Title page to Sanborn fire insurance maps of Philadelphia, a citywide index of land use from the early 20th century and a geographer’s wet dream.
18th and Montgomery in beautiful North Philadelphia.
Weird shit
Today I had a lovely day in Center City where I enjoyed some food at a great burrito place called Sante Fe burrito on 11th between Walnut and Locust. When I went to the bathroom it was a tiny hole with a stall and a urinal. I elected to take the stall, and shortly after I heard someone come into the bathroom. That wasn’t a problem; two people could easily use this bathroom without provoking awkwardness. When I emerged from the stall, I saw a crazy-looking lady squatting over the urinal. Awkwardness certainly ensued, but not just because of that. It took her well over a minute to wash her hands while I stood next to her making small talk, every second moving like molasses (whatever the fuck molasses is, I hear it moves slowly). This was our cue to leave, buy alcohol, go home, and get drunk.
And tonight, when I dream it will be
That the junkies spent all the drug money on
Community gardens and collective housing.
And the punk kids who moved in the ghetto
Have started meeting their neighbors besides the angry ones
With the yards, that their friends and their dogs have been puking and shitting on.
—Wingnut Dishwasher’s Union, Proudhon in Manhattan
Jefferson, too, embodied the ethos of suburbia. Indeed, he could be considered the prototype of the modern American suburbanite, since for most of his life he lived far outside the central city in a house that was much too big, and he was deeply enamored of high-tech gadgetry and of buying on impulse and on credit, and he embraced a self-perpetuating cycle of conspicuous consumption and recreational home improvement. The standard object of the modern American dream, the single-family home surrounded by grass, is a mini-Monticello.
—David Owen, Green Metropolis
The city, however, does not tell us its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls.
—Italo Calvino, invisible cities
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
The Wild
—The Saddest Thing I Ever Saw
This song, The Saddest Thing I Ever Saw by the Wild, is about gentrification. They are a folk punk band that is one of my favorites. They run a not-for-profit community center, recording studio, and music venue in Atlanta. Certainly one of my inspirations, it is a great marriage of punk aesthetics and community mindfulness. Check them out at http://www.myspace.com/thewildatl
Serendipitous Interaction
Last night I was catching up with an old friend who goes to school in Portland, Maine. As she described the town to me, she brought up how people there are very insular and not open to speaking with strangers, whether they are at a house party or out in the city. Philadelphians are notorious for talking a lot, and though it can be occasionally annoying, little hellos or conversations with strangers are sometimes incredibly gratifying. We ended up on South Street and went to Burger.org, a gourmet, kosher burger place that was quite good, but what made the meal was the girl who served us behind the counter, who was a senior in high school and was drinking beers. We ended up staying and discussing life for an hour, to the point where I can construct a panorama of her existence pretty well. Go there, and maybe buy her some beer. This goes without saying, but Philadelphia > Portland, Maine.
