Your time is precious. Here are five stellar ways to consider spending it …

• The egotistical and extraordinary Kanye West brings his critically acclaimed Glow in the Dark Tour to the Susquehanna Center on Saturday night. There’s not a single seat left in the house, but you should be able to find something on Craigslist, and Sherry’s Tickets on 15th street has 18th row from the stage for about $150 each (215-561-5544). If you get there early, you’ll have to sit through Lupe and Rihanna, which you might not care to do.

• Also egotistical and extraordinary but in a less cool way, FBI-raided illusionist David Copperfield will inspire awe and female swooning at the Academy all weekend. I’ve seen him a couple of times and, although he’s likely to do the same tricks as before, I’m going again, which says something about either the quality of his work or my lack of a social calendar.

• Like books? The Free Library’s Second Annual Book Festival has lots of ’em, and their authors, too. Look for headliners Barbara Walters and Bernadette Peters (who apparently has a book out) in addition to Philly Mag contributors Ben Wallace (The Billionaire’s Vinegar: The Mystery of the World’s Most Expensive Bottle of Wine) and Vicki “World’s Most Hated Mom” Glembocki (The Second Nine Months: One Woman Tells the REAL Truth About Becoming a Mom).

• As if the Italian Market isn’t overcrowded enough, it’s the 9th Street Italian Market Festival this Saturday and Sunday. Sounds like it’s a lot less Italian than it used to be, sort of like South Philly itself. I’ll be grabbing a meatball sandwich (or maybe some tamales if the tamale lady is around), hopefully some homemade wine (shhhh!) and catching a set by the thoroughly non-Italian Black Landlord, one of my favorite Philly bands (they perform 3 p.m. on Sunday).

• If you’re shorebound, you’ll find that Chris Rock at the Borgata is sold out, Jim Breuer (fellow SNL alum, also at the Borgata) is not, and then there’s ’80s pop star Deborah Gibson, whose show is actually supposed to be pretty entertaining if you’re into the whole pop-meets-Broadway conceit. If you are, $25 tickets are available, and be sure to check out my interview with Ms. Gibson.

All I can say is brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I hate this freakin’ weather. Should you desire to brave the wretched elements, I offer some fine filler for your agenda.

The same thing happened to me on 13th and Locust … If you still haven’t seen Philadelphia Theatre Company’s (fairly) spectacular new home, the Suzanne Roberts Theater, a good excuse would be the opening of M. Butterfly, a Tony Award-winning play about some French dude who’s all hot for a pretty little Chinese opera singer who turns out to have one Y chromosome too many. And closing this weekend is New City Stage Company’s powerful Extremities at Mum Puppettheatre. All about victimization and revenge. Get a sitter.

Not so pretty pictures … They can build all the condos they want — Philadelphia will always have a gritty, shadowy underbelly, which I, personally, love and which is perfectly captured by local photographer Natalie Hope McDonald in Evidence, a three-(Philly)-woman show at William Way. (An example: the lovely Anya). Plus there are both disgusting and beautiful vein-popping bodybuilding photos by Ellen Rosenberg.

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Were I a shameless self-promoter, I would go on and on about The Sea, a very cool play that I happen to be in and that happens to start this weekend. But since I’m not, I will just give you these perfectly respectable though undoubtedly inferior recommendations.

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The best thing about Christmas being over in less than a week is not that the relatives head back from whence they came or that your checking account will finally reveal a sliver of its former self. No, it’s the fact that dance companies the world over — including our own Pennsylvania Ballet — will close the curtain on their productions of the Nutcracker. Now, they say that this tired old tradition keeps the lights on for many troupes, but there are a lot of other folks out there who’d like you to buy a ticket to their Christmas shows, too. (Plus, I’m pretty sure that the Ballet has some friends with deep pockets, like, say, Wachovia, Chrysler, and Reliance Insurance.)

