Rednecks or Urban Sophisticates... Who's more Racist?

Going to a high school graduation can bring up so many sentimental memories, even for the most jaded and snarky of bloggers.  I attended Abington High School’s class of 2011 graduation a few weeks ago for my eldest nephew.   Seeing that bunch of kids move on from high school to college, and the requisite sappy speeches by valedictorians and salutatorians, reminded me of the lessons I learned in high school and how they prepared me for the big bad world.

As I mentioned in a previous post, one thing I’m extremely happy about is the diversity in my hometown and in the high school from which I graduated. 

Living in the city, especially in Philadelphia where racial tensions seem to infuse every conversation, every election, every poop scooping* with unnecessary meaning, I feel it necessary to temper my blog with a comment on where I grew up.

Oxford, Pennsylvania and the neighboring town on Nottingham where I actually lived are about an hour and a half south of Philadelphia.  Rolling green hills, the wafting aroma of manure and Herr’s potato chips, and the jangle of Amish horse and buggies rolling down the shoulder of the interstate all paint a picture in the mind of Norman Rockwell, Wonderbread, and Country Time lemonade, I’m sure.  But the other two things we had in Oxford were Lincoln University, the oldest black university in the country, and a booming mushroom growing business which brought a substantial number of agricultural workers, mostly Hispanic, to our town to stay.

As a result, my high school was surprisingly diverse for a redneck farm town.  And for many reasons, many of the normal race/class associations that might happen in other small towns didn’t happen there.  If you were poor, you were just as likely to be white or black or Hispanic.  If you were wealthy or popular or smart, you were just as likely to be white or black or Hispanic.  I’m not saying it was the perfect Gap advertisement or anything.  There were still issues, no doubt.  But coming from that environment, I never felt like it mattered that much what color one was.  And that even applied to races that we didn’t have in attendance.  I had no clue that there was anything bad to be said about Asians, Jews, Indians, or Eskimos.

But then I went to college.  One of my first friends at Syracuse University, was a young woman named Melissa.  As winter break approached, she mentioned the ski trip her family was taking and I innocently asked, “Oh, is that your Christmas tradition?”  She replied, and I paraphrase, “Hello?  Curly hair?  Big Nose?  Last Name, Silverman?  We don’t celebrate Christmas, you insensitive adolescent prick.”  While you can debate whether I should ever be allowed to mention the “C-Word” in casual conversation, what was so surprising to me was that she actually expected me to know all the markers of being Jewish-American.  As if I had been sat down in pre-school with a bunch of felt board characters and played “Spot the Jew”. 

The same kind of experiences followed me to Penn State and now to Philadelphia.  We live in Mt. Airy which is widely considered one of the most integrated neighborhoods in the country.  Not the most diverse**, as other Philadelphia neighborhoods have more equal distribution between races asseen in the latest Census, but the most integrated.  I don’t know how they quantify such a thing, but from the neighborhoods my wife and I have lived in, we can testify that there seems to be far less racial tension here than in any other place we’ve been in the city. 

But the assumption of racism still applies.  People assume that because I am Caucasian, I mean horrible racist things when I complain about loud neighbors, turn up my nose at grungy taquerias with litter all over the corners, cross the street to avoid dudes walking pittbulls with weights chained to their collars, or refuse to stop saying Merry “C-Word” to other dogwalkers in the woods.  I don’t mean horrible racist things.   I do mean that I don’t like what you’re doing and I think it is bad for society and you should stop.  I don’t care what culture you came from and whether it’s the norm.

Which isn’t to say that I don’t struggle with racism.  I think anyone who says they don’t, no matter what walk of life they come from, is pretending.  I have to check myself and my actions to see what part of my heart is motivating them.  I think, in fact, that moving to the city, despite “the value of racial diversity” has actually made me more inclined towards inaccurate judgments based on race.  But that’s the benefit of integration in our neighborhood, rather than diversity.  It breaks down the normative race/class associations and actually allows us all to judge actions rather than color.

