The word Philadelphia means different things to different people. Some may recall the image of an AIDS ridden Tom Hanks, others thoughts may drift to cream cheese or Ben Franklin.
Personally, my feelings about Philly before this weekend could be summed up as "meh." I had taken a few trips down there to visit my peoples at college, therefore my opinion of the city was somewhat limited to the area around U Penn (which is filled with shook herbs, btw) and although I knew in my heart of hearts that I didn’t have nearly enough knowledge to judge the city, you know what, I judged anyway.
So, as I headed down on the Greyhound (some of us are still on the no-fly list, thank you very much Homeland Security) with a couple of 40’s and a change of socks and underwear I wasn’t convinced I would need, i was hoping to learn enough about the city to hate it.
Philadelphia showed me a lot more than I expected and I was forced to consider the fact that the City of Brotherly Love (no homo) may actually be a viable place to live, or at least spend an alcoholic weekend. Although I have a suspicious feeling that this was more the product of excellent hosting by Dr. and Mrs. Boogie, DDS than any sort of "magic" the city exuded, I’ll take my experiences at face value.
Some Background
Philadelphia is the 5th-8th largest city in America, however I think that they count a lot of the suburbs as "urban" areas. My people at the census (thanks Charles) tell me that Philadelphia has a population of just over 1.5 million. The population is split about 45% white and 45% black, the remainder (the census claims) is largely latino. Most of the people who live in Philly are ugly. I’m just saying.
In 1800, the capital of the United States moved from Philadelphia to DC. This doesn’t seem to have a major impact on the daily lives of most residents.
Philadelphia, for all its tough guy posturing, had only a paltry 288 murders in 2002. Local hero Beanie Siegel is thought to be responsible for most, if not all, of the killings. Crime didn’t seem to be a pressing issue in the area where I was staying, however there were a few corners where I probably could buy crack or get shot, assuming Beanie wasn’t touring or in jail.
I set a few simple goals for the weekend, other than being perpetually drunk, which should be assumed. Among them was to go bowling, eat a cheese steak, go to a phillies game and smoke a cigarette in a bar. All of these goals were accomplished, as well as some other shit I never even thought about doing. Details below.
The bowling alley in Philadelphia is a clubbed out scene not unlike the travesty that is Bowlmor in 2005. Strenuous ID checking, expensive bowling in a night club atmosphere and well dressed minorities were the order of the day. Me and Dr. Boogie knocked out two quick games (of which I won both and 5$ and he injured himself straining in vain to beat the kid) of respectable bowling and left rather quickly. $3 beers are awesome, but my only complaint (other than the approach to the lanes NOT being regulation length) could be phrased as a question "why do you have a smoke machine yet not allow the patrons to smoke?" I would have asked "doesn’t this seem counter-intuitive?" But I don’t really think your average bowling alley employee understands words like that.
During the day on Saturday the good Dr. and I ventured maybe 10 miles (this is a guess) outside of the city to place some bets at Philadelphia Park. On the way to the track we passed the "Great American Diner Pub" which may or may not be the site of my future wedding reception. The town that was all in was called "Bensalem" - if anyone wants to go find the diner pub. In retrospect, visiting the Diner Pub is on the short list of things I still need to do in Philly.
The track was being renovated so there was no live racing, but oh-boy-boy were the facilities impressive. There are few ways to dignify the sort of human scum who spend every waking moment gambling on horse racing. Good lighting, clean marble floors and $3 beers served by someone under 50 goes a long way towards doing so. Anyone who has been to Belmont, the Fairgrounds in LA or any OTB would see the obvious difference in a classy joint like Philadelphia Park. Next time when there is racing, watch out. I’ll be the one sweating profusely and screaming at the horses that "Daddy needs new shoes."
Later in the day we visited a cheese-steak spot called "Campo’s" which was very good. I did take issue with the youthful whore behind the counter who didn’t seem to understand that I really was 24, as stated on my passport. The fact that I was unwilling to wait 5 minutes for my cheese-steak takeout order without drinking and then my finishing my beer in two minutes should have caused her to realize that this is not the sort of alcoholism people develop before their 21st birthday. If you are reading this, youthful whore, get back in the kitchen and make me my lunch. And I’ll take a Budweiser with that.
