MKOTBlog

When I started my summer here in Philadelphia, the one thing that always bummed me out was the fact that I wasn’t going to be able to travel this summer. I wanted to go see new things and meet new people everyday as I had done last year in Europe. Don’t get me wrong, I have loved being in Philly so far and wouldn’t change a thing, but this thought always loomed in the back of my mind.

But last night, again, as I have noticed throughout the summer, I realized that sometimes you don’t even have to leave your own house to experience some novelty in your life.

This month, my German friend named Ansgar is in Philadelphia participating in an English culture and conversation program. We met last summer while we both were studying French and staying with the same host family in Tours, France. It is his first time in the United States, and it’s been great getting to hang out with him this past week. He’s been consistently coming over to my house for parties and gatherings, and in his opinion, is learning much faster through these social opportunities rather than classes. Only if that method worked for every subject…

Anyways, last night he brought over a group of his friends from the program, and what I had expected to be a quiet night at home turned out to be a fantastic round-table international party. For close to four hours, two Spanish, one French, one German, one Brit, one Venezuelan, and one Canadian, drank, ate, and talked about anything and everything. Different languages were being thrown around as if my living room had all of a sudden turned into EU conference. Everyone was friendly, as any pretenses were thrown out the door, as the seven of us were just excited to meet new people from new countries and new cultures with new stories to tell. It was like going abroad again, and I hadn’t even left my living room.

So, speaking of grocery shopping:

Paper or plastic?

Pass the ball, please?

For all my friends back in Vancouver posting photos of the Pemberton Festival on facebook… I hate all of you, so so so much.

My post about the recent fire on 41st and Walnut has been getting an incredibly large number of hits in the last few days… I guess we all get a little enjoyment from the suffering of others.

On a completely unrelated note, sometimes you find little treasures in unexpected places, like the trash can on the corner of 41st and Chestnut.

Muscle Milk, the non-South Park version of Beefcake!

And no, I didn’t pick this out of the trash.

Not to rag on the Division of Public Safety (I mean, it’s soooo overdone), but they have some unusual methods of operation.

For some unknown reason I was browsing through the Daily Pennsylvanian website today (I mean, who reads school newspapers during the summer?), and stumbled upon an article about bicycle security.

Thanks to a policy of Penn’s Division of Public Safety, if you’ve failed to properly lock up your bicycle on campus, you may find it waiting for you in the custody of the Penn Police.

DPS has a policy of taking unattended and unsecured bicycles on campus without the owner’s knowledge. They bring the bicycles to campus security headquarters ­- located at 4040 Chestnut St. – and try to contact the owner of the bike so they can retrieve it.

What? So to teach the lesson of not getting your bike stolen, DPS is going to go ahead and steal your bike for you? If this happened to me, my first reaction wouldn’t be “Thank you Division of Public Safety, for graciously showing me the errors of my ways. From this day forth I will make sure to secure by bicycle so this doesn’t happen again,” but would rather involve some loud, nearly incomprehensible expletives thrown in their direction.

On the other hand, I must admit, if you are so absent-minded that you forget to secure your valuables in a major city like Philadelphia, Penn shouldn’t have to waste their time and resources to reward you with second chances for your naivety.

But hey, people like this do exist, and I guess they need some guidance…

Fail.

I know what some of you may be thinking, which is that the Kryptonite lock secures the front tire to the frame, thereby making any attempts to steal the bike worthless. That doesn’t change the fact that you can easily slide the lock and bike off the top of the pole, steal the bike by wheeling it by its rear tire, and then take the bike apart and sell it for parts. Duh.

This photo, by the way, would be a worthwhile addition to FAIL blog.

Part1 : Yesterday after a long day of work, a few of us took part in happy hour, which, for us, lasted about 7 hours. Why? Well, it was a Wednesday, and Wednesdays mean Center City Sips.

Center City Sips is one of the greatest institutions of summers in Philadelphia. Every Wednesday from June 4-August 27, approximately 70 bars and restaurants – ranging from dingy dive drinking holes to fancy-schmancy eateries – around the city open their doors for a 5-7 happy hour. Prices vary incredibly slightly from bar to bar, within the “incredibly cheap” spectrum. Usually, at any participating location, you can get a beer for $2, cocktails for $3-4, and appetizers for less than $5. Long story short, every Wednesday in Philadelphia presents a chance for every alcoholic in the city to come out and play.

