My expectations were low to begin with. I wasn't expecting fireworks or applause, but some sort of fanfare would have been nice. The full body scans have been a hot topic of late so I suffered a bit of a let down on my flight from Philadelphia to Orlando. No "Mr. Thomas! I see someone is still in beach bikini shape." High fives? Nope. Not even an intrigued eyebrow raise.
Maybe I should've been asked to be patted down? I didn't do 36 sit-ups in the handicap stall to have my abs go unnoticed by TSA. I mean it was either the washboard stomach or offering them two tickets to the gun show. Which they would happily trade me for two tickets to the jail show.
Full Body Scan, check.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Go to Court
As mentioned in a previous posting of mine, my place of employment had a little run in with some good for nothing, sticky handed bandits! There I said it. They had stolen some products from the arena and seemingly gotten away with it. Well they ended up catching the two dummys and being able to correctly identify one of the perps, the Philadelphia Police Dept. felt that I would be a tremendous asset in the court room. After receiving a subpoena a few weeks back, the day came where I was to arrive at Municipal Court on 13th and Filbert, September 16th 2010.
Arriving at 8:30 AM, I was informed that I would probably be waiting for the majority of the day so I should come prepared. I brought Steve Martin's biography, a newspaper, and my iPod. I didn't use any of it because they ushered all of us in right away. There we all waited for about a half hour. Not sure what for, but I think it was to be polite and wait for every odd creature in Philadelphia to come into courtroom 1002.
When I sat down there were pretty normal looking people already there. A quiet librarian looking women, about 40 years old doing a sudoku puzzle. An old, black lady who repeatedly asked her neighbor what time it was. A guy with one arm. A gingered tough guy cop with his shirt tucked into his jeans. A Muslim woman. A Jewish man. A Mexican. A really fat guy. A trannie with hairier legs than me...and me. Marky Mark and the Funny Bunch were all here to determine how long this monster should be locked up for stealing soda from us.
But that's a story for another day because they dismissed us for some reason and said that we would be receiving another subpoena in a few weeks. I look forward to the reunion and hopefully doing more than just sitting in a courtroom with a racially, ethnically, sexually, and religiously diverse group. And a Mexican.
Go to court...check.
Arriving at 8:30 AM, I was informed that I would probably be waiting for the majority of the day so I should come prepared. I brought Steve Martin's biography, a newspaper, and my iPod. I didn't use any of it because they ushered all of us in right away. There we all waited for about a half hour. Not sure what for, but I think it was to be polite and wait for every odd creature in Philadelphia to come into courtroom 1002.
When I sat down there were pretty normal looking people already there. A quiet librarian looking women, about 40 years old doing a sudoku puzzle. An old, black lady who repeatedly asked her neighbor what time it was. A guy with one arm. A gingered tough guy cop with his shirt tucked into his jeans. A Muslim woman. A Jewish man. A Mexican. A really fat guy. A trannie with hairier legs than me...and me. Marky Mark and the Funny Bunch were all here to determine how long this monster should be locked up for stealing soda from us.
But that's a story for another day because they dismissed us for some reason and said that we would be receiving another subpoena in a few weeks. I look forward to the reunion and hopefully doing more than just sitting in a courtroom with a racially, ethnically, sexually, and religiously diverse group. And a Mexican.
Go to court...check.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Mann Music Center
I consider myself to be a pretty well traveled Philadelphia concert goer. I've been to scores of live music events over my little lifetime so it was exciting to finally visit one that I'd never been to. The Mann Music Center is in West Philly, near the Zoo, and usually boasts some more classical, less popular artists during the season. Not entirely sure if that's accurate but that's what I thought and I only really noticed the likes of Arcade Fire and MGMT gracing the stage this past summer.
I saw the latter a few weekends ago with Steph and her roommate and boyfriend. I was sick and wasn't really in a concert-going mood but threw back a few beers and started to feel alright. The closest relative to the Mann would have to be the Susquehanna Bank Center in Camden. Trade the paved parking lot for the grassy fields at the Mann and they're pretty similar. Expensive beers, expensive seating, and lawn seats for the degenerates.
We had seats about 1/3 of the way up and off to the left side of the stage. The sound was good and there weren't too many drunk idiots around to interfere with my listening pleasure. Luckily it wasn't a hot night or it may have been a little more uncomfortable. Unlike the SBC, the Mann is open on the sides of the seated area, giving it a nice outdoorsy feel.
As for the show itself, it was alright. Obviously Congratulations isn't the pop-radio album that Oracular Spectacular was, so the majority of the concert wasn't suitable for drunken sing-a-longs. However they did a nice job of mixing the old with the new and the slow with the up-tempo tracks. The venue itself I wouldn't have chosen for these guys, a smaller one would've been more suitable, but when you had the success that they did with "Kids" and "Electric Feel" you're going to need a bigger venue.
Fun night overall, would recommend the Mann for future concerts (I heard Arcade Fire was amazing there), would not recommend being sick and going though.
Mann Music Center, check.
I saw the latter a few weekends ago with Steph and her roommate and boyfriend. I was sick and wasn't really in a concert-going mood but threw back a few beers and started to feel alright. The closest relative to the Mann would have to be the Susquehanna Bank Center in Camden. Trade the paved parking lot for the grassy fields at the Mann and they're pretty similar. Expensive beers, expensive seating, and lawn seats for the degenerates.
We had seats about 1/3 of the way up and off to the left side of the stage. The sound was good and there weren't too many drunk idiots around to interfere with my listening pleasure. Luckily it wasn't a hot night or it may have been a little more uncomfortable. Unlike the SBC, the Mann is open on the sides of the seated area, giving it a nice outdoorsy feel.
As for the show itself, it was alright. Obviously Congratulations isn't the pop-radio album that Oracular Spectacular was, so the majority of the concert wasn't suitable for drunken sing-a-longs. However they did a nice job of mixing the old with the new and the slow with the up-tempo tracks. The venue itself I wouldn't have chosen for these guys, a smaller one would've been more suitable, but when you had the success that they did with "Kids" and "Electric Feel" you're going to need a bigger venue.
Fun night overall, would recommend the Mann for future concerts (I heard Arcade Fire was amazing there), would not recommend being sick and going though.
Mann Music Center, check.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Miwa Matreyek
It takes a lot to hold my attention. This day and age, if you're not on your iPhone browsing the internet, while your mp3 player soundtracks your walk to work, and doing a crossword puzzle than you are just being a lazy. Everyone seems to have self inflicted ADD and I am no different. Which is why I was caught off guard by Miwa Matreyek's exhibit at Space 1026 in Chinatown Sunday evening. It completely hypnotized me.
Don't think for a second I was without my distractions either. Between the weighty smell of BO, female armpit hair, and the surrounding exhibits there was plenty to distract me. Miwa, who hails from Los Angeles, California, and her animated first person interactive sideshow have been touring the country for a while now. Miwa animates all of her pieces and composes the music as well. And if that's not enough, she hogs the spotlight, snagging the lead role in every work so far.
But there really aren't enough words to do her justice so watch this and check her out next time she's in town.
Miwa Matreyek, check.
Don't think for a second I was without my distractions either. Between the weighty smell of BO, female armpit hair, and the surrounding exhibits there was plenty to distract me. Miwa, who hails from Los Angeles, California, and her animated first person interactive sideshow have been touring the country for a while now. Miwa animates all of her pieces and composes the music as well. And if that's not enough, she hogs the spotlight, snagging the lead role in every work so far.
But there really aren't enough words to do her justice so watch this and check her out next time she's in town.
Miwa Matreyek, check.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Play Lotto
Consider this my resignation from Thomas Try Outs. Come tomorrow night when they read 26, 35, 48, 51, 57 for the Powerball drawing I will no longer have the time to tell you poor people what an interesting, socialite like myself will be doing anymore. Of course I will still be trying new things, but they will be in foreign lands, exploring in expensive vehicles, while laughing the haughtiest of laughs.
