I was climbing off the bus the other day when I saw something white and foamy whiz by my open-toed sandal. I looked down—it felt like slow motion—and simultaneously realized that it was a massive globule of human spittle, flying like a tiny comet about two centimeters away from my pinky toe. I immediately looked up to sigh aggressively at the spitter and furiously stomped off the bus, my mood soured. The oblivious spitter moseyed on.
The Philadelphia Happiness Project: 12 Ways to Overcome City-Induced Angst
Even when someone spits on your open-toed shoes.
What to Expect When You’re Expecting to Graduate From College
Debt, shock, your old bedroom at home.
Villanova University’s seniors graduated last weekend. By all accounts, it was a wonderful ceremony held on a glorious day. Students were celebrating the milestone with big hugs, fist bumps and high fives. A particularly joyous photo of the ceremony caught my eye and got me to wondering: What the hell are they so happy about? Clearly, they have no idea that their college years will never be duplicated for unencumbered freedom to search, learn, develop and make mistakes with minimum consequences. College is an environment that offers a buffer, a safe haven for growth without many of the burdens of being a working adult—financial obligations, responsibilities of family and the routine of full-time work.
My summers at overnight camp were the best time of my childhood, and I got to re-live them over the weekend. I happily endured a plane seat designed for elves and a gelato-firm mattress in exchange for a few days of authentic female bonding with 80 fellow alums of the late, great Camp Wingfoot for Girls in Painesville, Ohio (pop. 19,563).
The Silhouettes: "Get a Job"
In 1957, a doo-wop group in Philadelphia called the Silhouettes recorded a song called "Get a Job" at the Robinson Recording Studios in Philadelphia. Like "Ice Ice Baby" many years later, "Get a Job" was actually a B-side that DJs preferred to the single. The song caught fire on local radio, and the group eventually performed the song on American Bandstand (which, at the time, was recorded in Philly). The song was soon a national sensation, selling more than three million copies and shooting to the #1 spot on the Billboard pop chart. Sadly, like many performers of that era, the Silhouettes were completely taken advantage of by the record companies, and they made almost nothing off of the song. Finally, after years of fighting in court, in 1987, songwriter and group member Rick Lewis won his case, and received some of the money he deserved from writing one of the most memorable hits of the doo-wop era. (You can read more about the Silhouettes here.)
We will be told ad nauseam that this weekend is the “unofficial” start of summer. I don’t care what Cecily Tynan says, summer starts officially for most of us this weekend at different times, in different ways and in places. For some, summer starts with the first smell of salt air; others need to see Lucy the Elephant, and others wait to feel sand in their feet or the ice-cold water of the Atlantic Ocean.
I Went to Revel and All I Got Was A Whole Lot of Frustration
What I learned at Friday’s sold-out Maroon 5 show.
On Friday night, I took my 13-year-old cousin Brianna (and Brianna's mom and my wife) to Atlantic City's new $2 billion-plus Revel hotel and casino to see Maroon 5, fronted by The Voice's Adam Levine (a bearded version), whom Brianna, her mom and her grandma describe as "yummy," "sexy," and "yummy," respectively. It was the first live event ever at Revel's Ovation Hall, which is welcoming Beyonce this coming weekend for four sold-out shows. I went into this endeavor expecting to hate Maroon 5 and love Revel. Boy was I wrong. Here, some observations.
My Wedding Gift to Mark and Priscilla Zuckerberg
It’s what you two newlyweds really need. (Hint: Not a blender.)
Mark Zuckerberg announced over the weekend that he and his longtime girlfriend, Priscilla Chan, had gotten married. He did so over Facebook. I wish them every happiness. It does seem a little bit ironic that the news broke just days after New York Times “wellness” columnist Tara Parker Pope pondered in print: “Does Facebook Turn People Into Narcissists?”, and in the same month that Stephen Marche wondered in the Atlantic: “Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?” Ironic because the answers are, well, yes, and yes.
With the announcements from television networks about their upcoming seasons, it is the official end to the 2011-2012 TV season. And thank the baby Jesus that it’s over. This TV season was one of the most underwhelming and frustrating seasons in years. Shows that were to be the next big thing (Terra Nova, Alcatraz) fizzled. Shows that were to redefine TV (Smash) ended up being been-there-done-that melodrama. Yes, there were a few bright spots (New Girl) and pleasant surprises (Suburgatory). But many shows felt like networks’ desperate attempts to fill time (¡Rob!, How to be a Gentleman).
As we look back over the season, here are my picks for the winners and losers.
I Can’t Wait for Sequel to Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog
The hunt for more good online video content.
“Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog” holds a special place in my heart, and not just because of its pitch-perfect take on the lighter side of evil villains. The characters are refreshing and entertaining, and the main villain is so likeable you sometimes forget he’s singing on the side of evil. Though the concept is silly and campy, it’s wonderfully relatable; I really feel Dr. Horrible’s longing to become a part of the Evil League of Evil, even while I’m laughing at the name. It’s great TV, except that it’s not quite TV. It's the first widely popular, seriously produced, bona fide online video serial. It’s seminal in the pantheon of web content. And we need more content because TV is now just one of the many places where people find the video they watch.
I love going to the movies because it's so dramatic: The lights dim, the audience buzzes, and then images dance across a giant screen. Throw emotions into the mix and every visit offers a chance for us to become utterly entranced by human creativity.
That is if you can stifle your rage over the gabby douchebag seated next to you.
New Gap Ads Pioneer the Cheesifying of Gay Love
If only we could accept something without seeing dollar signs.
Gap has a new ad campaign. It’s for t-shirts, and (like most ad campaigns) it’s telling you what to be. Be you, be true, be cool, be somebody with a little cash to spend and the basic human need to accrue stuff, thereby affirming your own existence. I’m sure Gap has placed these posters and billboards at hundreds of thousands of strategic points across our great nation, and that they all feature a wide variety of luminous, fresh-faced folks of various racial backgrounds (if not waist measurements) selling the same shirts in the same ways. But I’ve only seen two, and the two I saw today in the Walnut/Locust SEPTA station seemed to me, in many ways, unique.
When I graduated high school, back in the Paleozoic Era that was the '80s, my parents did not throw me a party. In fact, they didn't even take me to dinner. (I went with a friend and her family to the old 94th Aero Squadron in the far Northeast, which to us seemed like going to France itself—how fancy!) My folks did show up at the actual ceremony, though I recall even that was a game-time decision. I won a few awards, including one from the local VFW for citizenship, which I hoped was due to the fact that I had badgered the suitably apathetic girl sitting next to me in advisory all through high school to lustily recite the Pledge of Allegiance during assembly. Returning the favor, she printed the entire Pledge in my yearbook.
