Ten…Nine…Eight…Seventy-Sixers!
*Pant Pant*
Oh man. That was so close. I can’t believe I finally got away. For over a month now I’ve been held hostage in this guy’s basement. I bore witness to unspeakable horrors, like Nick Cage movie marathons. It was horrifying. But I’ve finally escaped. Now, quickly! We need to call 9-1-1 and report this man before he tracks me down…
No one? Yeah I guess that was a bit too much. Alright, the truth is that I’ve just been crazy busy. I’ve been working around 30 hours a week and taking 18 credits. I’ve also been keeping track of how many pages I’m writing this semester (41 so far, with a few more due after break). My personal music blog has been put on an indefinite hold and as I’m writing this I just realized that I forgot to update my class blog last week. Whoops! February has been a frantic month for me.
Through all this craziness, one thing has not been lost on me. My beloved Philadelphia 76ers have been having a basketball Renaissance. I knew that this was possible from the way they closed out last season and from what I remember happening after the last lockout (young teams with returning cores excelling). But I would never have expected them to be on pace for an NBA-record fewest turnovers per game or to be boasting one of the stoutest defenses in the league.
And I never would have expected our new owners to be so damn good. They’ve slashed ticket prices. They got rid of the monstrosity that was our old mascot, Hip Hop (and although they have yet to instate a new one, Benjamin Franklin is the obvious choice). And they’ve embraced the fact that the Sixers are one of the most storied franchises in the league.
Now you may be asking, “how did you come up with such a bold claim?” I evaluate it by asking who the starting five of an all-time team would be for a franchise. Obviously, they only get that player for their best season with the team. Also, there should probably be a limit on the number of seasons you have to have played with the team to qualify. Anyway, the Sixers starting five would probably be either Cheeks-Iverson-Erving-Malone-Chamberlain (a more traditional lineup) or Iverson/Cheeks-Erving-Barkley-Malone-Chamberlain (a very, very big lineup). Either way, any real basketball fan just comically spit out the hot coffee they were drinking all over their computer screen. Yeah, the franchise is that good.
Anyway, I love that our new owners are embracing that aspect of the team and framing our current contender, with their great ball movement and spot-on defensive rotations, as the next sequence of that history. I also love that Will Smith is a partial owner. And I love that they made March 2nd, the 50th anniversary of Wilt Chamberlain’s 100 point game, into a special celebration. They bought the original floor that Wilt played on at Hershey Park and gave away a 2×2 inch piece to every fan in attendance. They also left large segments scattered around the concourse that fills passerbys with a holy reverence. They also gave pieces to Wilt’s sisters and donated some to the Basketball Hall of Fame and blah blah blah I GOT A PIECE OF WILT’S FLOOR!!!
Throughout the game (played against the Golden State Warriors by the way, but who really cares?), stats from Wilt’s career and snippets of interviews about/with The Big Dipper played on the Jumbotron. It really captured the magnitude of destruction that The Chairman of the Boards left in his wake throughout his fourteen-year career.
When I look back on that game, I’ll remember that the Sixers won. I’ll remember that I got a free Big Mac the next day. I’ll probably also remember explaining the rules of basketball to my friend Petra, who had never been to a game before and had no idea who Wilt was before reading his Wikipedia page earlier that day.
But I’ll remember most the way one of the greatest players in the history of the league was honored. If I was making an all-time team, Wilt would be my starting center. He had athleticism and height which Bill Russell can’t match. He had toughness which Kareem could never muster. And he had the polished game that Shaq never learned. He is, in my not-so-humble opinion, the greatest center to ever play the game.
(Before you ask, the rest of the team would be Magic-Jordan-Bird-Duncan. And no, there is no haggling over those four.)
Wilt’s life was consumed by numbers. There was 7’1”. 35,026 (points, including playoffs). 50.4 (ppg). 27,837 (rebounds, including playoffs). 20,000 (Google it). 2 (NBA Championships). 4 (MVPs). The numbers go on and on. But, off all those figures, 100 will always have a legendary aura encompassing it.
I’m always going to cherish that piece of floor. My parents jokingly asked if they could use if to remodel the bathroom. It’s good they were joking because I would have cut ties with my entire family if they were serious. They asked if I’ll put it in the floor when I’m a proud homeowner. I’m not really sure right now. All I know at this moment is that I’m building a shrine to it in my kitchen and I will be praying to it every night before bed.