I never played the lottery before because I'm not an idiot who likes to throw away money unless it's on beer and food. Nor did I ever like dreaming about what I would do if I ever hit the jackpot. It always ends in the realization that you will in fact never win and when you rejoin reality, are still drunk at 3 in the afternoon, hungover at McDonald's.
Needless to say it would be nice to get a large sum of money for doing absolutely nothing...kinda like stupid poor people and spoiled rich people.
Play Lotto, check.
I never played the lottery before because I'm not an idiot who likes to throw away money unless it's on beer and food. Nor did I ever like dreaming about what I would do if I ever hit the jackpot. It always ends in the realization that you will in fact never win and when you rejoin reality, are still drunk at 3 in the afternoon, hungover at McDonald's.
Needless to say it would be nice to get a large sum of money for doing absolutely nothing...kinda like stupid poor people and spoiled rich people.
Play Lotto, check.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Super Mario Bros. 3
What else would a hungover 25 year old do on a sunny Saturday afternoon? Metroid and Zelda are too difficult. I wanted instant gratification. I never had NES as a child but picked one up before I went to college and Super Mario Bros. 3 was always a nice release for me. Like meditation I could leave my body and look down at myself, sliding through koopas and mushrooms like a man possessed.
But I never went all the way. Either I lost interest or most likely...all my lives. The last world is scary enough to turn away even the fiercest gamer, let alone the final resting place of Bowser. But enough suspense, you're here for the level by level recap.
I'm going to catch a lot of flak for this but I did use the whistles. If you don't know bout dat whistle then stop reading and check yourself. Anyhow it was necessary as I had work later that night and honestly if you can beat the 8th World the others are a breeze. So I picked up both whistles and worked my way through the 3rd World, racking up as much goodies and lives as I could.
Wow this is even boring me.
So yeah I beat the game and that's pretty much it. You probably beat it when you were 10 and I'm a loser for even writing about this.
Super Mario Bros. 3 (loser self-realization), check.
But I never went all the way. Either I lost interest or most likely...all my lives. The last world is scary enough to turn away even the fiercest gamer, let alone the final resting place of Bowser. But enough suspense, you're here for the level by level recap.
I'm going to catch a lot of flak for this but I did use the whistles. If you don't know bout dat whistle then stop reading and check yourself. Anyhow it was necessary as I had work later that night and honestly if you can beat the 8th World the others are a breeze. So I picked up both whistles and worked my way through the 3rd World, racking up as much goodies and lives as I could.
Wow this is even boring me.
So yeah I beat the game and that's pretty much it. You probably beat it when you were 10 and I'm a loser for even writing about this.
Super Mario Bros. 3 (loser self-realization), check.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Nudist
I am naked outside on my third floor roof deck at 4:15 PM. Sunning all 6 feet, 165 lbs of Adam Thomas. Surprisingly I thought this would be more nerve racking but turns out most of my neighbors have their blinds closed and there aren't too many wandering eyes. Except for the squirrels on the roof next door, who seem to be ogling me up like Mr. Peanut. Still it's liberating. This is living without boundaries. This is freedom. Cue "God Bless America."
This tryout is actually a double feature. Like the drive-in movies of old, I'm giving you two for the price of none (like you snuck in through your buddies trunk). Obviously being nakey in public is the feature presentation but this is also the first Thomas Tryout Request. This was an idea I played around with a while ago for about 30 seconds, abruptly ending when "make out with a dude" was the first thing my friends could think of. So props to Steph for the idea.
But back to my soon to be rosy cheeks. Aside from the squirrels creeping about I'm pretty calm. After the initial rush and extremely uncomfortable act of climbing out of my tiny kitchen window in the buff, this is very relaxing. Now I know what it must have felt like to walk on the moon. Guaranteed Neil Armstrong pooped his G-Suit when he drew the short straw for that one. But once he was out there, just man and Moon, I bet he was all sorts of jacked up and waving that American Flag all over the place.
Now that I'm out here I wonder if this is illegal. I think this is technically my property, or at least my landlords (who is gone for the weekend). If I end up getting arrested this will turn into the Lollapalooza of Tryouts and I'll definitely be charging you guys. If not just for bail money.
Nudist, check.
This tryout is actually a double feature. Like the drive-in movies of old, I'm giving you two for the price of none (like you snuck in through your buddies trunk). Obviously being nakey in public is the feature presentation but this is also the first Thomas Tryout Request. This was an idea I played around with a while ago for about 30 seconds, abruptly ending when "make out with a dude" was the first thing my friends could think of. So props to Steph for the idea.
But back to my soon to be rosy cheeks. Aside from the squirrels creeping about I'm pretty calm. After the initial rush and extremely uncomfortable act of climbing out of my tiny kitchen window in the buff, this is very relaxing. Now I know what it must have felt like to walk on the moon. Guaranteed Neil Armstrong pooped his G-Suit when he drew the short straw for that one. But once he was out there, just man and Moon, I bet he was all sorts of jacked up and waving that American Flag all over the place.
Now that I'm out here I wonder if this is illegal. I think this is technically my property, or at least my landlords (who is gone for the weekend). If I end up getting arrested this will turn into the Lollapalooza of Tryouts and I'll definitely be charging you guys. If not just for bail money.
Nudist, check.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Stop Breathing for 60 Seconds
Wow. I figured this blog would eventually reach the point where I had to risk my life in order to push the limits, but not breathing for a whole minute! Come on! I'm not The Incredible Hulk Hogan. Therefore I dedicate this tryout to anyone who said I play it safe, don't live dangerously or "my parents will love you." Good luck giving your parents that easy, trustworthy feeling when they hear that you're spending the night with some guy who once stopped breathing for an entire 60 seconds...ON PURPOSE!
Being bored usually spurns my interest in trying something new. What's pathetic about this, or more pathetic, I actually didn't think I could hold my breath that long. I don't remember ever doing it and I was never a huge fan of swimming so holding my breath isn't really something I had to learn. Unless you count wanting to impress your friends by making yourself pass out, junior high style.
My first attempt I made it to 30 seconds. Half way there and yet I felt like my head was going to burst like a fruit gusher. I obviously had to seek some counsel or I would get nowhere near my goal. So when I need to know something I google it. "Tips and tricks to holding your breath." Gee the internet is cool. Thousands of links come up including a 9 step solution to my problem.
Breath slowly through your diaphragm to get the excess air out of your lungs. Check. Meditate to lower your heart rate and calm yourself. Check. Inhale a massive breath, taking in 80-85% of your lung capacity. Check. Exhale slowly. Check.
40 Seconds.
Crikey!
After two more attempts at 45 and 50 seconds a piece I thought it would be interesting to chalk this one up as my first failed tryout. Then I remembered that nearly everyone and their pet canary can hold their breath for a freakin' minute and so can I!
5th attempt I was successful. 1:03.07. Decided one minute was too easy and I wanted the world record. Pretty sure Guinness will be calling me any day now to discuss the emotional rollercoaster I endured through my record breaking achievement.
But I won't hold my breath.
Stop breathing for 60 seconds, check.
Being bored usually spurns my interest in trying something new. What's pathetic about this, or more pathetic, I actually didn't think I could hold my breath that long. I don't remember ever doing it and I was never a huge fan of swimming so holding my breath isn't really something I had to learn. Unless you count wanting to impress your friends by making yourself pass out, junior high style.
My first attempt I made it to 30 seconds. Half way there and yet I felt like my head was going to burst like a fruit gusher. I obviously had to seek some counsel or I would get nowhere near my goal. So when I need to know something I google it. "Tips and tricks to holding your breath." Gee the internet is cool. Thousands of links come up including a 9 step solution to my problem.
