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Category Archives: Philly

Things To Do In Philly, 8/31 Edition

Here is my totally biased and personally endorsed calendar of things to check out this week in Philly.

Let me know if you’re headed out to one, and maybe I’ll come too! And, don’t forget about my two upcoming shows:

  • Saturday 9/11 @ Collingswood 2nd Saturday, 6pm-9pm, Free!
  • Thursday 9/16 @ Tin Angel w/Dante Bucci, 8pm, $10
  • Cris Valkyria, as shot by me at the Northstar Bar, earlier this summer.


    Wednesday 9/1
    What: Amazing local indie rock!
    Who: Post Post
    Where: 7:00pm, Rittenhouse Square Park, Free!
    Why: Filmstar split a bill with Post Post earlier this summer, and Post Post blew me away. Like a cross between Built to Spill & Thao w/the Get Down Stay Down. They will NOT be playing free shows in Philly for long, so get on it now!

    Thursday 9/2
    What: 90s-esque girl rock!
    Who: Cris Valkyria & The Opponents
    Where: 8:30pm, The Tin Angel, $8
    Why: I was dumbstruck when I first heard the typically acoustic Cris with this fantastic backing band. Shades of Heather Nova, Bjork, Alanis, and Elvish Costello, among others.

    Friday 9/3 (I’ll Be There!)
    What: Gallery show opening & entrancing music
    Who: Jennifer Vessells & Dante Bucci
    Where: 5:30pm, Muse Gallery, 52 North 2nd Street, Free!
    Why: Jennifer is an amazing visual artist whose paintings I completely lose myself in; Dante is a hypnotic hang drum player who I’m splitting a show with later this month.

    Britt Miller's "Pieces of My Heart"

    Friday 9/3 (I’ll Be There!)
    What: Gallery show, drinks, & mingling!
    Who: Britt Miller, my arty partner in FAME
    Where: 5-9pm, Drink Philly Office & Gallery, 239 Chestnut St., 2Flr. B
    Why: Britt and I keep each other on the path to fame, and this is one of the many gallery shows that are on her road this year. Plus, free food and drinks. Be there!

    Friday 9/3
    What: Chunky folk riffs!
    Who: Andra Taylor supports Charlie Phillips
    Where: 7:30pm, Burlap and Bean, Newton Square, PA
    Why: Andra is one of my favorite people to split a bill with – if you share my love of Ani DiFranco and Patty Griffin you’ll adore her.

    Friday 9/3 – Monday 9/6
    What: World premiere play!
    Who: Gina & Ocelot on a Leash Theater Company
    Where: 3/4 @ 8pm & 5/6 @2pm, The Rotunda, 4014 Walnut Street, $10
    Why: My musical other half Gina Martinelli costars in Prudence, a play by one of my former directors Mary Ellen Cosaboon. I got a sneak preview of this last fall, and it’s a legitimately funny – not some freaky unintelligible Fringe-fest-thing.

    Saturday, 9/4
    What: Local CD release!
    Who: Boy Wonder
    When: 7:00pm, World Cafe Live, $10
    Why: Boy Wonder is a crazy-amazing songwriter – every one of his tunes is immediately catchy with some wicked guitar interludes. Also, one of the nicest dudes I have met in the Philly music scene.

    Saturday, 9/4
    What: Chill acoustic tunes!
    Who: Bill McConney
    When: 9pm, Myra’s Place, 615 Macdade Blvd, Collingdale, PA
    Why: Bill’s folk riffs and legato baritone voice are sometimes a dead ringer for Nick Drake, but the songs are all his own.

    Monday Morning Remainders

    I performed with Filmstar for the first time on Saturday, but you have to wait a day or two to hear about the results and if I’m still feeling conflicted about playing with the band.

    First, here are your Monday Morning Remainders – eight blogs I’ve enjoyed or tweets I’ve flagged.

    1. Philly (and the internet at large) got up in arms last week about a so-called “Philly Blogger Tax,” which was really just the city’s business privilege license being applied to Bloggers. My virtual friend JoeBeta sussed out a sensible explanation and critique of the policy, from Technically Philly co-founder Sean Blanda.

    It’s certainly a horrible waste of resources to pursue blogs with revenue in the hundreds when some companies and individuals owe the city millions in back taxes, forcing the city to do things like offer a tax amnesty to the dead beats.

    2. Rocking local blog Phrequency had a flash concert for TJ Kong on the freaking Broad Street Subway. I love TJ Kong and my old promo shots were from the Walnut Street station, so in my opinion this is approximately the best thing ever.

    Do not hold your breath waiting for me to do one on the El, though.

    3. A Vancouver realtor’s Facebok page gained over 4,000 fans in 12 days. Crazy pyramid scheme for iPads? Nope – good old fashioned content that people give a shit about. (via @morganb.)

    4. I’ll just repeat what Torrez said:

    Imagesoak is a fantastic application for finding things to read and look at based on the interesting photos and images that accompany them. Nevermind what I just said, just go there.

    5. Matthew Leone, bass player for the Chicago based band Madina Lake, sustained life-threatening injuries while trying to defend a stranger from brutal domestic abuse. Sweet Relief, a fund that supports musicians in times of illness, is raising funds to pay for his treatment and rehabilitation. Matthew’s band member and brother has been blogging through the ordeal.

    6. Leslie Hunt was one of my favorite recent American Idol Semi-Finalists – she had a real identity and real taste in music, but was quickly kicked to the curb for her quirk. Mpomy.com blogs a video from her new project, District 97

    7. Amanda Palmer’s life is so serendipitous. On break from her hectic schedule, she sees a random trio of teens whose photo she feels compelled to take. Almost after she’s gone, one realizes who she is, and catches her to tell her that he’s a big fan. One thing leads to another, and suddenly he’s playing a concert to thousands of internet viewers from her apartment.

    8. Amanda’s fiancé is super-famous comic, fiction, and film writer Neil Gaiman. Neil has been in a legal struggle with Todd McFarlane since 2002 regarding unpayed royalties on creator-owned characters he developed for McFarlane’s Spawn. Neil blogs part of the judge’s new decision, which contains delicious text like:

    Much as defendant tries to distinguish the two knight Hellspawn, he never explains why, of all the universe of possible Hellspawn incarnations, he introduced two knights from the same century. Not only does this break the Hellspawn “rule” that Malebolgia never returns a Hellspawns to Earth more than once every 400 years (or possibly every 100 years, as suggested in Spawn, No. 9, exh. #1, at 4)…

    I hope your Monday is going well. More news (and video) on my weekend as a Filmstar coming up!

