THE SOUND OF SUMMER in many Philadelphia neighborhoods is dominated by two competing ice cream truck jingles, one more obnoxious than the other. Both sound a lot like this: "dee-DEE dee-DEEdily Dee dee-dee" over and over and over again. There are actual lyrics to these tinkly tunes, the first being, "The creamiest dreamiest soft ice cream is made by Mr. Softee." and the second being, "Around around the merry-go-round the monkey chased the weasel."

I believe it is fair to say that the sound of these dueling ice cream trucks has something to do with the city's escalating murder rate. I know how homicidal I feel after the hundredth time of hearing the Mr. Softee theme in a battle of the bands with Pop Goes the Weasel. Of course, we live in prime ice cream truck territory, just off Clark Park in West Philadelphia, where the "dee-DEE dee-DEEdily" tintinabulations of ever-returning jingle trucks is as soothing as the sound of whooping Souix warriors circling a wagon train.

And so it was last night when the Philadelphia Orchestra performed a free concert in the natural bowl in Clark Park under flawless skies on a picture perfect summer night that made me fall in love with Philadelphia all over again. Who ARE these people? The crowd looked like a casting call by Noah -- there was one of everything, from brown bearded lesbiens eating dipped chocolate ice cream cones to crusty dreadlocked anarchists nodding to the classics.

On a huge stage before us sat the white-clad members of a world-class symphony orchestra making music under the baton of a Bulgarian conductor who started the concert with the Star Spangled Banner and ended with America, America as an encore with everyone standing and singing along and dry eyes hard to come by. Conductor Rossen Milanov, wearing a jaunty straw hat, led the Philadelphians through a repetoir that included Bizet's Carmen, Ravel's Bolero and my favorite symphony since childhood, Capriccio Espanol by Rimsky-Korsakov.

And there while enjoying the perfection of the evening, during a soft strings interlude before the rousing finale, the maestro's wagon train came under assault. "Dee-DEE dee DEEdily Dee dee-dee." It was a terrortist attack by Mr. Softee.

Everyone winced, groaned and turned around glaring. But Mr. Softee was oblivious. Finally I did what everyone wanted to. I got up from my blanket, hurried to the driver's window and shouted these exact words, almost, "Shut the TRUCK up!" Mr. Softee apologized and killed the jingle. And when I returned in triumph and told the story to my blanket mates, a bald fellow on the blanket in front of us turned around and asked me to please be quiet. He couldn't hear the music.

God, I love this city.