Should you choose to step outside of the comfy confines of the Academy of Music and venture out into a Yuletide world less traveled, I have a few suggestions …

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Me? I just can’t take this cold weather anymore, so I’m off to Turks and Caicos for some pristine bods and beaches. You? You’re stuck with Kensington, the Chinese, and Macaulay. Enjoy.

Give Netflix a break … We’re in a brief lull in the movie business. Some of the best movies of the year — American Gangster, Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead and No Country for Old Men — have been out for a while, and the movie that I fully expect to clean up at the Oscars — Sweeney Todd — isn’t out for a couple of weeks. But that doesn’t mean you have to sit at home and watch Die Hard or Beaches for the 30th time. My suggestion: Go see two old (well, old to me) and brilliant (though in very different ways) movies — Blade Runner at the Ritz East and Home Alone at the spectacular new Ambler Theater. Yes, Macaulay Culkin was a horrible little prick, but he sure grew up fine.

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Ah, the promised wintry mix. The gaudy department store decor. The month of Law & Order reruns and stop-motion reindeer on TV. It all can only mean one thing: The dreaded holiday season is upon us. Enjoy yourself while you still can.

I’m guessing only one of them can get it up … This weekend, three very different shows featuring singers of the male gender hit town. My personal pick: the swaggering Tom Jones. Oh, excuse me, Sir Tom Jones, as his office in the UK pointed out to me. Sir Tom (at the A.C. Hilton all weekend) may be best known for his hit singles “It’s Not Unusual” and “What’s New Pussycat,” but they are child’s play compared to his balls-to-the-wall Thunderball. If Sir Tom exudes too much testosterone for you, there’s always the thoroughly asexual (and thoroughly magnificent) Vienna Boys Choir at the Kimmel and Bobby Rydell at the Keswick. Sure, Rydell hasn’t had a hit since more than a decade before I was born, but the high school in Grease was named after him, so he must have been pretty cool at some point.

Just what you need, more food … We may have lost Lollapalooza, but we will always have Latkepalooza. This year (the fifth annual), chefs from places like Bar Ferdinand and Marigold Kitchen will spruce up 3,000 or so of the lowly potato pancake. In case you lost track, Hanukkah starts next week.

What the hell is an Electric Boogaloo anyway? … I wrote off breakdancing a long time ago as one of those things that I think I would really like to do but will never actually do, and I’m fine with that (though I do remember doing a mad Worm at a drunken party in the ’90s). I would much rather watch the experts at work in the Kings of the Floor competition at Society Hill Dance Academy.

Yeah, but I get to bang Fran Drescher … I’m pretty sure that on my wife’s list of men that she could guiltlessly make out with if she just happened to be hanging around Phuket at the same time as him is Anthony Bourdain of No Reservations, the Travel Channel show where he scoffs down goat colon soup and mealworm pie. (Fran Drescher has never had a cockroach in her mouth, so I think I have the better deal.) He’s totally arrogant, which is actually what makes his show so good. See him be arrogant at the Free Library on Saturday in support of his new book.

And because I can’t decide … Bowling Against Bullets at Lucky Strike … (one of my favorite movies) Donnie Darko and cheap beer at the Troc … and 1812 Productions’ politically charged (and no doubt very funny) This Is The Week That Was at the Adrienne.

Unless you are a Jehovah’s Witness — undoubtedly the world’s worst religion, given its members’ refusal to celebrate Thanksgiving — your relatives will, at any moment, be crawling out from under their respective rocks to gorge themselves. Undoubtedly, wine will be spilled, china will be chipped, and the turkey will be dry and chewy. In case you need to blow off some steam in a big way, I give you the following.

Men your father does not approve of … R. Kelly has some major cojones. This is a guy who allegedly likes to pee on underage girls and mounts a tour while he’s up on a bevy of child porn charges. Tonight, he turns on his sex-crazed lyrical spigot (not to mention the hordes of women who forgive him his trespasses) at the Wachovia Center, and there are many, many tickets available (8th row from the stage = $100). Not to be outdone, pottymouthed Chris Rock will offend pretty much everyone as he takes the stage in Atlantic City. Tickets are sparse.

