There’s nothing like running into a gaggle of Mummer wenches — young men in skirts and long-haired wigs and face paint, with beers and parasels — in broad daylight on a balmy winter day. More here.
Yesterday I wrote, “The pious Mr. Mitt has been telling a new lie each day concerning where he stands on workers’ bargaining rights.” Meanwhile, Romney was in my hometown, serving up another whopper to directly contradict his statements on another subject. More here.
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.
Here’s how not to begin an editorial about the departure of an arrogant and divisive “public servant” who hung on until the school district and anonymous donors gave her $905,000 to go away…
At Front and Lombard, a woman with a British accent approached me and said “Did you feel the earth shake?” or “Did you feel an earthquake?” There was passion in her voice. I wondered if she’d mistaken me for someone else, or if it was love at first sight…
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.
I was still a bit edgy three weeks after my bicycle was stolen. But then an ancient new wave song came on the radio and filled my head with groovy ironic art school vibes, and I knew “The Good Thing” must be just around the corner …
I write from Philadelphia, possibly the most stupidly governed major city in the country. If you don’t believe it, take a look at the Inquirer story about our delinquent-property-tax-collection system.