Glad to Meat You
Ah, Restaurant Week. So we meet again. You may remember me detailing my love/hate relationship with Restaurant Week last semester. You may also remember me saying that I had to be convinced into it every time it rolls around. Well, this time, that convincing went as followed:
“Hey Zack. Would you like to get unlimited amounts of meat?”
“Are you a wizard?”
Yes, the Brazilian steakhouse Chima will give you an unlimited amount of meat. That deal also comes with unlimited salad bar and side dishes. But let’s be honest; there’s only one part of that bargain that made you start drooling like Pavlov just rang a bell.
Here’s how it works: after you’re appeased yourself with the salad bar/appetizers (the Chima equivalent of foreplay), you simply flip a little token they give you over to the orange side and watch. Waiters carrying giant chunks of freshly barbecued meats on skewers will begin showing up at your table offering you meats. You choose how you want your meat and then they leave. Within seconds, it’s almost guaranteed someone else will show up. It gets so ridiculous you have to flip the coin back into safe mode (the black side) just to start to work through the pile of delicious meats that has accrued.
And they don’t roll out only a fraction of their meats for Restaurant Week. This is the full assortment, just for $35 instead of $50.
But what is the full assortment, you ask? Well, there was pork sausage, chicken breasts, chicken wrapped in bacon, filet mignon wrapped in bacon, salmon (with an awesome passion fruit sauce), flank steak, rib eye steak, lamb chops, ribs, and a house special steak that made me choke up a little.
Did I try all of them? What kind of question is that?
The only thing that exceeded the quantity of meat was the quality. It was all just so good. Being asked to pick my favorite would be like asking the Duggars to pick their favorite child. It’s impossible, but we can all agree that pork sausage is definitely the worst.
Chima has definitely won the award for my favorite Restaurant Week destination. I don’t think of the $35 as an expense, but an investment. Hell, I could be persuaded into going back at full price. I mean, how do you turn down unlimited meat?
Well This Is Familiar…
Well, folks, the day you’ve all been craving has finally arrived. I’m sure it must have been an especially harsh winter for all of you, having to make it through without me and all. But that’s okay. Because I’m back and better than ever.
After the overwhelming success of my award-eligible debut blog, I’ve found that I’ve inherited a bit of a celebrity status. I can’t tell you how many times I get stopped on the street with people saying “Hey! Aren’t you that guy!?” To which I always respond with an enthusiastic “Yes I am!” and a nonconsensual autograph. The last time this happened, the person read my chicken scratch and then angrily shouted “You’re not Liza Minnelli!” And, I am sorry to say, she was right.
But all that is beside the point. I’m sure you’re all dying to know what I will be doing this semester. I must admit, I had some trouble coming up with a serviceable sequel to the “stuff I haven’t done before,” theme I utilized in the fall. Well, after a lot of thought and a series of epiphanies, I finally figured it out. For this semester, I am going to do only things that are unequivocally awesome.
What’s that you say? Awesome is a subjective term? If you’re thinking that, then you’re not thinking awesome enough. I’m talking so mind-numbingly rad that it can get away with using the term “rad” without being from 1998.
I’d say more about what I have planned, but I don’t want to give too much away. I will say that you will all find out how many pounds of meat I can eat in one sitting. If that’s not a cliffhanger, I don’t know what is.
Chapter 8: Zack and the Laughter Factory
With Finals week swiftly approaching, I needed something, nay anything, to take my mind off the swarm of papers, presentations, and exams about to hit my like an 18-wheeler. Luckily, the PEX passport had just the thing.
Comedy Sportz, besides for juxtaposing two of my favorite things together in the title, is the perfect thing to uplift anybody who is down in the dumps about the end of the semester.
Let me start by clarifying something. Comedy Sportz is competitive comedy, not athletes performing comedy. I know this may seem obvious to some of you, but let’s cut those of us (myself included) who were hoping to see Andre Iguodala do some stand-up some slack. To be fair, it probably would have been better than his free throw percentage, and he probably would have agreed a few weeks ago before the lockout ended.
Never mind. All of a sudden I don’t think he needs the cash that bad. Jrue Holiday on the other hand…
Before I continue, I think it necessary to throw some obligatory food porn your way. 500o is a burger place located just a few blocks away from Comedy Sportz on 15th and Samson. They only have a handful of options, but the burgers are filling and really good.