My "revenge" -if you will, was when the manager/owner asked a group of visiting Italians eating at a table near the counter where they were going next in Philadelphia. They looked confused and then replied "New York City." I felt vindicated.
On Saturday night, after lots of drinking, we ventured out to Citizens Bank Park, home of the NL-Wildcard leading Phillies. The stadium is located next to WherevertheEaglesplay in an area of town I would describe as an industrial wasteland, not unlike the con-ed plant on ave D in Manhattan. The first thing I noticed about the stadium and the fans is, unlike most of Philly, there were mad fucking white people in the stadium.
I’m used to Yankees games which have a pretty good mix of white, black, hispanic and (nowadays) asian fans and the demographic makeup of Yankee stadium isn’t terribly different from NYC itself. At Citizens Bank, the vast majority of the fans were young pugnacious looking white kids with earrings (who, Mrs. Boogie pointed out, were mainly from the ‘burbs). There was a lot of chanting for the Eagles, and there was a definite loser faction of people doing the wave. One (1) girl I saw was so hot I almost walked into a patron in a wheelchair. We (me and hot girl OR me and wheelchair patron) did not have sex.
The overall highlight of my trip (and possibly the last month) was during the 7th inning stretch when the Phillie Fanatic (fresh off his induction into the mascot hall of fame) showed all the little mascots (Tulane Pelican et al.) how the big boys do it. As the PA blared Alicia "I went to the same elementary school as ROX" Keys song "Falling", the Phillie Fanatic appeared in a dress in front of the 3rd base umpire. After a dramatic show of expressing how he really felt about the 3rd base umpire, (passion, togetherness, rejection and a wide range of emotions not usually displayed by mascots) he concluded by planting a big sloppy kiss right on the umpires lips, and was promptly ejected from the game. It may have been the Play of The Year (fuck that David Wright catch and AAA Queens).
After the game we headed to some hipster-styled diner called "Silk City" -which was kinda meh. Although I was able to suck down a couple of quick pints of "Yard" which is quite a tasty brew, and I would do well to remember to drink lots of it next time I am in Philly, Silk City had the same dirty feeling I get from being in the ‘burg. My only other attempt to purchase "Yard" -which may or may not even come in bottles - took place in a bulletproof beer store on a decidedly more ghetto block. My little asian friend on the business side of the glass had no idea what I was talking about and after repeated efforts to enunciate "par-la-ment lie-ts" and being handed Pall Malls, I left to pursue alternative alcohol options.
On Sunday, I went to Unity Day, where all the black people that weren’t at the Phillies game the day before were celebrating unity (by which I mean the absence of white people). It was pretty odd, and something like this (a gathering with no alcohol) could never take place in New Orleans. Once again, local youth leader and community activist Beanie Siegel was nowhere to be found.
Afterwards I checked out the Philadelphia Museum, whose proximity to Unity Day could only remind me of the fact that the Puerto Rican day parade marches down museum mile. I saw some nice Monets, a couple of Van Goghs and there was a Dali or two. I’m also a sucker for "Arms and Armor" exhibits and stained glass, both of which repped hard at the Philadelphia Museum.
The closest I came to inflicting suffering on another living thing was in the museum, when this cow-looking bitch turned to her cow-looking bitch of a mother and commented "why did they hang rugs on the wall?" For future reference - if you are going to be stupid out loud in public, you’d better at least be good looking. God forbid someone reflexively hurls you down the stairs. Tapestries. They are called tapestries.
It should also be pointed out that the Boggie family (Dr and Mrs) had recently acquired a dog before my arrival. "From the animal shelter." -Dr. Boogie informed me. "You ripped him away from his parents?" -was my skeptical reply.
The dogs name is Simon, and while I was initially opposed to the dog because of his obviously Jewish name, in a few short minutes we bonded, making jokes at Dr. Boogies expense. I could have cried when we returned home on Saturday night and Simon had destroyed Dr. Boogies shoe insole and left my possessions alone -it was a beautiful moment.
So in summation Philadelphia, while no NYC, is a lot better than Boston.
**if you would like your city reviewed, please email me. If you have a couch (or a hot/cute/slutty sister with a bedroom) and $$$ for food and travel expenses, it could happen!**
So, I’ve always argued that taking drugs and drinking are good for you and that eating and sleeping is some weak shit, and now I’m going to take selected quotes from slate.com out of context to make my point seem valid. Enjoy!