    STICKY: Upcoming Shows & Events

    Hear the music behind the blog – download free albums from me, my duo Arcati Crisis, and my wife’s band Filmstar (I’m currently filling in on bass). Then, see me play live!


    Fri. 9/3 – Mon. 9/6 @ Rotunda in Philly: Prudence, a play
    See Gina of Arcati Crisis in a Fringe Fest play (i.e., no Peter and not a concert).

    Sat. 9/11 @ 6pm in Collingswood: Arcati Crisis, 2nd Saturday
    Supported by Sarah Czechowski. Free music on the street!

    Thurs. 9/16 @ 8pm @ Tin Angel: Arcati Crisis
    Co-bill with the incredible Dante Bucci!

    But I Regress, pt. 1

    With the launch of my monster definitive guide to collecting X-Men comic books as graphic novels, I have officially become a fifteen year-old.

    Allow me to explain. Or, to begin to, as I’m sure this is a multiple-post-spanning story (just as that website feature was a multiple-month spanning obsession to research).

    A few months ago Philly-local social media mover/shaker/sandwich-connoisseur @MikeyIl threw a series of events for the Ford #FiestaMovement. One of them was an all-local art show, featuring work by my partner-in-fame Britt Miller, as well as Eddidit and others.

    Being Britt’s unpaid intern / personal assistant / life coach and a faithful supporter of friends and local artists, I got my ass there – even though the event was smack in the middle of negotiating the price of our house with our Realtor over the phone.

    (Literally. Drunk friends: “What are you doing?” Me, to phone: “Hold on a second.” Me, to friends: “Oh, I just got another few thousand dollars knocked off the price of our house.” Drunk friends: “Wowwww.”)

    Where was that fateful art show held?

    Brave New Worlds. A comic book shop.

    Here at Crushing Krisis I haven’t ever fully explained my addiction to comic books, c. 11/1991 – 4/1996.

    X-Men #24, one of my favorite comic covers.

    It was a brief but tumultuous affair. Comic books combine my love of serial narrative with an OCD urge to make meticulous, alphabetical lists. They created a 10-year-old who would do anything to earn $40 a month to pick up every book bearing the image of Wonder Woman or an X-Man.

    (Seriously, I’m surprised I wasn’t peddling coke for my neighbor. It’s a good thing my guitar habit didn’t get to drug-running levels of expense until after college, when I was salaried.)

    For only collecting for four-and-a-half years, my comic collection is prodigious. Not only did I collect new issues weekly, but in the pre-spreadsheet days the adolescent OCD Godzilla in my soul – a mere tadpole, at the time – compiled lists of back issues by hand… lists twenty and thirty pages long, complete with estimated budgets and timelines for purchase. Every few months my father engaged my whim, and I checked off line after line.

    I was hardcore. The guys at the comic store treated me like I was twice my age (now ironic) because I was so on top of my shit with my pull lists and my back issue pricing and my discussions of the Magneto’s morality and if the ends truly justified the means.

    Then came the internet. AOL dial-up cost by the hour, and I was hooked on it within minutes of my first sign-in in January of 1996. Four months later my wallet issued an ultimatum: limit my internet usage, or jettison my comic addiction – now complicated by Marvel’s 90s’ decadence of holographic covers and limited series.

    The real decider was probably a demo of Warcraft II, a living digital board of Risk I could play over and over again with my friends over my 14.4 baud modem.

    I dropped the comics and never looked back.

    Until last month.

    (To be continued! In the meantime, if you’re a closet x-fan who wouldn’t know a pull list from their elbow, check out definitive guide to collecting X-Men comic books as graphic novels – the easiest (and cheapest) way to be an adult comic book fan.)

    Disaster is Natural

    I have this theory about how Philadelphia is immune to disaster.

    Stick with me for a minute.

    No seismic activity. Relatively far away from potential tidal waves and protected from hurricanes. We’re not known for forest fires or mudslides, and despite our utter flatness occasional floods are minor. It doesn’t get too oppressively hot and the biggest challenge in our snow storms is waiting for the city to send plows. We’re relatively drought- and famine-proof, as modernized cities go, and NYC and DC are preferable targets for terrorists and rogue nuclear missiles.

    Really, the closest we come to city-wide disaster is one of our sports teams winning a championship. Otherwise, short of OCD Godzilla bursting free from my chest to tramp around Center City, it’s a pretty safe place to live.

    So, of course we move out of the center of the city to the fringes and within the first week there’s a tornado on our block.

    Yes, day six as homeowners, tornado.

    That is only vaguely an exaggeration. It wasn’t officially a tornado, and it was actually on pretty much every block adjacent to our new one while leaving us untouched.

    I witnessed a portion of the storm from my office window, and it looked sufficiently deadly – I saw it blowing things clear off the gated roof of an adjacent building before my view was reduced to a foggy blackout. However, when I left, Center City looked no worse for the wear.

    A huge tree on the next block, completely uprooted.

    My new neighborhood was a different story. My bus stopped a mile short of our house in traffic snarled by dark traffic lights.

    I disembarked and began a muggy hike back to my home. About a mile out from our house I started to see down tree branches. Then it was downed tree limbs, taking some power lines with them.

    By the time I was a block away it was entire trees – trunk, roots, and all, upended ass over end to be splayed rudely across well-groomed lawns. Entire blocks of entire trees, the entire landscape denuded by mother nature.

    To say I was nervous when I approached our house would be an understatement. I was obsessing over the huge tri-trunked tree that shades our patio, and how any of its trio of arms could go crashing through the roof to destroy my collection of guitars and recording equipment, now located in one conveniently destructible place.

    My heart sank when I turned onto my street a block below our house, only to find it completely blocked off by the arboreal carnage.

    A barricade of branches and power lines.

    Having lived in the absence of disaster for nearly three decades, to me the sight was fantastical – as if my block had experienced some sort of wizarding dual, the debris glinting with hints of magic in the afternoon sun.

    I navigated around it with great care, emerging on the other side to regard a pristine, untouched block stretching beyond the mess.

