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.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
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.
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