Welcome to this week’s Street Sweeper! I’m your host, Fiona Herzog.
Has anyone else noticed the rise of “Pennfluencers”?
I can’t seem to make it past five–consecutive videos on my feed without seeing a “Day in My Life” that follows them as they traipse down Locust Walk, iced coffee in hand, from Pret a Manger to class.
I wonder where this influx stems from. Is it representative of a larger push from students seeking something other than the strict career paths laid down in front of them by their predecessors, who once held board positions in consulting clubs? Or maybe it’s part of a broader No Logo idea that Naomi Klein warned us about—the creeping pressure that even our breakfasts and walks down Locust need to be packaged, curated, and sold to our peers as personal “brands.”
Or maybe I am overthinking, and people just like to have fun.
Granted—if you know me, you know that I am a hypocrite.
With that, check out what Street was up to this past week: getting stranded in Bethlehem, Pa. and going to our first (sprint) football game, Sausage Fest, Alternative Theater Festival, a John Mulaney show, and more.
The Buzz on Locust
Sig Chi: STACKS @ The Bethlehem Steel Stacks
Sig Chi abducted about sixty students on school buses to go to what was billed as a DJ night at “the steel stacks.” Instead, we were taken to what was essentially a high school prom venue with all the stops—harsh fluorescent lighting, an overwhelming amount of staff, and an overeagerness by all involved to leave and do something more fun. The only problem? We were in Bethlehem, Pa., 50 miles from campus.
–Logan Yuhas, Arts editor
Penn Against Caldwell Sprint Football Game @ Franklin Field
I went to my first–ever Penn Athletics game. In the past three years, I have yet to attend a single intramural, junior varsity, Division I, etc. game. Needless to say, without much knowledge of the mechanics of sprint football, I was thoroughly entertained and astounded. For one, I saw a beaver in the middle of campus on my way there. At the game, a row of frat guys sat behind me roaring for their friend, even when he was just wandering around the field kicking up turf. My best friend decided on the spot to join the team (he has since completed the procedure to join officially). Parents yelled passionately after each play, their voices carrying across the field with a conviction that far outweighed the stakes of the game.
Hearing their roars, I felt reacquainted, at least in some small part, with football’s distinctly all–American mix of chaos, tradition, and communal excitement. On my way back from the stadium, I saw a bike gang light up with a blur of neon lights, flashing LEDs, and spinning wheels, charging down Locust like they owned the night. Needless to say, you’ll catch me front row in the bleachers for the Penn against Cornell game on Nov. 14.
–Fiona Herzog, assignments editor
iNtuitions Alternative Theater Festival @ Platt Performing Arts House
A suspicious number of Street staff could be found in Platt lobby this past Saturday, as they made their triumphant return to Penn theater at the Alternative Theatre Festival, produced by iNtuitons Experimental Theatre. Could it be the lasting impact of last year’s One Acts? It just might be. Myself, along with print managing editor Jules Lingenfelter and Music editor Sophia Mirabal, appeared on stage at different points in the night—me in Meredith Daniels’ “Auburn Hill” and Jules and Sophia in editor–in–chief Norah Rami’s “Don’t Call Cupid,” directed by digital managing editor Nishanth Bhargava. Imagine my panic when a pre–show conversation with Sophia revealed that the Street gang was entirely off book. Hopefully the relentless glow of the lights in Plob—which are impossible to turn off without unscrewing the bulbs—made my phone slightly less conspicuous as I shamelessly read from the script on stage.
–Liana Seale, Film & TV editor
Popping the Bubble
South Philly Sausage Fest @ Broad Street & West Passyunk Avenue
As soon as I heard a boy yelling, “Dad! I want a Labubu,” I knew that the South Philly Sausage Fest was the place to be. There’s nowhere else in the world where you can inhabit the same space as wailing children, oversized sausages, and Labubus at the same time. Beckoned by the savory, smokey air wafting out of the large black truck, I ordered a sweet Italian sausage with peppers and fries and walked over to a side table to decorate it with condiments. I felt great as I sauntered down the corridors of the sausage festival, sausage in hand. I took a picture and sent it to my friends. “At a hot dog fest,” I texted. “I feel like a fake fan,” one of them texted back (she adores hot dogs and didn’t know Philly had a hot dog fest). Tragically, I ended up getting ketchup all over my hands. But that didn’t stop me from continuing to snarf down my sweet Italian sausage on a sidewalk curb, where I dropped a dill pickle and almost cried. I stared at a dog who kept staring back at me. It led me to think back to the furries I had seen earlier in the day at Clark Park—one had a tail the same color as the dog’s fur. I then thought back to my own life and how I hadn’t ever been to a festival dedicated to sausages. This Saturday felt weirdly complete.