    I raced the remaining distance to my house but, like the rest of our block, it was unmolested – no downed trees, no holes in our windows from golf-ball-sized hail. The only evidence of a storm my neighbor described as sounding “like a freight train passing by” was a dusting of shredded leaves on our lawn and our power, out.

    We dodged a bullet – a house on the next block had its gutters shredded by downed trees, while a few streets over a massive branch decimated the windows of an SUV. A co-worker lost all of the power lines to his house to trees.

    Us, we just lost our innocence – no longer protected from disaster by Philly’s impregnable grid of row homes, and now inclined to worry about the state of our house after every storm.

    just a one-hitter / don’t stop believing

    I’m still upset about not blogging on Thursday.

    It wasn’t like I forgot about it. I had words in the white box at least three times, but nothing seemed blog-worthy.

    With all of this news about perfect games in baseball I was really looking forward to notching a month of blogging every day which – incredibly – I have only done three times in the past 118 months.

    It’s the same sort of rarefied event as nine innings of no one on base – a perfect storm of a strong performance by me, plus my team of interesting friends and co-workers supplying me with fodder to write about.

    (Also for the record books: that’s only the second time in 118 months this blog has ever discussed baseball (so don’t get your hopes up for another mention (unless you plan to read for another five years)).)

    Anyhow.

    We went out last night to see two of our favorite local bands in our last “we live ten minutes from South Street” hurrah.

    As of noon we are about halfway through our packing process – all of the media, books, decor, and closets have been packed, but the everyday clothes, computers, dishwares have not – which is encouraging, since we have a full 120 hours left before any movers arrive.

    In excavating my hall closet I unearthed about 200 issues of Rolling Stone, which I am finally willing to part with, along with my high school year book – now 11 years old, almost to the day.

    I took a brief intermission from packing to page through, showing E various pictures of my rail-thin, long-haired self, alternating between my two stock high school poses – one, smiling obviously for the camera, and the other, mouth open and finger pointed in mid-discussion.

    It’s amazing how many of the notes – some from people I haven’t spoken to in 11 years! – say something to the effect of, “You believed in me and it made my high school years bearable. You are so talented, and I know you will find success.”

    I know I read those messages at the time, but I’m not sure if I really appreciated what they meant. If I could write something in that book today that would appear to the me of 11 years ago, it would be this:

    Dear Peter 1999,

    One of your greatest talents is your ability to be enthusiastic about everyone you meet, which is why you’re going to school for journalism. I know it feels like while you believe in everyone else no one believes in you. Maybe that’s because people assume (rightly) that the enthusiasm and ambition you have for them is the same as you have for yourself, so you don’t really need their belief.

    Don’t be afraid to let people know you believe in yourself, too.

    Don’t worry, you’re doing everything right.

    Don’t change, ever.

    xoxo,
    - Peter 2010

    Wednesday Morning Remainders

    I could write a post about each of these links, but in ten years would that be interesting to read? Maybe they need the context of each other to create a narrative beyond their end destinations.

    Here we go.

    .

    1. Ever fantasized about being a globe-trotting musician headlining your own tour? Amanda Palmer does just that, and her no-holds-barred look at managing the business of her music while on tour via email will either thrill or terrify you.

    2. On the way back from our aborted-by-clouds skydiving attempt Wes played a hilarious NPR show/podcast called Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, an hour-long quiz show that’s part Daily Show part Whose Line Is It Anyway. As I’ve recently mentioned, I can be a humorless curmudgeon, but the show’s mix of news, puns, and grammatical humor struck a chord with me. Derek Powazek discusses how the Wait, Wait formula is crowd-sourcing done right.

    3. Skydiving was my present to Wes for graduating from Temple Law. HuffPost interviewed Nikki Johnson-Huston, who went from homeless to college-dropout to award-winning graduate of Temple Law. (via JoeBeta)

    4. My friend and fellow sky-diving companion Chris is the glassblowing apprentice at Old City’s Hudson Beach Glass, where they are having a design-your-own-pint-glasses special through this Sunday to commemorate Philly Beer Week. I’ve been remiss in not dropping by for one of their open-studio days – an issue to be amended soon. (via UWishUNu)

    5. Reminiscent of my blog-buddy Unsolicited Analysis, You Are Not So Smart tackles common misconceptions with detailed take-downs. Their recent “Misinformation Effect” addresses a recurring theme of CK, the persistence and reliability of memory. (via Kottke; on a related note, see his post on “mesofacts”)

    6. Also in the UnAnal vein, Flowing Data blogs data visualizations, like heat-mapping tourist routes based on the volume of photographs by location.

    7. Are you a worry-wart about things like burglaries, shark attacks, and plane crashes? Meg’s Tumblr provides a handy graphic to divert your fears to identity thefts, dog bites, and automobile accidents. The greater, more probable danger is often in plainer sight than the more fearsome, relatively exotic danger.

    8. Do you wield your iPhone or iPad outdoors and while mosquitoes enjoy your pale, savory flesh? Grab an anti-mosquito iApp that broadcasts high frequency noise that’s a total buzz-kill for the pests. (via MightyGirl)

    9. Speaking of iPad, imagine if every seat at your longest meeting had one. Seth Godin did just that. Would meetings really become more efficient? Seems like it would apply favorably to political processes as well (and I know some congressional or parliamentary bodies use a similar system).

    10. Last month Danny Brown presented a post of his 17 top WordPress plugins, many of which I’ve added to CK in the intervening weeks. Now that I see them in action, it turns out they’re as ubiquitous as they are ingenious, and thanks to them my quality of blogging-life has greatly increased – thanks Danny! I’ll add the suggestion ofAfter the Deadline – a proofreading plugin for both WP and your favorite browser.

    11. Design blog NotCot presents a detailed look at the farcical Pre-Handshake Handshake Device from artist Dominc Wilcox. I need Dominic to design a body-suit in a similar style for me to wear on the El…

    12. … and/or, when I am all hot post-hypothetical-triathlon, I can buying some Matrix-style gear from Ego-Assassin. (via Warren Ellis; I’ve been reading his Planetary)

    .

    Wow, they really did end up as a narrative … for me, anyway.

