I may work in New York and rent an apartment there, but my home is in Philadelphia.

Actually, it's about six miles west of Philly, a 3.3-square-mile patch called Narberth, wedged between St. Joseph's and Villanova.

My mother, my car and my dog live there.

I've been an Amtrak regular since 1981, and I know every short cut, crack and creep at majestic 30th Street Station, which sits directly across the street from what used to be the Evening Bulletin building. I worked in the The AP office on the third floor, Herb Stutz worked on four. The Eagles had office space on the first floor and, sometimes, when you walked by, you'd see Pete Retzlaff talking on the phone in his shirtsleeves.

From 30th Street, I catch the Bryn Mawr/Paoli local train home, about a 15-minute trip.

And that's where I stay until it's time to go back to Gotham.

I'll be honest, I don't get into Philly much anymore.

I'm so busy running errands, raking the yard, seeding the lawn and walking the dog, the last thing I want to do is drive into center city, as we locals call it.

But I do know it and love it. Some things always stay with you, too. For example, whenever the train crosses the Schuylkill River, no matter what I'm doing, I always take a minute to look for sculls and, beyond the water, to admire the beauty and expansiveness of Fairmount Park.

And, I always head north with a half dozen soft pretzels stashed in my bag and a trail of salt behind me. No mustard. I wouldn't eat a New York soft pretzel if you held a gun to my head.

Other things stay with you, too — like places and things you love.

Before I tell you about them, I want to set you straight about a few of them:

Not all Philadelphians say, "Yo." I don't. Neither do my friends, my family or our neighbors. I kind of pronounce "water" funny. My colleagues tell me it sounds like, "Whudder." As in, "I'll have a whudder ice, thank you." I'd be happy to say it for you at the convention.

Not all Philadelphians eat cheesesteaks. But the smart ones who do, don't go to Pat's or Geno's. One trip cured me. I haven't eaten a cheesesteak in ages, probably because I lived on them for four years on the Temple University campus, where they were served up from a sidewalk food truck by Mayor John Street's brother, Milton. If you must try one, go to Jim's on South Street.

Forget about great shopping. There is none. Philly doesn't have anything comparable to Michigan Avenue in Chicago or Union Square in San Francisco. We used to have John Wanamaker's, my all-time favorite hang-out as a teen-ager. I'd spend hours in the shoe department and roaming the cavernous main floor, where people lingered to watch the "Dancing Fountains" at Christmas or to hear the organ recitals or to meet friends at the famous Eagle, whose bronze beak was rubbed smooth by millions of big and little hands.

The building's still there, at 13th and Market Streets, but now it's a Lord & Taylor. Going there would wreck fond memories, so I don't.

The King of Prussia mall sits at the end of the Schuylkill Expressway, but you don't want to go there. It's big and boring, with all the usual mall stores. There's plenty of that when you go home.

Do not eat a local delicacy called scrapple, even on a dare. Even if they tell you it tastes good drowned in maple syrup. They're lying. It's terrible. They say it has "every part of the pig 'cept the oink." That part's true — and it tastes that way.

OK, now on to special places.

Or let's put it this way: If I had a couple of days off with nothing to do, here's where I'd go.

We'll start with food places:

The Saloon, 750 S. 7th Street, for dinner. I have no idea how it rates with local food critics and I don't care. This place is special because I started coming here as a child with my family. The menu never had prices, the attendants were the prettiest girls in South Philly and my uncle used to leave huge tips, so they loved him. Even if they served scrapple, I would still eat here. They say Frank Rizzo used to love it, too.

The Melrose Diner, 1501 Snyder Avenue, open 24 hours.

Turn on any radio station and you're bound to hear: "Everybody who knows ... goes ... to Melrose." They've been playing that since I wore a uniform and saddle shoes. (The other jingle you'll hear is: "Chapman Lincoln Mercury Kia." Yes, Chapman, as in Roy and Pat Chapman, owners of Smarty Jones.)

But back to the Melrose. More than the generous burgers, omlettes and pies — even the coffee is terrific because the water is filtered — it's the theater you'll remember.

"Hi hon, whaddya havin'?"

It's a good bet the greeter is wearing lots of makeup and a coffee cup pin that shows how many years she's worked there.

Sit at the counter or in one of the roomy horseshoe-shaped booths.

Any seat is great for people-watching — all sizes and shapes. And that's just the hairstyles! You might even see a couple of Tony Soprano's cousins.

The later you go, the better it is.

If you do go during daylight hours, you might want to skip dessert and drive the extra few blocks to Pop's Water Ice at 1137 Oregon Avenue. It's practically on top of the ballpark. Too bad the Phils aren't in town.

Pop's ices are guaranteed to have fewer calories than anything you'd eat the Melrose. And they're great. Flavors vary. Lemon, with real pieces of fruit, is best.

The Reading Terminal, 12th and Arch Streets, open 8 a.m.-6 p.m., Monday through Saturday.

This is where you really get a taste of Philadelphia. It's a grand farmer's market, with lots of produce, meats, cheeses, breads and, of course, the Amish.

