Day 98: I Have Never Eaten Dinner at Double Knot

The Chef’s Tasting Menu
$60 per person
11 courses

SUSHI

Pam and I got married exactly three years ago, August 31, 2014. For the past couple of years we haven’t really done too much for our anniversary. We usually just go to a nice restaurant and enjoy time together. That’s kind’ve been our m.o. in general—no gushy social media posts (whoops), no elaborate gifts, no vacations to a tropical destination. We live our anniversaries like we live week to week—hanging out, together, enjoying each other’s company. I like it that way.

COLD

I first heard Pam’s name spoken aloud when a mutual friend of ours told me she had broken up with her long-term boyfriend. My response was, "I have no fucking idea who that is." So I was shown Pam’s Facebook profile pic. It was fucking wild. I was stunned. I told myself I was gonna try to kiss her at the open-bar "formal" for our university’s theater group (she was attending as an alum). I am the BEST AT EVERYTHING after I drink six beers. That includes beer pong, Mario Kart, Scrabble, flip cup, and flirting with a cute girl named Pam.

SASHIMI

Some early dating highlights included: our first date at the now-closed Nodding Head on Sansom Street, and me pulling a faux pas right out of the gate and letting her chip in for the meal (I was a poor college student!); throwing our first Halloween party together in her tiny Midtown apartment and cramming like 60 people in there; sleeping in my bedroom at Woodstock, a house that did not have heat (due to either choice or thin wallets, depending on how you look at it); a very sweaty road trip to Wildwood (no air conditioning in my car, are you sensing a pattern here?) during which we snuck into a hotel pool; the mutual pride we felt in both staying up until 4:30 AM when the cast party was over and we walked over to the open Dunkin Donuts; being featured in an AOL video; shaving my beard and seeing the look on Pam’s face and then not shaving it ever again.

CRISPY

Probably the biggest "test" of our relationship was the time we packed up and moved to Las Vegas. Moving across the country and living with someone you’ve never lived with before would be a challenge to anyone. And yeah, we had a couple low points during our half-year there, but for the most part I’d call it smooth sailing. We spent our mornings hanging out in our cramped studio apartment (for free!), afternoons by the pool, and our evenings walking under the bright lights of the Vegas Strip. I knew I loved Pam by the time our second date was over, but it was in Vegas when I knew I wanted to marry her.

SMALL

Turns out that the choice we made to get married was the right one. We live a pretty comfortable life. We own a nice little home in Port Richmond (don’t call it a "starter"), we both are employed full-time so we can pay the bills, but our schedules aren’t too different so we have ample time to hang out. We have a great group of friends that are more or less available to chill throughout the week. We do chores around the house, we vacation occasionally, we enjoy each other’s company, whether that means biking around the neighborhood or just hanging out on the couch and watching the latest Netflix series. I get to be married to my best friend.

ROBATAYAKI (I)

There are infinite things I love about Pam. I love that patented Pam smirk. I’m not talking about the full-mouth smile; I love that one too, but I’m talking about the coy smile she gives when she’s being low-key cocky. It drives me wild. I love how she works so goddamn hard at everything she does in life, whether it’s taking grad school classes or teaching grad school classes or painting and staining the whole goddamn house, she never lets up, and it just seems to come naturally to her, that drive. I love the Pam that KNOWS that she’s accomplished something, the Pam that’s so proud of herself, in a good way, because those positive feelings in her always radiate outward and always affect me and others around her in positive ways as well. I love how fucking cool she is, and she doesn’t even know, it’s just how she is, fucking cool. I love that her ass is built like a shelf.

ROBATAYAKI (II)

Even the negative aspects of Pam are really stealth positives, even if it doesn’t seem like it when we’re fighting about it. That’s just me being ignorant. For instance, she is the worst car passenger of all time. If I even go 5 MPH above the speed limit, she grips the car handle like she’d rather jump out than be in the car with me. But really, that’s just her caring about our safety, caring about living together instead of dying together. Pam is constantly hounding me about shit around the house. I forget to clean the hair out of the shower or forget to put the seat down on the toilet, even if this shit only happens 0.001% of the time, when it does happen it’s the fucking apocalypse. But really, that’s just Pam wanting me to be the best I can be. She’s being strict because she knows there’s a more responsible Joe in there somewhere, and she wants that Joe to be permanent. I respect that. And Pam is sometimes down on herself, which I hate, because she’s talking shit on MY WIFE. But really, she’s just trying to be the best that she can. It’s not her fault that she can’t see that she’s already perfect.

MEAT

There are just so many ways that we’re a perfect fit for each other. We both feel the same way about the world, in that we both know there’s more out there than just us, there’s people out there who need help. We both get that. We both have the same balance in our lives between genuine human compassion, and at the same time a horrible misanthropy for people that piss us off. We both care about good art, mainly music and TV, and we care about finding joy in these things that people create, things that are worthy of admiration (as opposed to trash meant to be simply consumed). We both feel like it’s important to have lives outside of our relationship. Neither of us stifle the other. We’re a couple first, definitely, but we’re individuals second, and both of us understand it’s important not to forget that. We mutually agree that we should be healthier, and we mutually agree that we should order pizza tonight for dinner. We are able to converse without speaking at all, and we are also able to have deep-dive conversations (which usually end up with one of us crying over the plot of How I Met Your Mother). We both want the same things out of life. We both want stability, love from family, fun with friends, we both need human connection. We both need to try to make a small difference within our minuscule spheres of influence. We both want to be loved, that’s all. And we both found the perfect person to give that love to.

FISH

Yesterday we were driving into the city, as we had reservations at Double Knot at 7:45, and Pam asked me what music we should play on the way down there. It was a bit on the nose, but I wanted to hear Aim and Ignite from fun., because I wanted to immerse myself in memories from our wedding...

SIDES

"Light a Roman Candle with Me" was playing, and we stood arm-in-arm, connected as one, slowly spinning around the room. As the song’s tempo picked up, so did we, until it became a two-person dance party. Surrounded by everyone we loved in life, we had said "I do" and became a family. Our wedding was an amazing moment in our lives, and on days like today, it’s nice to look back and to celebrate what a fun time it all was. But it was just one day. Everything that came in the four years prior to it and everything that’s happened since and everything still to come, it’s all part of the story. I wanna grow old with Pam. I love her so goddamn much my heart feels like it’s gonna burst sometimes. I’m glad we got married. I’m glad we kissed at the Masque Formal. I’m glad I have her in my life.

DESSERT

Love and Staying True,
Joey

Day 97: I Have Never Watched a Full Episode of Frasier / The X-Files / M*A*S*H / Taxi

I watched the pilot episodes for all these shows and will be making snap judgments accordingly. I promise I have never seen a full episode of any of these, despite the fact that they are some of the most famous TV shows of all time.

I usually write a lot better when I’m writing about something that I hate, but unfortunately for you, dear reader, I like all four of these episodes.

Frasier

I watched maybe the first four or five seasons of Cheers back in the day, when I was attempting to binge the series, so I’m moderately familiar with the character of Frasier Crane. And he really is a great fucking character. I always admired how deftly the character moved from supporting putz to just one of the guys at the bar. And I too enjoyed how his smarmy know-it-all (though good-hearted) personality butted heads with the blue collar atmosphere of the rest of the bar.