    The More You Know (featuring Tina Fey)

    Things I have learned about myself in the past 24 hours:

    1. Being able to walk six miles in 72 minutes has no bearing on being to run at all for any length of time.
    2. Every jog must begin with the theme from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or “Hypnotize” by Notorious BIG.
    3. Mid-jog rallies should be set to “Build Me Up Buttercup” for maximum effectiveness.
    4. I have a LONG way to go before I’m ready for that triathlon I claim to be doing in August.
    5. My hair is awesome.
    6. Wait, I knew that one already.
    7. Oh, here’s a new one:

      I will unleash the most primal, gut-wrenching, OMG-it’s-the-Beatles! scream if Tina Fey suddenly appears in the same room as me.

      Conan & Tina backstage @ The Tower, swiped from Conan’s blog.

      Usually I am pretty cautious about my voice at shows, using only my particular (and well-supported) soprano wail for cheering purposes. However, last night when Conan O’Brien welcomed Tina Fey onto the stage at the Tower Theatre (making her entrance performing the cheer of what will be my neighborhood high school in eight short days, no less) I completely lost my mind.

      And my voice. I can’t especially talk right now.

      Allow me to repeat: I was in the same room as Tina Fey. TINA FEY.

      (And let the record show that my crush on Tina Fey predates 30 Rock ENTIRELY. I have been in love with her since her first SNL “Weekend Update.” Ask Erika.)

    In other news, I have to buy one of those armband iPod holders, because my underwear is not a proper home for my music collection.

    Support Net Neutrality (Bob Brady, I am talking to YOU)

    Yesterday Philebrity posted an article about 74 Democrat Congressmen who have come out against Net Neutrality.

    I struggled with how to define Net Neutrality for you, but then I discovered that I had blogged about it before. I love being my own source! That post (re)directed me to Save the Internet, who over the past four years has further condensed the definition to the following:

    Net Neutrality means that Internet service providers may not discriminate between different kinds of content and applications online. It guarantees a level playing field for all Web sites and Internet technologies.

    … With Net Neutrality, the network’s only job is to move data — not to choose which data to privilege with higher quality service.

    Life without net neutrality?

    What does that mean for you?

    Imagine if your internet provider could meter and limit your internet usage for different things, just like a cell phone plan or your cable TV subscription. Any of these statements could become true..

    “Like to shop online? Shopping sites are just $5 extra a month!”

    “Get your news from Fox – Fox sites load 10x faster than CNN on our network!”

    “Are you an online gamer? Game for free overnight, 1am-8am. Standard hourly rates apply to peak time gaming.”

    “Do you need to upload music for your band? Sorry, you’ll need our Business Plan to upload MP3s.”

    Basically, ISPs would gain the right to selectively charge, tax, or even restrict your internet usage based on their own internal policies for or against certain sites, activities, or services. Wikipedia can tell you more about the reality of this threat to our internet freedoms.

    I appreciate that the internet has been created as a level playing field for information, whether you’re a newshound or a gamer, a liberal or a conservative. It is terrifying to me to think that my blogging or music could be stymied because I can’t find an affordable carrier for it.

    Which brings us back to the 74 Democrats, including my representative, Bob Brady.

    Understandably, they are looking at the internet from a business and regulation perspective. In Brady’s case, Comcast is one of his biggest constituents. The reps hear companies and lobbyists saying, “We’re providing a utility, so let us regulate it!”

    The internet should not become that kind of utility. As soon as you make the internet equivalent to cable TV or electricity, you start pricing people out of the amazing era of democratized production we’re currently a part of.

    Yes, maybe businesses need to meter bandwidth, but should they really have power over the sites we access and the services we use? Once that door is opened it can never again be closed.

    That is why I called my representative, Bob Brady, to tell him I do support Net Neutrality, and I do not support his signing Rep. Gene Green’s (D – TX) letter to the FCC arguing against neutrality. I told him I would campaign actively against him if he continued his stance.

    Mr. Brady, consider this a shot fired across your bow.

    You can read the full Rep. Green letter at Balloon Juice. It’s a small step, but if left unchallenged it leaves the door open for further action or legislation against Net Neutrality.

    Below I have reproduced the letter and its list of signatories. If you see your representative on the list, please give their office a ring and comment – Philly residents, you need to call either Bob Brady (215) 389-4627 or Chaka Fattah (215) 387-6404. If you’re not sure what to say, I’ve included a sample script from Save the Internet.

    Continue reading ›

    Phillyist votes a qualified “NO” on Philly promoter bill (#100267)

    Short version: Phillyist used me a source for an article about the proposed Philly promoter bill! They agree with me that the bill is well-intentioned but misguided, and will likely do more harm than good to the city and its blossoming music scene.

    Longer version:

    Over the past two weeks Philly performers and promoters have been up in arms about a Philadelphia City Council bill (#100267) proposed on April 22 that would require local venues and promoters to be more closely licensed and monitored.

    How closely? The following passage is drawing most of the ire:

    A Promoter of an event must obtain a promoted event permit from the Police Commissioner for each such event. Application for such promoted event permit shall be made in writing to the captain of the police district in which the event is to take place at least thirty days prior to such event …

    The application shall be deemed approved unless it is
    denied at least ten days prior to such event.

    …must include all of the following:
    (i) The promoter’s business privilege license number;
    (ii) A detailed security plan…
    (iii) A copy of the written contract between the promoter and special assembly occupancy licensee.

    Speaking anecdotally from personal experience, let’s just say that I’m not always booked 30 days in advance, the promoter is often me or a friend putting something together on a lunch break, that our shows don’t usually require private security, and that I very rarely have a written contract to refer to as an artist or a promoter!

    I have a lot of other things to say about the bill, and how it would have completely altered my opportunities as a musician as well as a promoter for our festival and #blamedrewscancer. While that opinion continues to brew into a post, Joe Ross of Phillyist did a great job of distilling my rambling to two succinct soundbites:

    Peter is in support of the petition to kill the bill because it appears to limit the opportunities available to the local music scene, saying that “to try to legislate every performance takes away a lot of those opportunities — not only for artists, but for indie venues and promoters.”

    Peter also had doubts about the solution we suggested above. He told us “that might just encourage known promoters to charge new, indie artists and promoters to use them by proxy. The entire system invites abuse.”

    For more background on the bill, the petition, and how the two can be reconciled, check out Phillyist’s entire article on the topic.

    (Also, many thanks to Joe for the multiple-platform shoutout to both my musicianship and my blogging!)