WARNING! GRAPHIC PICTURES OF DELICIOUS FOOD BELOW. YOU MUST BE AT LEAST PRETTY HUNGRY TO VIEW.
Yeah, you're a nuaghty bun. Aren't you?
Once the digestion period had started, we began waddling our way to 20th and Samson. We quickly bought our tickets and picked our seats.
Comedy Sportz requires a lot of audience interaction. You’re asked to give suggestions, decide who wins rounds (if you’re lucky enough to be dubbed a judge) and just generally be involved. The result is that when you leave, you don’t feel like you attended an event, but rather participated in one.
For instance, I will always giggle when someone says “Missouri” from now on. It’s an inside-joke for every single person that attended that particular show. And no, I’m not going to tell you why. Missouri. Tee-hee!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! (Source: Wikipedia)
That’s the big advantage Comedy Sportz has over other events in the area. Because it’s all improv and because audience participation is such a big portion, people are drawn to go back. It’s not the sort of event that you can just say “Well, I’m glad I did that. Now I never have to do it again because I can always say I did it once and that’s enough.” You know that when you go back, you’ll probably see whole new people who will definitely be doing whole new material.
If someone asked me to go back, I would absolutely accept. It would make me such a merry man. Tee-hee! Oh, sorry. You had to be there.
Chapter 7: The Sound and the Fury…of the Foo Fighters!
You may recall from my introductory post that I had planned not to blog about concerts for artists whom I knew I’d like ahead of time. If not, that’s good. Because I’m about to go every which way of breaking that promise.
I’m a huge Foo Fighters fan. Like, massive. My fandom is approaching the semi-creepy levels that used to be reserved for pre-teen girls and their boy bands.
From left to right: the smart one, the cute one, the leader, the bad boy, and Pat Smear (Source: Getty Images)
So when I learned that they were coming to Philly and dragging along the mummified remains of Social Distortion and some band called The Joy Formidable, I circled the pre-sale date like 70 times on my calendar. Then I proceeded to cross off every day in that four-month wait with the glee of a kid eagerly awaiting Santa’s arrival. But with much more rock.
In my defense, there are a few firsts involved in this concert. For instance, I have never had my face melted off by the sheer awesomeness of seeing Dave Grohl in person. And I’ve never been on the floor for a show at the Wells Fargo Center. I saw Muse there like 2 years ago, but I was so far away from the stage I believe I may have legally been classified as a satellite.
I was up there. With those poor suckers.
But most importantly, this was also the first time I’ve EVER, in three years, skipped one of my Poli Sci classes. I was absolutely heartbroken about it. To make matters worse, my professor made it a point to say that Thursday’s class was especially important and that everyone should be there. He could have said that we were all just going to sit around playing 7-up and I still would have felt bad, but this just made me worry even more. What if he unveiled the key to peace in the Middle East and I wasn’t there? And then what if President Obama called asking me how to broker peace agreements between Israel and every other country and I wouldn’t have any clue and then I would be responsible for continued strife in the region. What? It could happen.
At this point, you’re probably saying “Seriously, tell us about the concert already!”
To that, my only response is, “WHAT!!!!???? I CAN’T HEAR YOU. I WENT TO A REALLY LOUD CONCERT THURSDAY.”
Seriously, it was loud. It didn’t help that I was only like 6 feet from the stage either.
This is not zoomed in at all.
Don’t ask how long I had to stand outside in the cold – jacketless of course – in order to get such a good spot. And don’t ask how many verbal and physical fights I witnessed and/or was involved in to protect spots of this proximity from people who apparently have never been to a concert before if they think they can push their way to the front halfway through the main act’s set like they’re some kind of VIP. Because both numbers are embarrassingly high.
Anyway, The Joy Formidable was shockingly good. I’d listened to their first album and EP before the show to prepare and liked what I’d heard. But they bring a lot of energy live. And by “lot of energy” I mean I saw their frontwoman, Ritzy Bryan, go into a frenzy and start beating a gong.
This can be nothing short of true love. (Source: Getty Images)
They’ll be back in Philadelphia on December 12th at the North Star Bar to do a show for Toys for Tots. I’m trying to organize a trip for those of you who have been declared worthy of consuming adult beverages by our society. After all, there’s so much good involved. Kids will get toys, good music will be enjoyed, and I will get another chance to seduce the woman of my dreams.