That ratio is changed up a little bit in Frasier, it seems, as we now have Frasier’s brother, who is even smarmier than he is. I enjoyed the Crane brothers’ witty banter. It wasn’t laugh out loud funny, but it was fucking clever.

A lot of the jokes, especially when it came to Frasier’s dad and his nurse, I could see coming from a mile away, but that doesn’t necessarily make them bad jokes. I don’t mind corny or cheap laughs. Also prevalent in the show is the classic "set ’em up with drama, knock ’em down with comedy" routine that was perfected in Cheers. Frasier and his dad get in a blow-out fight at one point, and the tension builds until finally one of them makes a joke, and the tension is released. I like that.

Would I Continue to Watch This Show: Yeah, probably. I don’t know if I could binge the whole series. I tried that with Cheers and it just became too much. It would definitely be a show that I could pop on the TV on a lazy Saturday morning and just watch a few episodes out of boredom. And I’d much rather watch funny Kelsey Grammer than, say, Grammer in Boss.


The X-Files

This was the only drama I watched today, and it was genuinely intriguing. The basic premise, if you’ve never seen it, is that there’s two FBI agents, Mulder, the true believer, and Scully, the skeptic. The overall series arc, I surmise, is whether aliens truly do exist (though the pilot lays out the answer that they probably do). And then I also surmise that every week Mulder and Scully are gonna be investigating the "Monster of the Week," hopefully coming to answer the episode’s mystery at the end of the hour.

The pilot really was a well-constructed episode, with plenty of twists and plot beats that kept me all-in. Plus, there’s a will-they, won’t-they with our two protagonists, right? Is that a thing? That’s gotta be a thing.

Would I Continue to Watch This Show: Yeah, I would, though I don’t know if we will, as Pam described it as "creepy," and I’m not trying to have her not be able to sleep at night after watching these episodes. I could watch it on my own, I guess, and I would probably enjoy the hell out of it. I could see myself maybe getting annoyed too. Clearly, the series is setting up the fact that, yes, there ARE aliens out there. But Scully is simultaneously being set up as a constant skeptic. At some point you gotta start believing, right?


M*A*S*H

The first thing I noticed was the lack of a laugh track, which was surprising to me because I could’ve sworn M*A*S*H had a laugh track? I’m googling now as I’m writing this, and it appears that it indeed did have a laugh track. They how did I watch the pilot without one? I mean, I of course watched this on an illegal stream. Apparently the DVDs have the option to watch episodes without a laugh track. Maybe this particular stream was from the DVD version? Or did the pilot truly not have a laugh track? I don’t care enough to do any more research on this subject.

I only mention this because I really, really liked this episode, and it was to the episode’s benefit that there was no laugh track. Canned laughter always feels so cheap.

What I loved the most about this episode was that it featured probably my favorite type of TV plot ever—“Let’s throw a party!” Hijinx ensue, but in the end, the party comes together and everyone has a great time. The twist with M*A*S*H, however, was that the party ended with all the main characters heading into the operating room for a sobering night of surgery for wounded soldiers.

I also loved this episode because I fucking love Alan Alda. I’m mostly familiar with Old Man Alda, like in Horace and Pete, but I was pleased to see that young Alan Alda was just as cranky and cocky and hilarious.

Would I Continue to Watch This Show: I would, and I probably will. I’ve always been intrigued by this show, though I never had the will to start watching. But the pilot was equal parts funny and dramatic, and it was infinitely charming. I have a decent amount of free time in work. I might start watching M*A*S*H. Maybe one a day. That way I’ll finish the series in about... two years...?


Taxi

Out of all the episodes I watched, this one felt the least like a pilot episode, even though it definitely was the first episode of the lauded series. It introduced each character, sure, but it also took lengthy detours, including an extended joke about a busted payphone, and a literal detour in a road trip to Miami, where the main character, Alex, goes to say hi to his estranged daughter. It seemed like a ballsy choice of a plotline for the very first episode, but it mostly worked.

I literally knew nothing about Taxi beforehand. I honestly don’t think I knew that Tony Danza, Kenickie from Grease, and Danny Devito were in this. All three made so many horrible, corny jokes, and I’ll be damned if I didn’t laugh every single time. It’s said that anything can be funny if you deliver it in the right away, and all three of those actors did a really good job delivering the punchlines.

And, man, fucking Danny DeVito. I’ll always remember him as Frank Reynolds, but he is hilarious in everything he does. In Taxi, he plays an awful shitbag taxi dispatcher. TV Guide actually ranked this character as the best character in TV history! It was also interesting seeing Taxi make the joke about DeVito’s height. See, the whole episode, his character Louie is in the dispatch cage, his height hidden. So when he finally steps down in a fit of rage, the laugh track goes crazy over how short he is. It’s really only a joke you can make once in a career, and Taxi blew their load in the first 20 minutes.

Kaufman plays a foreign character in Taxi, and holy shit it does not work at all. Maybe I’m just too sensitive in 2017. But the character wasn’t funny even if it wasn’t quite racist. Pam informed me that Kaufman himself hated this character after a while. I can see why.

Would I Continue to Watch This Show: Taxi is probably in the same boat as Frasier for me. I’m never gonna sit down and watch it religiously, but I enjoyed this episode enough that I would have no problem leaving a channel on if it’s playing Taxi.


Honestly, I say this all the time, but there’s is just so much great TV on these days that it’s tough to go back and discover older shows. I’m not going to forgo, let’s say, catching up on Crazy Ex-Girlfriend just to watch an episode of M*A*S*H from 40 years ago. But it’s nice to know these shows existed, and I’m glad they did, and were able to influence TV creators to push boundaries and create worthy art by the time I started watching TV in my adulthood.

Love,
Joey

Day 96: I Have Never Eaten a Hoagie from Ricci’s

My posts here at Joe’s New Summer have fallen into two categories. The first type of post is me simply describing what I did. The second type is explaining why I did something. This is the second type. Why did I eat at Ricci’s Hoagies? (Not because they won the Philly Mag award this year for Best Hoagie, though that’s definitely where I heard of the place.)

No, I purposely went to Ricci’s, and not my usual place to buy lunch, because... I think I’m ready to give up Wawa for good.

Everyone reading this knows what Wawa is, right? Anyone from out of town I have to explain it to? Okay, real quick, Wawa is basically a convenience store that also has a deli area where you can order all kinds of "freshly made" cold and hot dishes and sandwiches. In the Philly area, people worship Wawa.

Wawa staked their name to quality, but over the past few years, it’s really gone downhill. I hate when people say that kind of shit in general: "Oh I was a fan of that place when it was good, but it’s not good anymore," it just seems so obnoxious. But when something you loved changes and disappoints you over and over, it’s hard not to get bitter about it. And I’m definitely bitter about Wawa.

My main concern is that every time I order a sandwich I feel like I’m getting fucked in terms of quantity. It’s not rare at all to order a chicken salad classic and have an inch of bare bread on either side of the roll. I’ve gotten turkey hoagies and splurged on slices of bacon, only to have one fucking slice on there.