So, all this is to say that I don’t apologize for my attitude in my blog.  I won’t pussyfoot around your oversensitivity and assumptions of my racism.  That fact that I’m ignorant of all the crap I’m putting out there is exactly what we ought to all aspire to. 

*The poop scooping incident refers to the time that the mean old lady down at the end of our block belligerently yelled at the Mrs. for “allowing our dog to poop in the strip of grass between her sidewalk and curb”.  My wife patiently and quietly protested multiple times that we in fact haven’t walked our dog that way in months and furthermore, on the off chance he did poop there months ago, we always carry plastic bags for pickup.  Madame Crustacean replied, “Well, my friend said it was white people let their dogs do that.  You white?”  When I do my yearly climb onto the roof to sweep the acorns off the roofs of everyone on the block, I admit that I don’t do hers.  Partly because she was mean to my wife.  Partly because anyone that nasty is likely to sue me or call the cops on me for doing her a favor.

**I have this debate online with Mt Airy message board posters all the time about the difference between Diversity and Integration.  People don’t think it makes a difference, but as long as diversity, not integration is your end goal, your perpetrating racism by evaluating success based on color alone.

RowHouse Magazine and Blog

They say that opposites attract.  I would tend to agree when it comes to romantic partners, sparring partners, and covalent bonds between atoms.

But when you're talking about other bloggers, like minds attract.  There's not the same competition as in the business world and the folks out there are generally really excited to trade information and cross link.  Building a network of bloggers that touch on the same subjects just makes it easier for readers to find the info or opinions they're looking for as well.

So I was very excited to find RowHouse Magazine and their associated blog.  Operating out of Philly but covering topics all over the East Coast, the folks at RowHouse have some great content.  Check em out...

Row House focuses almost exclusively on the issues revolving around row home living, which is all about compact space and community living.  When the Mrs and I read some of the various home and garden rags, we often scoff at such descriptors as:


"Muffy and Reginald needed to downsize as their 2.5 children moved off to college at Vanderbilt, Cranbrook, and Arcadia respectively.  So they scoured the market until they found this 3500 SF home on 1.5 acres of land.  It was a serious compromise to their spatial needs and the feng shui principles that affect the wellbeing of their cat named Mr. Giles, so the couple hired Fifi St. Lorraine to help with the interior decorating of their broom closet."*

If you're not scoffing, please stop reading now and go look at Architectural Digest.

The Mrs and I are SWIMMING in our 1600 SF row home on 1/16th of an acre.  Even with our 65 lb dog, weekly parties, and room for itinerant guests for months at a time.  3500 SF, a crunch?  Please.  We can't even keep half of our house clean.  The last thing I would want is MORE space.

Rowhouse features a lot of great photos and ideas for living "small".  Check some out below.

All photos credit:  Row House Magazine


*Not an actual quote.  But seriously, if you needed that footnote, you probably need to also stop reading the rest of this blog and head over to Architectural Digest.  They've got a feature on Elizabeth Taylor's house, postmortem, which is weird on many levels.  If you head over there and see vomit on the screen, that's mine.

ADAPT Modular Shelving

Why place your furniture based on the irregular shape of your room?

When instead, you could alter your furniture to fit the irregular shape of your room?

 Check out ADAPT Modular Shelving

Again, I cite this as the reason that we accept designers being douchey. (Not necessarily this guy, but just the general population including me, as a rule.)  Douchey people that bring us cool stuff like this are allowed to continue in their douchitude.

I mean, you could accomplish this with a jigsaw and some 2x4's and some 3/4" shelving.  But that assumes that you're handy, then you couldn't take it with you to the next apartment.

