It’s Not You, It’s The Shit Talkin’
After coming off our heatstroke-ridden last column, we got down to business regarding our favorite city, Miss Philadelphia…
This Shit Is Bananas!
We were worried for 3.75 seconds when we came across a stack of PhillyGossip.com flyers at T Mom’s. Then we rationalized that their tacky photo was not as sexy-tacky as our tacky photo, because ours is real, we are genuine personalities instead of hot pink silhouettes, and we actually have green notebooks like that which we fold 13 times until they’re small enough to fit in our fanny packs so we can get to krumping at parties we definitely go to. So when PhillyGossip.com loaded onto our screens, and no, we don’t have seafoam-colored rhinestone-encrusted T-mobile Sidekicks yet, we did not take it seriously. In fact, Lexie wouldn’t stop blinking for ten minutes and our minds almost froze from the impact. You really need to just visit the site to understand. Yes, we are sending you directly to the competition. Did we even just call it that? Anyway, they scoop from Page Six, and derive 1% of their gossip from Philadelphia, so are these 47-year-olds fucking kidding us, spoofing us, or secretly in love with us? Dude, if we find out this is Phawker…
Thursday’s Paradise at Key West charmed the skin-tight Vanderbilts right off of us with Operant 77’s beats and killer drink specials. The bartender’s friendly banter and the screening of “Paris is Burning” made us feel a little bit tranny on the inside. Always full of fog and glamour, Paradise doesn’t disappoint our Italo-lovin’ ears. To beat, we had a rare and awe-inspiring glimpse of a beautiful transsexual–Watch out boys, those girls are even better than the real thing.
Some of you already heard about how a group of people from Philebrity caused a scene outside of Tritone for Sugar Town on Friday night? True story is it was one person, a psychotic door guy, and Sara Sherr’s keen eyesight. That’s all we’re sayin’.
L&K split up for Saturday night, with Miss Lex checking in on resto-bar Zot, where she reports an oasis awash in Lambic and chocolate ravioli. A trip to Medusa for Bleached Black did not let down: no more smell! Newly equipped with a doorman, better soundsystem, and carpet fresh from Crazy Larry’s Carpet Emporium, ‘Dusa’s makeover was not lost on her discerning senses. She didn’t hear “Beat the Clock”, but got her smurf on to some *Gar?ßons*. The overflow from Rittenhouse tack-masters wasn’t appreciated, but as we must remind you, open dancefloors are always enticing. Kelly headed to Johnny Brendas for Sorted! with Golden Ball, where she must admit that a more cultured class gathers in comparison to the M Room and Sal’s. Think Lord Whimsy, Team Philebrity, Mike Z (a DJ who actually dances!), half of the troops from Whole Foods, and in general, people that are likely to be 21.
And try and keep us away from S&M at Sal’s. The crowded floor and free Newcastles made our little England-loving hearts flutter with anticipation for the Smiths and Morrissey night. Manny and Kyle spared no beats as they played our favorite Moz-rrific tunes. Don’t be misled by the title, though: the night also featured Blur, Pulp, OMD, Happy Mondays, Bowie and a whole lot more. What’s next guys? The Style Council? (Truth be told, we luv us a wee bit o’ The Weller).
Kelly grinded on into Tuesday for Bar Noir’s Love Buzz, where it was quickly decided that the bike courier crowd need not actually enter the functioning alley that is the Noir. Many did not make it past the steps, where the scene quickly expanded until the staircase was several dewy-skinned lushes strong. This particular set-up was conducive to social interaction, she noted whilst studying behavioral patterns. A message to Bloodbath: We don’t understand this whole “nice” thing you suggested. But we liked what we heard all the same. Relax, man.
Stay tuned for our complete and in-depth coverage of Making Time this Friday. Shit will be a rager and make us forget the word hate.
What Would Doyle Do?
In the words of Doyle, lovable keyboardist from The A-Sides: “I don’t do too much…that I’m proud of.” Wiser words have never been spoken to us in a room full of drunk, attractive people. It was then that we decided Doyle had all of the answers, about life, and death, and what kind of beer to drink. Each week we’ll find out just what Doyle would do…
…If the A-Sides bought the Philadelphia Weekly?
I would spend countless dollars to bring Eric Bader home and run this motherfucker. Oh, and lots of people that shall remain nameless would get fucking axed.
…If the Phillies wanted you to take over as the Phillie Phanatic?
As the Phillie Phanatic I would use my hidden identity to take harm upon Pat Burrell. I would do so by discreetly borrowing one of Ryan Howard’s gigantoid bats and lube that baby up. Then I would take said bat and anally brutalize Burrell for hours because of the grief this clown-pants has given me.
You leave us convinced. Could you get them to knock off the Phillietini drink special bullocks while you’re at it? It’s like the Red Scare at commie lounges. Tell ‘em the Phanatic won’t stand for that ish. Rolling Rock or bust.
Confessions On The Dancefloor
“I wish Ted Leo would open for the Police so they would realize how good they could have been.”
Scene Points
Jen Zimmerman/Jem from Sweet Jane Vintage is everywhere. But she’s so adorable that we don’t even care! Bring your retro love to us Jen–we just can’t get enough.
Jacci and Roy honeying up the Sal’s dance floor and riding their bikes all over town. Don’t think we don’t notice, guys. You’re our favorite dynamic duo.
Trend Fucking
You know what Italian guys do when they’re not fixing pipes and casing sausage? Playing Bocce Ball, dear readers. And they take it Mummer-serious, too. South Philly’s Villari Bocce League are the straight up hardcore players who meet on Monday nights, and for these six teams, bocce is life-affirming. The game is played like so: you roll the 3 lb bocce towards the pallino, a smaller ball rolled earlier, and whoever gets closest earns points. The fact that people enjoy doing this without a DJ in the background confounds us, but we have been eyeing the game closely whenever we walk by our little park that has the bocce court, which we remarked on with glee the first time we saw it, wondering what the shit could be done with such a thing. This was before we knew of La Bocce. Will you please still respect us? Yeah, we bet you will when we bring our A game in foxy tennis shorts and you choke on your pistachios.
We got clued into a secret knighthood the other day: The Vice Ring. Dave P has one, ’cause he used to be the Vice Mag distributor and passed his torch to Jersey Dan, who will be earning his VIP ring after a year of services. At first we thought he was making this shit up, and then we were like, NO, this has to be real. We want this to be real, because it’s just that fucking mind-blowing. Here’s to paying attention to men with rings on their fingers.
March 29th, 2007 at 1:25 pm
Kelly was a class act and had the proper ID. Unfortunately, her buddy didn’t, and the doorman was in vigilante mode. Which is why future Sugar Towns are booked on the nights that he doesn’t work. ST will work to bring some future events to the kids. In the meantime, if you come to Tritone, please don’t forget your ID!
Signed,
Concerned Do-Me Feminists For America
January 4th, 2008 at 4:26 pm
Um, “bullock” means “castrated bull”. “Bollocks” is British slang, literally meaning testicles, and often used where something like “nonsense” would go absent vulgarity.
I trust you mean that the drink specials are bollocks, not bullocks, right?