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My grandparents will arrive for graduation in 36 days. My father will
arrive in 37, and my mother’s plans
are still up in the air. Graduation for the College is in 38 days, and Lin–Manuel Miranda
will grace Commencement with his presence
in 39. One month, one week and one day
until I leave my undergraduate career firmly in the past. Ideally, I’d like to echo the general
senior sentiment of bittersweet, premature
nostalgia for days gone by, but the truth is, I
think I’m about ready to be an adult now.
I’m not great at bars. I love going to them, but the range of drinks I’m willing to consume is pretty limited. I’m good with a nice IPA or a Gin and Tonic, and while I’ll experiment with cocktails, I usually stay away. So here’s a list of bars that occasionally talks about drinks, but mostly doesn’t.
3925 Walnut St.
One of us is a snob that has a very strict definition of what pizza is: It must have gluten, tomato sauce, and cheese. One of us is a plebe that doesn’t understand why people make fun of Papa John’s. One of us thinks pizza, at its core, is really ornate bread and the term flatbread is really just fancy pizza. We went to five different Philadelphia pizza joints to try various foodstuffs that may or may not actually be pizza, despite being defined that way on the menu.
It's not hard to go downtown for a night.
The Perks of Being a Wallflower:
“What if we sent someone to spend 24 hours in Allegro?” Asked some terrible person.
Daniel Craig is tired of being Bond and Star Trek's coming back
It’s 3:14 am, and my sister is cranky. We drove through the night to get from Lake Worth to Ocala, Florida, our annual University of Florida football weekend hotel spot. My dad and I will spend the next morning buying last minute tailgate supplies, before the three of us head to UF’s campus in Gainesville. My aunt, uncle and cousins will then join us for a family tailgate, then we’ll all break up to go join our high school friends, before my generation reconvenes at my cousin’s frat. My sister and I will join our father at our seats in the Northwest corner of Ben Hill Griffin Stadium. The band takes the field; I sing along with all the fight songs, even the alma mater. As my Gators pour out onto the field to thunderous applause underneath blinding lights, I shed a tear. I have never attended this institution of higher education. Instead, I go to Penn, where things like this do not, and maybe never will, happen.
Photo credit: IMDb
Photo credit: IMDb
Kenn Kweder and Mark Teague are early at their regular Tuesday night gig. Sitting across from us at Smokes’, they are as much of a staple here as the bar. Laughs ensue and pitchers of beer are drank as they regale us with tales of being thrown out of shows, growing up with the rock ‘n’ roll “cool cats," and philosophical advice.
I have no idea why more people don’t go to Koch’s (it’s only at 43rd and Locust streets), but one of the two managers, Rami Shabbat, was very concerned about that. “Make sure people know that it’s not that far,” he said. “We don’t get as many students as we used to.”
I went to Brick and Mortar, a restaurant and bar on 12th and Vine streets, specifically for their early morning Premier League breakfast. I don’t really watch soccer, but I’m trying to get into it, so I texted my buddy and Manchester City–fan Isaac for advice. “Rule number one,” he said “Don’t cheer for Chelsea.”
I know one thing for sure: I do not know what Penn Face is supposed to be. I have a hunch about something else: nobody else really does either.
Photos: Pat Goodrige
It’s the start of a new fall semester, which, thankfully,
also means we finally get to go watch some actually good movies. Now is the time that festival films are hitting wide distribution. Fall means that #winteriscoming and so you should drown your sorrows in a hot chocolate at The Rave after class. So here we go: three movies that might get Oscar noms, three popcorn-munching giant blockbusters and three very big movies that’ll ride box office success to awards season glory.