One of those bizarre amphibious “duck boats,” crammed with tourists, cruised past me on South Street today. The driver/tour guide, using a mic and amp system, was saying, “Pay attention, I’ll tell you how to speak Philadelphian… One, two, three… Yo cous, how ya doin’, wadda ya say?” More here.
Earlier this week, the Daily News ran a story about a drug bust involving a manager at Jim’s Steaks in Philly. My first thought was what’s the big deal about Xanax and pot, aside from the legal risks if you don’t pay off the right people? Can those drugs be any worse for the human body than Cheez Whiz and minute steaks? More here.
Some people don’t like the rain, as the Beatles noted in 1966. Not me. I’ll take the rain over the heat, and I feel fortunate to be far from Texas, where a record drought continues despite Rick Perry’s rain dance back in April.
The Philly heat seemed to break most emphatically last Sunday, when a morning drizzle turned into a downpour that rarely let up until evening. I took a break from writing to go for a run in the late afternoon after I dug through the rubble in my basement and found a big ugly bill cap to keep the rain off my glasses.
Sure, the SugarHouse Casino next to the Delaware River is an eyesore and a sordid solution to the scarcity of good jobs in Philadelphia. But casino workers deserve job security and a fairer share of the loot that’s not being sucked out of Philly by billionaire Neil Bluhm and his allies.