    #140conf: Day 1, Pt. 4: News & Education in real time

    Scroll down for the education talk from Philly-area principal Chris Lehmann, it was electrifying.

    Continue reading ›

    I #blamedrewscancer for being a Philebrity

    I have a story to tell you.

    I met half of the #blamedrewscancer crew at Fuzion at around seven for the Philadelphia Area New Media Association (PANMA) holiday party.

    That is not the story.

    We were at PANMA for some brief networking and catching up with friends, but our end destination was The Trocadero, where Philly blog fixture Philebrity was holding their non-denominational X-Mas party slash year end awards.

    Blame Drew’s Cancer was up for the “Outstanding Do-Gooders of the Year” award. Polling had been open and transparent, so it was easy to see that we were getting creamed by Phillies’ Shane Victorino from day one. As such, we didn’t marshal much of a vote – eventually coming in fourth, behind even Mayor Nutter for his ballsy budget bluff.

    The four of us – Britt, Mikey, Libby, and I (plus Libby’s awesome husband, another Peter) rolled in to the Troc fashionably late, and occupied the “Reserved” table closest to the stage. Our innate rowdiness took over shortly, and we were hooting at the house band (shout out to BC Camplight) and yelling “Hut!”at any reference to Lady Gaga.

    Okay, maybe that was just me.

    Suddenly, it was time for our award category. Philebrity Captain and one of my personal Journalist heroes Joe Sweeney read down the list of nominees. When he hit #bdc we cheered, the crowd cheered for us, and he continued down the list.

    End of story? Not quite.

    Joey Sweeney: So, Shane isn’t here tonight, so we’re going to give this award to Blame Drew’s Cancer.

    Team Blame Drew’s Cancer: ???

    No, he was not joking. Suddenly we’re being gestured at and motioned towards to the stage and then we’re on the stage and then I’m hugging Joey Sweeney and then, inevitably, I am standing in front of a microphone gaping at a rather large crowd seated at round tables all Golden Globes style and I am like, omg I think now they want me to talk.

    Luckily, there is video to document my surprising coherent trip through award show aphasia:

    (Take note of my neck-bobbing walk down the stairs, as it figures in to the next bit pretty heavily.) Continue reading ›

    Tuesday @ Smith’s

    I stayed late at work last night, ostensibly to head with guitar in tow to the open mic at Time, but ultimately E and I wound up at Smith’s on 19th right above Chestnut. Tuesdays at Smith’s they serve mussels $2 by the dozen.

    E and I didn’t understand the methodology at the top of the night, ordering single plates. Gina and Megan later showed up and showed us how it was done: “I’ll have two” “I’ll have three.”

    The mussels were good – dressed in a simple, succulent white sauce. No competition with Monk’s or, my favorite, Nodding Head. Ultimately Smith’s is pleasant, but too immersed in the shadow of my building to make me feel like I’m really out anywhere. More like lunch break, circa 8pm.

    Afterward I told E that I really needed some pastry. I was craving pastry. I could not live without pastry. So, she drove me to the supermarket, where I bought a cheesecake, a pumpkin pie, cinnamon rolls, and a strudel.

    Hopefully I will not consume all of them before the next post.

    We’ll see.

    SEPTA Strike strikes out

    Although I am an insidious night owl, I didn’t find out that the Southeastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority – aka SEPTA – was on strike until I woke up early on Tuesday morning.

    Too early, actually. My clock was set pre-7am, and I already forget why. Extra proofreading at work? Who knows, but I would have been in for a long wait at a lonely bus stop had I not quickly checked Twitter on my way out of the house.

    SEPTA ON STRIKE!, is what Twitter loudly proclaimed, AS OF THREE IN THE MORNING.

    Twitter proclaimed it so loudly it was a trending topic.

    Since I was up early already, I decided to walk in. I love to walk to work, but I don’t usually have enough time. It’s consistently a 39-minute trip on foot – three 13-minute miles. As I made that walk on Tuesday morning, I thought, Am I really equipped to be traveling six miles a day? Maybe I need some friendlier shoes…

    That inspired a trip to Philadelphia Runner, a business so wonderful I think they may merit their own separate post. Suffice to say, they sent me packing with a pair of shoes that fit like no other I’ve ever had. It’s like they were made for my uneven, wide, somewhat archless feet!

    Up early and appropriately equipped on strike day two, I decided, Why not do a little jogging?. I jogged the first mile of my commute in, and the last mile of my commute home.

    Strike day two results? My round–trip commute completed in 67:30, compared to a 68:00 average on SEPTA.

    Yes, my skinny-yet-chunky Italian ass locomoted itself home faster than SEPTA.

    Including today’s walk home I’ve logged over 25 miles of walking this week, which amounts to over five hours of exercise. That’s amazing! I’m happier. Healthier. Hungry at appropriate times of the day. Sleeping soundly.

    Basically, SEPTA going on strike made my life awesome, and – issues I have for or against the strike aside – I don’t particularly care if they come back.

    #blamedrewscancer’s Blame-a-Thon Explained!

    (Yes, I still owe you one last skydiving post. Suck it up, people. It’s coming.)

    So, you’re a cancer blamer but you’re not sure what this whole Blame a-Thon thing is about? Never fear – we’re here with answers to all of your questions (and, by “we” I mean me talking about myself in the third person). Continue reading ›

    Happy Birthday To This

    I. The 27-Club.

    Last September I turned 27.

    It made me nervous.

    Being a major music fan and devout lifetime subscriber to Rolling Stone, I am all too aware of the so-called “27 Club” – a musical super-group headlined by Robert Johnson, Brian Jones, Jimi, Janis, Jim, and Kurt, all of whom met their untimely ends at age 27.

    My nervousness wasn’t an actual, rational fear. Just a fringe anxiety. Still, it hung there. The 27 hurdle. A year it would be a challenge to survive.

    In the months after my birthday the challenge of surviving gave way to the challenge of getting from one day to the next. Honestly, I was so preoccupied with life that the whole 27 Club concept didn’t reoccur to me until I was getting ready to jump out of an airplane last month. And, since that failed to kill me, I assumed I was in the clear with regard to the whole untimely end angle.

    I continued thinking that until the past few days, when I began re-reading my entries from the past year in anticipation of the ninth anniversary of Crushing Krisis.

    It was then I realized that it happened. I died.

