Skip to content

Category Archives: Philly

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:

    20090726170552

    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?

    don’t fail me now

    The last forty-eight hours of my life.

    At six o’clock on Monday I am playing guitar. I have been playing for hours, drilling songs against a metronome. The bridge of “Unengaged” for twenty minutes straight. I’ve worn through a callous for the first time in ages.

    Later I rehearse piano and vocals equally as hard. I fall asleep reading Outliers in bed, which just two chapters in already has caused one blowup with E because I said if I had me as a child I’d call me a failure.

    I don’t want to be a failure.

    Tuesday I have a fun, frantic day at work – the kind where you realize at the end of the day that you never stopped to hang your coat. I start writing the second my ass is on the bus, and emerge almost three hours later with that last post.

    I rehearse. Hard. Again. Trying not to fail. Despite my voice sounding brittle and inflexible due to the lack of a warm-up, I venture out to an open mic while E stays at home and works on freelance.

    At the restaurant my first song is awesome; the room is quietly transfixed. (I’m not a failure?) Afterward I promptly break a string and become shy and faltering when I’m handed another guitar. I fuck up “Like a Virgin,” of all things, and promptly lose everyone’s attention.

    Today I feel slightly beaten up (thank god I don’t drink at those things), on top of beating myself up. Still manage another frantic work day that barely includes a coat-hanging. On the way home I listen to my own voice on my iPod, which a lot of days is the only thing I can manage to do.

    I’m listening to “Like a Virgin” from 2006 and thinking, This is awful. Why am i singing like that? (Of course, I wouldn’t make it ten seconds into “Like a Virgin” from 2001.)

    Then I listen to a Trio from 2008 and realize, God, I really did get better.

    I am not a failure.

    I get home and am kissed goodbye as E heads out to front her band at the Khyber. Another hour of writing.

    Social Media Club of Philadelphia: The State of Social Media

    Earlier tonight I attended a fantastic networking night and discussion forum hosted by the Social Media Club of Philadelphia.

    In a room full of super-mobile urbanites I was the sole attendee clacking away at a laptop, which resulted in my capturing an abridged transcript of the evening. It’s presented below for the utility of my fellow attendees, but you might find it interesting too!

    Continue reading for discussions of the following:

  • Q1: What to say when someone says “I don’t have time for social media.”
  • Q2: Is Social Media a popularity contest or is social media about genuine relationships?
  • Q3: Are bloggers responsible for getting the facts right?
  • Q4: What makes a community real? That is: when does a web site feel like a place to be instead of simply a page of information to visit?
  • Q5: What are the responsibilities of Web 2.0 services to engage with and respond to the community they serve, and what are the responsibilities of the community to the service?
  • Q6: How can we best support our social media community and our peers knowing full well we’re often competing for the same clients and client money?
  • Continue reading ›

    thoughts right now / subway ride

    I ran into one of my favorite professors today on the subway, trundling to work in this non-event of a snowstorm.

    We briefly caught up (me, married! him, reconstructing his house! my band, awesome!), and the conversation then turned to my blogging proclivity and how I have yet to abandon it. Which, (a) hilarious that my senior project adviser still asks me about my blog five years after the fact, but (b) way to stick the personal “blogger / songwriter” branding so that it’s the first thing he thinks of, even five years after the fact.

    (me, old!)

    Anyhow, us being two massive communications nerds having a conversation about communications on the subway, I sketched out the situation. Longest running, blah blah, own a single topic of conversation, blah blah, more magazine style content. Hit tracking, publics, &c, &c. Minus points for not somehow mentioning Cultivation Theory to prove that I am actually as big a nerd as I represent myself to be.

    And, you know, as I was being my hip nerdy self for sixty seconds of subway exposition, it occurred to me that I spend more time plotting about blogging than I actually spend blogging.

    It’s not such a bad thing, really. Well, it’s a medium bad thing. It’s equally good and bad. I love planning and organizing things so much that sometimes I’d rather not ever do the actual thing.

    (This is actually a running theme in my life. See also: song database but no new recordings, exercise plan but no new muscles. The only time it works in my faovir is when having a plan inherently leads to the plan being success, as with a budget.

    Anywho…)

    There is technically a column I was going to post today. Well, it being 11:35, I think maybe technically has edged into theoretically. But the fact of the matter is, after a non-stop weekend of alternating social engagements and hardcore freelance writing and editing, I am in no mood to write a column.

    And that, my friends, is the difference between a blog and a magazine. I can own all the topics I want, but there will still be this inanity sandwiched between.

    God bless it.