This happens more and more as Wawa expands their empire larger and larger. Which is to be expected when any company expands, sure, but that doesn’t mean it’s fucking excusable.

That’s not to mention that the actual ingredients are not fresh at all. Most of that shit is straight from a hot bag. This is not an exaggeration. I used to make fun of Dunkin Donuts for practically pulling their breakfast sandwich ingredients out of folders in a drawer, but Wawa is just the same nowadays. Combine that with prices that are going up and up, and it’s worth it less and less to get lunch at Wawa.

And the food is emphatically NOT good for you. Go on the Wawa nutritional calculator if you wanna find out for yourself. I blame most of my beer belly on beer. The rest I blame on Wawa. Like everything else that is bad for you, it’s addictive and it makes you feel like shit afterward.

But Wawa gets a free pass with a lot of people in Philly, simply because it’s Wawa. It’s a Philly tradition!

If you think I’m exaggerating about the unearned love of Wawa in Philly, let’s explore an issue that’s being fought over in the Lawndale section of the Great Northeast as we speak. There’s a current controversy surrounding the corner of Longshore Ave. and Rising Sun Ave.

Royal Farms, a convenience store company much in the vein of Wawa, Sheetz, etc., is attempting to expand into Northeast Philly, and has eyed up the east corner of this intersection. Residents of the area have a few issues with this (paraphrased from the Stop Royal Farms Facebook Group):

1) Royal Farms was fined in 2013 for an oil leak at one of their locations; 2) It would cause more traffic; 3) There are already two gas stations on the corner; 4) It would be built over recreational space.

This mostly smells like bullshit to me. #1 is bad but it happened four years ago, and there have been no incidents since. #4 is a legitimate grievance, but Royal Farms isn’t forcing anyone out, they are simply buying land that is for sale. If anything, blame the church who is selling their property.

#3, of course, refers to an A-Plus and a Wawa (A-Plus was on the corner first, for the record). And if #2 is conjecture based on the assumption that more gas stations equals more traffic, well then Wawa is to blame for that too. But Wawa gets a free pass from the NEast mouthbreathers.

Why? The more I think about this, the more it pisses me off. Where were these protestors when Wawa was being built on the corner? Fucking nowhere to be found.

I hate the holier-than-thou attitude of the NEast neighborhoods, like anything that dare challenge their point of view should be fought against by tooth and nail.

You know what? I’m going to go deeper than that. I think the true reason that these Lawndale residents don’t want a Royal Farms in their neighborhood is that they are fucking racist. Note the demographics for Wawa compared to Royal Farms. Notice any difference?

I tried making all these points on that fucking Stop Royal Farms Facebook page, but they deleted my post. Must feel real fucking good to be able to dismiss facts if it doesn’t fit your narrative. Fucking assholes.

Fuck Northeast Philadelphia.

Jesus christ, I got way off track. Where was I?

Um, yeah. Fuck Wawa. I will never step in Wawa ever again for as long as I live.

And, uh, yeah. Ricci’s hoagie was good. I would recommend.

Love,
Joey

Day 95: I Have Never Attempted to Sell Something on Facebook Marketplace

Pam and I have been into Minimalism lately. It’s the concept that having more and more possessions inversely makes us less and less happy, and in getting rid of unneeded belongings instead of assigning false meaning to them, we can achieve peace and happiness. We’re not selling our car or moving into a tiny house any time soon, but we’re sincerely trying to get rid of shit we don’t need. And it’s working! It feels great!

Today, I figured that I’d attempt to tie this in with my "new thing," and explore an aspect of Facebook that I have previously ignored. The Facebook Marketplace is basically Craiglist, except people contact you via FB messenger instead of email, and there aren’t as many hookers. Friends have had success with FB Marketplace in the past, so I thought I’d give it a whirl.

Not that I have any hot ticket items, but I did have an old black-and-white printer that still works great. We have a new, wireless printer, and no family needs two printers. Minimalism!

I posted that shit, not expecting too much fanfare:

Like I said, I didn’t expect a thousand people to message me, and indeed, a thousand people did not message me. But one person did!

My man Calvin!

The only thing was, he wanted to pick it up at 11 AM, and I’m at work during those hours. I asked him if he’d be okay picking the printer up in Center City, and he seemed totally cool with that. I lugged this fucking printer (along with an extra toner cartridge) all the way downtown, and waited till 11 AM. Messaged him at 10:30, asking if we were still on. No answer. Messaged at 11:30. No answer. Still no answer hours later. Motherfucker ghosted me!

What kind of man would make someone drag a fucking printer five miles into town and then screw him like that? Calvin, that’s who. Since this is Facebook, after all, we’re able to get a measure of this man even after he fucked me. Let’s explore his Facebook profile. (Spoilers, he takes a lot of selfies.)

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that Calvin is one tough S.O.B. that don’t take shit from no one, and that he loves making idiots bring their heavy computer printers downtown for no fucking reason.

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that there are many sides to Calvin, and one of those sides is Fun-Loving Calvin, as personified in his neon pink shirt and smile, and while there are many sides to Calvin, every side of Calvin is a traitorous motherfucker who uses Facebook Marketplace to screw people out of $20.

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that Calvin owns multiple chains to wear around his neck, and they all look pretty good on him, I mean they really compliment his style, but what I really think would look good hanging from a chain around his neck is a Brother HL-2040 black and white printer, but nah I guess he disagreed.

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that Calvin does not have an issue with dropping money, I mean it doesn’t look like the guy is poor or anything, he is bragging on Facebook about spending $100 on a goddamn Fire TV Stick, but for some reason he didn’t want to spend on $20 on 2006’s most state of the art printer by our trusted partners at Brother International, a printer that printed every term paper I ever needed a copy of through four years of college without fail, but this picture says that Calvin doesn’t care about the printer, he doesn’t care about jerking people around about printers, he only cares about watching porn through his fucking Fire TV Stick.

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that Calvin has a cute dog.

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that Calvin was so racked with guilt over saying he was definitely going to buy a printer but then not buying the printer and not even having the goddamn courtesy to contact the printer seller to tell him that he would, in fact, NOT be buying the printer, and then letting the printer seller bring the printer all the way to goddamn center city, that he ended up in the hospital due to all this guilt piling up inside of him, either that or he’s in the hospital with a UTI.

What This Picture Says About Calvin: It says that Calvin has no qualms about putting his own life at risk by taking a selfie while he’s driving, just like he has no qualms about telling someone to bring a printer to center city and then not even buying the goddamn printer, and so this picture says that Calvin doesn’t care about anything, not his own life, and not any minor inconvenience bestowed on strangers.
Fuck you Calvin.

Love,
Joey

Day 94: I Have Never [Censored, Again]

Y’all know I wanna write about the sex stuff on here, but this is a public blog. I can’t do it. Maybe if you get me drunk I’ll tell you in person. Until then...

Love,
Joey

Day 93: I Have Never Watched a PPV Boxing Event Live

I’ve seen plenty of boxing matches in my life. The problem is that most of them have been fictional.