Breath slowly through your diaphragm to get the excess air out of your lungs. Check. Meditate to lower your heart rate and calm yourself. Check. Inhale a massive breath, taking in 80-85% of your lung capacity. Check. Exhale slowly. Check.
40 Seconds.
Crikey!
After two more attempts at 45 and 50 seconds a piece I thought it would be interesting to chalk this one up as my first failed tryout. Then I remembered that nearly everyone and their pet canary can hold their breath for a freakin' minute and so can I!
5th attempt I was successful. 1:03.07. Decided one minute was too easy and I wanted the world record. Pretty sure Guinness will be calling me any day now to discuss the emotional rollercoaster I endured through my record breaking achievement.
But I won't hold my breath.
Stop breathing for 60 seconds, check.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
9th Street Italian Market Festival
In celebration of my Italian heritage, 9th Street in South Philadelphia was putting on a festival that only a spaghetti-twister like myself could appreciate. May 15 & 16th marked the annual outdoor festival of America's oldest outdoor market. Quizzo cats take note. My friend and I got a decent start on the festivities Sunday afternoon hopping onto 9th beneath a vendor's tent hawking a number of ridiculous phrases on t-shirts, baby jumpers, and hats. I was tempted to pick up a jumper that read "My little Italian Princess" but realized I didn't know any princesses and didn't want to portray myself as a liar.
Sauntering away, we made our way North through the throngs of handsomely dressed hipsters, pushy Moms wielding strollers, and the occasional unsightly Jersey guido. The party was capped off at Sarcone's on 9th and Fitzwater, so we ventured back South, passing three stages with live music (including one raucous middle-aged dance party), Peroni salesmen, and table after table of South Philly's finest fare.
By now we had walked the festival 1.5x and were ready for the appetizer. Fresh tomato & mozzarella salad with just the right excess of olive oil held us over until we could make it back up to Sarcone's for what would be the best Italian hoagie I've ever had. I'd heard good things and they lived up to the hype. Quite sated there was still a small cannoli sized hole in my heart that needed filling...vanilla with chocolate chips to be exact. Not the best I'd ever had but still hit the spot. By now I was sweating olive oil and lumbering around like a lb. of pepperoni and needed a rest.
Commence 4 hr. fat nap
Upon waking I was shocked to see what time it was. Water ice time. John's Water Ice was our next stop, which left something to be desired but was still refreshing after a long hard day of walking about 2 miles and napping twice that. Ready to call it a day I headed home and made myself a bowl of pasta before bed.
Truth be told I'm not Italian (I had to look up the spelling for nearly everything I ate that day) but that doesn't mean I can't eat copious amounts of unhealthy food and wear my "Little Italian Princess" tee in honor of a joyous day at the Italian Market Festival.
9th Street Italian Market Festival, check.
Sauntering away, we made our way North through the throngs of handsomely dressed hipsters, pushy Moms wielding strollers, and the occasional unsightly Jersey guido. The party was capped off at Sarcone's on 9th and Fitzwater, so we ventured back South, passing three stages with live music (including one raucous middle-aged dance party), Peroni salesmen, and table after table of South Philly's finest fare.
By now we had walked the festival 1.5x and were ready for the appetizer. Fresh tomato & mozzarella salad with just the right excess of olive oil held us over until we could make it back up to Sarcone's for what would be the best Italian hoagie I've ever had. I'd heard good things and they lived up to the hype. Quite sated there was still a small cannoli sized hole in my heart that needed filling...vanilla with chocolate chips to be exact. Not the best I'd ever had but still hit the spot. By now I was sweating olive oil and lumbering around like a lb. of pepperoni and needed a rest.
Commence 4 hr. fat nap
Upon waking I was shocked to see what time it was. Water ice time. John's Water Ice was our next stop, which left something to be desired but was still refreshing after a long hard day of walking about 2 miles and napping twice that. Ready to call it a day I headed home and made myself a bowl of pasta before bed.
Truth be told I'm not Italian (I had to look up the spelling for nearly everything I ate that day) but that doesn't mean I can't eat copious amounts of unhealthy food and wear my "Little Italian Princess" tee in honor of a joyous day at the Italian Market Festival.
9th Street Italian Market Festival, check.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Lose My Balls
A few weeks yonder past this day, one of my best friends from University got engaged. Mr. and Mrs. Gary and Ellen Clark, as their mail will now read, are definitely in my top three couples, ahead of Jim and Pam but just behind Bert and Ernie. So needless to say I was excited for my friend. Not only because her fiancee is awesome but because I will be in attendance at the wedding and get to misbehave quite wonderfully. Think every inappropriate quote/scene from Old School and Wedding Crashers.
So anyway, yeah I lost my manhood...er uh balls if you will. After initially getting word of the engagement via text message, I called Ms. Fleming the following afternoon to congratulate her and so on. What was planned to be a brief 5-10 minute conversation turned into a half hour of me asking where Gary proposed, if they set a date, did they find a site, a wedding planner, floral arrangments...or my balls by any chance? Apparently I was "giggling like a school girl" during this conversation and for the first time ever, Ellen had to try to end the conversation with me and not vice versa.
Photo courtesy of Michelle Gardina Photography
Do I have girlish tendencies for getting excited about all this? Maybe. My cousin is getting married in June so I was a little curious as to the details of her wedding in comparison to his. Does that make me a great friend, concerned cousin, or both? All of the above if you ask me. But in the end these tryouts are not only to encourage me to get the most out of life but to learn something from the experiences. I now know never to get excited about anything Ellen tells me and going forth my only interest regarding weddings will be whether or not there is an open bar and how many bridesmaids are single.
However, I still did...
Lose my balls, check.
So anyway, yeah I lost my manhood...er uh balls if you will. After initially getting word of the engagement via text message, I called Ms. Fleming the following afternoon to congratulate her and so on. What was planned to be a brief 5-10 minute conversation turned into a half hour of me asking where Gary proposed, if they set a date, did they find a site, a wedding planner, floral arrangments...or my balls by any chance? Apparently I was "giggling like a school girl" during this conversation and for the first time ever, Ellen had to try to end the conversation with me and not vice versa.
Photo courtesy of Michelle Gardina Photography
Do I have girlish tendencies for getting excited about all this? Maybe. My cousin is getting married in June so I was a little curious as to the details of her wedding in comparison to his. Does that make me a great friend, concerned cousin, or both? All of the above if you ask me. But in the end these tryouts are not only to encourage me to get the most out of life but to learn something from the experiences. I now know never to get excited about anything Ellen tells me and going forth my only interest regarding weddings will be whether or not there is an open bar and how many bridesmaids are single.
However, I still did...
Lose my balls, check.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Be Homeless
Another accidental try out and probably the stupidest one to date. Within the past week, twice I have left work only to realize upon my door step that I left my keys in my office and now twice I have locked myself out of my apt. Sure it sucks to have to go all the way back to my office but not as much as it does to be homeless for 24+ hours.
I leave my keys on my coffee table at 7 PM on Monday night. Yes! I'm getting psyched for more stupid things I can do before the day is done. Ride down to Center City to watch the Flyers with some friends, realize I cannot lock my bike up because my key is on aforementioned key chain. Take it to a friends house and leave it inside. Then beers, chocolate vodka shots, margaritas, sangria, tequila, and huge chalice of Lionshead. Stupid Adam is locked (out) and loaded (with booze).
Wake up the next morning...at 2:30. Phone died, thus no alarm clock. Ride back to Fishtown to get my landlord's spare set of keys. Landlord has already left for the day and went home. Stupid Adam prevails! I now have no phone, no shelter, and no clue what to do. Thankfully it did not rain like the weather forecast had predicted, I had that going for me at least.
I head down to Broad and Mifflin, my buddy just moved there and he was the only one I knew that was not working. Not working because he was eating shrooms and walking around South St. Detour to Chinatown instead. No cell phone to call, no buzzer to let them know I'm outside, so I scream and throw rocks at their windows...like a homeless person. Despite my efforts no one answered.