    If that sounds like hyperbole, it’s meant to be, but only a little bit. Truly, the past year of my life was so vastly different than any that came before that it was hardly lived by the same person.

    If that sounds like hyperbole, it’s not. One of the benefits of your blog celebrating it’s ninth birthday is having the ability to make frequent, sweeping, and entirely-accurate generalizations about the state of your life.

    In fact, that’s my favorite thing to do on August 26, the birthday of Crushing Krisis. Continue reading ›

    Monday Evening Remainders

    My ass was firmly planted on the lazy-train this weekend. I watched a lot of movies and listened to a lot of music in my collection that I’ve been inexplicably neglecting (notably Andrew Bird; how in god’s name did I ignore that one?).

    Anywho, all of which is to say that I wasn’t ready with links this morning. Boo-freaking-hoo.

    Graphic Design Blog‘s list of 45 Creative Blog Designs will make your head spin (although I note that a lot of those huge headers would push the content below the fold on my laptop). Moradito, Kulturbanause, and Matt Bernstein are favs.

    A look at the present realm of reader revenue from the charmingly named “Newspaper Deathwatch.”(via @journalistics)

    I wouldn’t have assumed my journalism degree would be obsolete quite so soon. At least I’ll always have my hard-won college lap dancing skills to fall back on.

    (Don’t knock them, that’s what convinced E to marry me.)

    I really enjoyed this list of web ways to learn through play, via Philly blogger Akkam’s Razor.

    Here’s a list of the top 42 “Content Marketing” blogs. It’s not definitive by any means, as exemplified by alternate sources provided in the comments – notably, the Ad Age 150 and AllTop’s Content Marketing Page. (via @ritubpant)

    The echo chamber of marketing blogs can make me a little nauseous when they’re all trying to reinvent writing with every post when posts are barely 500 words long. I chatted a little more about what I refer to as the “epiphany epidemic” in a comment on Danny Brown’s post “Why Mediocre Blogging Can Still Be Great.”

    For posts that go beyond sound-bite to actually make you think, check out the killer “What Twitter & Facebook Can Learn from Phish at Mashable, a social media workflow at the consistently smart P Morgan Brown, performing a social media audit from regular read Overcommunicated, and the two-part The Future of Influence post at Colorado Business Mag. (PMorgan via @kimwood; CBM via @TobyDiva/@ThomasFrey)

    Want to break out of the echo chamber? PodCamp Philly is an unconference on social and emerging media, or, in their words, “for anyone interested in podcasting, blogging, video-casting and social media.” Which, um, hello, that’s me. Everyone I’ve ever spoken to who has attended has amazing things to say about it. It’s on October 3 and 4 for just $20.

    I think that’s enough remainding for the time being. I’m off to a #blamedrewscancer meeting in NoLib.

    Why I #blamedrewscancer, Intermission (a)

    I’m not quite ready to be done with my story of jumping out of a plane to Blame Drew’s Cancer.

    You see, I promised this girl I used to have a big crush on that I would write something “epic,” and now I have Drew on the edge of his seat.

    It seems like a good time for an intermission.

    From inside of the planning of Blame Drew’s Cancer events I can lose sight of why we’re planning. It isn’t for fun, even though we’re having fun. It isn’t for Drew, even though we’re all behind him. It is to get people talking about cancer out loud, to raise money to benefit LiveStrong, and to create a network of support for cancer battlers and survivors, and their families.

    Every time I start to forget that, I am reminded of the changes Drew’s efforts are making in Philadelphia. People are blaming cancer everywhere I go, which means they’re talking about cancer. Not about cancer “victims” or “losing” the battle to cancer. No. They are blaming it. Making it a villain. Recognizing its impact while marginalizing its power.

    They are beating it.

    Here’s a partial list of the people who I’ve witnessed blaming Drew’s cancer in the last few weeks:

  • Larry Mendte, former anchor of CBS3 news
  • The chair of my events committee at work
  • Fox29 Good Day Philadelphia
  • A guy on the elevator wearing a LiveStrong band
  • The Philadelphia CityPaper
  • Local sports fan Joe In Philly
  • The team at LiveStrong
  • My good friend Ariel, as his friend Baylor, sitting on a SEPTA bus
  • Author Tara Hunt and the entire Whuffaoke crew
  • Gina’s boyfriend Wes
  • My mother

    Yes, my mother. When I mentioned Drew to her she knew just who I meant, which was a wonderful seugeway for mentioning that I had jumped out of a plane. “You know, with Drew. To blame cancer.”

    She was totally into it. Italian mother guilt averted! To quote:

    If you do anything that involves raising money for charity you can count on support from me. Keep me posted, and give Drew a hug from your nurse/mom.

    Drew, prepare for a really fierce Italian mom hug by-proxy tomorrow at LiveStrong night at Lucky Strike Lanes while you’re knocking down pins/cancer.

    (ps: You should come too! Tomorrow, Thursday, July 30, at Lucky Strike Lanes, 13th & Chestnut. 20% of proceeds benefit LiveStrong all day if you mention LS or Blame Drew’s Cancer, plus $20 a strike and $10 a spare starting at 7pm courtesy of Level 3 Media.)

  • Whuffaoke or Bust

    I don’t have it in me to articulate today’s adventures quite yet, but:

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    2009-07-26 17.06.58

    2009-07-26 19.21.37

    Whuffaoke is a country-spanning karaoke tour based out of one amazing winnebago. They are also some of the sweetest people I have ever met. Over the course of seven hours I sang “Video Killed the Radio Star,” “Since U Been Gone,” “Semi-Charmed Life,” “Time Is Running Out,” “Don’t You Want Me,” and – amazingly, as I’ve never performed it before – “Here We Go Again” by Whitesnake.

    In addition to not having it in me to articulate, I think I may have also lost the power of speech.

    Whuffaoke continues on Monday at 13th and Sansom at 5pm sharp. Be there.

    Why I Blame Drew’s Cancer, pt. 1

    It is just shy of 2:30 in the afternoon on Saturday, and I am sitting on the floor of an airplane small enough that – sans wings – could fit into my living room. There is a parachute-bearing man named Rob strapped to my back.

    Drew & Crew, In Flight #1Around me sit four other twenty-somethings, each with a parachute-equipped man affixed to their person. Together, we watch through the open hatch on the side of the plane as first the airport slips away, then trees, then clouds.