    Philly: Seen on the Scene

    I didn’t do quite as much crazy seenery this past week, but in making it an eight-day week of scenery I made this post extra-long.

    Oh, also? I’m an obsessive-compulsive singer/songwriter/lunatic who had kinda forgotten why he was a journalism major.

    I quite explicitly did not do any kind of scene seeing over the weekend, save for a brief interlude at K&L’s housewarming party, where every person from every part of my life all collided in one shiny-drunk lump. Seriously, it could have only been odder if my mother was there. Still, much fun had.

    .

    Every Wednesday: LP Open Mic @ Intermezzo (3141 Walnut)
    Hosting an open mic is a nervous endeavor. Sometimes it seems as though no one will show up, yet you find the lineup extending past closing time. On other occasions the room seems full, but you still wind up vamping for an hour by yourself at the end of the night.

    Read more…

    .

    Every Monday: Open Jam @ Connie’s Ric Rac (9th just under Washington)
    Take note of this momentous occasion – I went to an open mic that I don’t host for two consecutive weeks. In fact, next week I’ll probably be back for a third.

    Why? Because Connie’s Ric Rac is like Cheers with a 1000 watt sound system and a pet snake. Everyone wants to know your name, and they all hush up when you play a quiet song.

    Read more…

    I’ve met Matt Teacher once before, and in that venue he was introduced to me as a songwriter, but at present he mostly plays and records with bands in Sine Studios, where he is the owner and engineer along with best friend Mike.

    Similar to Gina and I, the two of them connected in the eight grade – with the difference being that they connected as a band right away and knew by high school graduation that they wanted a career in music. They attended college separately and came back together to open Sine Studios. It looks ultra-nifty from their website, and at 22nd and Walnut it’s virtually around the corner from my office .

    Matt and I talked about our endless acquisition of recording gear and how in high school I used to sample too low and wind up sounding like The Chipmunks when I tried to burn a CD. Although he was perhaps too humble to mention running Bon Jovi’s protools rig the last time he played Philly, Matt did cop to recording the Sleepwells disc, as well as working with Lickety Split host Dani Mari, and Ric Rac’s house band The Discount Heroes.

    When I pressed him as to whether the in-the-family recording roster meant Sine might also be a label, he demurred: “We’re working in that direction.”

    Having done some basic flexing of journalistic muscles I thought had permanently atrophied since college, I pushed my luck a bit and asked if I might stop by for a tour sometime. Matt, being awesome, one-upped me and said I should aim to come to one of the studio barbecues over the summer.

    Read more…

    I detest making so facile a comparison as to Stevie Wonder, as Aaron Brown’s delivery leaps across the R&B divide to rock in an instant, as on the stuttering 6/8 tune he delivered mid-set (“fragile”?). It’s as if Adam Levine from Maroon 5 could actually sing as well live as he does on the record, and then decided to cover an obscure Rufus Wainwright take on a Stevie Wonder song. That’s what Aaron sounds like.

    Read more…

    The great thing about Ric Rac is that it’s got a big stage, complete with amps and a kit. Bands just get up and go. In that vein, I loved loved loved Try Angles – a two-piece playing a blues stomp that I am journalistically required to compare to White Stripes. Except, I actually like Try Angles – there’s meat underneath the riffs, aerobic and thick. A new unfinished song fucking leapt across the stage for our necks in a tangle of blues and prog. And, I DON’T EVEN LIKE THIS KIND OF THING.

    I briefly quizzed drummer Adam after their set. What was their deal? How did they compel me to like them so much?

    Apparently singer Matt C. has done his singer/songwriter thing for an eternity, but Adam added himself just in September to create their special alchemy. Adam professed love for jazz and Zappa, and I honestly believe they both come through in his skin pounding. Also, he was just a nice dude – when I expanded on my recent wedding he said he wanted to do a dance because I have good music and a good life.

    Seriously, Ric Rac is Good People.

    (Good lord, can you imagine if I start bringing my laptop to every open mic, going all embedded journalist on all the natives? Can you seriously keep up with a 3000+ word weekly column?)

    .

    Tuesday: I took a nap
    It was awesome.

    .

    Every Wednesday: LP Open Mic @ Intermezzo (3141 Walnut)
    Yes, we’ve circled all the way back to Intermezzo, with Gina hosting this iteration.

    This week was more of the unexpected – a full house of Lyndzapalooza artists – Gina and I (both solo!), my new client Joshua Popejoy, Aaron Brown (again!), Brian Flanagan (playing awesome new tunes), and John Glaubitz (who we did not manage to tempt to play).