Can't go to Fairmount (friend went to the suburbs) or Center City (both at work until 7) or South Philly (don't know anyone's specific address). I ride over to Marathon Grill to see if my friend is working. I'll sit outside, keeping an eye on my unlocked bike, eat lunch and kill time. Turns out she was there and able to give me keys to her apt. Which I gratefully accepted, ending my desperate search efforts and giving this poor peasant a roof over his head.
Slept on Drew's futon again and I met up with my landlord this morning. Showered, brushed my teeth, and peeled the sweaty stink-clothes off my body.
Be homeless, check.
I leave my keys on my coffee table at 7 PM on Monday night. Yes! I'm getting psyched for more stupid things I can do before the day is done. Ride down to Center City to watch the Flyers with some friends, realize I cannot lock my bike up because my key is on aforementioned key chain. Take it to a friends house and leave it inside. Then beers, chocolate vodka shots, margaritas, sangria, tequila, and huge chalice of Lionshead. Stupid Adam is locked (out) and loaded (with booze).
Wake up the next morning...at 2:30. Phone died, thus no alarm clock. Ride back to Fishtown to get my landlord's spare set of keys. Landlord has already left for the day and went home. Stupid Adam prevails! I now have no phone, no shelter, and no clue what to do. Thankfully it did not rain like the weather forecast had predicted, I had that going for me at least.
I head down to Broad and Mifflin, my buddy just moved there and he was the only one I knew that was not working. Not working because he was eating shrooms and walking around South St. Detour to Chinatown instead. No cell phone to call, no buzzer to let them know I'm outside, so I scream and throw rocks at their windows...like a homeless person. Despite my efforts no one answered.
Can't go to Fairmount (friend went to the suburbs) or Center City (both at work until 7) or South Philly (don't know anyone's specific address). I ride over to Marathon Grill to see if my friend is working. I'll sit outside, keeping an eye on my unlocked bike, eat lunch and kill time. Turns out she was there and able to give me keys to her apt. Which I gratefully accepted, ending my desperate search efforts and giving this poor peasant a roof over his head.
Slept on Drew's futon again and I met up with my landlord this morning. Showered, brushed my teeth, and peeled the sweaty stink-clothes off my body.
Be homeless, check.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
NEXUS
Located in the Crane Arts building/warehouse, the NEXUS gallery was hosting my friends' exhibition Where It Was There I Shall Be. To describe it would belittle their achievements, as I am a philistine when it comes to most forms of art. Regardless I was able to come in with an open mind and some notecards with premeditated insults...in case anyone made fun of me.
The evening started with free beers and chips n' dip. From the looks of it, a PBC variety pack. Apropos. Mikronesia opened things up with some tricked out harmonium sounds through a make shift well and an eight speaker setup. It was peaceful and actually helped my mind relax for the workout it was about to get. After the mood music there was a brief lecture (sorry Jess) on Karl Jung and the Shadow Self. Philosophy concepts that typically float over my head without much of a fight, the lecturer made it very easy to comprehend.
For me, the Shadow Self is a part of you that contains all the negative thoughts, actions, and feelings you see in your self. Karl Jung then encouraged people to use that as motivation to better themselves in those areas. I think that's what it means, look it up to be safe.
The last installment was a lecture from mathematician Todd Parsons. This part of the evening, I spent staring at the huge chalk board and counting how many words I understood the guy say. 11. The gist was the mathematics behind sustainable living. He delved into some interesting points on climate change (hysteresis), and concluded that we're basically doomed and we need to start buying as many copies of An Inconvenient Truth as possible...and make a small donation to www.pennfuture.org on the way out.
Educational evening, which believe it or not I miss after being out of school for almost 3 years, but something new nevertheless.
NEXUS, check.
The evening started with free beers and chips n' dip. From the looks of it, a PBC variety pack. Apropos. Mikronesia opened things up with some tricked out harmonium sounds through a make shift well and an eight speaker setup. It was peaceful and actually helped my mind relax for the workout it was about to get. After the mood music there was a brief lecture (sorry Jess) on Karl Jung and the Shadow Self. Philosophy concepts that typically float over my head without much of a fight, the lecturer made it very easy to comprehend.
For me, the Shadow Self is a part of you that contains all the negative thoughts, actions, and feelings you see in your self. Karl Jung then encouraged people to use that as motivation to better themselves in those areas. I think that's what it means, look it up to be safe.
The last installment was a lecture from mathematician Todd Parsons. This part of the evening, I spent staring at the huge chalk board and counting how many words I understood the guy say. 11. The gist was the mathematics behind sustainable living. He delved into some interesting points on climate change (hysteresis), and concluded that we're basically doomed and we need to start buying as many copies of An Inconvenient Truth as possible...and make a small donation to www.pennfuture.org on the way out.
Educational evening, which believe it or not I miss after being out of school for almost 3 years, but something new nevertheless.
NEXUS, check.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Record Store Day
Ahhh another commercial holiday forcing my hand into my wallet to buy things I don't need. I managed to slide by unscathed from Valentine's Day this year but I was not so lucky on April 17, 2010. Record Store Day however is a holiday/cause I don't mind supporting. RSD was first conceived in Maine and is held on the 3rd Saturday of April. In the past I had heard of RSD but never participated...but that was all about to change.
Like most awesome locations on this globe, Philadelphia had tons of fun (and free) happenings to commemorate this sorta-special day. Among the various live in store performances, Blood Feathers at Main Street Music and Kurt Vile down at Beautiful World Syndicate were my top choices. Both were playing at 4, but the former made the mistake of playing in Philadelphia's worst neighborhood. Thus I was headed down Passayunk later in the day.
Earlier however I stopped in AKA Music while strolling through Old City. Lured in with free coffee, my weak-willed and hungover brain was no match for the copious amounts of music in front of me. Got my coffee and Surfer Blood's "Astro Coast" and left before I could spend anymore of my rent money. I haven't stopped listening to it and I think it was a necessary buy with summer right around the corner. After a couple spins I rode mi bicicleta down to the Kurt Vile show.
I'd never been to Beautiful World Syndicate but they had the right idea for RSD. Grill blazing outside with hot dogs, keg on second floor, and of course the tunes. Kurt Vile and his posse of Violators were true to form. Long haired, guitar shredding, Yuengling drankin' grime kids. Lucky enough to snag a great spot by the front counter, I was able to see him in all his glory.
It was a great time with great weather, people, and of course music. And therein lies the true purpose of RSD if you ask me.
Record Store Day, check.
Like most awesome locations on this globe, Philadelphia had tons of fun (and free) happenings to commemorate this sorta-special day. Among the various live in store performances, Blood Feathers at Main Street Music and Kurt Vile down at Beautiful World Syndicate were my top choices. Both were playing at 4, but the former made the mistake of playing in Philadelphia's worst neighborhood. Thus I was headed down Passayunk later in the day.
Earlier however I stopped in AKA Music while strolling through Old City. Lured in with free coffee, my weak-willed and hungover brain was no match for the copious amounts of music in front of me. Got my coffee and Surfer Blood's "Astro Coast" and left before I could spend anymore of my rent money. I haven't stopped listening to it and I think it was a necessary buy with summer right around the corner. After a couple spins I rode mi bicicleta down to the Kurt Vile show.
I'd never been to Beautiful World Syndicate but they had the right idea for RSD. Grill blazing outside with hot dogs, keg on second floor, and of course the tunes. Kurt Vile and his posse of Violators were true to form. Long haired, guitar shredding, Yuengling drankin' grime kids. Lucky enough to snag a great spot by the front counter, I was able to see him in all his glory.
It was a great time with great weather, people, and of course music. And therein lies the true purpose of RSD if you ask me.
Record Store Day, check.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Penn Treaty Park
If it weren't for the fact that I only have 6 followers on here, I would not have included this little jaunt in my tryouts. Alas it was too amazing not to write about.