The problem with seeing Rocky vs. Creed a dozen times is when I try to watch actual boxing, it’s so boring in comparison. That’s why I’ve never gotten through a whole match. And that’s why I certainly have never gotten excited about a professional boxing match, especially one on PPV. Seems silly to me.

But the whole country seemed to be hyped up for the Mayweather v. McGregor match-up, and a friend of mine was having people over to watch it, and had a backpack full of Hamm’s and nowhere else to be, so I rode my bike to South Philly to see what all the hype was about.

First Thoughts

The amount of money thrown around for this match is fucking insane.

The event itself, if you want to watch it on Pay-Per-View, costs a whopping $100. I really don’t understand how anyone could stomach paying this fee, no matter what the fuck is showing on the TV. I mean, it’s two guys punching each other. One hundred dollars to see that? It’s absurd. But people do it! An estimated FIVE MILLION PEOPLE ordered this PPV. Charging people for this fight raised $500 MILLION DOLLARS! Do I even need to elaborate?

You could watch it at a bar, sure, but there was a guaranteed cover no matter where you went. I didn’t know this before today, but apparently, if bars want to show the fight, not only are they required to buy the PPV special, but they are also required to pay $30 per head based on legal occupancy. That means that if your bar legally can hold 100 people, as a bar owner you are dropping $3100 to show the fight, and who knows if 100 people are even going to be there? I don’t blame bars for charging a cover, honestly.

Doesn’t mean I wanna go to a bar to watch the fight, though. Just like I’m not paying $100 to watch it at home, I’m certainly not dropping $30 on cover (plus more for drinks) to see it at a bar. Doesn’t help that the list of bars showing it in Philly might just be the best list of worst bars in Philly I’ve ever seen.
So yeah, obviously we streamed that shit illegally.

Second Thoughts

Both of these guys are assholes, right? Mayweather and McGregor?

McGregor is almost certainly a racist. During the promotional cycle, he’s told Mayweather, "dance for me, boy." He also referred to black people as "monkeys." Huge asshole.

Mayweather, on the other hand, has double the amount of sins against him. The first is that he is a horrific domestic abuser. The second is this. Fuck this guy.

So both of these boxers are absolutely terrible people. But hey, let’s give them money? Right?!

Third Thoughts

The wildest part of the event, perhaps, was attempting to keep the illegal stream running through till the final TKO.

We had one stream going throughout the very early match-ups that were broadcasted on FOX anyway, no big deal. This was background noise while we chilled and drank some beers.

After it became clear that the current stream was not going to switch over to PPV, we turned it off and played some Jackbox.tv, which was absolutely wild, and absolutely had nothing to do with boxing. Technology is fucking crazy!

But okay, then it was around 10:30, and we figured it’s time to find another stream. The whole ordeal felt like a battle between the cheapskates who didn’t want to pay for the PPV (us), and those faceless joykills on the internet trying to end every illegal stream they could find.

We’d find a good, clear feed, and then ten minutes later, it’d start buffering, or even end. Shout out to /r/boxingstreams, and their main thread that had about 100K comments on it. At one point, we were just scrolling through this thread for every idiot who was periscoping the fight. So we were watching on our TV and stream of video that someone was taking of their TV, complete with background commentary. One guy who allowed us to watch his TV was giving updates on how many people were streaming the video of his TV. At one point there was 80 thousand people. Finally, Periscope shut that shit down.

Ultimately, we settled on a Spanish-language feed from an unknown channel. The picture quality was good enough, it didn’t lag or buffer at all, and we were able to watch the fight without bashing a laptop against the wall in frustration.

Fourth Thoughts

Yo, boxing is boring! Jesus Christ. It’s almost all defense. McGregor looked he was fucking playing pattycake at one point. Snooze. And then it just ends at the whim of the referee? I don’t get it.
I’m glad I didn’t pay for this shit.

Love,
Joey

Day 92: I Have Never Visited the Poe House

Poe’s works are in the public domain, so there’s no one that can stop me from copying and pasting his best work, "The Tell-Tale Heart.' Instead of visiting his Philadelphia "home" that he probably lived in for like a hot second, just take the time to appreciate how great this short story is:

[I originally did copy and paste here, but after further review, I've decided that is a stupid and pointless thing to do. Just like my summer! Heyo!!]

Love,
Joey

Day 91: I Have Never Attended Bob & Barbara’s Thursday Night Drag Show

My Thursday night:



Love,
Joey

Day 90: I Have Never Played Candy Crush

I’ve told this short story plenty of times, but it bears repeating today. On the morning of August 23, 2007, I woke up in my bed in Rockledge, PA, and I immediately threw up. That’s how nervous I was for college.

Ten years later, the fact that I felt like I had any reason to worry about going to college seems fucking preposterous, but there I was. About to embark on a new journey.

Always being nostalgic to a fault, I spent a lot of my day reflecting on the ten-year anniversary, what it meant to me then, and what it means to me now.

Maybe I threw up because I was fooling myself into thinking this was some sort of "big change" for me. I mean, it was to an extent—I was living on my own, after all, no longer under the same roof as my parents. But honestly, looking back, thinking my life changed all that much was me just being stupid.

College for me meant moving 20 minutes away from my hometown. It meant going to school with at least 40 familiar faces from my neighborhood, at least a dozen of whom I counted as close friends at the time. It meant every comfort afforded to me in my middle-class upbringing was still intact, there was just an illusion of change.

That’s not to say anything negative about moving to college. It’s just me thinking back to the fall of 2007 and rolling my eyes instead of tearing up.

Moving from Rockledge to 20th and Olney changed nothing about me. I was the same little shit I had always been. Living four years at 20th and Olney? That was the experience that changed me. For the tenth anniversary today, I’m not celebrating move-in day being life-changing, but I’m celebrating the beginning of that journey.

But Jesus fucking Christ, there were some times to be had.

It’s cliché to talk about how college was "one big party," but for real, that was my life freshman year. It started before my parents even left my dorm room, because unbeknownst to them, they had helped me move in a case of Coors Light hidden in a backpack.

The second thing I did at college (after the first thing, that being obstruct the truth about my drinking from my parents for the 43258th time) was meet my roommate Pat. The tale of Joe and Pat is a classic one, and it all started that day. I hid my backpack beer from Pat that day too, because I was still feeling out the situation. Living with a stranger is hard.

But living with a stranger is fucking rewarding when it goes right. And my relationship with Pat went right. Eventually.

The way I see it, there’s a spectrum of personalities. On one extreme end of the spectrum stands all of the college kids who came to school with a thousand beers under their belts already, who like to party and don’t let anything get in their way, who act like assholes to get what they want, drinking-wise. On the other end of the spectrum stands all the college kids who come to school with the expectation that we’re here, primarily, to learn, who can't/won't put up with rule breakers, and who, in equal amounts, respect and fear authority.

On August 23, 2007, Pat and I started out on the opposite extreme ends of that personality spectrum. And like any Oscar and Felix, there were plenty of bumps in the road because of that dissonance in college expectations. I was a obnoxious sweaty drunk blowhard who pissed himself in his sleep. Pat had never had a beer in his life and reasonably expected not to have to put up with loud assholes.