I'll eat anything the Amish make. Their stuff looks better than everyone else's. Sometimes I'll just buy a 50-cent cup of apple juice and a bag of chips and wander around their showcases. It's old-fashioned goodness. Plus, I like their bonnets, their straw hats, their suspenders and their honest faces.

Inside the market, after you've hit the Amish stalls, head for the following: Fisher's soft pretzels; Bassetts Ice Cream — like eating pure cream on a cone; Famous 4th Street Cookie Co.; Termini Brothers Bakery (Ask for the summer cooler.)

It would probably be a good idea to walk back to the hotel. You'll need the exercise.

The White Dog, 3420 Sansom Street, on the Penn campus.

I haven't been there for dinner since my father-in-law and I stopped by before a Penn-Princeton game about two years ago. Don't sweat it. The food is good; the atmosphere is dark, cluttered and Penn-ish. That well-scrubbed, but disheveled, Ralph Lauren look.

The restaurant, a warren of small rooms, is attached to a quirky gift shop that's worth browsing. I bought three pairs of idiot mittens there — the kind connected with a length of yarn that you loop through coat sleeves. No comments, OK.

But the best reason to eat there is to take in a few Penn sites when you're done, especially the Palestra and Franklin Field.

There's usually a Penn security person nearby. If either is closed, tell them who you are and that you just wanted to see it. Bet you'll get a peek. They don't make 'em like this anymore.

Now, what to see.

Our convention hotel, Sheraton Society Hill, couldn't be in a better place.

It's surrounded by history — all within walking distance.

Independence National Historic Park, Chestnut Street, between 5th and 6th Street. Start here and you're right in the thick of it: Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, Carpenters' Hall, and plenty of other monuments to our colonial past. Right there, too, is the National Constitution Center on Independence Mall. The Betsy Ross House isn't in this cluster, but it's nearby and walkable. So are dozens of narrow, cobblestoned streets that make you think how lucky they were not to have cars back then. Check out Elfreth's Alley, near Betsy's house.

The Franklin Institute, 20th and Benjamin Franklin Parkway, open 9:30 a.m.-5 p.m., seven days a week.

Teachers bused us to this place at least once a year when I was growing up. Not a bad thing to want to be an inventor, like Ben. Had no desire to get electrocuted, though. There are lots of neat Mr. Wizard/brain teaser exhibits, but the coolest thing is the Fels Planetarium. I loved gazing at the heavens in a room that holds about 300 people. You will, too. Check for times, generally between 11 a.m.-3 p.m.

Philadelphia Museum of Art, Benjamin Franklin Parkway.

You can walk there from the Franklin Institute. It's a bit of hike, but there's an upside. You'll be too winded to run up and down the museum steps like the "Rocky" knuckleheads who think that's all the museum is good for.

The permanent collection is excellent, and the headliner exhibit during convention week is something called "Glorious Harvest: Photographs from the Michael E. Hoffman Tribute Collection."

An excellent place to spend the afternoon if you stay in the city.

Let me encourage you NOT to stay in your room and stare at Camden, N.J. God's country is less than an hour away.

Get a car and away we go to:

Valley Forge State Park, 20 miles west of Philadelphia at Route 23 and North Gulph Road, Valley Forge. I was born here (not in the park, silly), so of course I'm going to lead you away from the city.

The most famous encampment of the Revolutionary War took place during the miserable winter of 1777-78 in the fields and hills surrounding this community. Visit Washington's Headquarters, the Gothic Revival-style Memorial Chapel, Memorial Arch, and, best of all, the reconstructed soldiers' huts that dot the park.

See if the hotel will pack you a picnic lunch and spend the day out there. It's beautiful, peaceful and a piece of our heritage.

Brandywine River Museum, Route 1 and Pa. Route 100, Chadds Ford, Pa.

This is where we like to head the day after Thanksgiving to get a jump on the Christmas season by watching the elaborate train exhibit that goes up every year. You know, even if there was no museum here, I'd drive out to Chadds Ford just to walk around and hope to bump into one of the Wyeths.

You may not see them in the flesh, but three generations of Wyeth art are housed in this museum. That would be N.C. Wyeth, Andrew and James — and their works will take your breath away.

The Brandywine Heritage Galleries are an ongoing exhibition for the works of the Wyeths, Howard Pyle, Maxfield Parrish, Jasper Cropsey and William Trost Richards.

There's also a separate Andrew Wyeth Gallery with approximately 40 paintings. Usually on view are Evening at Kuerner's, Night Sleeper, Roasted Chestnuts and Snow Hill.

Just so you know, Brandywine Battlefield Park is just up the road and has a good visitor's center. This is where the largest engagement of the Revolutionary War was fought on Sept. 11, 1777, between Washington's Continental Army and the British forces headed by Gen. William Howe.

On the grounds are Washington's headquarters and Lafayette's quarters.

Cape May, N.J.

If you must go to New Jersey (no, you don't need a passport), skip Atlantic City. If you love Las Vegas, you'll hate this place. It's depressing. Unless you have a gambling jones, stick with the desert.

Follow the Garden State Parkway to the very end and visit Cape May instead. It has plenty of Victorian charm, the beach is wide and beautiful and there are scores of good restaurants. It's charming and it's about a two-hour drive from the hotel.

That's it. Enjoy!