    I’ll spare you the rapturous rapture about these guys – they’re all great. They kept our guests pinned to their chairs for the duration of the evening until AC took over to play to a small-but-appreciative crowd of stragglers. We nailed a particularly impressive “Don’t You Want Me” – I was in super-good vocal shape, which I further flaunted by singing an additional solo set of “Like a Virgin,” “Since U Been Gone,” my new “Message,” and an acappella verse and chorus of “Take on Me.”

    We closed down the shop with “Noncommittal” and chat of breaking the fourth wall, and headed back to the car.

    .

    Coming up!
    There are seemingly a thousand shows that I want to see tomorrow night, so I’m thinking you should go to some of the ones I can’t make it to.

    Melodic hard-rockers Tremor will be at JR’s bar @ 22nd and Passyunk. Personal favorite Up the Chain splits a bill with The Great Unkown @ JD McGillicuddy’s, 2626 County Line Road in Ardmore. Alexandra Day opens for Kate-fav Carsie Blanton at Barrington Coffee House

    As for myself and Gina, we will be installed at the esteemed Ric Rac to catch The Discount Heroes monthly showcase, a stellar bill of Blueberry Magee and His Hot Five, Shackamaxon, and Hezekiah Jones. It’s only $10, rather than the kidney or lung you might expect to contribute to gain entrance into such a show.

    Next week I’ll be hitting Ric Rac again on Monday for Katie’s February swan-song, as well as maybe Time at 13th and Sansom on Tuesday, but if I find some ambition I could truck up to The Draught Horse on Temple’s campus to hang out with LP Artist Josh Albright at his new open mic.

    Alternately, if you’re free on Tuesday you can head down to The Shubin Theatre at 4th and Bainbridge to catch Gina in a debut reading of a play by Mark Wolverton based on his recent biographical novel A Life in Twilight: The Final Years of J. Robert Oppenheimer.

    Then, on Wednesday you should join me at Chris’s Jazz Cafe at Broad & Sansom at 5pm sharp to catch the beautiful and always amazing Alexandra Day play a special happy-hour set, after which you should catch a trolley up to Intermezzo to hit our open mic, as hosted by the girl who put the Lyndz in Lyndzapalooza, Lindsay Wilhelmi.

    Finally, a few future plugs: Dante Bucci @ Tin Angel on 3/22. Brian Flanagan playing a set on a bill with our buddies Year Long Day @ Tin Angel on 3/25. The two foremost hang players on earth – one of whom happens to be Dante Bucci, the other being Many Delago – at Milkboy on 4/22.

    .

    In other news…

    I’ll end with a bit of good news / bad news.

    Bad first: we’re actually not doing a show on 2/28 with Joshua Popejoy. It’s slightly disappointing, but it leads to good news: we can promote our amazing seventh annual spring music festival for three entire months without another gig stealing it’s thunder.

    So: This year the festival is on Saturday, May 16, and it is called BYMfest (AKA Back Yard Music Festival, an ironic title seeing as this is the first year it will be held at Snipes Farm, rather than an actual back yard). BYMfest will feature eight solid hours of music. So far the lineup includes Arcati Crisis, Joshua Popejoy, Reed Kendall of Up the Chain, Suzie Brown, and Sisters 3.

    Honestly, that’s already a bill I would pay dozens of dollars for, and it’s only HALF FULL. Check the Seen on the Scene action next week for further bill announcements, and a presale link where you can buy tickets for $15.

    Seriously, I kid you not, $15. That’s a half hour of music for every dollar. You can’t even steal music for that cheap.

    Mark your calendar right now. Seriously. Don’t even read the byline until you’ve marked it.

    Marked?

    Okay.

    Peter is a Philadelphia singer-songwriter, half of the band Arcati Crisis, and Director of Communications for Lyndzapalooza (LP).

    Philly: Seen on the Scene

    This past month I was out of musical commission for as long as I’ve ever been – longer than when I had my tonsils removed, though perhaps not quite as long as when I broke my collarbone (although I have many grimace-inducing memories of propping my back up against the cinder block walls of Calhoun hall so I could leverage my left hand up high enough to fret chords).

    In any event, it was a long time without music – from when I came down with bronchitis on January 9th through when I started playing piano again on February 1st.

    Three weeks might not sound like a long time to you, but in time without music it’s an eternity, so I’ve been happy to get back to my musical routine this past week.

    Every Wednesday: LP Open Mic @ Intermezzo (3141 Walnut)
    Last week was my first week back to our open mic after a three week recess, and also a week of my hosting duties.

    It turned out to be an evening of great fun. I opened with a trio of tunes so new that I don’t even have lyric links for them yet, let alone recordings, plus a new Beatles cover I had dreamt up on an old guitar the night before.