Verge Garden- Part 6: Planting

I'm not going to bore you with the details of how to plant things.  If you came to this blog looking for that, you're bound to be sorely disappointed.  Instead, I'll just show you the more or less finished product with a breakdownof what went into each bed.  Here's the planted Garden:

 

Each portion has a perennial ground cover in the center surrounded by four perennial herbs that will release a pleasing aroma when stepped upon.  As previously mentioned in yesterday's post, the garden beds resemble a cat burial ground more than anything else.  Hopefully the "burial" mounds will settle in time and look a little less like a Stephen King plot device.

Mazus Reptans Alba surrounded by Nutmeg Thyme.

Antennaria Dioica surrounded by Pennyroyal

Mazus Reptans Alba surrounded by Lawn Chamomile

Sedum Spurium Red Carpet surrounded by Roman Chamomile

Sedum Spurium Tricolor Surrounded by Orange Zest Thyme and Mother of Thyme

Veronica Repens surrounded by Creeping Oregano.

Verge Garden- Part 5: Planting Beds

Now that all the plants were purchased, the Verge Garden strip could finally be built.  I decided to go with the more thoughtful and considerate option B plan.  No Poison Ivy and half the work and cost.

The first step was to scrape off the top layer of sod.  This was incredibly easy and I just piled it all into my large tupperware bin thing that I use for transporting dirt in our Subaru.  (Sigh...yearning for the days of having a truck.)  Unfortunately, I did not anticipate that sod weighs about twice as much as dirt.  So when I tried lifting the mother into the back of the wagon, I think I ripped all the sinews in my inner elbows.*  Unshovel half the dirt back into the bed, dump the first sod load, reshovel and dump the second load.  Oi.

 After scraping off the top layer of sod, I spaced my brick paths evenly along the lot line. Using a trowel, I excavated to the proper level, poured a smidgen of sand down, and started laying bricks.

The further I got down the row, the tighter the space between the edge of the curb and the edge of the concrete sidewalk became.  Fortunately, I had my father's rubber mallet and masonry hammer to fit the tightest bricks into place.  Yet it still was no easy task.  Much swearing and brick chips in the eye were enjoyed.

After getting most of the way done, I realized that the proportions of the planting beds reminded me of a stray cat cemetery.  But, turning lemons into lemonade, I remembered that there are a lot of dead stray cats around our neighborhood (because of the bus route) and realized, hey, what makes better fertilizer than dead stuff?  So, collecting all the roadkill in a two block radius, I piled one into each planting bed, and covered them with 6 inches of soil.**  6 cats that finally have a final resting place.  Amen.

And now we have a beautiful, albeit, slightly morbid Verge Garden Strip, ready for all the groundcover and rock garden plants I purchased.

 

*  Yes, I know, lift with your back, not your arms.

**Just checking to see if you're reading carefully.  It's like those stupid standardized tests where they make you read the passage and then see how many relevant and irrelevant*** details you can remember.

*** Not that dead cats are irrelevant, mind you.  I find dead cats in the city to be extremely relevant, mostly because there's too many strays and I attribute very little value to their life.  So, its the one time I rooting for Septa.

Verge Garden- Part 2: Planning

The Planting Strip Verge shown in the picture below is actually the length of two lots, my own and my neighbor's.

Now, the whole plan came about after I got sick of constantly mowing both ends of the strip because my neighbor (who is living in Miss Edna's house FOR FREE) can't be bothered with home maintenance.  So my original intent was to use my leftover bricks to create a walking garden that would not require mowing.  In addition, the plant material between the bricks would have to be treadable since I can't expect everyone who parks here to carefully choose their footing before stepping out of the passenger seat.

To that end, I created the following plan, to use up my 120 bricks.

Now this plan, let's call her "Scheme- A" will use all 120 bricks, but will also require 27 6" plants and 42 3" plants.  That's no frickin joke in terms of budget.