There aren't enough less-than signs and 3's in the world. (Source: Getty Images)
After their set, out limped Social Distortion. If that name sounds familiar, you probably recognize them from this song, or maybe this one, or at the very least from this one which was on Guitar Hero. Or from the Trivial Pursuit question: What is the only cowpunk band to record a record while embalmed?
Coincidentally, I think my favorite random subgenre name is cowpunk. It’s such a preposterous name, even if it does pretty accurately represent what country and punk music sound like when merged. That of course being like an aberration against God that also makes you giggle. Cowpunk is the platypus of music, is what I’m saying.
But who am I kidding? You’re not reading this for the opening acts. Just like no one was there to see Social Distortion. You’re reading either because you saw the link on my Facebook page and was afraid Id quiz you on it later (I will), you are a cyber-stalker who may or may not believe that I am some sort of internet-based Messiah, or you like the Foo Fighters. So let me just hope it’s the third option and jump into it.
The Foos played for three hours. Three. Hours. That is dangerously close to violating some labor laws I think. And every minute of that show was raucous and rockin’. They hit upon all of their old classics but also infused most of their new album. Plus they turned a few songs into jam sessions. This was one of my favorites from the night, but unfortunately the cameraman quit filming at the very beginning of an epic guitar duel. That song went on for another 8 minutes. No kidding.
During the encore, Dave Grohl promised that they’d come back and play the Electric Factory before they start recording the next album. The Foos in such a small venue? Sign me up. Wait, it’s such a small venue…alright nevermind. There’s no way they’re actually going to come to the Electric Factory. Don’t even bother looking. Please?
Chapter 6: The Three Musketeers 2: The Shriekuel
For those of you who want to know what Eastern State is like during the day, you can read all about it here.Feel free to click over.
(Waiting…)
Are all the scaredy cats gone? Good. Because now that only the big kids are reading, I can tell you all about how frighteningly awesome Terror Behind the Walls is.
But our tale begins with something even spookier. In order to save a few tokens, Mike, Wil, and I decided to walk up 17th St. to the prison. It was only like 10 blocks of so after all. About 30 minutes later, I happened to realize that we had circled completely around and were almost back to where we started. Another 20 minutes and that same situation arose again. In total, we walked by Girard St. like 4 times. I’m not sure how. But the extra hour we spent wandering around North Philadelphia at night was more than enough to get us on eggshells.
Once we finally got to Eastern State, we were confronted with the 2nd horror of our night.
NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
The good people at Eastern State are masters of anticipation. They rush you inside as soon as your ticket time is up. You’re moving along so fast that it strikes you especially hard when you bang your forehead against some large man’s back. And then you crawl along, thinking that your fearventure is just around the corner. Only to find that right around the corner is even more lines. Once you get through those lines, you find yourself herded into a small building that is filled not with fog, zombie prisoners, and sickening laughter but with terror personified.
I repeat: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
Once you are mercifully released from the hellish constraint of those damned lines, the real startling begins. The entire fearventure (I’m hoping to trademark that term) is broken down into a series of phases that are loosely based off of a prisoner’s initiation.
Phase 1 set such a high standard, though, that the rest of the experience could not possibly equal it.
About halfway through that phase, we happened to encounter a zombie barber woman. Wil, quite politely, requested that a few inches be taken off the top.
“I’ll take a little off the top…and the bottom,” she responded.
Wil spent the rest of the night wondering if he should go back and propose to her. I’m not sure with what. My initial guess is brains but who am I to assume that a zombie woman would be so one-dimensional?
Like I mentioned in my last post, I did Terror last year. Very little had changed, but I did notice that we caught better timing. When you’re in the middle of a group, the actors will kind of naturally miss you since they’ll jump out to get the people in front and be able to reset to get those in back. We were in that position last year, but were lucky enough to take point this time.
What Terror has that no other fearventure (it’ll grow on you; I promise) I’ve ever done can claim is 3D technology. One of the phases involves being handed a pair of old fashioned 3D glasses and sent into a maze of lights. They completely disorient you so that all the other things they’ve got going on catch you completely off guard. Meanwhile, every firehouse in America is using those pathetic little strobe lights. It’s like comparing Avatar to The Last Airbender.