    The turnout for the night was much lighter than usual, which resulted in the open mic becoming an effective round robin of me, Arcati Crisis, Mike from Shackamaxon, and my most-adored band in all of Philadelphia, Blueberry Magee, plus two appearances by our friend and fellow LP Artist Ashley Brandt. All three of the artists on that list are some of my favorites in Philly, and it was wonderful to share an exclusive bill with them for the night.

    This week Dante Bucci and his hang drums are the host, but Gina and I will still make an appearance. If you’re around University City between 8pm and 11pm you should drop by.

    Thursday: Arcati Crisis Rehearsal!
    Okay, not really much of a scene to be seen on, but from our insanity at the open mic it was clear Gina and I were craving a chance to catch up and work on some new material. We picked our next four AC songs (two of which are from my super-new trio from the prior evening), and got most of the way through a guitar arrangement of one of mine – “Better.”

    Our arrangement decisions tend to take forever when we’re inside of them, but in retrospect seem like they occurred in a flash. On “Better” we started out moving Gina into different capo positions to find a good interplay against my open progression in E. She wound up on the fourth fret.

    At one point in following my chords she fell one chord behind me, and I stopped her and said, “you’re on to something.” Twenty minutes later we had crafted a fanged hook for the song that sounds perfectly at home despite the fact that it is wickedly out of step for Gina compared to my part.

    We were pretty satisfied with ourselves at that point, and just sketched in the idea of the bridge before calling it a night. We still have to break out harmony vocals, which tends to be where the bulk of our arrangement battles lie.

    Friday: The Pretenders @ The Electric Factory
    I have a short list of bands that I absolutely must see once at some point in my life, mostly because I have been lucky enough to see bands while they are at their peek – before they become a rarer commodity.

    For a long time one of those bands has been The Pretenders.

    Read more…The Pretenders were spectacular – muscular and mimeographic as they churned out faithful renditions of songs from the full range of their career. Chrissie Hynde not only sounded pitch perfect in comparison to her records, but also cut a svelte figure in her high boots and single-tail tux jacket – dancing an exaggerated sidestep in “Brass In Pocket.” It was plain as day the through line from her to PJ, Shirley, and Karen O.

    It was also clear that she is one of the great, under-appreciated rhythm guitarists in classic rock – she’s effectively the backbone of every arrangement, even galloping time changes like “Tattooed Love Boys.”

    The band played half of their newest disc, and nearly the entirety of their debut, plus all the notable singles between with the exception of “2000 Miles,” “Middle of the Road,” “Ohio,” and “Stand By You” (also, my manager saw them the prior night and got “Mystery Achievement,” which I had lamented not hearing).

    One more band struck from the “once in a lifetime” list (the last prior cross-off was Cyndi Lauper, another stunning concert). I’m actually hard-pressed to think of who’s next at this point. I’m tempted by the Fleetwood Mac hits tour, but I don’t know if I could count it as the real thing without Christie McVie along for the ride.

    Every Monday: Open Jam @ Connie’s Ric Rac (9th just under Washington)
    Connie’s Ric Rac is my neighborhood open mic, as well as being the room that spawned my recent asphyxiation and the subsequent interstate love song that Gina is currently endeavoring to learn.

    As the story goes, the Ric Rac (named thusly as a misnomer for bric-a-brac) used to be an Italian Market discount store owned by the titular Connie, and when the storefront closed down the shop stayed in the family. Later, her son(s?) proposed that they open the doors as a sort of counter-culture community center, complete with art classes, concerts, and open jams.

    Thus, Connie’s Ric Rac. I was a little nervous about attending, because it’s a totally new scene to me, but I was encouraged by the fact that February’s guest host is the darling Katie Barbato, and the night was themed with Beatles covers as a tribute to the band’s first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show 45(!) years prior.

    I arrived much too early to a Ric Rac family scene replete with snake-feeding, wine-drinking, and banjo recitals – all with the easy laughter and chain smoking that I recall from a childhood spent in my grandmother’s South Philadelphia kitchen. I was happy to remain a wallflower through the family affair until the night kicked off.

    In addition to Katie (playing a sad, Across the Universe style “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” and a new original with a killer chord change in the chorus) there was house band Discount Heroes (valiantly slaying “Revolution” and “Don’t Let Me Down” despite their singer’s flu), a freak-R&B act whose name I did not catch doing a remarkable version of “Savoy Truffle,” and Vince & Chuck.