But then I thought, "I'm a little disgruntled with the neighbor who won't mow/weed/shovel/paint etc."  So, if you look carefully, you'll notice that I modified the drawing & colored all the plants on her side of the property line blue.  That's because they represent Poison Ivy which is a lovely ornamental vine with waxy leaves and a trifoliate growth habit.  Coincidentally, I'm immune to some of the adverse effects I've heard it is rumored to have.

However, I could feel God teaching me a lesson in humility and forgiveness even as I contemplated planting poison ivy on her side.  He'd might take away my immunity the moment I started planting it.  Plus, where does one buy 6" pots of Poison Ivy?  I already checked Burpees.

So I came up with the alternate less ambitious, "Scheme- B" which is shown below.  This still has 120 bricks, in wider paths, but with only 13 6" pots and 20 3" pots.  Plus, less digging.

I guess I'm still undecided.  Do you have a preference?

Planting Strip Garden- Part 1: Introduction

Per my earlier post, I'm planning a garden in the grassy strip between my sidewalk and the street.

As I began to write this post, I realized that there was a problem.  What does one call the strip of earth/grass/mud/litter that many cities have between the sidewalk and the curb and street?  Well, I began by searching the Philadelphia Municipal Code, which is actually a great resource.

I've used it before to contest a ticket I received for double parking.  (By looking up the definition carefully, I discovered that I was in fact NOT double parking, but instead was blocking the Bus Stop.  But that's not what I was charged with, so the fuzz was S.O.L when I contested the ticket in court.  Anal Retentive Nerd: 1, Traffic Cop: 0)

Anyways, in Philadelphia, the aforementioned strip is defined in a subset of the code section on "sidewalks" and is called simply, "the planting strip."

But apparently the term varies from locale to locale:

From Alt-Usage-English.org:

This varies regionally.  Terms include "verge" (U.K.); "nature strip" (south Australia); "berm" (New Zealand); "parkway" and "planting strip" (western U.S.); "parking strip", "parking", "tree belt", "tree lawn", "lawn strip", "devil strip", "boulevard", and "terrace" (all eastern U.S.); "city strip" and "boulevard strip"(both Canada); and "long acre" (rural Ireland and elsewhere).  Most of these terms have other meanings also.

Personally, I prefer the term "devil strip". On the other hand, if I start calling it "the verge" I can always claim I'm from the U.K. when I'm questioned on my appropriation of the space in the future. People tend to be nicer to Englishmen in the U.S. Perhaps its the accent, or remnants of social guilt for absconding with "The Office", or perhaps its just sympathy for the bad teeth.

I'm going with Verge. 

Floating Shelf

 I saw this picture on This Old House's The Hardware Aisle blog and was reminded of when my best friend and I did something similar in the bathroom of our tiny two room apartment in University City. 

It was perfect for storing all manner of bathroom and cleaning supplies.  But, of course, my anal nature required that in order for the shelf display to be aesthetically pleasing, I had to purchase enough rolls of toilet paper to fill the entire perimeter.  I basically made crown molding out of toilet paper.  I wish I had that picture to post.

Swirlys, Wet Willies, Pink Bellies, Zerberts, Combos, and Wedgies

Friday Night...

Our pastor, Geoff Bradford, and his family are regrettably leaving to lead some group of jerks at a stupid church in the backwater nowhere of Raleigh, NC.  I'm not still bitter and Praise the Lord, blah, blah, blah.  

Anyways, his 6 boys have been a real joy over the past 9 years, so I wanted to throw them a special event to celebrate.  I told them that we would have a massive sleepover, wrestlefest, Philly junkfood tour, video game extravaganza with all the guys from our church they wanted.  They made a list and excitedly discussed it every night at dinner.  Clay, who is 6 or 7 I think, was apparantly discussing this with his Dad, and started calling it "Man Night".  His Dad said, "But, you're not a man...?".  Clay responded "So, there'll be men!".  His Dad followed up with, "Well, what are you going to wear to Man Night?"  Immediately, Clay declared, "Well, I'm not wearing a shirt!"