I have lived relatively close to a park since moving to Philadelphia in 2003. Aside from my years in North Philadelphia, Center City and Chinatown have proved accommodating to all my grassy needs. In Center City it was Washington Square, which dons an active fountain in the summer and plenty of open space and walkways. Chinatown is a mere two blocks from Franklin Square, where I go to ride the merry-go-round, work on my short game, or ogle the sand sculptures. Philadelphia has never let me down since.
When I moved to Fishtown I had no idea where the closest park was. I had heard of Penn Treaty Park but from the initial description it sounded much farther away than I was willing to go. Lo' and behold it was two blocks behind me on Delaware Ave. Just waiting for me to roll in it's plush meadows and dive into the pristine waters of the Delaware.
When I arrived yesterday it was 80 something degrees and there was barely a soul there. A few parents/kids on the playground and a couple of O.G.'s fishing for god knows what, by the river's edge. It was like a secret Eden. Away from the grime and roughness of the NE, stood a little patch of God's good green earth.
Penn Treaty overlooks the Delaware river and the Ben Franklin Bridge. Complete with several park benches for gazing or resting after too much gazing. What amazed me the most was the layout of the park. Several small nooks are available to lay out a blanket under the shade of an elm and discuss literature with friends.
As kites flew behind me and dogs chased one another playfully I took this picture on my cell phone lest I forget...
Penn Treaty Park, check.
I have lived relatively close to a park since moving to Philadelphia in 2003. Aside from my years in North Philadelphia, Center City and Chinatown have proved accommodating to all my grassy needs. In Center City it was Washington Square, which dons an active fountain in the summer and plenty of open space and walkways. Chinatown is a mere two blocks from Franklin Square, where I go to ride the merry-go-round, work on my short game, or ogle the sand sculptures. Philadelphia has never let me down since.
When I moved to Fishtown I had no idea where the closest park was. I had heard of Penn Treaty Park but from the initial description it sounded much farther away than I was willing to go. Lo' and behold it was two blocks behind me on Delaware Ave. Just waiting for me to roll in it's plush meadows and dive into the pristine waters of the Delaware.
When I arrived yesterday it was 80 something degrees and there was barely a soul there. A few parents/kids on the playground and a couple of O.G.'s fishing for god knows what, by the river's edge. It was like a secret Eden. Away from the grime and roughness of the NE, stood a little patch of God's good green earth.
Penn Treaty overlooks the Delaware river and the Ben Franklin Bridge. Complete with several park benches for gazing or resting after too much gazing. What amazed me the most was the layout of the park. Several small nooks are available to lay out a blanket under the shade of an elm and discuss literature with friends.
As kites flew behind me and dogs chased one another playfully I took this picture on my cell phone lest I forget...
Penn Treaty Park, check.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Flaming Dr. Pepper
Next time you're stumbling up to the bar in Old City at 1 am buying drinks for yourself and a disinterested female companion, don't impress her with a jager-bomb and your astonishing ability to recite the nerdy anti-guido youtube video. Why not? Because you want to send a message that you're dangerous and have a sweet, gentle side if she so chooses to go home with you. And frankly jager-bomb screams I'm a dumb.
You want a drink that'll catch everyone's attention and have people saying...
"Oh my! Look at Mr. Nice."
"Someone knows how to party!"
"I can tell that guy's pockets are fat with dirty cash."
So that's why I went with the Flaming Dr. Pepper last week at Bar, in Midtown Village. I wanted to let everyone know that I am the partying, fat-pocketed, Mr. Nice every lady dreams of.
A Flaming Dr. Pepper is a shot of amaretto topped with 151 and a half pint of any light beer. I've heard Corona works best but I had Miller Lite and it worked fine. The bartender then lights the top of the shot glass, producing a vibrant blue glow above the amaretto, and instantly attracting the attention of only the hottest babes in the room. Proceed to drop the flaming shot into the half pint of beer and get to chuggin'. It goes down unbelievably smooth, especially if you are an avid Dr. Pepper fan like myself, as the similarities are uncanny.
Complete the experience with a delicate yet menacing stare around the bar, walk back to the janitorial closet, grab a broom, and be prepared to use it as hotties will be compelled to throw themselves at Mr. Nice the fat-pocketed, party monster.
Flaming Dr. Pepper, check.
You want a drink that'll catch everyone's attention and have people saying...
"Oh my! Look at Mr. Nice."
"Someone knows how to party!"
"I can tell that guy's pockets are fat with dirty cash."
So that's why I went with the Flaming Dr. Pepper last week at Bar, in Midtown Village. I wanted to let everyone know that I am the partying, fat-pocketed, Mr. Nice every lady dreams of.
A Flaming Dr. Pepper is a shot of amaretto topped with 151 and a half pint of any light beer. I've heard Corona works best but I had Miller Lite and it worked fine. The bartender then lights the top of the shot glass, producing a vibrant blue glow above the amaretto, and instantly attracting the attention of only the hottest babes in the room. Proceed to drop the flaming shot into the half pint of beer and get to chuggin'. It goes down unbelievably smooth, especially if you are an avid Dr. Pepper fan like myself, as the similarities are uncanny.
Complete the experience with a delicate yet menacing stare around the bar, walk back to the janitorial closet, grab a broom, and be prepared to use it as hotties will be compelled to throw themselves at Mr. Nice the fat-pocketed, party monster.
Flaming Dr. Pepper, check.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Barbershop
The idea of the Barbershop is fantastic. A place where guys can be guys, in an otherwise un-guy like setting. Chatting it up about the local sports teams, sleazy politicians, and the real reason we need viagra. Most of all it is a place where everybody knows you and the fabulous way you like your hair did, without having to say fabulous.
I have never been to a barbershop. Living in suburbia I was always trimmed in a sterile chain of Hair Cutterys or Fantastic Sams'. I'm not a girl and I don't really care that much about my hair, so it was never an issue. Then I moved into the city. The closest thing to a chain, Chop Shop, I gravitated to out of habit and things went well.
I got the same homosexual hairstylist who chatted with me when I felt like it and kept quiet when I was not in the mood. He actually told me about the phenomenon that is Making Time, and consequently he owes me many many brain cells. But we could never rap about babes, baseball, or beer. It left me with a hole in my soul.
Enter Sulimay's Barbershop on Girard Ave. Another local joint, across the street from my abode, this place was the real deal. Spirally candy striped spinning things, no receptionist, two chairs, two barbers. I entered and stood there not knowing if I should sit in the open chair or wait until someone yelled at me for being weird. I opted for the second.
The barber waved me over. I sat and began my tryout. Requested my usual trim-up and let Tim do his thing. Along the way Tim, myself, and the owner talked about how fat kids are these days (parents are too blame for all the sugar-intake) and why men cheat on their wives (because they are fat also). That's also why we need viagra. Not because our aging bodies are too blame. No, no, it is the damn women!
The best pizza joints in the area, McNabb's departure, and our shared hatred of the Yankees rounded out the conversation, ending with a classic shave with a single blade razor. I felt like I was about to get whacked by Tony Soprano.
Haircut - $13.00, Tip - $5.00, Doing what men do - Priceless.
Barbershop, check.
I have never been to a barbershop. Living in suburbia I was always trimmed in a sterile chain of Hair Cutterys or Fantastic Sams'. I'm not a girl and I don't really care that much about my hair, so it was never an issue. Then I moved into the city. The closest thing to a chain, Chop Shop, I gravitated to out of habit and things went well.
I got the same homosexual hairstylist who chatted with me when I felt like it and kept quiet when I was not in the mood. He actually told me about the phenomenon that is Making Time, and consequently he owes me many many brain cells. But we could never rap about babes, baseball, or beer. It left me with a hole in my soul.