    Vince and Chuck were pure magic – performing note-perfect Beatles covers of a great selection of tunes – “Here Comes the Sun,” “If I Fell,” “Baby’s In Black,” and “Please Please Me,” plus another I can’t recall. I essentially pleaded with them to come to the LP Open Mic to share their Beatles tunes, and this was before discovering that Chuck AKA Charles Ramsey is a phenomenal songwriter in his own right.

    Since the directive was early-Beatles I debated “Do You Want to Know a Secret” and “You Really Got a Hold On Me,” but settled on long-time favorite “All My Loving,” which I wailed like a fucking banshee. Katie assures me it was awesome. I also played the repeatedly aforementioned “Connie’s Ric Rac Love Song AKA Better,” “In My Life,” and later “Ob-la Di Ob-la Da,” plus a handful of other originals.

    Katie will host out the month, and I’m going to make an effort to make it to the next two Monday’s to hang out with her and the Ric Rac family before shifting my attention to either Fergie’s or The Fire in March. She gave me a copy of the brand new full-length by her band The Sleepwells, and her voice is so freaking sexy on it. I might blush the next time I talk to her. Wow.

    Every Tuesday: Open Mic @ Studio Luloo (916 White Horse Pike, Oaklyn NJ)
    Yes, my friends, I got all the fuck around the scene this week.

    Gina and I have had Studio Luloo on our to-do list for a while, and it was elevated by our missing an appearance from Year Long Day last week. We discovered that it is virtually around the corner from Gina’s abode, and tonight finally endeavored to make an appearance.

    It was a completely worthwhile endeavor! Luloo is hosted and operated by the entirely charming Sara O’Brien, who shares songs, healing arts, and a tangible joie de vivre in this cozy shopfront slash recording studio with the best monitor mix we’ve ever heard.

    No joke. We were first after Sara, so had no idea what to expect, and we started with “Bucket Seat,” which is not amongst the simplest of our songs, and the mix was just perfect. We could hear what we really sounded like, and not some faraway facsimile thereof. We also made a successfully epic run at “Apocalyptic Love Song” (click that link – Gina should win a freaking Grammy for that performance), and an entertaining jaunt through “Pocahontas.”

    Playing first can be a curse if you want to get heard by the room at it’s fullest, but when you’re just out to chill it’s a wonderful pressure deflator. We had time to chat with some of the crowd, including super-sweet Dave from Never Trust, and Ryan Williams, who was the feature.

    I’ve met Ryan before, but never heard him, and his songs are great. Like, actually great, not just hyperbolic great. He has a new one, “Audio,” that is pure aural dynamite. Scary-good.

    I was sad to miss out on talking to a cool kid playing a Guild with a series of partial capos, his name maybe being Jeremy Hines? He had a really tuneful sensibility, and reminded me of Honorary Title – the sort of music I consistently fail at making when I write things like “Standing” or “Love Me Not.”

    In other news…
    I had designs on hitting the Tuesday open mic @ Time on the way home from Luloo, but Gina smartly deposited me back at my house so I can rest my voice a bit.

    Not too much other news, other than I stopped by Cafe Grindstone over the weekend for a fabulous lunch of vegan kielbasa and a soy banana milkshake and spoke with Jerry at the counter a bit about how one gets selected to play there. It’s just about as close to me as Ric Rac, so I’d love to drop by to sing every so often.

    Also, Battlestar Galactica. I could say a lot about this week’s episode, but right now I just have one thing on my mind: the return Ellen Motherfrakkin’ Tigh.

    Coming up!
    Hopefully some fucking sleep!

    But, seriously, tomorrow night we’ll be at the LP Open Mic @ Intermezzo. If open micing is not your thing, get thyself to the Tin Angel to see Shackamaxon, awesome Mad Dragon recording artist Andrew Lipke, and a band called StereoFidelic which is likely awesome based on the company they keep.

    Also, biggest news for last: Arcati Crisis will be splitting a bill with our friend and musical confidante Joshua Popejoy on February 28th at our much-beloved South Street venue Upstairs @ Zot! This will be a BIG SHOW – big sets from both of us, a big(ger) PA system, a big comfortable room for you to stretch out in, and hopefully A BIG CROWD.

    $8, beer specials, awesome acoustic pop music. Mark your calendar. Tickets here.

    What now? Oh, right, sleep.

    .

    Peter is a Philadelphia singer-songwriter, half of the band Arcati Crisis, and Director of Communications for Lyndzapalooza (LP).

    a shark for places

    I have now been back from Europe and installed in my house for close to three days.

    I’m slightly afraid to go outside. Half because I know I’m going to compare everything here to Paris and London, and here will lose out in every instance. But also because as I surround myself with my city the impressions of those other places will begin to fade.

