The PW actually had a good article. It makes me happy that I live in this awesome city.
Spend a rainy day browsing city photos from the ’50s in the Temple Urban Archives.
Order a hot apple cider at City Tavern, just like Ma Wash used to make.
Wolf down a Sarcone’s hoagie and follow it up with a nap in the Square.
Stop by West Philly High on a fall Saturday morning and watch drumline practice.
Stalk Mark Wahlberg when he’s working out at Sweat while in town filming a movie.
Win your sweetest girlfriend a stuffed Minnie Mouse on the Ocean City boardwalk.
Wolf-whistle Sharon Pinkenson.
Raise hell with a city commissioner at your local community meeting.
Read a wicked passage from Ulysses to a group of strangers at Rosenbach’s annual Bloomsday celebration.
Drop six bucks at West Philly’s Genuine Baking Company for one of their takeout dinners (and cross your fingers it’s roast chicken and green beans day).
Knock back cold ones at Jack’s Famous bar at K&A, and check out the vintage black-and-white photos on the wall when hitting the head.
Smuggle wine back over the bridge from Canal’s on Route 38.
Dine on the killer food at Malone’s, the legendary wiseguy bar at 18th and Ritner.
Experience rare piques of hometown superiority watching tourists do their Rocky impression atop the Art Museum steps.
Grease palms with street money on Election Day.
Find the mystical Kelpius Cave, and lament the permanance of modern spraypaint.
Forget Chickie’s & Pete’s for watching playoff action, and instead head down Packer Avenue a bit farther to the Philadium, where real sporting Philadelphians belt ’em back.
Go for eggs and toast at the Breakfast Club, a greasy spoon on Cecil B. Moore down from Broad.
Get tanked and dance with Quaker City in the middle of Broad Street on New Year’s.
Do an old-school Fishtown pub crawl. (Feel free to substitute Roxborough if it’s closer.)
Take a date to the Franklin Institute, and make out in the walk-through heart.
Skip Easter dinner with the family, dress up like the undead, and join the Philly Zombie Crawl.
Indulge sinfully at the all-you-can-eat chocolate buffet at the Ritz-Carlton.
The Wing Bowl is gross, depraved and depressing. But it should be witnessed. Once. Only once.
Hit the Parkway on the Fourth of July, but make sure to catch the fire hose blasts so you can rinse off the sticky summer swampass.
Tour Eastern State Penitentiary, but skip the haunted-house season. The solitary creepiness of the place is worlds scarier than a bunch of actors in ghoul makeup.
Go to Mass at Gesu Church, the stately Victorian Cathedralesque Basilica at 18th and Stiles.
Eat a mammoth-sized sandwich from Koch’s Deli at 43rd and Locust in a single sitting.
Go on an official Mural Arts bike tour with an out-of-town friend. Sure, you’ve seen it all before, but they’ll think it’s the coolest thing since Vampire Weekend and tell you so all through (the included) lunch at White Dog.
Three words: Dollar. Dog. Day.
Sip a 40 on your front stoop when the power goes out during an August heat wave.
Attend a beef-and-beer in a Catholic school hall in the Northeast. The food will be cold and the beer will be warm, but where else can you see women line-dancing to “It’s Raining Men”?
Hello? We already told you Grace’s was the best bar in the city.
Freak out the neighbors and go home via horse and buggy after a long night of partying.
Party with Fergie—but not at Fergie’s.
Go to a precinct and tell the cops all about the crime you just witnessed. They’ll treat you like royalty.
Run into the ocean in Wildwood without testing the water temperature first, then try to keep your cool when you discover that either a) your penis has shrunk to the size of a Vienna sausage, or b) your nipples are exploding through your swimsuit.
Hang out in Little Pete’s till the Elvis guy shows up.
Rent out the RUBA and throw a party for no discernible reason other than the fact that you’re simply fabulous.
Get down with Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Joe on the dance floor at the Winddrift in Avalon.
Get blasted at a Penn boathouse party so you can get through a Soulja Boy dance with the pinhead frat boys.
Go to a Big 5 game at the Palestra. (Bonus points if you also catch Roman High play in their Hoosiers-like gym.)
Go all rasta and smoke a big doob on a Sunday morning in Clark Park with Jimmy Cliff in your buds.
Watch women play softball on the diamonds along Henry Avenue, then kick back with them for postgame pizza and beer at Murphs across the street.
Pull up to a muscle car on the Boulevard in your nerdy sedan, and stomp on the gas pedal just before the light turns green.
Build a tricked-out bike for the Kensington kinetic sculpture derby.
Dress up in your Sunday best and read “The Raven” aloud at midnight at Poe’s Seventh and Spring Garden house.
Come out of a bar after last call and decide that heading to Atlantic City is the best idea you ever had. (Only counts if you follow through.)
Join the unsanctioned “Suicide Derby” with the drunken twentysomethings who blast down the hill on anything they can find just before the big bike race in Manayunk.
Afterward: Set up a lawn chair along the Manayunk wall and drink beer all day as the cyclists groan their way past.
Finish the Lorenzo’s-Jim’s Challenge—a Jim’s cheesesteak wrapped in a Lorenzo’s slice—then lick the wrapper to show it was nuthin’.
Park your car in the middle of Broad in South Philly and don’t look back for a second as you walk away.
Build your own aluminum foil Stanley Cup and put it in your front window to cheer the Flyers through the playoffs.