Anyways, here's the poster:

Courtesy- David Speers Promotional Events

Highlights:

Garrison-  The pinkest belly ever;  His shared desire for a ginormous Squid tattoo; Farting;
Sam- Settlers of Catan Smack Talk; Gangsta Rap; Winning in Manliness Points;
Henry- Him getting a Swirly; Him getting a Polish Wedgie; Him clutching a Teddy Bear?;
Clay- Ruffio; Leaving him to Wander the streets of Fishtown alone; South Street Challenge (sorta);
Ezra- Witnessing what I can only assume was his first Wedgie;  The trauma it seemed to induce;
Asher-  Motorcycle Helmets; Vacant Baby Stares; General Cuteness;

You Gotta Love Philly…

So, I briefly mentioned that I’m going to be working part time in the near future in Architecture as a means to pursue other things in life with a little balance and perspective.  (More on anxiety induced panic attacks as a result of my job some other time… I’m in far too good a mood right now to write about that PLUS as previously alluded, the drugs help.)  Anyways, in doing some career counseling, one thing that I realized is how much I loved writing and spreading my vigor, vitriol, vehemence, and virility across the Vorld Vide Net.  I loved blogging not so long ago.  Why not get back into doing that?   

So I began a little online research about how to go about making money in such a venture, rather than just as a hobby.

Alas, the first thing I stumbled upon was this article and video.  A quote:

View more videos at: http://www.nbcphiladelphia.com.

“Taking a step closer to an eerie Orwellian state where creativity is crushed in the name of “the greater good,” the city of Philadelphia is demanding that bloggers pay $300 for the privilege of writing on the Internet.

This $300 “business privilege license” is for all local bloggers – even the ones that make no money off their words.

The city doesn’t stop there. In addition to the $300 for the license to write on the World Wide Web, bloggers must pay city wage taxes, business privilege taxes and taxes on any net profits -- on top of state and federal taxes -- even if the blogger only made $11 over two years, reports the City Paper.”

Chortle.  Of course Philadelphia’s archaic notions about Business Privilege  Tax would be my first impediment to a new freedom and way of thinking.   Alas, fret not, readers, I won’t let it get in the way and if anybody knows how to stick it to the man*, it’d be me.

 (*Wait, am I the man?  I get so confused in Philadelphia as to whether I’m the oppressor or the oppressee.  Stupid race/economic/gender/lifestyle relations.  Blech.) 

The Rohde Warrior

Just before Rach and I got married, we went to The Second Mile thrift store in my ol' neighborhood of West Philly. We purchased two pieces of art deco modern furniture.

One was the dining room buffet for a measly $20 which has been mentioned before and is still awaiting stripping and restoration.
The other was a somewhat interesting little drawer unit with a really bad blue paint job for $5. We talked about repainting it and storing takeout menus inside, but never really got around to it. So when we moved into our current house, it ended up hanging out in the corner of the garage.Before tackling the buffet, which I prize for its modern lines and sweet hardware, I wanted to test out some stripping methods on the little chest of drawers. So on Saturday, I penned the dog up in the neighboring room so that he'd only get the whiff of fumes rather than actually ingesting mounds of peeled paint. I applied a coat of chemical stripper, donned my sensible rubber blue gloves, and went medieval on its a**.Only after I got past the first layer did I clear enough to see that there was a fine, and I mean "sexy" FINE walnut wood veneer underneath. I began to take more care. Once I realized that I might be dealing with a nicer piece of furniture than I'd previously expected, I searched the drawers and found this label.A little googling and we have a winner. Gilbert Rohde was a famous industrial designer and furniture craftsman in the 1930s who single handedly, by some accounts, steered the Herman Miller Furniture company aesthetic towards modernism and minimalist design. He has pieces in the Museum of Modern Art in New York, among others, and his pristine pieces go for a lot on ebay.
I'm under no misconception that I could buffer my retirement account or even buy the aforementioned skill saw with this piece. I fully imagine that I would take it to an antique dealer, much like on that Antiques Roadshow thing on PBS, and they would tell me "If only you had left the paint on, or if you hadn't kept it in your basement for a year, or let the dog pee on it that one time, it would be worth $10,512."