    Prior to (and during) the honeymoon I was eager to grump that I don’t understand the worth of spending money to go places. Even afterward that’s still true – when I tallied our total expenses last night I almost cried, even though they came out almost exactly as what I estimated.

    That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy the places. I loved Paris, and I liked what little of London I saw well enough. I just don’t enjoy vacations – being idle. On our slowest days in Paris I hated it, but when we turned Paris into work – multiple museums and neighborhoods to visit in one day – then I enjoyed being in Paris. When we turned London into a scavenger hunt – snapping photos and visiting shops – then I enjoyed London.

    I would love to live in Paris – to be able to enjoy Paris while I am at rest. Paris was the one place I’ve ever been where I felt totally in-place, even as I stumbled through their language in every interaction.

    Philadelphia can’t be Paris, no matter how many French books and newspapers I stowed in my garment bag. But I can bring that swim or sink vacation mentality back to Philadelphia – move or drown, create or die.

    If I move fast enough, the scenery stops being significant.

    Arcati Crisis takes Trevose

    “In 800 yards. Make. A U-turn.”

    “I’m sorry, what?”

    “Gina, it told you to make a U-turn.”

    “What if that’s not legal here?”

    “Then we just tell the police officer that the nice British lady in your GPS told us it was legal, so it’s totally cool.”

    “Okay”

    Gina commences epic U-turn across Street Road.

    “Whaoooooo!”

    .

    Sometimes as Gina and I wander around being – well, us – I catch myself wondering: why are we allowed to do this?

    At no time has this question been more present in my mind than today, as Gina chauffeured me around the city to cross last-minute to-dos off of my wedding prep list. Right now we are sitting in a hotel room on a key-protected floor looking at the ridiculously awesome costume jewelry Gina will be wearing tomorrow in my wedding.

    This is after nearly crashing our luggage cart in the hotel parking lot, surviving our epic U-turn, me almost pitching my electric guitar through a display case at Bluebond, buying seemingly a hundred travel-sized personal condiments, earlier wandering around a masquerade store discussing the logistics of whether Moses’ crook is effectively the same thing as Little Bo Peep’s crook, and general driving all around the city wailing along to my official last-day-of-bachelordom CD, Pinkerton.

    We are two fairly ridiculous human beings on our own, but we don’t typically verbalize or act upon any of our ridiculousness. As a pair both of those impulses are actively engaged. Which makes it clearly insane that I am getting married tomorrow, and Gina is captain in charge of making sure I get married.

    We have not trashed the hotel room yet, but I believe that option to still be in the cards.

    We are, after all, rock stars.

    .

    (As to where I’ve been: I was really sick. A week before my wedding. It wasn’t fun. And I got a chest x-ray. That’s about all that needs to be said.)

    Philly: Seen on the Scene

    In high school when I would procrastinate on homework X-Files was like the 2-minute warning on my weekend. If Mulder and Scully made it on screen before my assignments were wrapped up I’d be in serious trouble.

    Since I’m always kvetching that I don’t get to tell you about all the awesome stuff I do every week, I’m going to bring back that dread high school tradition for that express purpose: Sundays nights I will rattle off my ravels and travails at length.

    And, um, I have no idea where we left off. Before Christmas? After Christmas? Let me think…

    Every Tuesday: Open Mic @ Time
    On X-Mas Eve Eve I stopped by the new Tuesday open mic @ Time at 1315 Sansom (formerly Ludwig’s). It’s hosted by Pete G. (also the host of Fergie’s), and for the night was co-hosted by my multi-talented South Philly neighbor Michael Gall of Shackamaxon.

    I played a lot of different open mics in Philadelphia in 2008, and no matter how nice the host or the equipment, or how good your songs or your playing, it often just comes down to the shape and mood of the room.

    Time, as it happens, is a good shape and mood for me – or at least it was on X-E-E. The room is large and square with high ceilings and a low stage in the front corner – big enough for a songwriter, a reduced drum kit, and a slightly detuned upright piano. The low stage makes for an easy connection with patrons at the bar, and the depth/height of the room means everyone can see you playing.

    I played first and had great fun warming up the room with some little played tunes, including “A Few Bars of Goodbye” and “Something Real,” plus a new one that I haven’t had a chance to record yet for the site. I wound up staying to last call to catch Ian (The Thief), James Cooper (bassist from Fergie’s), the lovely Francesca, and a host of other great local acts (links to come!).

    Saturday: 80s Prom @ The Shubin
    AKA my bachelor party. Seriously.

    Sorry, kids, I have to come back to this one when I can ramble at more length (if such a thing is possible).