Great friends are often made in the most trying of circumstances, even if you are each the trying circumstance to each other. Eventually, me and Pat both met in the middle of that spectrum. I give Pat credit for forcing me to become a little more mature that year, and appreciate that the world doesn’t revolve around me, and that my inconsiderate actions, however inconsequential they may seem after a dozen Natty Lights, do indeed have consequences. And as for Pat—at my 19th birthday party that year, Pat was there, playing along to the Roxanne drinking game. He played with Dr. Pepper, sure, but he was fucking there, man. The Pat of August 23, 2007 would not have been caught dead surrounded by underage drinkers and a Police song.

I may have digressed a bit with that, but it brings up an important point about my freshman year of college—I was kind of an asshole.

Here’s what I wrote on my Xanga back then (I know, Xanga! Jesus christ):

It’s still strange sometimes though. Like, I look around now at my dorm room, and it still surprises me to think that this is it, I’m living on my own. If I wanna leave trash all over the floor, I can do it. If I wanna lay around naked, I can do that too. It’s very relaxing, this aspect of college, the part where I really don’t have to care about anything, because no one is breathing down my neck telling me to do this or do that... Goddamn, I really couldn’t be happier. I’m living on my own, so there are no rules.

There’s that illusion again, the one where I thought that I was free to do whatever I wanted. And judging by what followed on my Xanga, I felt like I was free to be a dick to everyone.

What follows the quote is post after post of accounts of my shittiness. Stories about being obnoxious with no thought about who was affected, stories about being so drunk that I was trying to get into fights with football players. Stories about peeing on the bed, next to the bed, next to my roommate’s bed. Stories about just being a general jackass and appreciating that I got away with it.

Ten years later, reading not only about what kind of shit I did, but reading me congratulate myself on it, honestly all I can do is cringe.

Don’t get me wrong, I still get drunk and do stupid things and occasionally hurt people these days. But when 2017 Joey does that shit, the remorse and the regret and the apologies are immediate. 2007 Joey just didn’t care. And that’s the part that made me a true asshole.

That’s me making a judgment of myself ten years ago, with ten years of wisdom shading my memories. And yes, it’s important to note that I made mistakes, but I can’t forget the good times, either.

And this hasn’t even been noted yet: I had a girlfriend for the first semester and a half of college.

I had met Chrissy the summer before during a dinner for the nerds of the upcoming La Salle Honors Program Class of 2011 and their parents, so we made fast friends when we moved in two doors down from each other on the third floor of St. Basil’s dorms.

Our story mirrors the one I already told about Pat above. Okay, not exactly mirrored, because I didn’t live and share a bathroom with Chrissy, and I certainly wasn’t making out with Pat at the top of the football stadium bleachers. But there’s a certain theme that’s repeated in both stories. That theme being how much of an irresponsible jackass teenager I was.

Sure, at the end of the day, we were too different to ever make it as a couple. I didn’t need ten years to come to that conclusion. The day I broke up with her in February 2008, that was my reasoning. That we weren’t a good fit.

But today, for the first time ever, really, I tried to see things from her perspective. And man, does that not make me feel good at all.

Imagine, you’re this nice, sweet, intelligent freshman, and you start to like this dude who lives right down the hall from you because he seems nice and he’s amusing at times. And then the more you date him, the more you witness him devolve into some drunken puddle of a boy, and it feels like all he cares about is going out and drinking with his friends on a Thursday night, his girlfriend be damned.

I described college as a place where "there are no rules at all." Imagine dating someone who thought that.

Maybe I’m completely overselling this new theory of mine that I was a secret monster the whole time. Me and Chrissy are cool. We see each other maybe once a year still. I genuinely enjoy seeing her. She’s married and owns a house and holds a full-time job and is happy, just like I am. I’m not trying to make our autumn 2007 story into something that was life-changing or scarred either of us or anything like that.

The general point I’m trying to make is, I guess, that looking back at myself ten years ago, and I barely recognize me.

It’s possible that I’m being a little harsh on myself. It’s probably more common being a little prick at age eighteen than any 28-year-old would be willing to admit. But still, it’s worth noting that at least I know this now.

For better or worse (mostly for better), I am a different man today.

ALL that being said, with all the low points and cringe-y behavior and unapologetic mistakes made plain, I still... I still can’t help but look back and feel fond memories.

I remember later in the day on August 23, 2007, finally cracking that case of Coors Light in my dorm room, with about a half dozen friends from home and from high school that had joined me in my college adventure. Drinking beers and shooting the shit. Nothing’s changed. (See the above photo!)

I remember the rest of that opening weekend. It involved some more drinking, sure, it always did at La Salle, but it mostly involved doing lame orientation activities, as lame as they were, enjoying all of it, because I was meeting so many great people, so many lifelong friends. Some friends I still see regularly, some have been lost in the sands of time, but all were important to me then and were loved.

The thing I remember most is that sense of excitement. That feeling that something special was happening.

My time at La Salle was something I will always cherish, even if there were some low points through the four years I attended. I learned so many life lessons, had so many goddamn bonkers nights, met so many friends, and really just plain ol’ grew up there. Truly grew up.

And it all started ten years ago today. Fuck.

This post had barely anything to do Candy Crush, I acknowledge that. I could’ve tried to weakly tie it in by, I dunno, talking about the dumb computer games that I was addicted to freshman year, or maybe utilizing the word "crush" more in regards to the immature romantic experiences I had with women back then.

But honestly, at the end of the day, I have jack shit to say about Candy Crush the game. As I played it today for the first time, I was going through the motions, moving candy into triplets, not even thinking about the game. I was thinking about move-in day at La Salle, back at the end of the summer of 2007.

And just like the candy in this stupid, pointless game, once I lined up enough experiences at La Salle, it all disappeared.

Love,
Joey

Day 89: I Have Never Gotten a Pedicure

As I’ve done before, I’m just going to drop some thoughts down here in bullet point format. I got my first pedicure.