Even though Halloween is quickly coming to a close, Terror Behind the Walls will still be going on for another 2 weeks. If you really want to go, I say you hurry up and do so. But, if you’re willing to be patient, you could also wait until next year. The PEX Passport usually has a buy on get one free that lasts up to mid-October. It’s a great way to save money and still have a good time.
Oh, and we made it back to Temple without getting lost. But thank you for all the concern I’m sure you had.
Chapter 5: The Gray Mile (to Eastern State Penitentiary)
My friend Wil and I have been friends since our kindergarten days around the Lego table and are, in my not-so-modest terms, a Dream Team the likes of which Miami wishes it could be. We may go to different schools, but we try and see each other a few times a year. Last year, his visit involved going to Terror Behind the Walls at Eastern State Penitentiary. While we were being spooked and startled, we took the time to note that the prison was generally just really cool. We decided to make it a point to take the historical tour at some point.
(One year later)
“Hey Wil. Do you want to hang out at my place for the weekend? We can go to that historical tour of Eastern State we wanted to do.”
“Yeah sure. Make sure to invite Mike.”
Mike is the third of this tale’s heroes. He couldn’t join us for last year’s Terror trip because he had disappeared. It’s a long story, but basically he’s the wildcard of our team.
What exactly is a wildcard, you ask? I think the title can be best described by the antics of one Captain H.M. “Howling Mad” Murdoch. For those of you not cool enough to have any idea what I’m talking about, he’s our Samantha.
Dead ringer
Is everyone on the same page now? If not, Charlie from Always Sunny sums it up pretty well in The Gang Solves the Gas Crisis. If you promise to read this sentence in which I specifically state that there is adult content on the other side of the link, you can view the scene here.
Why is any of this important, you ask? It’s because when we got off the subway at Fairmount, we noticed that Mike was not with us. But when we got to the prison, he was sitting on the wall playing with his Droid. Boom! We were wildcarded. But wait, there’s more! After waiting for one more person to arrive, we went over and told him we were heading in. He told us to have fun. BOOM! Double wildcarded. Well played, sir.
Now that I’ve gotten that lengthy explanation out of the way, let me continue on to the actual audio tour.
The first thing you notice is that the voice sounds oddly familiar. About 20 seconds in, you find out why. Steve. Buscemi. Yeah, the guy from Boardwalk Empire, Armageddon, and Reservoir Dogs. I’m not sure if even Morgan Freeman’s voice could have made me happier. His unique combination of gripping and downright creepy may not be appropriate for discussing the deeper meaning of Madonna lyrics, but it’s perfect for explaining the history of a formerly condemned prison.
This looks like Steve Buscemi talks.
The sheer awesomeness of this was not lost on Wil, who spent the next two hours trying to convince me to start watching Boardwalk Empire. And hoping that a new prohibition would happen so he could live out his lifelong dream of being a rumrunner. After a quick search on his phone of the neo-prohibitionist movement, he realized that only one of these had serious potential.
We spent the next hour or so taking the ten station audio tour laid out for us. Steve Buscemi, historians, and even prisoners themselves explained the general background of Eastern State Penitentiary; from its original ideological justifications to the architectural structure to the minutiae of a day as an incarcerated individual.
Although they failed to explain why cat statues are hidden throughout the place.
Afterwards, we were free to walk around the facilities on our own, using our audio devices and codes on the signs to hear explanations of all sorts of topics. My personal favorites were prison sports, death row, Eastern State in pop culture, Al Capone, and prison sexuality.
I know that doesn’t sound like I narrowed it down much, but it’s hard to do so when everything there is so fascinating. As Steven Tyler so eloquently put (in a movie that starred the apparently prolific Steve Buscemi), you won’t want to miss a thing.
I should mention that we also went to Terror Behind the Walls. That’ll be posted tomorrow. Check back on Halloween for a haunting Part 2.
Chapter 4: Crime and Punishment and Dinosaurs
I doubt I’m alone in saying that the Philadelphia sports scene has been frustrating lately. Between the Phillies sudden postseason exit, the NBA’s continuing lockout, and the Flyers refusal to play a sport that anyone cares about, there has been more than enough disappointment to go around. But no team has led to more hair-ripping than the Eagles. Dream Team? More like Cream Team. Because they’re softer than Tasty Kakes. I’m sorry you had to read that.