And come out and play they did. Most of the bars and clubs we saw were standing room only, with servers fighting their way through crowds and miraculously balancing the contents of their plates and glasses. You could see and feel the relief of everyone standing around you, mingling with their friends, family, and co-workers, as all their job-related worries and stresses were released during the euphoric happy hour.

It’s interesting, for me at least, to go to certain bars, people-watch, and realize certain bars definitely do draw very specific crowds. Here are some general observations for the average male that was at this one bar we went to:

Dress: Suit or rolled up sleeves with tie

Accessories: Leather briefcase with umbrella

Physical appearance: Variety of heights, but some common characteristics – no neck, shoulders start at ear (past athlete), perfectly-gelled hair

Behavior: Found in a group of 2-3 other similar males, all shamelessly hitting on any female that walked by

Conclusion: Douche

All in all, a good time though.

_______________________________________________

Part 2: After the official Center City Sips happy hour ended, we made our way back to campus and checked out the newest addition to the University City dining community: Distrito. This new restaurant, located at the Hub on 40th and Chestnut, and owned by Jose Garces (who also owns Amada), opened for business on Monday. We were welcomed by a group of friendly greeters, standing in front of a bookshelf of Jarritos, a Mexican soft drink. After meeting the bartenders serving more than 70 types of tequila, checking out the menu of very reasonably priced authentic Mexican dishes (nothing is over $20), and eating some of the most delicious nachos I have ever had, I checked out the rest of this cool two-level restaurant.

Although we only stuck around for one appetizer and a drink each, I highly recommend Distrito for anyone looking for a great dining experience in a very unique setting. And while it doesn’t have any official happy hours yet, once they do, I think it could become a very popular place among students looking for alternatives to establishments like Pod.

Scorpions at the first floor bar

On the way out, we were treated to another surprise. The greeters showed us a little secret: the bookshelf of Jarritos was actually a door that led to a comfortably furnished private karaoke room. While I carry with me an inexplicable hatred towards karaoke (probably one of the lowest forms of entertainment, in my mind), if you’re into that sort of thing and have some cash to blow away, I guess this is right up your alley.

Fraternity house, 39th and Locust

I’ve got a fire theme going on this week, I guess.

Yesterday afternoon, as I was sitting at my desk, my room was quickly overwhelmed with the smell of burning wood. At first, I thought nothing of it, until I had a vision of my house burning down and had a brief moment of panic, wondering how I was going to explain to my roommates that I had somehow burned the house down. I got up to investigate, but not before looking out the window to see the bright blue sky had disappeared, and in its place, gray smoke poured towards my house from across the street. Convinced and relieved that there was no fire in my own house, I ran out to the street to this:

41st and Walnut

A crowd had already gathered, and the police were just beginning to tape the scene.

Now you might be asking me, how could I be taking pictures at a time like this? Well, I will justify it with two reasons.

First, there was another guy standing near me who was also running around trying to take photos of the scene. But he did it with the subtlety of an angry elephant (still in the zoo mode of thinking). He was dashing from street corner to street corner, actually getting mad at people who happened to be in the way of his “perfect shot.” I felt a little better about myself after seeing that guy.

Second, and fortunately, no one was hurt. I know this because I heard a phone conversation from behind me that went roughly like this:

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Dude! Dude! Where are you?!… WHERE ARE YOU??… JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION! Cape Cod? Who are you there with?… DUDE! I’m serious, just answer the question! Your friends from home??… Oh geez, thank god… listen, your house is on FIRE. No, I’m not kidding you dude… YOUR house, is on FIRE. I’m standing right outside! There are firetrucks everywhere! Alright, glad you’re safe, I hope you have a good one.”

As soon as he hung up the phone, I heard the same guy say this:

“Oh man, he was subletting that house.”

Something else I saw that boggled my mind during the fire… a fireman walking towards the house in flames, smoking a cigarette. Seriously?

Have you ever been enjoying a beautiful sunny day, listening to the birds chirp and feeling a cool, soft summer breeze, only to look up to the sky and have your day ruined by a pair of shoes hanging from the powerlines?