• I made sure that Pam was free to accompany me, because I don’t have the balls (or have two too many balls?) to go to get a pedicure by myself.
• I used her expertise to pick a good place to make this happen. We ended up Genesis Nail Salon & Spa across the street from the Piazza.
• Yo, the lady that was working my feet did NOT look like she wanted to be doing this, at all. I was assured later by the women in my life that her frown wasn’t necessarily a manifestation of her thoughts about my feet, but I can’t imagine that anyone, pedicure professional or not, would be exactly thrilled to have to work with these large hairy feet either.
• Okay, there was absolutely a moment where I knew the lady was pissed that she had to give me particularly a pedicure. You see, I had this... condition? On my big left toe. I’ve been calling it "scaly" for the five years or so it’s been there. It was almost like an extra layer of toenail on there. My medical professional nurse claims it was toenail fungus. Well whatever it was, it gave my pedicurist a run for her money. It seriously reminded me of this. But, after scraping and cutting and picking and sanding down, my toe is smooth and round. A fucking medical miracle.
• Some other crazy shit going on during my pedicure: she took a hot stone and rubbed it up and down my calves. THEN a hot towel over everything.
• Also, there was this weird wax shit that she put on the bottom of my heels, tied to them in small sandwich baggies? Apparently it’s a thing.
• Not gonna lie, it was pretty nice getting my feet and legs massaged. I had a little less luck with the back massage from the chair I was sitting it. Kinda felt like someone just grabbing onto my spine and pulling. Pam’s pedicurist set her chair up for her. My happy pedicurist made no such offer.
• Rookie mistake: I didn’t bring sandals to wear before or afterward. I rode my bike from work to the salon, and rest assured, my feet and my socks and my shoes all smelled like shit. I felt awful for the girl sitting next to me (not Pam, the girl on the other side of me; Pam better be used to my feet by now), and tried to put the shoes as far under my chair as I could. And slipping my freshly worked on feet back into my sweaty dirty socks ruined the experience a little bit.
• I declined nail polish. I mean, the lady asked, but I’m not committed to my Summer of New, okay?
• Is $30 reasonable for a pedicure? I am asking as I have literally zero experience with other salons. I mean, it felt like it was worth the price, to me, but maybe I got burned. I have no way of knowing.
• Like at the tattoo parlor and the spin class and other various strange locales I’ve visited throughout my summer, I felt weird going to a nail salon. I felt like an intruder or interloper. Not that anyone has ever said anything to me about it, but I put it on myself. Like, if I was a girl and just wanted to relax in my own safe space, I probably wouldn’t want some big sweaty dude coming in and ruining that. But maybe I’m being too sensitive. I won’t be getting another pedicure, but I sincerely did enjoy it, intrusions be damned.

Love,
Joey

Day 88: I Have Never Witnessed a Solar Eclipse

I tried—in vain as it turns out—to find a pair of solar eclipse glasses. Everything in my life is done at the very last minute, and sometimes it’s to my detriment. This was one of those times. By the time the weekend rolled around and I decided I needed some eclipse-ready glasses, I couldn’t find them anywhere. Websites claimed 7 Eleven stores were selling them, but four different 7 Eleven clerks looked at me like I was crazy. Wills Eye Center was giving out 2000 free pairs at 9 AM, but I found out at 9:30, and I had about 100 people in front of me in the mile-long line before they ran out. Websites were selling pairs for way more money than I was willing to drop, so buying them online was out of the question.

In the end, I decided that I didn’t need glasses. It was all good.

There’s a certain romantic notion in something being so stunning that it hurts you to look at it. There’s heroic self-restraint to be found in refraining from indulging in something, no matter how much you want to. There’s beauty in knowing that something is just out of reach.

This is what I thought about as me and Pam sat out in the deck, sunglasses-less, trying to determine whether the sky was getting darker due to the moon blocking the sun or the clouds blocking the sun.

I took a few peeks, because, even when attempting to be my best self, I can’t seem to be refrain from occasionally acting like my worst enemy.

I reveled in the natural wonder of it all, that there are huge celestial bodies beyond our control, and yet sometimes they align and create something amazing for us.

Love,
Joey

Day 87: I Have Never Watched Adaptation.

The camera pans in and sees Joe sitting at his work computer, banging his head against the keyboard, trying to figure out how to write about Adaptation. in a blog post. [voiceover] I’ve written myself into the blog post. My fat, stupid self. Today is the first day of the rest of my summer. I need to start actually living new experiences. I can’t keep just sitting on the couch and putting on a movie and considering that new. I should leave the house. I should start riding my bike more. I might lose some pounds that way. Especially from my stomach. If I lost my beer belly I might be happy. I need to stop drinking so much. Today’s the day. I’m going to stop drinking every weekend and I’m going to not be hungover on a Sunday and I’m going to actually do something worthwhile. Charlie Kaufman makes something of himself. He puts his talents to use, writing a great movie. I don’t have any talents. If you consider poorly riffing on the opening scene of a movie for a blog post that no one will read a talent then you’re almost as dumb as I am. I think I’m losing my hair. I’m losing the hair on my head but the hair on my fat ass is still there. Maybe if my hairline stopped receding and I lost some weight my wife would find me attractive. I’m going to do it this time. I’m going to go to the gym every day. If I’m paying for a gym membership then I might as well use it. I’ll figure out how to use some of the more complicated machines. I’ll lose weight and then gain it back in muscle. I’m fine. I don’t stress about how I look. Neither does my wife. Though I’m sure all parties involved would have no issue with me losing a few pounds. I’m going to do it. It’s tough caring about your weight when you care about the state of your country. The guy running the country doesn’t care about his weight. He eats KFC and can’t even walk a mile and sits around all day and watches TV and his clothes don’t fit and he is rich and getting richer and he is the most powerful man in the country and everyone hates him. He is the most hated man in the world but I’m less than that, I’m no one, I do nothing of note, in 100 years I’ll be forgotten. My passions are killing me. I need to do something with my life. I need to make a difference. I’d like to make an impact. I’d like to stop writing about faux life experiences and get up and do something. I want to race a car while riding a horse. I want to get chased through a swamp. I want to feel. Today’s the first day of the rest of my summer—

God help you if you use voiceover in your blog, my friends. God help you! That’s flaccid, sloppy writing. Any idiot can write a voiceover narration to explain the thoughts of a character.

Love,
Joey

Day 86: I Have Never Eaten at Shoo Fry

A Quick Poutine Play in Three Acts

ACT I

[Curtains open. 2:00 AM, a red-eyed JOE opens the front door and walks to the register.]

SHOO FRY EMPLOYEE: Good evening sir, welcome to Shoo Fry at its new location in Fishtown. We are a build-your-own french fry bar that focuses on tasty local ingredients. What can I get you this evening?

JOE: [indiscriminate mumbling]

EMPLOYEE: I’m sorry sir, I couldn’t understand a word of that.

JOE: Sorry, my Philly accent is terrible when I’ve been drinking.

EMPLOYEE: So what can I get you?

JOE: A cup of water, to start, please. I have a wife to kiss tomorrow morning and she hates when my breath smells like Bud Light and I’ve had about twelve Bud Light pony bottles tonight so maybe I better drink a few waters and also I feel like I might throw up can I please have the scrapple poutine extra egg extra scrapple

[curtain]

ACT II

[2:15 AM]

EMPLOYEE: I have one order for a "Scrapple Jawn!"

[no answer]

EMPLOYEE: Um, sir? Your scrapple jawn?

[Still no answer. JOE remains the only customer in the restaurant.]

EMPLOYEE: Sir?

JOE: Is that mine?

ACT III

[2:30 AM]

EMPLOYEE: How is your poutine, sir?

[JOE has fallen asleep in his poutine.]

[EMPLOYEE holds up a cardboard sign that reads "Love, Joey." Curtain closes.]

Day 85: I Have Never Eaten a Cheesesteak from John’s Roast Pork

There are plenty of places to get a good cheesesteak in Philadelphia, but I would argue there are only a handful of famous cheesesteak shops. After visiting John’s this morning for an early lunch (or late breakfast?), I am confident I’ve been to all the "famous" spots in Philly, and can be counted on as a source of Philly cheesesteak knowledge.

You want cheesesteak opinions? Haha yeah man, I got cheesesteak opinions.

