Archive for July, 2005

Now You C It…

My dog’s having a sudden health issue. Not worrisome enough for a trip over to the UPenn Veterinary Hospital, but important enough that I thought I’d leave a voicemail on my regular vet’s machine so’s to get early in the queue for setting up an appointment for the coming week.

Except the outgoing message said this:

Center City Animal Clinic is closed. We are considering opening our doors again in September. If you are a past client and would like copies of your records, please leave a message here with your mailing address. Thank you.

What the hell?!? Does anyone know what the deal is? I did a very quick google and didn’t come up with anything—and you’ll forgive me if I don’t currently have the time for more extended internet research.

More pressingly: any good recommendations for a replacement vet? The unavailability of our customary vet hasn’t made Cinder’s illness magically disappear…

Strawbridge and Clothier

In the 1940

‘Risk Takers’

I just caught the tail end of Risk Takers on Discovery HD. This episode profiled five cops in Philly. Gotta love it when TV shows our fair city’s heroine transaction points and drug houses.

At least our water’s better than Chicago’s. (See entry below.)

Anyone else catch the show? I wonder when they’re going to re-run it. I wanna see the whole thing.

in other news, go check out my jay v mail presenting a song because this saturday at the north star bar my favorite nashville rock band is playing.

H-2-No

Note from Chicago: Philadelphia water rocks.

Six Years Ago . . .

My brother’s a DJ. And the house is filled with records. Stuffed in closets, lying on the floor, up in the loft, wherever they can fit. He’s also a sneaker collector. He’s like a male Imelda Marcos. I don’t even know if I can still use that cultural reference. Imelda Marcos, the wife of ex-Philippine Dictator Ferdinand Marcos. She had a bit of a shoe collection. And by bit, I mean it filled houses.

And while Kevin V is in the Philippines taking an extended vacation (O how I wish I could be on one, as well!) he asks me to pick up some stuff from his Old City apartment. Apparently he plans on being in the foreign country past his lease.

His roommate’s also named Jay and works at a furniture store around the corner. He’s at work when me and Mika-Sempai bust into the apartment. She takes care of the hamster while I gather a million boxes of sneakers to stuff into his little Volkswagen GTI. They barely fit. I’m supposed to take some other things, too, but — shoot — they ain’t gonna fit.

Mika barely fits into the shoebox-filled car too, and I bring her back to her place before heading back into the wonderful boring suburbs. I pass Silk City at 5th and Spring Garden and it always reminds me of a fun story from when I first turned twenty-one. Two, actually.
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You know what stinks?

I’ll tell you what stinks. Unemployment. I live just outside the city and thanks to my lack of ability to save money, I’m now imprisoned at my parents’ place. Except for when I am looking for work. Then I allow myself to go out on job interviews and such. Otherwise, I’d be spending all this money I don’t have. It’s tough, but at least I’ve been able to add to and fix two songs of mine that will be on my upcoming album (whenever I get around to releasing it). I guess that’s good news.

Fear not, dear readers. As soon as I get a job, I’ll be celebrating down at the Khyber. It remains one of my favorite places in the city, and is mere blocks from my brother’s place, which means I’ll have a place to crash when I’ve spent too much on Yards and Guinness.

Sad thing is, I’ll probably wander online the following morning and tell you about it. Not that you’d care or anything.

Azafran and my match.com date

So I was set to meet a woman for our first date at Azafran. I walked up to my most favorite restaurant in the city to find a woman with a cardboard sign decorated with pictures of Kayla Peter. 4628108_320X240.jpg
Some of you may remember her as the unfortunate victim of a hit and run.

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Rittenhouse Square

Last night I sat in Rittenhouse Square, with an ice cream cone in one hand and a clove cigarette (pilfered from a pack my roommate left behind) in the other. I sat on the wall near the fountain, enjoying the coolish air and the undemanding company of strangers. There were couples meandering past, individuals walking with purpose, a cluster of trendy/hipster girls with their feet in fountain, the guy on the lawn throwing a ball for his joyful boxer and two (one acoustic, one electric) guitarists playing for each other.
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Two Disparate Topics

While perusing through the Philadelphia weekly, I noticed an advert for the annual Concerts in the Park. The concerts are free and held in Rittenhouse Square. This year features an eclectic mix – from King Britt to Alô Brasil. Yes, the band I went to see a week ago. They will be playing in September and I cannot give them a higher recommendation (the same applies to the funky music of K.B.).

On a less upbeat note, what the hell is up with litter. It drives me crazy sometimes. While walking to the train station in Germantown yesterday, I was appalled at the number of plastic cans, fast food wrappers, etc. on the ground. It was concentrated on one block and only on one side of the street. I reasoned it only takes one residence littering to ruin the whole block. Any ideas to help with this problem – it is endemic in Philadelphia. I mean I don’t want a tidy Swiss Village city, but enough is enough!

the cappuccino kid

Knitty Summer 05 Cover Image


Knitty Summer05 Cover

Originally uploaded by colorwhirl.

Look at this picture. Click the picture. Make it bigger.

Check that out. Off to the left. It says “Berks”. Yes, Berks. There is also a boy in this picture. Wearing a hand-knit cardigan. This kid is from Allentown, as best I can figure, and he decided to take an “edgy” picture at…yep…Berks station on the Market-Frankford (Blue) line here in Philadelphia.

I was thrilled to discover this and recognize the setting of the picture before all my knitter friends. But seriously…Berks isn’t the most hardcore of all stations. 52nd Street would have been a better choice. Or maybe 56th Street.

More reading: Knitty.com

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