    Suddenly, we are in unmitigated blue.

    I’ve known these people for less than three weeks, but in just a few minutes I’ll be jumping out of a plane with them to Blame Drew’s Cancer.

    I momentarily debate my sanity.

    .

    This story starts in my cubicle at work, of all places.

    I had just exited a meeting about social media with Britt, a colleague, but not a direct co-worker. Back in my cube, we had a rapid-fire conversation.

    “So,” Britt interrogated, “You blog, but you aren’t on Twitter?”

    “I grabbed my username, but I’m not using it for anything.”

    “I think you would like it.”

    “But it’s just a never-ending Facebook status.”

    “Try it. Try it for a week.”

    “Britt, I don’t do anything halfway. If I try Twitter I’m going to insist on being the best at Twitter. That’s how I am.”

    “Good.” She left me with a wink. “Try it.”

    I’ve already unfolded the story of my Twitter addiction, as well as my visit to a meeting of the Social Media Club of Philadelphia. However, neither could prepare me for my next plunge.

    It started innocently enough – I received via a Twitter acquaintance an invite to an event charmingly titled “Blame-a-Thon.” 24-hours of live blaming and live music on 9/9/9, all for charity? I didn’t really understand what it was about, but I love charity events, and I love live music.

    I shot off a quick message to the organizer to see if he needed any help connecting with bands, and I got a prompt reply – that I should connect with the director of the event: Britt at BlameDrewsCancer.

    Britt? Like, my work Britt? The same Britt?

    Yes, yes, and yes.

    Another rapid-fire conversation with Britt ensued. (As it turns out, all of our conversations are rapid-fire). The Blame-a-Thon was being thrown by BlameDrewsCancer. Had I seen that hash tag on Twitter? I had, but hadn’t completely understood it … dozens of people blaming things, both serious and ironic, on someone’s cancer? Seemed a little cheeky.

    Britt said I ought to read up on BlameDrewsCancer, and invited me to tag along to her first meeting with the eponymous Drew to discuss the event.

    I read up. Drew is a true digital native – a plugged-in, gagdet-wielding dude who hosted The Best Damn Tech Show. Period, blogs, twitters, and works at a tech startup. Just a month prior, his doctor diagnosed him with Stage 3 Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

    A lot of people would go to a negative, frightened place with this news – especially in the first month of their diagnosis. Not Drew. Drew decided that in order to beat cancer, he had to beat up on cancer. He had to make it the bad guy, the loser, the asshole. In his own words:

    I’ve been blaming my cancer for everything. Lost keys, wallet, Phillies losing. Sixers picking a bad coach. Twitter going down and/or being slow.

    Surely cancer can’t withstand that type of beatdown. But why do it alone? I wanted to welcome ANYONE to blame ANYTHING on MY cancer. … I have cancer, but cancer doesn’t have me

    Less than 60 days later, close to 10,000 unique Twitter users had blamed something on Drew’s Cancer. That evening, I watched the number creep up on BlameDrewsCancer.com.

    I was amazed by Drew’s story, and intrigued to hear about his upcoming Blame-a-Thon. I called Britt back and told her I was in for the meeting.

    Little did I know what I was truly “in” for.

    What I Tweeted, 2009-07-19 Edition

    My best and most-interesting tweets of the last week (including extensive skydiving coverage).

    Read my tweets they happen by following me on Twitter.

    Continue reading ›

    not-so-prompt prompts

    In my Google Reader I have a tag called “PROMPT” that I affix to posts that made me think or feel something that I might like to share on CK.

    I’ve discovered that prompts are best served fresh – ideally I should be writing a post about that intangible thought or feeling within a day or two of having it.

    There are presently prompts on my list from as long ago as September. That is scary. It is sitting in the way of me being prompted to tell you about new thoughts or feelings. I need to flush out all my prior prompts so I can post about prompts promptly when they prompt me.

    Let me see if I can string some together in a way that makes sense to us both.

    .

    Spezify is a visual search engine, but that doesn’t mean what you probably think it means. Spezify searches the web for text, photos, and social media mentions of your search term, and arrays the results in a collage on your screen. It’s a great way to catch a quick snapshot of a person, place, musical artist, or brand. See what it has to say show and tell about crushing krisis or Philadelphia. Link via Fresh Arrival.

    .

    The imitable Maggie of Mighty Girl posted about her husband’s project, Typekit. Typekit seems to still be in a closed alpha, but the gist of it is that it allows you to dynamically embed text in any font onto any webpage, regardless of if you (or the end user) has that font. You can follow the development on the Typekit blog.

    In my humble opinion, Mighty Girl continues to be one of the definitive personal blogs on the internet.

    .

    Geekadelphia (an excellent blog) recently posted a mammoth interview with J. C. Hutchins. Hutchins parlayed the net-success of his podcasted 7th Son trilogy into a publishing deal and subsequent tangible book. Said book – Personal Effects: Dark Art – comes complete with an intricately crafted alternate-reality game component that expands the narrative far past the boundaries of the book. Probably the next piece of fiction I will read, and setting the bar high for the next evolution of the novel.

    (PS: M. Hutchins dropped by to comment less than twenty minutes after this was posted. Nice to see his publishing deal hasn’t changed his net savvy :)

    .

    Matthew Sheret (who I found via Warren Ellis) is a writer and photographer with an intriguing list of projects. I am fascinated by his recent post This is a Souvenir, in which he details writing songs for an imaginary band, and how he’d like to take it a step further and have an imaginary record label.

    I love that sort of thing – a simulacrum of the footprint left by actual media, but in the absence of said media.

    (Speaking of Ellis, I enjoyed his dissection of what it means to be a “digital magazine,” and how that ought to be different from a bells and whistles flash interface with whosits and whatsists. His point (and mine)? You can change the method of delivery, but “magazine” should still mean “magazine.” But, can “newspaper” still mean “newspaper”? Compare to a recent Conversation Agent post about what happens when your local paper goes entirely online.)

    .

    Lane is a remarkable photographer I have been a fan of for a long time. Today she posted an unreal photo of a rainbow seen over the New Mexico desert. Recently she volunteered with Review Sante Fe, a local photography exhibition. She posted a sampling of RSF photographers, and their work was uniformly amazing.

    Now that Lane is back in the US I need to buy a print from her.

    .