But it will be nice to have in the house once I clean it up a bit more. I've contacted the Herman Miller company as well as an evidently well-informed guy on flickr. (He also has a great showcase of Rohde design photos. He's an avid collector.) Hopefully they'll help me with an identification of the piece this week.

And the satisfaction that I get from knowing its not being used to store someone's crack pipes or some UPenn student's maxed out credit card collection is more than enough for me. A pile of take out menus will be a welcome inhabitant.

Inevitable Truths

Well, February has arrived. And with it, we must face a horrible truth:

(No, not the inevitable extinction of our species due to government subsidization of agriculture, specifically corn... We'll face that inevitable truth in March.)

The inevitable truth is that we (Rachael and I) no longer have a valid parking permit for downtown Philadelphia, Zone 1. We got a permit while renting our old apartment in Grad Hospital, and we've been using it to park downtown for the last 8 months on the three days we drove into work. Probably slightly illegal, and the moral ramifications of such a decision are less than transparent, but with two people and free parking, it was incrementally cheaper than taking public transit.

However, this too must pass and now we've entered another season of transportation. The Regional rail stop is about a block from our house and its so nice to arrive at work after a half hour of reading about the inevitable extinction of our species due to antibiotics required to sustain feed animals in the industrial food complex. It really just is so much more peaceful than Rush Hour on Lincoln Drive.

Plus, SEPTA, (South Eastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority), has decided to welcome us back with open arms and these nifty trailpasses that are promoting the "Science of Star Wars" exhibit at the Franklin Institute.


Now, I'm not really a Star Wars geek, though I do have fond memories of my best friend's Boba Fett action figure and my Darth Vader action figure battling it out over the sandbox in his backyard. (Which was probably comprised more of catpoop than sand, but neither of us has any serious diseases today, so I consider us none the worse for wear.)

Both figures were tragically lost in a failed recreation of the "Sarlacc Incident", which was mythologically incorrect as Boba Fett and Darth Vader never met, Darth Vader was not on Tattooine at that time, and they would not have been enemies anyways. Maybe the toxic bacteria from the catpoop was infecting our higher cognitive skills...

ANYWAYS, Septa had something cool on their trailpasses for the month of February. This is nice, but does not change the fact that SEPTA is still my archnemesis and that "Destroy Septa and all its Employees" is still Item #1 on my To Do List...

Seriously, its on my office wall at work, right above:
#2, Revise Industry Standards for Door Labeling
#3 File Emails
#4 Make Rebecca Cry
#5, Convert MaryEllen to a Republican
#6 Join US Olympic Curling Team
#7 Get Delaware to Secede from the Union
#8 Signage Details for Jacksonville Project.

In reference to Item #1, I just wanted to link to Septawatch which is a nice site chronicling everything Septa does wrong and why they're utter Butt Monkeys.

Weaver's WAY too much!

Let me start by saying that I'm a naturalist at heart. I love the environment. Its full of interesting sensory inputs, some nice, some ugly, but never boring. The biological aspect especially always piques my interest... going tide pooling, snorkeling, gardening, and hiking are fascinating and fun to me because there's no limit to the biodiversity you can experience. I even love virology because I think that those little guys are just intriguing.

I mean, if one of those parasites or viral swarms end up inside me, KILL EM ALL!, but from an abstract observer's perspective, they're way cool. I mean, really, that's part of being a naturalist: Killing and Death and Survival. If you believe in some concept of "Mother Nature", you're fooling yourself. Nature is not particularly mothering. Nature is a ignorant blunt brute of a dude. Kind of like Schwarzenegger. Let's call it "The TermiNature" from now on...