Enter Sulimay's Barbershop on Girard Ave. Another local joint, across the street from my abode, this place was the real deal. Spirally candy striped spinning things, no receptionist, two chairs, two barbers. I entered and stood there not knowing if I should sit in the open chair or wait until someone yelled at me for being weird. I opted for the second.
The barber waved me over. I sat and began my tryout. Requested my usual trim-up and let Tim do his thing. Along the way Tim, myself, and the owner talked about how fat kids are these days (parents are too blame for all the sugar-intake) and why men cheat on their wives (because they are fat also). That's also why we need viagra. Not because our aging bodies are too blame. No, no, it is the damn women!
The best pizza joints in the area, McNabb's departure, and our shared hatred of the Yankees rounded out the conversation, ending with a classic shave with a single blade razor. I felt like I was about to get whacked by Tony Soprano.
Haircut - $13.00, Tip - $5.00, Doing what men do - Priceless.
Barbershop, check.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Panama City Beach
What is there to say about PCB that can't be found on a clever t-shirt. "I am to drunk to be responsible for my actions." Simple, sweet, to the point. I'm here to misbehave and I don't want you to look down on me while I bong a beer off a stripper's butt crack.
Despite the frat flag waving, beer bonging, and overall chaotic state of debauchery, I found myself enjoying this new city. This was the first time I was on the gulf side of the Sunshine State. Nothing noticeably different, smaller waves, whiter sand, little cooler temperature. The one major difference however, for this toddler of traveling was the fact that I had journeyed the farthest west I had ever been. Farther than Ohio actually!
And believe it or not, my comrades and I time traveled into the world famous central standard time...during daylight savings. WHAT? I know right, I'm like a space martian!
Our poor cell phones and GPS cried out in desperation, "We're not ready for our futuristic owners!" Too bad, you have to tell us when the bikini-tug-o-war starts. You'll thank us later.
Panama City Beach, check.
Despite the frat flag waving, beer bonging, and overall chaotic state of debauchery, I found myself enjoying this new city. This was the first time I was on the gulf side of the Sunshine State. Nothing noticeably different, smaller waves, whiter sand, little cooler temperature. The one major difference however, for this toddler of traveling was the fact that I had journeyed the farthest west I had ever been. Farther than Ohio actually!
And believe it or not, my comrades and I time traveled into the world famous central standard time...during daylight savings. WHAT? I know right, I'm like a space martian!
Our poor cell phones and GPS cried out in desperation, "We're not ready for our futuristic owners!" Too bad, you have to tell us when the bikini-tug-o-war starts. You'll thank us later.
Panama City Beach, check.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Listen to a Record
I know right? I almost can't believe it myself. I have never sat down and listened to a record. You know, like old people used to do for fun. Never had a record player, never could sit down to listen to a record. The only reason I had a record to begin with was due to the fact that the coffee shop down the street had a minimum credit payment and I wanted coffee and had just eaten. Leaving me with only one other option to help me get brewed up, Simon and Garfunkel. Bookends sat in my room, unloved and unheard, until the other day when my thoughtful grandfather gave me an extra record player he had in his cellar.
Now rather than take you down a long, sappy, and gay road of how nostalgic or personal this experience was for me, how it made me feel like Garfunkel himself was strumming the guitar right in my lap, I'll get technical. Instead let's talk about how a record actually works to get those emotions dripping from your sullen eyeballs every time "America" comes on.
Ya'll have heard of sound waves. I think different pitches and shit are created by the height and width of the wave itself. These waves are somehow cut into the wax of the record creating grooves. Say it with me...G-R-O-O-V-E-S, Grooves! Depending on the frequency and amplitude the groove changes. The needle runs over the grooves creating vibrations that run into the diaphragm. Inside the diaphragm is a small door.
Behind the door is a a tub of water with a baby dolphin inside. When the vibrations run through the pool it tricks the dolphin into thinking it's sonar. Baby dolphin is very friendly and talks back. This chatter is picked up by a microphone and translated into English (or whichever language the musician wants) and it comes out the speakers. Then you hear Paul Simon's gentle vocals and Garfunkel's overhyped input to this legendary duo.
Shocked? Don't be. Dolphins are great listeners.
Listen to a Record, check.
Now rather than take you down a long, sappy, and gay road of how nostalgic or personal this experience was for me, how it made me feel like Garfunkel himself was strumming the guitar right in my lap, I'll get technical. Instead let's talk about how a record actually works to get those emotions dripping from your sullen eyeballs every time "America" comes on.
Ya'll have heard of sound waves. I think different pitches and shit are created by the height and width of the wave itself. These waves are somehow cut into the wax of the record creating grooves. Say it with me...G-R-O-O-V-E-S, Grooves! Depending on the frequency and amplitude the groove changes. The needle runs over the grooves creating vibrations that run into the diaphragm. Inside the diaphragm is a small door.
Behind the door is a a tub of water with a baby dolphin inside. When the vibrations run through the pool it tricks the dolphin into thinking it's sonar. Baby dolphin is very friendly and talks back. This chatter is picked up by a microphone and translated into English (or whichever language the musician wants) and it comes out the speakers. Then you hear Paul Simon's gentle vocals and Garfunkel's overhyped input to this legendary duo.
Shocked? Don't be. Dolphins are great listeners.
Listen to a Record, check.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Snitch
Yea I did it. Know why? Because when you steal from the Liacouras Center, you steal from the ATrain. And that don't fly. This investigation is on-going so I will have to be as vague as possible, without giving up the CSI like details.
A couple months ago some guys were going around and scamming sweet innocent food & beverage purveyors like ourselves; posing as delivery men they said some of our products were expired on our last delivery and they were taking them back to replace during our next one. The two gentleman were amiable, dressed in uniform, and I didn't give it another thought. I only found out two weeks later when I called Accounts Receivable and we did not have a credit of any sort on our account. I smell something fishy.
We report it to la policia what had happened. About a week later some detectives come by (just like in the movies!) and my boss and I look through mugshots of some mean-muggin' individuals. They take note and go on their way.
Last week another detective comes by. Fat, sloven, donut-caked-mustache Detective Chub. We looked at some more mugshots and I accurately identified one of the perps. Turns out he confessed and they were just cross referencing the data of the DNA and projectile weapons used to commit the criminal offense...or something like that.
Needless to say it was cool to help nab 'em and I may even get to testify in court. Stay tuned.
Snitch, check.
A couple months ago some guys were going around and scamming sweet innocent food & beverage purveyors like ourselves; posing as delivery men they said some of our products were expired on our last delivery and they were taking them back to replace during our next one. The two gentleman were amiable, dressed in uniform, and I didn't give it another thought. I only found out two weeks later when I called Accounts Receivable and we did not have a credit of any sort on our account. I smell something fishy.
We report it to la policia what had happened. About a week later some detectives come by (just like in the movies!) and my boss and I look through mugshots of some mean-muggin' individuals. They take note and go on their way.
Last week another detective comes by. Fat, sloven, donut-caked-mustache Detective Chub. We looked at some more mugshots and I accurately identified one of the perps. Turns out he confessed and they were just cross referencing the data of the DNA and projectile weapons used to commit the criminal offense...or something like that.
Needless to say it was cool to help nab 'em and I may even get to testify in court. Stay tuned.
Snitch, check.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Paesano's
I can hear the belittling jokes now..."Adam all you do is eat new types of food and write about it!" "Eww you're so fat it's disgusting!" Okay I swear I do other things besides eat at new restaurants, it's just I've been lonely after Valentine's Day and food always knows how to say I love you.
Paesano's. 152 W. Girard Ave. Another place not more than a stones throw away from my new pad, and another restaurant I've heard good things. Before I even moved into my apt. my landlord told me they make the best sandwiches he's ever eaten. Now if you've ever seen my landlord, he just has this aura about him that he's a dude who knows his sammmiches! So I trust him and eat there one day as I'm walking by.