The first and most asked question is, obviously: What is the best cheesesteak in the city? And it’s a great question! It’s one that I’ll never get tired of arguing with people over.

Honestly, my top cheesesteak right now is Joe’s in Fishtown. Joe’s gets everything right. There’s ample chopped meat, the cheese is melted to the right consistency, the roll is fresh. It’s a hearty sandwich, and it fucking hits the spot every time.

I hesitate to call John’s the best cheesesteak in the city, even though when I was eating that shit this morning, I was certainly entertaining the idea. I hesitate only because I am afraid that it might be recency bias. I might need a few more cracks at it. But for real, the cheesesteak today kind of blew me away. What put it over the top, besides the flavorful meat and melty cheese, was the seeded rolls. No other reputable cheesesteak place does seeded rolls, and they really made a difference in a good way.

Until the past few years, Jim’s had been my favorite cheesesteak. As I alluded to in my quiche post, Jim’s holds a special place in my heart as my first real cheesesteak. Tasting Jim’s brings back so many great memories, from drunken freshman year outings, to post-strip-club sojourns at the Northeast location, to bizarrely bringing at least TWO high school dates there, like, why? But Jim’s was where it’s at.

If we’re being truthful, though, and putting nostalgia aside, Jim’s steaks are great but not top tier. Sometimes there isn’t enough meat. Occasionally you get the chewy meat. Rarely is the American Cheese melted enough, or even at all. Not every bite of Jim’s is great. Some bites cause me to see stars. Others leave me wanting.

If you’re a Northeast Philly Bro, you probably sing the praises of Steve’s Prince of Steaks. I don’t get the hype. As with every cheesesteak on this list, Steve’s steaks are at least very good, but I disagree with anyone that claims they are great.

First issue—the meat is sliced, not chopped, which is definitely not my preference. I feel like the meat loses some flavor when there’s less surface area hitting that grille. And you also get that phenomenon in which you take a bite of your sandwich, and your teeth end up accidentally pulling out half the meat from the bread. I don’t want to spend any time reconstructing cheesesteaks, ya know?

My second issue is the cheese. My go-to cheese is American, and Steve’s uses American cheese from a hot vat instead of melting slices of it. By the time your sandwich hits your mouth, the cheese is already coagulating in a weird way, a way that almost gives it a chalky texture.

At this point, let me again stress that even the worst of the cheesesteaks on this list are tasty and I would gladly eat any one of them at the drop of a hat. But if we’re comparing, it’s worth nitpicking, and of all the sandwiches on this list, I have the most complaints about Steve’s, however insignificant. But when you saw me at age 22, drunk on the Boulevard, eating a Steve’s steak (while trying to hide from the employees after an even drunker friend punched out a screen window in the eating area), you didn’t hear me complaining, believe you me.

Let’s take a break from talking about cheesesteak tastes, not only because I’m running out of adjectives that could describe meat and cheese, but also because there’s another important aspect of any cheesesteak shop, the atmosphere. The experience is almost as important as the sandwich itself.

That’s why I hate when I read online when Philly natives try to dissuade tourists from going to Pat’s and Geno’s. Yes, both sandwiches are extremely disappointing to anyone with standards, but going to the corner of 9th and Passyunk is a MUST for anyone that hasn’t done so already. It’s a cultural experience. Waiting in line, practicing how to order properly (don’t say the word "cheese" and don’t say the word "steak"!), enjoying your sandwich under the neon lights on a summer night, probably drunk, probably after the bars close. No matter how shitty Pat’s and Geno’s sandwiches are, I always find myself sitting on a bright orange table under the awning at least once a year anyway, enjoying every bite.

But make no mistake, both sandwiches are not very good compared to the other Philadelphia titans. The bottom line is that they are made too quickly, the sandwich-building almost assembly-line in nature. If you order your American Wit’out at 9:00 PM, you have your sandwich by 9:03 PM. To me that says the cheesesteak wasn’t made with love and care. It was thrown together. And it usually shows. Sometimes there’s so little meat it might as well be a bread sandwich.

If some South Philly lowlife put a gun to my head and told me to choose between the two, I’d definitely pick Pat’s over Geno’s. For better or worse, I still hold a grudge against Geno’s for what I (and many others) perceived to be a racist sign in their window for many years, the infamous "This is America, when ordering, SPEAK ENGLISH."

Like with the Broad Street median parking and the Frank Rizzo statue, people from South Philly by and large have nearsighted and uneducated opinions about nearly anything you could possibly ask them about. Refusing business to people who don’t speak English is preposterous, but the sign stood for over a decade, because 9th and Passyunk is MURICA! Fuck Geno’s.

In writing this blog post, however, I did find this article, which indicates that the sign (probably?) has been taken down for good. Geno Vento, the now-owner (and son of Joey Vento, the original owner and apparent racist until his very last breath), appears to be a lot less of a blowhard than his dad (which make him way less South Philly-ish, right?). Maybe Geno’s is trying to turn over a new leaf in these polarizing political times.

Which, if they are, maybe it’s time to lift the grudge. If I can afford to extend the courtesy to Joe’s (of which I’m an unabashed fanboy, despite the fact that until a few years ago the franchise was known by the racially insensitive name "Chink’s"), I guess I can try to extend my forgiveness to Geno’s as well.

Doesn’t mean they have a great cheesesteak, though.

Hey, you know what’s annoying? People that think Dalessandro’s has the best cheesesteak in the city.

I’m just kidding, Dalessandro’s definitely has a good sandwich. Chopped meat, just how I like it. Cheese is a nice consistency. Rolls are soft. I’ve gotten Dalessandro’s while drunk and it was truly a delight.

But if I’ve shit on Northeast Philly and South Philly, I guess I have to shit on Northwest Philly as well. I feel like a lot of people in 17th grade who live in Manayunk like to claim Dalessandro’s as the best just because it’s in their neck of the woods, and people who live in Manayunk are afraid to leave their bubble. Yeah brah, Dalessandro’s really hits the spot after a long night of hitting on busty drunk girls at Mad River!!

Plus, Chubby’s is right across the street, which has a sandwich that is right up there in terms of quality, but also has a bar inside, which makes it perplexing to me why people would wait in that Dalessandro’s line.

Tony Luke’s is the final of the Big Eight that we haven’t discussed yet, and I did not save the best for last. I probably had my first Tony Luke’s two years ago, and I was not impressed. The best way I can describe the sandwich is... mushy? Like, it was too soft to bite. The bread seemed wet with grease, and not in a good way. the meat lacked flavor.

I’ve heard rumors that Tony Luke’s has gone downhill since they aggressively expanded their brand. When you’re selling sandwiches at the baseball stadium, the airport, the fucking Deptford Mall, you can’t really guarantee quality. Compare it to John’s, which has one single location, and every sandwich is made with great love by a group of sweaty, easily-upset jamooks huddling over a grill with painstaking care. Tony Luke’s suffers in ubiquity.