So when this Sunday rolled around, I couldn’t bear to witness another Eagles slaughterfest. Instead, I flipped though my handy-dandy Pex Passport and decided that the Academy of Natural Sciences could sufficiently take my mind off of the horrific injury I was sure Vick would suffer in the 2nd quarter.
I can probably sum up all you need to know about the place in one word: dinosaurs. By my estimation, roughly 90% of you just opened up a second tab to check their hours. The other 10% needs to really reevaluate their priorities. Because seriously; dinosaurs.
Tragically, Ben Stiller was mere moments too late.
The exhibit has something for everyone. And by everyone I mean people who would like to see a picture of me looking ridiculous. So, you know, everyone.
Apparently this is my impression of a crocodile. I also do monkeys, fish, and William Shatner.
With all this dinosaur-related excitement, it’s easy to forget that there are two more floors of cool stuff. Most of the exhibits are animal related. They have some of the biggest, baddest critters from North America, Asia, and Africa. Although it is kind of a bummer that they don’t have anything from Australia. My museum experience was definitely lacking in koalas and kangaroos and dingos (oh my!).
Of course, no museum trip would be complete without hitting up the gift shop. Among the assortment of neat things there was one of those penny crushers. You could turn any boring penny into non-legal tender with the image of a dinosaur, cannon, or butterfly . If you need to ask which I went with, clearly you haven’t been paying close enough attention.
I was worried that the Eagles might still be on, so we decided to go play mini golf at Franklin Square. Which turned out to be a great idea since their normal Philadelphia theme was upgraded with cobwebs and pumpkins for Halloween.
Spooky!
On the first hole, I accidently knocked Emily’s ball in. She took a hole-in-one, which I promptly called shenanigans on. After a couple minutes of debate, I decided to withdraw my complaint. I was confident enough in my miniature-skillz that I figured spotting her one stroke wouldn’t come back to bite me.
Pictured: Skillz
Halfway through, with a comfortable two stroke lead, that seemed to be the case. I even expanded on it some during the next nine. But, at the very end, I went all LeBron and we ended up tied. Which I’m calling double shenanigans on. I don’t care what the scorecard, the rules, or anyone says. I won that game.
Speaking of winning games, the Eagles finally won! Which I guess means it’s my civic duty to go out to a museum every Sunday.
No complaints here
Chapter 3: The Color Purple (Tastes Like Potpourri)
I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with restaurant week. On one hand, it allows me to experience delicious cuisine at top-notch restaurants without needing to resort to means illegal in 48 states (49 if it’s outdoors in Rhode Island). On the other hand, do you know how much Ramen I could buy for $35? My guess is enough to earn my black belt in college.
But every year, despite my qualms with the pseudo-affordability, I allow my circle of friends to decide on a place and I just go with it. Usually, I don’t even know where or what it is. It could be a Fear Factor-based restaurant and I’d still agree to go.
So when I asked what kind of food we would be ingesting the day before and was told Peruvian-Chinese fusion, only one thing came to mind.
I am nothing if not a product of my childhood.
As our waiter so dutifully explained, Chifa is based around Chinese restaurants in Peru that incorporate local ingredients into the traditional cuisine. Some of you may think that’s totally cool, others may think it’s weird. Whichever camp you fall into, I think we can all agree that there’s one question that comes right to mind: are there American-Chinese fusion restaurants in Australia serving General Tso’s Pidgeon?
Sorry about that mental image. Here's a blurry pitcure of a baby kitten to take your mind off of it.
First up was the drink orders. I intended to stay with just plain, boring water. But the waiter offered us some unique, Peruvian beverage that was too intriguing to deny. It was a soda derived from corn, which I know isn’t all that different if you read the labels. But it had cinnamon and pineapple and another ingredient I couldn’t name in it too. The most distinguishing trait was easily the color. It was such a defined shade of purple that the only name I could possibly give it in lieu of its real one is Purple Drank. Purple Drank, quite literally, tastes like flowers and woodchips. It grows on you though. Trust me.
Then it came time to order the actual food. Chifa’s restaurant week menu involved ordering two appetizers, two entrees, and one dessert. All of the dishes were meant to be shared, which doesn’t jive with me. Maybe I didn’t get enough “sharing is caring lesions” when I was younger, or maybe it has more to do with the fact that I was raised by a pack of ultra-territorial wolves, but if someone even looks at my plate I am liable to growl.
Take one look at that mane and say you rule out the wolf possibility. I dare you.