Shop until you drop Eat and drink until you drop, and then shop … I’ve never understood the Black Friday thing. I mean, I’m all for saving money, but the idea of battling massive crowds of hungover cheapskates makes me wince. But this year, Kohl’s has epitomized the lunacy of it all by opening its doors at 4 a.m. I feel for the local TV reporter — maybe Dick Standish? — who has to cover it.

If God himself were a jazz guitarist … There’s not much snarky to be said about Pat Martino, the legendary Philadelphia guitarist who had to relearn the instrument in the 1980s after a near-fatal brain aneurysm led to amnesia. He has a two-night stand this weekend at Chris’ Jazz Cafe. (Rumor has it that if you slide the door girl an impressive bill, she’ll whisk the “Frank Sinatra” table from the kitchen and give you a posh seat up front.)

Assuming Jurassic Park didn’t ruin the allure for you … You probably haven’t seen the Academy of Natural Sciences’ impressive dinosaur collection since that fifth-grade field trip, so the museum’s Thanksgiving Dino Weekend might be a good way to reclaim your youth, or at least entertain the tots for a while.

Now you know why my wife says I’m immature … Prank call the Butterball Turkey Hotline. I know that sounds like a really stupid idea, but it’s a great way to relieve holiday stress. 1-800-BUTTERBALL.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

In less than a week, you will consume more calories in one day than you did the entire summer. Before you need a crane to lift you out of the house, get out and see the world (or at least Philadelphia) and remember it fondly.

But what do they do with all the crap? … Every time I see someone on the sidewalk bending with a plastic bag after their mutt takes a steamy dump, I am amazed at the dedication one can have to an animal that sheds everywhere, costs a fortune to feed and repair, and is too dumb to be toilet-trained. This weekend, the world’s most deranged and dedicated dog owners descend upon Philadelphia for the Kennel Club Show and the National Dog Show. Normally, you would watch the televised version on Thanksgiving after the Macy’s Parade, but if you actually go to the show this weekend, you can finally cross it off of your 100 Things To Do Before I Die list.

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Me? I’m off to lovely Tidioute, Pennsylvania (pop. not quite 800), which is a six-hour drive from here, for a beer-only wedding. That’s just the way they do things in Tidioute. You? Your options have much more potential …

Everybody hates Chris (but loves free tickets) … Yesterday, I had the pleasure of yapping with Preston & Steve on WMMR for my story in the brand-new issue of the magazine, The Last Porn Palace. The guest preceding me was foul-mouthed Brooklynite Adam Ferrara from The King of Queens, who is at Helium through Saturday. He had me laughing my ass off, and not just because I was high on antihistamines and 800mg of Ibuprofen, thanks to these damn flu-like symptoms. Adam is a funny guy. But there is one man who walks this earth who is, without a doubt, one of the top three funniest people in the history of mankind, barring Henry Kissinger and Judas of course, and his name is Chris Rock. The reason I’ve invoked his name is because he’s coming to town for two shows at the Borgata, beginning November 23rd (BLACK Friday, in case you’re keeping score), and tickets go on sale this Saturday. Speaking of tickets, I have two. The first person that asks for them gets them.

Could it possibly be more absurd than your boss running for Congress? … You could go to Philadelphia Theatre Company’s debut show (the one that replaced the one that was going to star scary Kathy Bates) in their brand-spanking-new Suzanne Roberts Theatre, but from what we hear, the theater itself is much more intriguing than the show. If the play is the thing this weekend, I suggest the newest offering from Philadelphia’s most respected and most bizarre experimental troupe, Pig Iron Theatre Company. They aren’t really telling us specifically what it’s about, but it’s free (well, a $10 donation is requested), and doesn’t the mystery make it more interesting anyway? (If the answer is no, drink your Metamucil and stick to the earlier suggestion).