Yeah, neither have I. But I always do see those hanging shoes and wonder what the story is. I was baffled. I could never figure out what it meant. Do these pairs of sneakers, hanging from seemingly-random locations throughout the city, actually have a secret message or pattern waiting to be discovered? Are the perpetrators of these acts yearning for someone to unravel some great, hidden truth, the elusive meaning of life? The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. Maybe this is something no one else had thought of! I could potentially be the great discoverer of the true meaning of life – our true purpose – obscured by these smelly, old shoes.

Could these boots hold the secret behind the true meaning of life?

Well, about 30 seconds of actual research on the internet proved me wrong. There’s actually even a name for it: “shoe-flinging, or shoefiti, the American or Canadian practice of throwing shoes whose shoelaces have been tied together so that they hang from overhead wires such as power lines or telephone cables.” Here are some possible explanations for this practice, according to Wikipedia:

• To advertise a local crack house, where crack cocaine is used and sold – in which case, these shoes are referred to as “Crack Tennies”

“Monday, the grand opening of the newest crack house in town! Come and meet people who share your hobby. Follow the crack tennies, or the pink, talking salamander that haunts in your dreams!”

• To commemorate a gang-related murder, or the death of a gang member, or as a way of marking gang turf – in fact, it has become such a problem, that the city of Los Angeles launched a program to remove these shoes.

Yes, bravo, Los Angeles, for taking such a bold step to “clean up the streets.” Because old shoes are such a rare commodity, if you take them away, it’s bound to never appear again. And on the flip side, what a stupid way to remember your buddy after his or her tragic death. Because you know, when I think of my best friend, the first thing I think of that best represents his life and the impact he has had on me, is a pair of old, smelly shoes.

Some other explanations…

• Others claim that the shoes are stolen from other people and tossed over the wires as a sort of bullying tactic, or as a practical joke played on drunkards.

That’s the most logical reason yet.

• It may also be another manifestation of the human instinct to leave their mark on, and decorate, their surroundings.

So, basically what this all comes down to is this: since it is not socially acceptable to pee on things in public (anymore), and because we do not have a heightened sense of smell like dogs do, we humans have resorted to throwing shoes. That’s it… apparently that is the whole meaning of life. Proving our existence through shoes.

How’s this for a theory? A group of kids were bored, and decided to have a contest to see who could be the first to throw a pair of shoes on a powerline. Someone equally as bored saw this, and decided it could be a fun game to play with his or her friends. Sometimes, simple explanations do exist.

All jokes aside, there’s actually a blog dedicated to shoefiti, where readers can submit their own photos of various wire-hanging shoes from around the world. Check it out to see if anywhere near your home has the mark of a crack-house, brutal gang murder, or drunks who like to play practical jokes.

My guess is that most Penn students (myself included until this summer), aren’t aware that one of the most beautiful and peaceful areas in West Philly is literally right under their noses. I’m talking, of course, about the Woodlands Cemetery.

High Rises overlooking the Woodlands.

I first went to the cemetery a couple weeks ago, and it has quickly become one of my favorite places near campus. The whole area is so peaceful and quiet, and is a nice getaway from the sounds of the city. Not to mention all the trees! In fact, there is so much vegetation in the cemetery that its earliest ads said this:

“… the decaying bodies of the dead may securely moulder into kindred dust, with an abundant vegetation and free winds to absorb and dissipate all noxious effluvia.”

Wow, charming. I’m sold.

The thing I’ve realized about cemeteries is that while I wander through, I always feel such a wide range of emotions. First, confusion and strategic caution, as I wonder how I’m supposed to navigate my way through this minefield of tombstones, without stepping on the actual burial site, and in effect, the rotting corpse six feet under.

Tombstones... everywhere

And then, I start getting thoroughly creeped out, by scenes like this…

Looks like someone broke out of his tomb

…which then evolves into mild amusement when I see tombstones like these…

What is this person, a bottle of wine?

…which then evolves into mild depression as I see broken tombstones like these everywhere:

Nature gets revenge.

Now I know what you’re thinking right now, but I’m really not as morbid as you think. Because sometimes, I think happy thoughts like all the cool and awesome things I must do in my life to get a bad-ass memorial like this:

Awesome tribute to this guy's life.

And, as if this giant obelisk wasn’t enough of a phallic symbol to pay tribute to this dude, they removed any doubt to his manly awesomeness with this, found on the statue itself:

Yes, on the obelisk.

Simply brilliant.