I mean, if you've heard about these things called hurricanes or if you've seen the awesome video of a baby water buffalo being mauled, (By a crocodile and a pack of lions SIMULTANEOUSLY- Awesome!), then there's no way you can come out on the other side thinking that Thoreau's vision of the woods was complete.

So, that's why I like to have a connection to my food. Its visceral and its real and it just makes it taste better. I come from a family of hunters and fishers and cultivators and gatherers. I, myself, find the hunting part boring which is why, as deer season approaches, I will probably be maintaining radio silence with my Dad and Brother(s) so I don't have to hear the endless strategy sessions. But I appreciate the concept. I would rather fish and gather and cultivate. To each his own. But everybody should have some connection to their food, rather than seeing your steak sterile and packaged in saran-wrap at the grocery store.



If that concept appeals, or especially if it turns you off, you should read this great book... The Scavenger's Guide to Haute Cuisine.



All this poses a small problem, living in the city. Our yard does not appear to be vegetable friendly without some serious tree trimming and I wouldn't trust anything I pulled out of Philadelphia's Schyukill River to be viable in a frying pan. So I joined Weaver's Way Co-Op.

Located in West Mt. Airy, a short drive from our house, Weaver's Way has a store that provides fresh locally grown produce, including stuff cultivated on the nearby farm. I'm going to work at the farm when I can so that the stuff I buy has a somewhat direct output from the work that I put in. The farm's blog/website is really fun with some great recipes and you should check it out. They're all about community and living locally. And we did some comparison shopping of the dairy and produce we got there. Almost everything was cheaper than at the local Acme down the street.





My issues come from all the other stuff Weaver's Way sells and the aura that I get when I go in there to shop. The Free-Range All-Organic Gluten-Free Soy-Based Sugar mocks me from the top shelf... (On Special this month for only $2.79!!!)

Everything about that product implies that food is not a part of nature.

It implies that food is about this crazy Health-Freak attitude trying to stave off death and never age and botox injections.

It implies that food is about Political Activism and fighting corporations and Republicans and big oil.

It implies that food is about Consumerism and wealth and endless choices and suburban shopping malls.

I live over in East Mt. Airy, the side where the demographic is older, less politically active, and poorer. And I wonder how many of my neighbors really have the time, inclination, or money to think about Free-Range All-Organic Gluten-Free Soy-Based Sugar.

I just want them (and me) to be able to eat a Real Tomato along side their box of Tuna Helper. But, if I, who have time, inclination, and money, am put off by all that the Sugar on the shelf implies, how much more are they likely to be put off?

I don't want my dinner ruined by all the meaning you're placing on my Tomato. Can't we just have a Tomato?

Disclaimer: It should be noted that The Speaker of the House, has friends and family who are Gluten Intolerant and Lactose Intolerant. In theory, my critique of the aforementioned sugar is not meant to be an entirely damning reflection on them.

(Although, one has to wonder whether the world didn't get along better when you just didn't eat foods that gave you diarrhea rather than trying to artificially fabricate some approximation thereof. I do believe in allergies. I just think that most of the world has spent the last ten centuries sucking it up and dealing with it.)

That said, the point is that the sugar makes the Co-op socially inaccessible to the folks who need good vegetables and dairy most. Plus, people who eat that shit by choice are dumb-asses.

Re-post: Umbrella Rants

Well, its another rainy day in Philly. And of course on my walk to work, I was poked repeatedly by the Umbrella Bearing Hoards. Seems like a good time for another Re-post from ye ol' myspace page...

One can never rant on the same topic/soapbox too much!

