He’s a big fan of coffee.
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He’s a big fan of coffee.
Scraps of trash bump and move across the pavement like tumbleweeds—past the barren tree, past the large cardboard box on the curb and two trash bags. Kensington is chilly—I hug myself as I walk—but inside the Over Easy Breakfast Club, my hands begin to warm up.
On the face of the Allegheny SEPTA station is a mural of a woman pinching a palette in her left hand and a brush in the other. Behind her, a festival of tents and people and clowns and bagpipe music crowds the underside of the track, but she is intent on introducing the magic of color theory to the children who crouch beside her.
It all started with men’s lightweight rowing.
In the heart of Washington Square West, where 10th Street and Spruce Street kiss, an unassuming corner lot peeks into the wonderful world of Greek and Cypriot cuisine. This is Kanella Grill—one crosswalk away from an antique shop, one hemisphere away from its Mediterranean roots. An aquamarine hamsa hangs by the doorway, and it reads: “May / This Place / Be blessed / With happiness / Fortune & success.”
Beneath a dropped ceiling crumbling tile by tile, on a floor sticky with week–old alcohol, between walls tattooed with anthems and illustrations of classes past, 3914 Spruce Street tells a story decades deep. Since the early 1970s, the four–story dwelling nestled between Pi Kappa Alpha and Sigma Alpha Epsilon has served as home to Penn’s chapter of Pi Lambda Phi, better known as Pilam. But under the weight of debt, this has all come to an end.
When Camille skates, she’s skating against the wishes of her mother. She’s also skating despite the expectations of the community. Her home life is a classic single-parent dynamic, her sport is one that’s crowded by boys. This is the premise of Skate Kitchen, director Crystal Moselle's new film. The teenage Camille, played by the very cool Rachelle Vinberg, is skating against stereotypes. As far as she knows, the only place where other girls skate is online.
Almost two decades after Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Eleven reinvigorated the American heist, Ocean’s 8 has given the genre a female facelift. It’s not the first franchise reboot to feature a new all–women cast; the 2016 Ghostbusters faced backlash from critics and concerned misogynists alike, even before its release. Regardless, both films mark a shift towards better representation on the big screen—think: Wonder Woman, Lady Bird, The Handmaid’s Tale, etc.
Philadelphia is home to more than the birthplace of American history or the reigning Super Bowl champs; the city of brotherly love boasts a music scene that’d make Nashville or LA jealous (well, almost). You’ve heard of Hall & Oates. The Tonight Show wouldn’t be much without The Roots. And any self–respecting pump–up playlist will make space for “Dreams and Nightmares” (#freemeek?). Street presents: five don’t–miss Philly artists.
Heads up, my dudes—Friday, June 1st marks the 80th annual National Donut Day. Keen on celebrating the rapturous glory that is fried flour dough and frosting? Street’s whipped up this handy–dandy Donut Day guide for all you lucky folks in Philly this summer, with all the deets and deals to prepare you for an a–glaze–ing time. Don’t miss out.
The reviews that surface after a Google search for Post Malone’s beerbongs & bentleys all seem to deliver similarly damning conclusions—that frankly, the album sucks. It’s a “Flexing, Partying, Rich–Sad Bummer,” proclaims Rolling Stone. Pitchfork deems the album “false and performative,” and its predecessor—Post’s debut, Stoney—a “cynical, punishing listen.”
The music world has graced us with a much needed post–finals gift. The Arctic Monkeys, Britain’s indie rock golden boys, have broken their five–year dry spell to deliver Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino, an 11–track romp through the cosmos on the keys of a Steinway.
On sunlit South Street, nestled between an artisan pie shop and a cat clinic, sits Miles Table, “Where the Neighborhood Eats.” The door is propped open with a chalkboard sign that announces the day’s specials: pork hash, short ribs, fish tacos. Inside lies a cozy corridor where couples chat and singles type away on Macbooks over boxed salads. A mother keeps her two young children in check.
It's April 14th, 1989. Heidi Tandy (C’ 92) keeps rum and champagne in her room. She doesn’t throw parties there; she lives on the first floor of Warwick in the Quad, too close in proximity to the Task Force patrol (Ed. note: no, not that task force). This year, the name of the game is discretion. Her fellow freshmen sip liquor from soda cans down near the Baby Quad.
For your body:
How you spend the five–minute break in the middle of your three–hour seminar reveals quite a bit about you. Highbrow's got you all figured out. If you're too swamped with midterms to spare time for introspection, here's a quick guide.
September is the season of rejection, so it seems. Turn that frown upside–down with Highbrow’s list of little Penn victories.
With school restarting and clubs re-kicking in, being a freshman no longer seems so fun. Street’s got some tips for those of you looking to channel your inner chameleon.
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