Listicles are, as a general rule, nothing to get too riled up about. Ever since Buzzfeed proved you could build an empire on the back of “17 Things You Won’t Believe Happened When A Porcupine Kitten Met Donald Trump,” the medium has proven to be clickbait gold, irresistible to writers in need of attention and pitches.
And so when Travel + Leisure declared Philly the fifth least attractive city, it was nothing personal — just another day on the Internet. Similarly, when Lonely Planet deemed us the No. 1 city to visit in the United States — followed by Natchez, Mississippi, which is apparently a real place — New York didn’t sweat it.
But Philly’s latest honor deserves a second look. Thrillist seems to think we have an anger problem, awarding Philly the top spot on its “11 Angriest Cities in America, Ranked by Irrationality” list. Read more »
If you’re running for president these days, you have to expect your dirtiest of laundry to be put on display. As John Edwards and Herman Cain learned the hard way, mistresses make for better headlines than tax reform proposals — and whether it’s fair or not, the morally superior country that brought you Dating Naked still has a Puritan itch to scratch.
But if you’re a woman running for public office? A squeaky-clean personal life simply isn’t enough. Expect to have your husband’s affairs used against you as well.
In an interview with the New York Times, Donald Trump revealed how he plans to discredit Hillary Clinton this fall. Front and center? Attacks on her character stemming from Bill Clinton‘s extramarital affairs.
Trump’s certainly not the first to attempt to use this against her. For almost two decades now, Hillary’s been carrying Bill’s baggage and fielding side-eye from both parties. Classic lines include (but are not limited to): Read more »
Most relationships have a breaking point.
In a healthy relationship, you see it coming far enough in advance to prepare a short list of grievances before going your separate ways.
Volatile relationships are harder to predict, but when the time comes, it’s nothing special — simply business-as-usual-chaos, a last straw waiting to happen.
It’s the neglected relationships you have to watch out for, those fragile unions running on the fumes of nostalgia and commitment, of long-dead in-jokes and stale scripts. Those are the ones that take a grand gesture to end, something big enough to shock all parties back into the reality they’ve been ignoring.
Something like Justin Bieber hanging out at Johnny Brenda’s. Read more »
Almost immediately after all but securing the Republican nomination Tuesday night, Donald Trump attempted to explain Hillary Clinton’s impressive four-state win.
“Frankly, if Hillary Clinton were a man, I don’t think she’d get 5 percent of the vote. The only thing she’s got going is the women’s card,” he said after handily winning five states that will never rid themselves of his dayglow stink.
Just in case he wasn’t clear, Trump followed up yesterday on CNN. “She is a woman,” he told New Day co-host Chris Cuomo. “She is playing the woman card left and right. She didn’t play it last time with Obama. But she’s playing it much harder this time and she will be called on it. If she were a man and she was the way she is, she would get virtually no votes.”
Come again? Read more »
Dickinson Square Park | M. Fischetti for Visit Philadelphia
There are a lot of ways to measure the arrival of spring in Philly.
Technically, it began March 20th, before the last snow of the year, weeks after that deadbeat groundhog waddled out of bed. Easter isn’t usually a bad benchmark—although that, too, was followed by snow this time around. I used to welcome it the first time my cat delivered a dead baby animal to the doorstep, but ever since Saffron retired, I go by a more optimistic milestone: the first weekend that the windows stay open.
Which is to say, finally, happy spring.
Did it feel good? In true Philly fashion, it was almost too warm. Did it look good? Let’s just say there were a lot of jean shorts and tube socks walking down my block Saturday afternoon. Did it smell good? “Sweet” and “breeze” very rarely go in the same sentence around these parts.
But damn, did it sound good. From Friday night through Sunday evening, last weekend was a pitch-perfect snapshot of the finest season in the finest city. (Brief disclaimer: I’m from here and can’t distinguish the rolling tide of the ocean from the rolling tide of I-95.)
This is what spring sounds like in windows-open South Philly: Read more »
Thursday morning, Wawa will unveil renderings for its new Center City location. If history is any indication, the plans will, to put it mildly, be well received.
When the chain’s mothership opened at Broad and Walnut last fall, Mayor Michael Nutter was on hand to give his blessing, even inviting the Pope to drop by for a hoagie. Eagles cheerleaders warmed up the crowd, while none other than the Philadelphia Orchestra played the national anthem and “Amazing Grace.” (As much as this reads like a Parks and Recreation episode, it all really happened.)
As someone who grew up here, there’s a part of me that understands this. You simply don’t escape Northeast Philly without a deep, abiding respect for Wawa, without basking in the glow of its iced tea case, without understanding the beauty of a 3 a.m. parking lot breakfast sandwich.
Which is why I’m hesitant to say this: We don’t need another Wawa in the city. Read more »
At this point, when Donald Trump’s face appears on a screen, I tend to feel nothing.
Sometimes it’s the “Been there, done that” variety of nothing, an unavoidable side effect of a 24-hour election news cycle. Other times, it’s the crushingly cold, “I’m so dead inside” brand of nothing that happens when Donald Trump makes a serious run for the White House. Once, it was almost a peaceful nothing, the kind that sets in right before you walk down the tunnel toward the light.
Either way: sweet, sweet nothing.
Unless, of course, I’m in Mexico when Trump makes his appearance. In that case, I panic a bit. Read more »
As someone who grew up in Northeast Philadelphia, I have a certain respect for St. Patrick’s Day. I’m questionably Irish and even more questionably Catholic, but I’m dutifully wearing my green today, and I couldn’t help but be proud when Philly ranked fourth in a recent survey on stateside St. Paddy’s celebrations.
But there comes a time when we must examine even our most beloved traditions and ask ourselves, “Is this really how we want the world to see us? At what cost are we cheapening our ancestors’ heritage and compromising our city’s legacy?”
I’m speaking, of course, about Irish potatoes. (Say what you will about the Erin Express — it’s actually a pretty good time, although in truth, I was always more of a Shamrock Shuttle girl myself.)
An unholy combination of confectioners sugar, coconut and cream cheese rolled around in cinnamon, Irish potatoes trace their roots to the Philadelphia area, where more than 100 years ago, a couple people got dangerously stoned and had the following conversation:
“Hmm…what goes with coconut?”
“You’re right. Amazing.” Read more »
I’m approaching that age where it’s time to decide if I want to bring children into this world.
Most days, the answer is yes. I love kids, and for whatever reason — blind optimism, naïveté, Ambien — I believe that the human race is a good one and that we’ll eventually wake up from this fever dream we call election season.
But on other days, the Peeple app launches. Read more »
Illustration by Tim Parker.
I tend to begin a lot of stories with, “I was listening to a radio program, and … ”
Ideally, you assume this anonymous program is Fresh Air or This American Life. Perhaps a great new podcast you’ve never heard of. I’d settle for Radio Lab or All Things Considered.
We’re about to get pretty personal here, however, so I’ll come clean with you up front: I was listening to Preston & Steve. It’s pretty much always Preston & Steve. I’m 31 years old, and I think fart sound effects are funnier than ever. There you have it. Read more »