Monday, September 13, 2004

A quote from a writer I enjoy: "My shoulders and pants are soaked. I’m wrestling against every torque in the wind. If this umbrella turns inside out again, it’s toast. I can’t see where I’m going. In fact, under the black nylon I fell like Charlie Brown, shadowed by a private cloud. A magic circle of dryness wreathes my face. This is my only comfort. Then the wind blusters and a baby tsunami splatters my cheeks. Execrable, flapping, nylon! Peering through the spitting air, dodging all the maniacs and dawdlers, Sartre pops into my head: “L’enfer c’est les autres.” Hell is other people, especially when it rains. Eye-poking; bobbing and weaving; lifting umbrellas to avert jousting: Where does all this anti-etiquette come from? I am so sick of how crappy umbrellas are." From "Never Say Dry", by Jude Stewart, I.D. Magazine, June 2004

Friday, March 16, 2007

Umbrella Day! On a day such as this, check out ID magazine and Treehugger's winner for the "Inside Out" design a new umbrella competition: The CRAYELLA. Not only is it environmentally conscious in a reasonable laissez faire means (Therefore NOT governmentally mandated which will never work.), it also alleviates some of the inherent moral problems of the traditional umbrella. It promotes spatial awareness, small business, sustainability, fashion, and good design. I had to bring an umbrella to work today. I hate umbrellas. Short people with umbrellas poke out the eyes of tall people. People who aren't concious of the area that their umbrella occupies shove others into the street and/or get them soaking wet. Umbrellas limit visibility of pedestrians and make the sidewalk a warzone. They really only keep your head dry which is what we have hats for. They break all the time. If you're a big person in need of a big umbrella, they're too large and heavy, even folded, to carry with you all the time, so you are often stuck without when when you need it. Its about time we designed a new umbrella. Kudos to Crayella.

Over 12 downtown?

Doing a little Philadelphia Zoning Code research this morning at work and stumbled upon this gem... Just a little "I TOLD YOU SO" from me to all the haters out there. Yes, it is actually a law. You cannot ride your bike on the sidewalk. (Exception: unless you are under the age of 12 outside of a business district in Philadelphia.)

Now, I'm not sure that this particular law isn't a little overboard. Sometimes riding your bike on the sidewalk could be ok for the general public in my opinion. But not in the middle of Center City at Lunch or Rush Hour. And certainly not in such a way that allows YOU, the law-breaker, to yell at ME, the law-abider for getting in your way. Thusly the reason I've been annunciating "Sidewalk!" at you miscreants with an extra emphasis on the "WALK" as you invade my pedestrian territory.

You, the law-breakers, seem to have been unable to comprehend the subtle jab embedded in my admonition when you fly by and between myself and my wife at high speed with your messenger bag smacking people in the head for good measure as you go. I can understand that this may be difficult as your reckless disregard for the law has probably also caused you to land on your unhelmeted head several times after being thrown over your handlebars by an impact with a vehicle who was driving the correct way down a one way street. (Unlike you.) So, I have pasted the finer points of this particular law for you below. Hopefully this will clear everything up.

12-808 Riding on Sidewalks

(1) No person shall ride a bicycle upon a sidewalk within a business district, as such district is defined in The Vehicle Code.

(2) No person 12 years of age or more shall ride a bicycle upon any sidewalk in any district.

(3) Whenever any person is riding a bicycle upon a sidewalk, such person shall yield the right-of-way to any pedestrian and shall give audible signal before overtaking and passing such pedestrian.

(4) In areas under the jurisdiction of the Fairmount Park Commission, riding bicycles on sidewalks and foot paths may be permitted when authorized by regulations of the commission. 10

(5) Notwithstanding the provisions of Section 12-811 of this Chapter, the penalty for violation of this Section shall be a fine of $10, together with the costs of prosecution. ¹¹

(6) An individual employed under delivery person status, whether in food service or courier industries is not in any way exempted from the above restrictions. If qualifying for other "hipster" exemptions within the body of this code, you may apply for a liscence from the Philadelphia Traffic Code Enforcement Department that will allow you to ride your bicycle on posted blocks of the South Philadelphia District provided that you remain there for the rest of your life and don't bother the rest of us.