I’ve almost written 1500 words about Philadelphia cheesesteaks already, and we’ve only talked about the Big Eight! There are a thousand other places to get a decent and "authentic" steak in Philly. Past the most famous ones, we have second-tier famous steak places like Campo’s, Sonny’s, and Shank’s. You have places like the Malt House in Port Richmond that are putting a twist on the formula (kielbasa meat instead of steak). You have dive bars like Oscar’s putting out worthy competitors (and you get a cheesesteak-and-a-half for the price of one during happy hour!). You might even have a strip club putting together a worthy cheesesteak, for free!

My doctor told me yesterday that I really need to change my diet, but I’ll be honest, I’m always gonna make an exception for a good cheesesteak.

FINAL RANKINGS OF THE BIG EIGHT:

8. Tony Luke’s
7. Geno’s
6. Steve’s
5. Pat’s
4. Dalessandro’s
3. Jim’s
2. John’s
1. Joe’s

Love,
Joey

Day 84: I Have Never Recreated a Rocky Run

Rocky, though a fictional character, is one of our most famous Philadelphians, and probably more famous still is his training montages, including the classic running up the Art Museum steps. One of the best scenes in sports movie history shows Rocky running all around the shitty parts of Kensington, along the Schuylkill, in the Italian Market, and finally, sprinting up those steps and posing in triumph.

I’ve always wanted to complete this run for myself... but to actually run from Kenso to South Philly back to the Schuylkill is insane, and something that I will not be able to do, at least not this summer.

However, there is a prior running montage in Rocky, one that I achieved today... more or less. Check out the video below.



I followed this video as best I could in the hopes of recreating the experience for myself.

SAME: I set my alarm for 4:00 AM.

DIFFERENT: I didn’t get out of bed right away. It took me till like 4:15.

DIFFERENT: I couldn’t turn on the radio because Pam was sleeping. If Rocky had been shacked up with Adrian at the time I’m sure he would done the same thing.

SAME: I did eat an egg. Except it was one egg, not five. And it was hard-boiled, not raw. Is eating raw eggs even safe? According to this forum, probably not. I’m glad Rocky didn’t get food poisoning.

DIFFERENT: Rocky trained in the cold, and while 4:30 AM in August isn’t overbearingly hot, it certainly wasn’t cold enough for me to go heavier than shorts and a T-shirt.

SAME: I legitimately started at the same exact spot that Rocky did. 1818 E. Tusculum St, near the corner of Kensington and Lehigh. Check it out:

I’m kind of shocked that I didn’t see anyone else starting their early morning run from the same location.

SAME: I tried to do the same stretches that Rocky did beforehand, but I added a couple extra as well, especially some arm stretches (since I wasn’t going to be stretching my arms too much during the run like Rocky did, I’m not one for boxer punching the air).

DIFFERENT: Um... I’m guessing I had a few more concerns about safety than Rocky did? I’m not gonna lie, it was a little creepy walking through Kenso so early in the morning. But I saw more people sleeping than I saw awake, and no one gave me shit, and I wasn’t carrying any cash on me, so we all good.

SAME: I ran the same direction as Rocky... at least for 75 yards down Tusculum. Rocky turned right at Kensington Ave. I turned left.

DIFFERENT: There’s no way in hell I ran the exact same route as Rocky. I ran as little as I could, going all the way down Front St. when it breaks off of Kensington Ave., then going right on Girard, left on Broad, and right on Spring Garden. The only scene between Tusculum and the Steps is when Rocky is running north on Broad St, very close to City Hall. I mean, that’s not too far out of the way, but I was already dying by the time I got to Broad St., there was no way I was going to tack on an additional mile. I just couldn’t.

SAME: I did end at the Art Museum Steps.

DIFFERENT: Traveling up those steps, since I’m in terrible shape, was less Rocky (clutching my side cramps as I slowly jogged up the steps), and more Creed (limping up the steps like an old man). When I made it to the top, I absolutely took a moment to admire the view. "If you look hard enough, you can see your whole life from here." Rocky says this at the end of Creed, and yeah, it’s corny, but I’m not gonna lie, looking out on my city, my home, thinking of those words, I choked up a little.

Love,
Joey

Day 83: I Have Never Explored the Magic Gardens

It’s been on my Philly bucket list forever, so today Pam and I went down to South Street to check out the famous Magic Garden. Our mission consisted of one thing, and one thing only, the best and only reason to get to Magic Garden as quick as you possibly can. We came to get some great Instagram pics! These pics are gonna get soooo many likes! It’ll make me feel so good! Check out some of my Instagram pics below!!!

Love,
@joey

Day 82: I Have Never Submitted Original Content to Reddit

MRW when I have no idea what I’m doing.

I tried to submit that GIF that I made a while back on Reddit. It felt like a hollow exercise, because I had just watched the whole video of trump’s Nazi-sympathizer press conference, and posting a fucking gif on /r/shittyreactiongifs felt frivolous and dumb and pointless. But it was my something new, so here ya go.

It’s sitting pretty at 0 upvotes and 0 comments. This is why I’m a lurker.

Love,
u/Joey

Day 81: I Have Never Written a Letter to a Random Stranger

To Whom It May Concern,

Hi! My name is Joe. You don’t know me, and that might be creepy, receiving a letter from a complete stranger. My apologies. I hope you didn’t think this was, like, anthrax or something. Nope, just a friendly letter to a friendly stranger 3000 miles away. Full disclosure, I am doing this as part of my "Joe’s New Summer" project, wherein every day I’ve done something new. Today is Day 81—only three weeks of summer left! So far, I’ve: read an entire newspaper, attended a political town hall, eaten a free lunch at a strip club, bought a lottery ticket, played disc golf, made homemade pickles... and today I’m writing to a stranger. Lucky you!(??)

I’m writing to you from here in Philadelphia. I’m not sure if you’ve ever been, but I would highly recommend it. I know that Philly has a reputation of being a "tough" town, maybe even filled with "rude" people, but I can definitely assure you that’s not the case! We’re a big city filled with friendly, passionate, hard-working folk. I’m pretty proud to be here. We’d love to have you.

My wife and I try to travel as much as we can (as much as our work schedules and wallets will allow, anyway). Learning about different parts of America really interests me, and I’d love to learn more about Twin Falls, Idaho. I like to imagine that folks in Twin Falls and folks in Philly would get along pretty well. At least, I want to imagine that, what with our country as divided now as it ever has been.

I see that Twin Falls County voted Trump to Clinton 3-1. I’m certainly not here to pass judgment on strangers. What I hope for is this—I hope and pray that Twin Falls, Idaho flourishes despite that vote. I hope that the fine folk of Twin Falls stay educated and really challenge our leaders when they need challenging. I hope the very best for your family, your neighborhood, and your county.

More important, maybe, is appreciating life every day. I’ve been pretty upset the past few days about the Charlottesville riots and murder, about trump’s inability to appropriately respond to the hatred, and just the general fact that it was our own citizen that committed an act of terrorism on our soil. It can really bum you out! But it’s nice every once in a while to step back and appreciate the good things in life. Good health, the ability to laugh, being a free citizen, basic needs met, etc., etc. I wish you all these things.

Anyways, thanks for reading this dumb letter. If you feel like it, you can find me on joesnewsummer.wordpress.com. I’d love to hear from you in Idaho.

Be well.

Love,
Joey