    I saw what was perhaps my first double rainbow ever a few Saturdays ago on the way to E’s show at The Saint in Asbury Park. It was so close it seemed like we could drive right to the end of it.

    The Happinomics of Magneto

    Today on the bus an attractive, muscle-bound, black man was sitting across from E and I rocking to an unknown sort of music. He was wearing a muscle-shirt version of this Magneto t-shirt.

    I turned to E and said, “That guy’s shirt is awesome.” She nodded in agreement.

    Then I motioned to the man to take off his headphones.

    “Your shirt is awesome.”

    “You know who it is?”

    “Magneto!”

    “Yeah!”

    We chuckled at each others fanaticism. He replaced the headphones in his ear and I went back to talking to E.

    He smiled until we got off the bus.

    .

    Happinomics is an Ad Busters article about how small changes to the way we interact with the strangers around us can make us tangibly happier. In their example, the interaction is talking on the bus.

    the corners of my mind

    I have a habit of dozing off on the 57 bus in the afternoon on the way home from work. I don’t think it’s because I am so tired. There’s just something about the rhythm of motion and the droning of the motor humming through my body while I listen to my headphones.

    The nap is only ever about ten minutes long. It’s not even a nap, really. I’ve never slept through my stop. It’s just an extended hang right on the line between awake and asleep.

    I love that line, especially when traveling in that direction rather than the opposite – being tortured by an alarm clock. Heading in to sleep is different. Your brain will rationalize outside stimuli however it sees fit. The world outside of your body takes on an arbitrary – almost hallucinatory – quality.

    On the bus my favorite thing to do is turn on my own music – new demos or an Arcati Crisis rehearsal – and then drift off. My brain finds things in the songs I’ve never heard before. Sometimes I have a momentary synesthesia and my own words are painted in color. Others I am enraptured by Gina narrating an epic story, only to realize I’m not listening to her towering “Brother John” but just twenty seconds of refrain of “What’ll I Say.”

    Last night when my body was finally ready to settle down my brain refused to go gently into that good night. It was raining hard, a symphony of individual droplets pattering against the roof above my head, and my mind wanted to examine every one.

    I hate those nights. I’ve hated them since high school, when every night brought the possibility of seeing the subsequent dawn from the wrong side.

    Last night I slipped in my earbuds and suddenly “Small & Lonely and “Gone Baby Gone” were rendered in plastic yellow totems, a wry stop-motion tribute to Yellow Submarine, awash in the white noise of the storm.

    It took all of four minutes to fall asleep.

    whiling away the hours

    (1) A few years ago I saw Malcolm Gladwell deliver a speech at the New Yorker Festival that is largely recapitulated in the second chapter of Outliers, called “The 10,000 Hour Rule.”

    In it, Gladwell draws our attention to a data point converged upon by countless studies of experts in a variety of fields. He says, “In fact, researchers have settled on what they believe is the magic number for true expertise: ten thousand hours.” He goes on to quote neurologist Daniel Levitin:

    In study after study, of composers, basketball players, fiction writers, ice skaters, concert pianists, chess players, master criminals, and what have you, this number comes up again and again. … It seems that it takes the brain this long to assimilate all that it needs to know to achieve true mastery.

    Gladwell supports the rule using Mozart, Bill Gates, Bill Joy, and the Beatles as his examples. Not to say that their genius and success is purely a result of 10,000 hours of practice – the book as a whole explains other facets – just that it was an essential component of their expertise.

    .

    (2a) 10,000 hours is a long time.

    If as a child starting at age five you had piano lessons two times a week (an hour each) and also practiced an hour a day, you would clock nine hours a week. 468 hours a year. 4,680 hours a decade.

    If you kept that up until age 26 you’d finally have served your time.

    (2b) 10,000 hours can go by before you know it.

    Maybe you got into video games at age 11. You played them every night after homework and dinner, let’s say from 7:30 to 11:00 p.m. on most nights, plus extra on the weekend. That’s more than 25 hours a week. 1,300 plus a year.

    You’d be a master by the time you started college. Most kids are.

    (2c) Time is relative.

    .

    (3) In the car today Gina and I were singing in harmony to the amazing Hezekiah Jones album Hezekiah Says You’re A-OK, on the way to see his band split a bill with the equally fantastic Up the Chain.

    “You know, Gina,” I said, breaking from my lead vocal, “I’ve been thinking about this 10,000 hour thing. Not everyone’s an expert at something. I mean, what do most people spend 10,000 hours doing by the time they’re 25? Watching teevee, I suppose.”

    “More than likely,” she replied.

    “But, think about me. I watched a lot of television, sure. Mostly, though, I read until I was old enough to write, and then I wrote and read. That’s what I spent my 10k on.”

    (Perhaps she interjected, “Oh, I remember.”)

    “And, you know, is it any surprise that I’m good at communications? I’m not an expert, but no wonder it’s my calling. I spent my whole life practicing for it.”

    We sat and sang for a moment, contemplating that.

    “What about you?”

    Gina paused in her harmony. “Hmm, me?”

    “Yeah. What did you spend 10,000 hours doing?”

    “This. Listening to music. Singing harmony.”

    “Really your whole life, right? Your mother singing, your father playing guitar…”

    “Yeah, since I can remember.”

    “Right. So, no matter how much I rehearse, you’ll always have the edge. It’ll always come easier to you, until I reach that threshold.”

    “I suppose.”

    We paused as the song wound down.

    “What do you think Hezekiah spent 10,000 hours doing?”

    We thought on that for a few moments, and then sang together to “Albert Hash.”

    .

    (4) We’re not all Mozart. I might not ever be Hezekiah Jones. But, we’ve all spent 10,000 hours doing something other than sleeping, and hopefully other than watching television. Maybe something incidental that we do out of necessity or habit. Driving? Social-networking? Cleaning? Taking care of children?

    I’ve put in more than my share on communications – reading cereal boxes and trashy fantasy novels, writing stories at eight on my manual typewriter and almost nine years of blogs.

    I got an early start on 10,000 hours of being Gina’s best friend, which I keep padding. I’m really good at that. More recently I’ve attained well-in-excess of 10,000 hours of being in love with Elise.

    I hope eventually I’ll reach my 10,000th hour of serious focus on music. It’s a large piggy-bank of time to fill.

    What about you? What have you spent your life mastering, intentionally or unintentionally?