Buy a prime-time ticket from a scalper for less than face value.
Do the 81 with the Geator at Memories in Margate.
Get mildly buzzed and wait in line at Di Bruno Bros. on Christmas Eve with the making-merry crowd waiting for poppers and parm.
Risk vertigo and bike over the Ben Franklin Bridge
Get a haircut and straight shave at John’s at 13th and Wharton streets.
Hang out at one of the city’s public pools for a day in the summer and do an Ed Rendell cannonball.
Mess with the shit-faced bachelorette party girls on Delaware Avenue.
Make out with a stranger at Making Time.
Buy a mixtape from a bootlegger on 52nd Street.
Heckle Jon Bon Jovi by pretending to think he’s Daryl Hall during a Philadelphia Soul game.
End up in the East Village at 4 a.m. on a Saturday night with people you don’t know and no idea how you got there.
Order at Geno’s in exaggerated perfect Spanish.
Order the Bob and Barbara’s “$3 special”—a shot of Jim Beam chased with a can of Pabst—and then order another.
Freak out your fellow Zooballoon riders by threatening to pop the sumbitch.
Crash the pool at the DoubleTree on a sticky summer night.
Help a drunk girl up from an Old City sidewalk.
Instead of just sipping free wine, actually buy a piece of art from someone on First Friday.
Swing by Taqueria La Veracruzana and watch Latin League soccer on a toasty summer Sunday night in South Philadelphia.
Flex your muscles on the Citizens Bank Park jumbotron.
Or: Make a homemade ballpark sign—“WAKE UP, CHARLEY!” —and get yourself on TV.
Ride the 23 bus from one end of the line to the other. Stoned.
Eat lunch in the garden at the Rodin before the new condo development spoils the view.
Pretend you’re an old-school Catholic and order dough at Tacconelli’s on a Friday night during Lent.
Rear-end the car of the dude in front of you who’s eyeballing all the talent on South Street. Then pretend it didn’t happen.
Celebrate the last day of school by jumping in the Logan fountain with the Hallahan girls.
Or: Jump into the Logan fountain with that panting dog you’re walking.
Skip the Puerto Rican Day parade on the Parkway and join the Fifth Street procession back to el barrio instead.
Sneak into the Fairmount Park Botanical Gardens at night and lounge naked in the mirror fountain.
March in the Peoplehood parade.
Ride a car made out of garbage down Pine Street in the Dumpster Derby.
Go to an outdoor Secret Cinema and promptly fall asleep on your partner’s lap.
Nosh at Famous Deli with an old-time pol. Bonus points if it’s Bob Brady. Extra bonus points if it’s Jimmy Tayoun.
Sled down the steps of the Art Museum on a day when the whole city is closed down by a blizzard.
Bust into the Union League and draw a mustache on one of the old-white-guy oil paintings.
Screw the surgeon general and light up a Groucho-sized stogie in the Ritz-Carlton’s Vault.
Dress like Grace Kelly (even if you’re a dude) and go to afternoon tea at the Four Seasons’ Swann Lounge.
Go to the Golden Block Bakery on North Fifth and buy a pastry that looks unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
Throw your friends a blowout party with Russian libations at Ilona Keller’s in the Northeast.
Hang out on the new and improved Ogontz Avenue in West Oak Lane. Feel the love.
Kiss someone unexpectedly in the garden atop the Kimmel Center.
Wolf down a Sarcone’s hoagie and follow it up with a nap in the Square.
Ponder death in a quiet corner of Laurel Hill Cemetery in February.
Find the mystical Kelpius Cave, and lament the permanence of modern spraypaint.
Do the Broad Street Run—even if you have to walk the last three miles.
Drink a kamikaze at the Japanese teahouse in Fairmount Park.
Spend an afternoon hanging out at Broad and Erie, another at Broad and Dauphin and yet another at Broad and Mifflin. Okay, now you’re getting to know Philadelphia.
Purchase a proper box of cookies from the nice ladies at Termini Bros.
Stop for midnight pretzels with spicy mustard at the Pretzel Factory.
Jump off the rocks into Devil’s Pool in Wissahickon Park.
Get someone to take your picture sitting in Masonic Temple’s Norman Hall.
Risk vertigo and bike over the Ben Franklin Bridge.
Go down the wooden slide belly first at the Smith Memorial Playground at 33rd and Oxford.
Build a foam sword, and join the Saturday capture-the-flag game in Clark Park. (Bonus points for trash-talking the 7-year-olds.)
3 months ago
My roommates and I were actually talking about drinking milk in the tub last night for some reason. I was reminded of this (and again reminded of it from bco today)
4 months agoSo I got a press release that stated the following:
WHAT’S NEW AT THE BANK
•”Dollar Dogs” — $1 hot dogs — will be available every game during “Alley Hour,” the first hour the ballpark gates open. Only at the upper deck at Harry the K’s. Other specials will be posted at the Ashburn Alley and Left Field Gate, which opens every day 2 1/2 hours prior to game time.
SOO… what do we do on Saturday before the Mets game… we truck all over the freaking stadium searching for our dollar dogs. No one had an effing clue as to where these dollar dogs were. We went to every level and eventually winded up at Guest Services. They looked at us like we were crazy mo fo’s. Needless to say I have emailed THE BANK and will post the reply once I receive it… and they best write me back.
4 months ago