    Last Mondays: Linda Cohen Benefit Open Mic @ National Mechanics
    I suppose from there we can fast forward to the grocery store this past Monday. Elise, Steve, and I were in line at the checkout when I received a curious text message from one Victoria Spaeth, local songwriter, host of the Thursday evening open mic at Crossroads, and all-around booking machine: did I want to play a spot later that night @ National Mechanics?

    Nat’l, on 3rd just under Market, is by far our favorite bar in Center/Old city – great beers and ciders on tap, pleasant pub atmosphere, and the best veggie burgers on the planet. I had done some inquiring over the summer as to whether they did any music to no avail, so I leapt right out of the checkout line to ring Vicky back and let her know I’d definitely come out to play the spot.

    As it turns out, the night was an invitational open mic benefit for Linda Cohen, a pillar of the Philly music scene battling lung cancer. I arrived to find that I was on a bill co-hosted by the awesome Dani Mari, along with regular LP open micer Aaron Brown, Ian (twice in a week!), a slew of great local comedians (links forthcoming), and fucking KEN KWEDER.

    As long time CK connoisseurs may recall, I met Ken in the middle of the street in University City while changing my guitar string in 2002. He was super-nice to me at the time, and I was surprised to later discover he is an underground songwriter of national renown, and known to tons of my pub-faring friends as well as my dad, who knew him in the 70s.

    Anyhow, Ken was awesome, the comedy was awesome – the whole thing was awesome. Being a late and unknown add to the bill I was playing the last songwriter spot, post-1am. I was a little nervous in general, and even more nervous to be playing a super-late spot, as I’m historically not much of a drunk-bar-crowd pleasure.

    Well, on this rare occasion I had nothing to be worried about – I was warmed up well, the crowd was nice, and the house speakers added a terrific bass whomp to my already percussive playing. I rattled off a muscular duo of “Shake It Off” and “Like a Virgin,” followed by another run through the brand new one (it’s starting to make sense).

    The next benefit goes down while I’m out of town honeymooning; FaceBook it here. They also have a standing music/comedy night every Monday, and if you stop by you can talk to AJ re: booking.

    (We also found out Vicky will be pinch-hitting hosting duties at the Tuesday night Lickety Split open mic on South Street, which is just up the street from my house!)

    Tuesday: Alexandra Day @ Tin Angel
    Gina and I met Alexandra Day while pinch-hitting a slot at Tritone in December 2007 (see, last minute gigs are always a good thing :), and I have been in love with her music ever since. Last spring she released my favorite album of 2008, No Castles No Moats, a luscious blend of piano pop, Philadelphia architecture, Maureen from Rent, and red wine.

    I’ve made it a point to catch as many of Alex’s shows as I can since then, as based on the sheer, unbelievable amazingness of both her live sets and her disc I am confident she is mere steps away from a Regina Spektor-like blow-up in the near future.

    Alex was opening for a night of song that I unfortunately skipped out on due to being a touch under the weather, but I did catch some of my favorites from her disc as well as a few of her new boy-crazy tunes like “Chemicals In My Brain” and “Red Heads.” She closed with her crushing X-Mas tune, “Bring It On Home,” which jerks tears out of me every damned time.

    I’ll stop here, as I have another piece on Alex simmering at the moment, and I don’t want to steal all of my own thunder.

    In other news…
    I punked out on hitting Auction House for their monthly In The Round on Saturday because it was cold and I was deep into adding new features to my song tracking database. I missed out on a trio of Joshua Park, Scott Silipigni, and Steph Hayes – surely all awesome.

    I also hit Wes and Gina’s for the Eagles game, where about half of everyone I know screamed at the television until our shredded vocals chords travelled back up the satellite connection and across the nation to Minnesota, resulting in McNabb finally connecting for a touchdown to seal the deal in the 4th quarter.

    Never let it be said that I am a fan of Donovan McNabb. I’ll heckle him straight into the Super Bowl, if that’s what it takes. I am that committed.

    Coming up!
    I have designs on hitting the open jam @ Connie’s Ric Rac tomorrow night, but we’ll see if they hold up through a day at work. Tuesday would either be Time or Lickety Split if I get my ass out of the house.

    The one place I will most assuredly be playing is Intermezzo at 3141 Walnut Street on Wednesday night, where I host the LP open mic. I’ll probably launch my solo opening set just shy of 8 p.m. – I’ll be playing the new tune and maybe some brand new covers. AC will likely grace the stage later in the night; music and drinks will continue through eleven.

    Time to go watch some Supernatural DVDs…

    .