I ordered the Gustaio which I believe had cherry tomatoes, onions, gorgonzola, lamb, and spinach. Again it was amazing! You can tell the ingredients are as fresh as they come, the spinach and tomatoes lighting up through the greasy wax paper surrounding the sammy. Quantity was perfect not too fulling but just enough to keep you upright while walking out the door.
A pleasant surprise were the staff on hand. The cook was a rough looking Italian dude who looked like he wanted to hate me, or already did. But he was as friendly as people say south philly italians usually are (juries out on this one). Made some hilarious small talk about about root beer and cream soda, and whipped up my sandwhich in less than 5 minutes.
I'm not lying to you. Every place I've eaten is fantastic and I would be happy to go back to any of them to prove it to you.
Paesano's, check.
Paesano's. 152 W. Girard Ave. Another place not more than a stones throw away from my new pad, and another restaurant I've heard good things. Before I even moved into my apt. my landlord told me they make the best sandwiches he's ever eaten. Now if you've ever seen my landlord, he just has this aura about him that he's a dude who knows his sammmiches! So I trust him and eat there one day as I'm walking by.
I ordered the Gustaio which I believe had cherry tomatoes, onions, gorgonzola, lamb, and spinach. Again it was amazing! You can tell the ingredients are as fresh as they come, the spinach and tomatoes lighting up through the greasy wax paper surrounding the sammy. Quantity was perfect not too fulling but just enough to keep you upright while walking out the door.
A pleasant surprise were the staff on hand. The cook was a rough looking Italian dude who looked like he wanted to hate me, or already did. But he was as friendly as people say south philly italians usually are (juries out on this one). Made some hilarious small talk about about root beer and cream soda, and whipped up my sandwhich in less than 5 minutes.
I'm not lying to you. Every place I've eaten is fantastic and I would be happy to go back to any of them to prove it to you.
Paesano's, check.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Indian Cuisine
I admit it. I have never had anything close to authentic Indian cuisine. The closest I might've had was a Samosa here and there. It was good but nothing compared to what I experienced over the past week as I feasted on almost nothing but takeout from a spot next door called Ekta.
It started during the crazy snowstorm that many have dubbed Snopocalypse. There was nothing open (not even McDonald's) and I didn't feel like eating rigatoni with no sauce. So I checked out Ekta's review on yelp.com to see what was up. After reading many positive reviews I opted to try out the most popular dish on the site, Chicken Tikka Masala.
I cannot remember the last time I ate something this good. Of course it being Indian food, it was new and fresh to me, but it could've tasted like poo. It didn't. Coupled with rice as well as some mango chutney and raita on the side, the flavors were so rich and strong without being overpowering. The chicken was cut into thick juicy pieces and smothered in creamy tomato and onion sauce. Nothing short of amazing.
So amazing in fact that I ate there again the next night (Now I understand why you ate Indian almost every night Kenny). This time I opted for a vegetarian option to try to mix things up a bit. Upon further yelp recommendations I tried the Saag Aur Paneer. Also accompanied with rice, this homemade cottage cheese is cooked with spinach and a whole bunch of tasty. This dish wasn't as spicy as the masala but it was still creamy and delicious.
I honestly feel like trying to pick the weirdest sounding thing on their menu to see if they even know how to cook something disgusting. I doubt it though. Either way I am worried that I will now be eating there every meal until it gets warm enough for me to trek out into the snow and go grocery shopping.
Indian Cuisine, check.
It started during the crazy snowstorm that many have dubbed Snopocalypse. There was nothing open (not even McDonald's) and I didn't feel like eating rigatoni with no sauce. So I checked out Ekta's review on yelp.com to see what was up. After reading many positive reviews I opted to try out the most popular dish on the site, Chicken Tikka Masala.
I cannot remember the last time I ate something this good. Of course it being Indian food, it was new and fresh to me, but it could've tasted like poo. It didn't. Coupled with rice as well as some mango chutney and raita on the side, the flavors were so rich and strong without being overpowering. The chicken was cut into thick juicy pieces and smothered in creamy tomato and onion sauce. Nothing short of amazing.
So amazing in fact that I ate there again the next night (Now I understand why you ate Indian almost every night Kenny). This time I opted for a vegetarian option to try to mix things up a bit. Upon further yelp recommendations I tried the Saag Aur Paneer. Also accompanied with rice, this homemade cottage cheese is cooked with spinach and a whole bunch of tasty. This dish wasn't as spicy as the masala but it was still creamy and delicious.
I honestly feel like trying to pick the weirdest sounding thing on their menu to see if they even know how to cook something disgusting. I doubt it though. Either way I am worried that I will now be eating there every meal until it gets warm enough for me to trek out into the snow and go grocery shopping.
Indian Cuisine, check.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Sketch Burger
Oh My Dear Lord! OMDL! I have never eaten anything that has wrestled me to the ground and forced me into submission. This burger from Sketch was the second best I have ever eaten (first belongs to Good Dog). I opted for the basics to start my cuisine career here.
An 8 oz. sirloin beef burger, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, bacon, and wasabi mayo. The toppings were endless and Sketch definitely has the upper hand when it comes to burger accessories. 7 different types of cheeses, countless toppings and exotic sauces that would make Mickey D's thousand island envious. Throw in hand cut french fries and a milk shake and you have now sealed your destiny of lying in bed motionless for three hours.
The shop itself is unassuming and quaint. Bright, multi-colored walls are practically hidden beneath patrons' drawings taped from top to bottom. The service was funny and friendly. The ideal setting for a small, build-it-yourself burger joint.
I cannot wait to go back to try the Dr. Pepper Pulled Pork sandwhich, Smashed Onion Burger, and even the vegetarian options. Albeit safely timed apart by thousands of crunches and a couple triple bypasses.
Sketch Burger, check.
An 8 oz. sirloin beef burger, cheddar, lettuce, tomato, bacon, and wasabi mayo. The toppings were endless and Sketch definitely has the upper hand when it comes to burger accessories. 7 different types of cheeses, countless toppings and exotic sauces that would make Mickey D's thousand island envious. Throw in hand cut french fries and a milk shake and you have now sealed your destiny of lying in bed motionless for three hours.
The shop itself is unassuming and quaint. Bright, multi-colored walls are practically hidden beneath patrons' drawings taped from top to bottom. The service was funny and friendly. The ideal setting for a small, build-it-yourself burger joint.
I cannot wait to go back to try the Dr. Pepper Pulled Pork sandwhich, Smashed Onion Burger, and even the vegetarian options. Albeit safely timed apart by thousands of crunches and a couple triple bypasses.
Sketch Burger, check.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Ride a Trolley
It was inevitable. No matter my direction, I had to cross her to get to work. She was old, rough, and green, much like the Irish workers she picked up every morning. Every day I was able to slip by her unnoticed, but not this day. There she was, waiting for me. And I had no choice but to step aboard.
Once inside the beast, all of my ill-conceived notions melted away. Wide walkways, roomy seats, and friendly commuters lounged this way and that. The driver even provided everyone with a stack of Metros in the front of the car. Delightful!
Now I'm not sure if it was the large coffee and Acai Berry smoothie I drank upon boarding or just the knowing feeling that every car driving by us wondered who the celebrities were upon this majestic chariot, but I had the giggles. I felt like Stephanie Tanner riding home from school to hang out with her crazy Uncle Joey.
Sadly the trip was short lived, as I exited on Broad & Girard. Before exiting I turned back to face my new found friends and saluted them. We were not regular public transportation riders, huddling in the dank underbelly of the city. No. We were a different breed. A classier breed. A trolley-er breed.
Ride a Trolley, check.
Once inside the beast, all of my ill-conceived notions melted away. Wide walkways, roomy seats, and friendly commuters lounged this way and that. The driver even provided everyone with a stack of Metros in the front of the car. Delightful!
