Behind the counter, a cook chops bell peppers, his knife banging loudly on the countertop. He grabs a bowl of beaten eggs and empties it onto the stove and goes back to cutting veggies.
Dean* did the frat house thing all night with his entire hall, squeezing in between sweaty freshmen in order to get a precious red Solo cup filled with Natty Lite.
"May Allah, the almighty, bless all of us here and in the Hereafter."
Not many Penn Ph.D. students praise Allah in the acknowledgements of their dissertation.
Today, all that remains is an empty lot. The buildings on both sides are abandoned. Their windows are boarded up, except for the top two, which reveal white paint peeling from the ceiling.
Friday morning, Steven Cook answers six calls for reservations in a span of 15 minutes. He politely turns some callers away--those naively hoping to get squeezed in for Saturday night, or for Valentines Day, still two weeks away.
Others are in the know.
They've heard the raves deeming Marigold Kitchen, tucked away in a residential neighborhood of West Philadelphia, the city's best new BYOB.
They know about the 3-bell rating from feared Philadelphia Inquirer critic Craig LaBan; they've even seen accolades in Gourmet and Food and Wine magazines, bibles worshipped by foodies across the country.
Two years ago, when Amy Gutmann was announced as the new Penn President, Street had some unsavory words for J-Ro's successor -- including an acronym starting with an "M" and ending with an "I.L.F." After Street's "overenthusiastic" welcome, the President secluded herself in the West Wing of Eisenlohr (her Walnut abode), shriveling at the prospect of meeting, face-to-face, with Street.
Two years later, armed with a flexible elephant metaphor (see next page), "her eminence" has forgiven Street's past transgressions and has finally put all of her cards on the table.
In 1950, a team of archeologists from the University of Pennsylvania Museum embarked on an expedition to Gordion in the ancient kingdom of Phyrgia in central Turkey.
Seven years later, they discovered the tomb of the mythical hero King Midas, known for his golden touch, or what recent redating of the tomb points to as the body of Midas' father or grandfather.
The sports complex at Pattison, the last stop going south on the Orange line, is a sort of municipal preserve, its chief resources being the worn pavement and concrete that make up its wonderland of sports shrines and parking lots.
On a sleepy Saturday afternoon, something is in the air at the Divine Tracy. The hotel's staff is buzzing with excitement, everyone standing in twos and threes in the dimly lit lobby.
As a work-study student in the Penn Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology, Wharton senior Greg Bryda had never given ghosts much thought before the time of his first "encounter."
One day in November, 2004, Greg was given high-security access to the subbasement, where the museum's unused artifacts are kept.