To dream the impossible dream … It seems everyone is boo-hooing Donovan McNabb and his tragic band of turf warriors. And yet, I’ve received more than a few phone calls from friends asking me if I have a line on tickets for Eagles vs. Cowboys. For the record, I don’t have such a line, and if I did, I’d be at the Linc on Sunday night. Since the game is after bedtime for my kids, you’ll probably find my wife and me at Chickie’s & Pete’s downing massive quantities of beer and Crab Fries.

Thirsty, but not bloodthirsty … So if you’re looking to go out on Sunday night and you couldn’t be the least bit interested in watching a bunch of guys pummel each other in South Philly, you might just be the type that would enjoy The Crowd Pleasers (liquor drinkin’ jazz and blues) at Bob and Barbara’s (one of Maxim’s top dive bars in the country, what with their $3 beer and shot all-the-time special), Karaoke That Doesn’t Suck at the El Bar (1356 N. Front St., 215-634-6430), which is one of the few legal and non-life-threatening experiences you can have under the El (and if you don’t know what “the El” is, go elsewhere), or Björk co-conspirator Min Xiao-Fen at the Fleisher Art Memorial.

Yeah, Osteria is awesome, but … Saturday night, head out to a restaurant you haven’t been to in a while (if ever). As I write this, many of my favorite restaurants have OpenTable reservations available between 7 p.m. and 9 p.m. on Saturday. Try Ansill, Friday Saturday Sunday, Valentino on the Square or Domaine Hudson.

Image, msnbc.msn.com

If you’re reading this, you are not one of the 160,000 people (statistically anyway) who died yesterday. And if you play your cards right, you might just hold on through the weekend. Get out there and do something while you still can.

What does “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” mean, anyway? … For those uncultured among you, Patti LuPone is not just Corky’s mom on Life Goes On. She is, in fact, a Tony-Award-winning actress with lots of brass in both attitude and voice, and I hear that her musical revue at the Prince with Mandy Patinkin (think lots of Sondheim and undoubtedly a little Evita, which the two starred in back in the ’80s, and, hopefully, a little Sweeney Todd, in which Lupone was absolutely spectacular last year) is fabulous in that “your mom will love it” sorta way. The folks at the Prince tell us that good seats are still available for Saturday’s matinee.

Unwrap all candy BEFORE the show starts … This weather is movie theater weather, so stash some drinks and bagged popcorn in your bulkiest winter coat and catch a flick. If you know where Ambler is, you might consider checking out the newly renovated Ambler Theater, which the Philadelphia Weekly gushes over this week. Think art house, not multiplex. What would be much more fun, though, is a trip to the International House for the 24-hour Horror-thon, presented by Exhumed Films — local curators of the wickedest and cheesiest horror films known to man. At $20 for this entire day of gore, that’s less than a cent per liter of blood spilled.

Boooooooooo-tsie … Philly’s Bootsie Barnes may be old and cranky, but he can still blow one mean-ass tenor sax. Hear him do so tonight (Friday) with his organ quartet at Chris’ Jazz Cafe, a 2007 Best of Philly winner.

But is it a fruit or a vegetable? … If you haven’t done so already, right now is probably a good time to think about your Halloween pumpkin. First, you need a pumpkin, and while going to the Ack-a-me might be the easiest solution, picking your own is a bit more rewarding. (Plus there are usually corn mazes around, so you might finally lose your kids once and for all.) Once you’ve acquired said pumpkin, avoid the modern trappings, like those Pimp My Pumpkin kits, and get into a little old-school carving the Martha Stewart way. Finally, whatever you do, don’t try making pumpkin pie with your pumpkin flesh. In this one very specific instance, canned is always the way to go. Or better yet, leave the pie-making to local charity Manna.

What if I gave him fangs??? … Everyone knows the story of Dracula, but the should-be-better-known Rosenbach Museum near Rittenhouse Square presents the story of the story of Dracula using the original research and notes of Bram Stoker, the novel’s author. If you go on Saturday and notice a bunch of ghoulish characters from the book roaming around the Square, it’s just the Rosenbach’s annual Dracula parade.

As always, e-mail me with your Weekender ideas and dinner invitations.