Now I'm not sure if it was the large coffee and Acai Berry smoothie I drank upon boarding or just the knowing feeling that every car driving by us wondered who the celebrities were upon this majestic chariot, but I had the giggles. I felt like Stephanie Tanner riding home from school to hang out with her crazy Uncle Joey.
Sadly the trip was short lived, as I exited on Broad & Girard. Before exiting I turned back to face my new found friends and saluted them. We were not regular public transportation riders, huddling in the dank underbelly of the city. No. We were a different breed. A classier breed. A trolley-er breed.
Ride a Trolley, check.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Single Living
Roughly a week ago I took the plunge. For almost every one of my 24 years on this Earth I have had a roommate. Whether it was my brother, Amy, or one of the countless college roommates, I've never been able to do naked push ups in peace and quiet. Now the time has come!
I was curious to live by myself. I had heard good things from people who had done it before and I felt that I would enjoy it as well. Not to mention my time may be running out for single living (as I am a hot commodity on the hot-philly-celeb-singles list).
I found a 1 bedroom in Fishtown, on Girard Ave. A couple blocks East of the Girard el stop, the apt. is convenient, cheap (650 a month, including utilities & internet), and in a more low key location than my previous homes in the Gayborhood and Chinatown.
The only conceivable downside so far is that I don't have a lot of things. For example I brought zero groceries from my old place, 1 set of cutlery, 1 old Jewish woman's plate, and a red spatula my grandmother put in my Christmas stocking. Now this isn't necessarily bad, and I have been able to get around this issue by having roommates before, but now my simple living style and it's flaws have been exposed.
The lack of dinnerware forced me to get creative, or desperate depending on how you look at it. Pots have become my cereal bowls and to make pancakes I needed to use 16 tablespoons in place of a measuring cup. But dammit if I didn't make some good flapjacks.
Sure my apartment needs a few more items, but on the bright side I have a whole lot of floor space for my naked push ups.
Single living, check.
I was curious to live by myself. I had heard good things from people who had done it before and I felt that I would enjoy it as well. Not to mention my time may be running out for single living (as I am a hot commodity on the hot-philly-celeb-singles list).
I found a 1 bedroom in Fishtown, on Girard Ave. A couple blocks East of the Girard el stop, the apt. is convenient, cheap (650 a month, including utilities & internet), and in a more low key location than my previous homes in the Gayborhood and Chinatown.
The only conceivable downside so far is that I don't have a lot of things. For example I brought zero groceries from my old place, 1 set of cutlery, 1 old Jewish woman's plate, and a red spatula my grandmother put in my Christmas stocking. Now this isn't necessarily bad, and I have been able to get around this issue by having roommates before, but now my simple living style and it's flaws have been exposed.
The lack of dinnerware forced me to get creative, or desperate depending on how you look at it. Pots have become my cereal bowls and to make pancakes I needed to use 16 tablespoons in place of a measuring cup. But dammit if I didn't make some good flapjacks.
Sure my apartment needs a few more items, but on the bright side I have a whole lot of floor space for my naked push ups.
Single living, check.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Kung Fu Necktie
Last Friday my friend and I saw Freelance Whales at this old blue collar bar turned venue/hipster haven. The bar itself is decent. Odd trinkets and gadgets pepper the dimly lit walls, while old Kung Fu movies play on an even older television. There was a pool table and pinball machine, so bonus points (no skeeball though Ian).
The venue was shockingly small. Nothing really captured my attention so I don't recall the stage to be anything amazing. But the music was certainly something. We only saw the last 2 of 3 bands, Animal Tropical and the aforementioned Whales of Freelance. Animal Tropical are a nutty band from Miami, FL. They sang in English, screamed in Spanish, and danced in drunk. They were a good live band but musically...eh.
Freelance Whales were next and they did not disappoint. The entire band bobbed and weaved through every song on their debut Weathervanes, often times switching instruments like a game of musical chairs. PUN INTENDED!
After the show both bands were very approachable, possibly because there was nowhere to hide in the tiny bar. Regardless, good first experience of two new bands and one new Kung Fu Necktie.
KFN, check.
The venue was shockingly small. Nothing really captured my attention so I don't recall the stage to be anything amazing. But the music was certainly something. We only saw the last 2 of 3 bands, Animal Tropical and the aforementioned Whales of Freelance. Animal Tropical are a nutty band from Miami, FL. They sang in English, screamed in Spanish, and danced in drunk. They were a good live band but musically...eh.
Freelance Whales were next and they did not disappoint. The entire band bobbed and weaved through every song on their debut Weathervanes, often times switching instruments like a game of musical chairs. PUN INTENDED!
After the show both bands were very approachable, possibly because there was nowhere to hide in the tiny bar. Regardless, good first experience of two new bands and one new Kung Fu Necktie.
KFN, check.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Movie Screening
I used to think movie screenings were for the journalistic elite. Siskel, Ebert, the whole shi-bang. But then I discovered they were giving away passes through www.philadelphiaweekly.com, so I didn't feel so special. Then when I realized what movie it was (Extraordinary Measures "starring" Harrison Ford and Brendan Fraser) I felt even less privileged. But it was free and I surely enjoy attending the cinema. Once inside the theater, looking around at my fellow critics, I felt that I was no longer elite, nor just a lucky chap seeing a free flick, but I was being punished for some wrongdoing towards a higher power. I'll let you imagine the audience I'm talking about but I'm sure you've seen a movie with them before. The talking, crying, chewing, getting up in the middle of the movie several times type crowd. Awful.
But I did my civic duty. Completing the online survey once I got home and awarding Extraordinary Measures two out of five stars (any movie that you cry during, even if its because the large woman next to you keeps crushing your forearm with her elbow, deserves more than one).
I will have to be more selective towards my screenings in the future.
Movie screening, check.
But I did my civic duty. Completing the online survey once I got home and awarding Extraordinary Measures two out of five stars (any movie that you cry during, even if its because the large woman next to you keeps crushing your forearm with her elbow, deserves more than one).
I will have to be more selective towards my screenings in the future.
Movie screening, check.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Pasteles
As far as I know, this was my first encounter with traditional Puerto Rican cuisine. In Adam-terms I will try to explain what I ate for dinner tonight. Pasteles are a mixture of some type of dough or corn meal with pork, peppers, onions, and plantains. They are wrapped in the plantain leaf and then wrapped tightly with wax paper and bound with string. They are typically eaten during the holidays in Puerto Rico and Chinatown with me.
So a friend had given me one that his family had prepared over the holidays and I finally remembered to bring it home from work and make an easy dinner out of it. The preparations are easy:
1. Find Puerto Rican
2. Ask for pastele
3. Place in boiling water for 45-60 mins.
4. Cut strings and unwrap.
5. Como
To start I would recommend putting hot sauce/tabasco/etc. on it to give it a little bit of a kick because it can get slightly water logged. It was pretty good though. I've always enjoyed the plantain/pork combination in most hispanic cuisine. This one wasn't that different.
Pasteles, check.
So a friend had given me one that his family had prepared over the holidays and I finally remembered to bring it home from work and make an easy dinner out of it. The preparations are easy:
1. Find Puerto Rican
2. Ask for pastele
3. Place in boiling water for 45-60 mins.
4. Cut strings and unwrap.
5. Como
To start I would recommend putting hot sauce/tabasco/etc. on it to give it a little bit of a kick because it can get slightly water logged. It was pretty good though. I've always enjoyed the plantain/pork combination in most hispanic cuisine. This one wasn't that different.
Pasteles, check.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
LOVE Park
It's one of the most recognizable sights in Philadelphia. It's also the most ironic. In a city where homicide is through the roof (but getting better) and it's citizens do not love, let alone look at one another, the park is nothing more than a vigilante skatepark. Nevertheless I have never taken a picture of the bad boy. Like most residents of cities, I have not seen a lot of the "touristy" sights. Now I can cross this off my list. Here's the proof.
LOVE park, check.
LOVE park, check.
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