    Peter is a Philadelphia singer-songwriter, half of the band Arcati Crisis, and Director of Communications for Lyndzapalooza (LP).

    Philadelphia, home of Black Friday

    Does anyone have anything witty to say about Black Friday?

    No? Okay, fine, I’ll do it.

    Did you know that the term “Black Friday” originated here in my fine city of brotherly love, Philadelphia? The Friday after Thanksgiving was always the start of the Christmas shopping season, but it didn’t always have a name. It was deemed as such by the Philadelphia Police Department in the 1960s, not only because the shopping frenzy packed our streets solid with foot and vehicular traffic (think of the potential for snarled traffic around the flagship Wannamaker’s!), but also because it was the weekend of the Army v. Navy game, which attracted it’s own horror of gridlock. The combination made the streets impassible.

    There, I bet you didn’t know that.

    Digestifs (or, a requiem for eight solid hours of food and NFL football)

    I am finally old enough to enjoy a post-dinner recline on the couch while making inane commentary on football games, and I took full advantage of said privilege tonight after dining with Gina’s family for the first time in six(!) years.

    While watching the Eagles rack up the highest score of the day Gina, Wes, and I organized the National Football League in descending order of mascot size, punctuated by occasionally less-than-fearsome cardinal cries.

    Massive
    Titans
    Jets (jumbo)
    Giants
    Saints (if astral)

    Huge
    Bills (buffalo)
    Texans (steers, or possibly minotaurs?)
    Broncos
    Bears (grizzly)
    Bengals

    Large
    Lions
    Panthers
    Colts
    Rams
    Jaguars
    Dolphins

    Man-Sized
    Steelers & 49ers (assumed to be burly and hard-working)
    Raiders & Vikings (assumed to be fierce and conquest-oriented)
    Chiefs
    Packers (assumed to be like Steelers, but with more dairy in their diets)
    Cowboys & Redskins
    Buccaneers (more of an effete Johnny Depp pirate)
    Eagles (massive wingspan makes them comparable in size)
    Patriots (sorta bourgeois, comparatively)
    Saints (if corporeal)

    Small
    Seahawks
    Browns (if dogs)
    Falcons & Ravens (split decision on which would be larger)

    Tiny
    Cardinals
    Browns (if recluse)

    Atomic
    Chargers

    .

    At this point we were all in a full-on dessert coma after ingesting Gina’s pumpkin cheesecake pie, and amidst Brian Dawkins imitations*, we also found the time to judge the five most fearsome mascots…
    1. Titans – Atlas is a Titan!
    2. Chargers
    3. Bears
    4. Bengals
    5. Eagles
    Honorable Mention: Saints (if astral)

    … as opposed to the five most harmless mascots:
    1. Cardinals
    2. Ravens
    3. Browns
    4. Dolphins Per reader feedback, a dolphin could maul a Patriot.
    5. Colts
    Honorable Mention: Saints (if corporeal)

    .

    * Everyone we know considers Brian Dawkins to be terror incarnate, and we spend the majority of most Eagles’ games commenting on the fear that he strikes into all opponents.

    Tonight we determined that Batman’s interrogation of a hallucinating Scarecrow in Batman Begins was actually based on Brian Dawkins’ pass defense, and that there is likely test footage of Bale wearing a Dawkins jersey along with his enigmatic visored helmet.

    I also posited a likely Dawkins’ internal monologue, but it involved a lot of cookie-monster-metal growling that I can’t really do justice in text. Maybe when my condensers arrive next week…

    invoke the infield fly rule!

    Hmm.

    So, in a bit of Philly surfing the other night I stopped by Philly Future, which featured a link to Fork You, a Philly food blog. And, in checking out the personal blog of its proprietor Scott McNulty – Blankbaby – I found myself thinking, Gee, that names sounds awfully familiar. I wonder how long he’s been around?

    The answer to that question is two months longer than me. Which presents a conundrum: is Scott the longest-running blogger in Philadelphia?

    Technically, yes – he made 11 posts prior to the launch of this fine establishment. However, said flagship posts were made from Yonkers, New York, not Philadelphia.

    Now, let it be known that I am not one to hang on to my tagline via imagination or technicality – after all, that’s why I turned against Ms. Clinton earlier this year. At the same time, I don’t know that it’s fair for any carpetbagger with a long-standing blog to just roll into town and usurp me.

    I’m really not sure what to make of this development. Have I been legitimately dethroned? Do we share the title, in different capacities? Have I found my nemesis?

    I’m thinking I might have to drop by Fork You Live next Saturday to have a little duel showdown thumb war chat with this “Scott.”