–Samantha Hsiung, deputy assignments editor
John Mulaney: Mister Whatever Tour @ The Met Philadelphia
Walking into The Met on Thursday night, I didn’t expect John Mulaney to discuss the failings of modern dryers, his passion for post–birthday–party gift bags, or the theological confusion between the Lamb of God, Son of God, and Son of Man. But that’s exactly the blend of material—simultaneously mundane and existential—that kept the crowd laughing through his Mister Whatever tour stop in Philly. Mulaney has always been known for his sharp delivery, but this set also felt self–aware. He’s no longer the clean–cut golden boy of stand–up. Instead, he’s the guy telling thousands of people about rehab, a divorce, a new marriage, and fatherhood—with the timing to make it hilarious without veering into cruelty. He’s not trying to convince you he’s redeemed or flawless. He’s pointing at his own mess, shrugging, and then spinning it into something funny.
Some of the bits stretched longer than expected but not in a way that dulled their punchlines. His pacing was clean and steady—you found yourself locked in, waiting for the turn of each joke, and the payoff usually landed. The jokes about his son’s birth (how he had only known his second wife, Olivia Munn, for about nine months at that point) had the audience doubled over, but it was the smaller moments, like his explanation of what Sky Zone is, that stuck with me. That balance between the massive and the trivial made the set feel alive, not over–rehearsed. As I left, I realized why people still pack these venues for him: He’s not pretending to be the smartest or kindest guy in the room. He’s showing you the cracks and letting you laugh with him at what falls through.
–Henry Metz, Film & TV beat
Kali Uchis: Sincerely, Tour @ Wells Fargo Center
Everyone needs a friend who has a talent for finding cheap, last–minute concert tickets and whisking you away to the Wells Fargo Center at the end of a long week. Luckily, I have this privilege, and my favorite pandemic–nostalgia artist, Kali Uchis, was in town last night. In a chic, all–black, corseted number, she served absolutely devastating face and serenaded us with both ethereal ballads and upbeat, danceable numbers. And of course, no concert experience is complete without six canceled Ubers and the reluctant decision to spend 45 minutes on SEPTA at the end of the night.
– Sarah Leonard, Focus editor
Free Zoo Trip @ Philadelphia Zoo
Two college students fighting the crowds of strollers and crying children, my friend and I make a beeline for the primate house. She’s a recently declared anthropology major, and I’m eager to follow her towards the closest primate cousins our zoo has to offer. There’s nothing like watching a gibbon effortlessly swing around its tall wooden structures to make you lament the centuries of primate evolution that gave rise to bipedalism (shoutout to ANTH 0030). We talk about all the human development we would give up just to climb a tree like that once. I guess we’re lucky, though, that we’re not the ones trapped behind greasy, finger–marked glass, and I’m glad to leave the place walking upright.
– Sarah Leonard, Focus editor
Eleanor the Great Screening @ Film Society Bourse
On my dorm wall, I have a life–sized Captain America shield next to a poster showcasing every Marvel hero to ever exist. So when I think of Scarlett Johansson, I think of Black Widow. But recently, I’ve discovered she’s much more than that. This past Thursday, I traveled to the Bourse Theater to see Eleanor the Great, a new film directed by Scarlett Johansson.
The trailer promised humor, quirkiness, and sentimentality. Going in, I thought it would be a feel–good story about an old lady trying to find her way in the big city. I ended up bawling my eyes out alongside the rest of the largely older theater crowd. Based on a true story, June Squibb plays the titular Eleanor, a 94–year–old moving to Manhattan to live by herself for the first time. When she loses her way, she ends up in a Holocaust survivors’ support group. Though she never experienced the Holocaust, she tells the story of her Polish best friend as her own and connects with a grieving teenager who is covering the group for a class assignment. The rest of the movie plays out as you’d expect, as Eleanor deals with the consequences of her lie. If you’re ever in the mood to have a good sob, I highly recommend this film. Fair warning—you might need to block out an hour or two afterwards to be depressed and ponder the meaning of life.
–Susannah Hughes, Film & TV beat