Which meant that while everyone was gleefully passing dishes around, I got to be the cool kid snacking on my marinated olives and Vietnamese spring rolls alone. Go me!
The group decided to handle the entrees differently, which saved me the embarrassment of having to snap at anyone who reached over my plate to pass something. I decided to get the chicharrones and lomo saltado. For those of you confused by what looks like the by-product of me slapping my keyboard, know this. If dinner was a competitive sport, I remain convinced that I would have won all of the dinners. Not just this one. All of them. Both dishes were just a beautiful combination of meats and vegetables and pastas and spices and OHGAWDIWANT MOOOOAAAAR!!!!
And then came dessert. One option was coconut panna cotta, which I skipped over initially because I don’t like coconut. The second option was chocolate cake, which I skipped over because I don’t like cake (I would like the angry mob to form a single file line and leave all pitchforks and torches outside the door please). The third option was…oh wait! There was no third option. Under such distress, I panicked and picked the cake. Which worked out well because when the waiter came out, I saw that there was no cake. It was, in reality, the miniest of mini brownies with some ice cream on top.
That’s right: THE CAKE WAS A LIE! This has been your weekly bad meme reference brought to you by Zack.
Once the desserts were done, it was time for the bill. I began prematurely cringing. Which turned out to be a good plan since our corn punch was apparently purple gold. For how much money the pitcher was, the secret ingredient I couldn’t name had better have been either ground elephant tusk or mermaid tears. Since I’m being told that the odds of either of those being true are exactly not great, the moral of the story is an all too familiar one. At Chifa, as in life, stay away from the Purple Drank.
P.S. I would like to extend gratitude to fellow Correspondent Jordyn and my little sister Heather for technological consultation because I fail hard.
P.S.S. I would also like to extend apologies for the blurry pictures. Once again, I fail hard.
Chapter 2: Journey to the Center of Occupy Philly
Before I delve into my account of Occupy Philly, I should probably point out that this is going to just be a post about what my experience there. Unfortunately, my soapbox is in the shop due to overuse, so that will have to wait. But if you’re really curious about what I think of the whole “Occupy ______” movement, I got an article published in the Temple News which is not short of soapbox climbing. You can read it here.
Anyway, I like to consider myself an informed individual. I’m pretty hip, assuming kids are still using the term “hip.” But I was completely at a loss as to what these Occupy movements were all about. So when I heard Philly was getting its own, starting Thursday, I knew I had to head out and investigate.
My girlfriend and I left the subway station and immediately recognized this as the 2nd biggest crowd we had wandered into at City Hall. The first occasion happened during a late night Wawa run when we encountered a flash mob being herded away from South St. That’s right. I was in(side) a flash mob! Told you I was hip.
The hip-hoppiest!
Within seconds our senses were overwhelmed. There were drum circles and cheering and chanting and cars honking in support. There were people everyone and abandoned signs everywhere. I felt like a startled animal.
We figured the key to unlocking the secret of what all this was about was probably the signs. And so we began documenting some of the best.
Ah! So this is an anti-corporation protest.
Umm. So it’s anti-corporation AND pro-education.
Uh…well….okay then. I guess it’s really just a bunch of angry Democrats.
Oh come on! So then it’s…it’s…it’s…
Seriously?
I was even more confused than when I first got there.
After an hour or so, a general meeting was started by the organizers of the whole thing. We figured this was our best bet to learn what was going on, since the signs had failed to illuminate much.
After about 3 seconds everything became clear. Well not everything. I still don’t know what their point is. But I do have a good idea of why they’re there.
They called this meeting to place by starting a call-and-response chant of “We Are the 99%,” which is, not coincidentally, the slogan for the “Occupy ______” movement. There was widespread participation. Some of the first things they went over were the hand symbols to use. My favorite was spirit fingers=approval. I thought this was funny until I realized just how many people were spirit fingering. That was when it hit me.
The message wasn’t important. You could say whatever you wanted to say and others would just go with it. It didn’t really matter. What was important was the prevailing sense of community. Everyone who was there wanted to support everyone else. They were all very considerate, both to each other and the homeless who their presence was disturbing. And they were so passionate that it was hard not to get swept up into it all.
I have plenty to say about their cause and the way they’re going about it. I may or may not disagree with them. But I can’t argue that what they’re doing is, in some way, a beautiful thing. Although they might want to cut back on the drum circles.
