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(03/27/03 5:00am)
Even though I was afraid to buy lunchmeat when my mom would send me to the corner deli, I wasn't a shy kid. It was really just carnivorous adults with bloody aprons that I was afraid of -- until I changed schools and learned that fifth graders are the really scary ones.
Before that, I was pretty popular. Believe you me, everyone wanted to play hopscotch and "whisper down the lane" with me. But at my new school, I stood out like a hobo at a country club.
Changing schools was a horrendously bad move. To my mother's chagrin, the curriculum at Bridesburg Elementary wasn't nearly as advanced as the lessons at St. John Cantius, my old school. Now I didn't mind waiting for the other kids to catch up -- more coloring time for me. But I did mind being branded "Brainy," "Four-eyes" and "Egg-head" by Michelle and Tammy.
Since then my "ultra brainy-ness" has always caused me to stand out. In high school, I tried donning plaid shirts and 10-ton, heavy as hell, combat boots to fit in with the grungy kids. I tried wearing bandanas and short-shorts to fit in with my school's hoochie population, but that attire never quite worked with my glasses. It seemed like I would never get the giant "E," for egg-head, off my chest.
So gradually I started rolling my eyes whenever someone popular, like the homecoming queen, said "like" too many times in class: "So, like, I just don't get why, like Hamlet has to be um, like so mad crazy." I decided that if they were too cool for me, then I was too smart for them. And surprisingly, this logic worked most of the time, except when people like Jodi the cheerleader beat me out in class rank.
Then one day maybe it was my failure to tell a dactyl from a trochee in English 40 or an epiphany I had while standing in line at Starbucks, but it occurred to me that I'm just not brilliant enough to be anti-social. In fact, even amazingly talented people like Picasso and Rainman were wise enough to network. After all, Rainman got to count cards in Vegas and Picasso developed Cubism with Braque. To say it plainly, where would we be if Watson never hobnobbed with Crick?
Now I'm not some kind of genius painter or idiot savant, but maybe if I'm good at nothing else in life, perhaps I can be good at people. To tell the truth, making fun of stuttering, muscle-head jocks and debutantes is getting boring and I need to grow up. It's time to leave the fortification of the geek squad and start giving cool people a chance.
Because along the way some jocks, cheerleaders and punks actually surprised me -- it's a shame Michelle and Tammy never did. They were just some straight-up ten year-old biz-snatches.
(03/27/03 5:00am)
More than a stodgy Malvolio donning cross-gartered, yellow stockings is needed to keep Shakespeare fresh. With all due respect to the wordsmith of the Western world, the Arden Theatre Company does justice to his script in their '50s doo-wop production of Twelfth Night.
A billboard-sized postcard, stretched across the exterior of Olivia's abode, pictures classical architecture foregrounded by a bathing beauty complete with a pink swimming cap. This ad clues us into the fact that Shakespeare's Illyria has been transformed into a seaside tourist town past its prime. With the tourists off exploring Italy's other exploits, Sir Toby and his cronies are free to have their run of the place, setting plots, inciting duels, drinking past midnight and breaking into rambunctious melodies. Adding to the disorder is Viola, Sebastian's cross-dressing twin sister, who poses as Duke Orsino's right hand man.
Finding his inspiration in Orsino's opening lines, "If music be the food of love play on," the jukebox is a constant accessory in director Whit MacLaughlin's production. Although Orsino's, played by Patrick Brinker, lovesick musing over Frank Sinatra's "Chances Are" is less than beliveable, the production's emphasis on music makes the play's Elizabethan era music come alive. With Feste, Olivia's in-house clown, crooning the closing melody, Shakespeare's songs sound as though they were always meant to be sung Buddy Holly-style.
(03/20/03 5:00am)
Standard Tap is a deceptively tame name for a bar with d‚cor, menu and beer selection that surely does not lack in frills -- minus the typical space-age, minimalist interior design.
While you won't find white-plastic, egg-shaped chairs and neon lights at Standard Tap, its charm lies in the clash of colonial and contemporary. The door is adorned with beer-taps fitted together to form a modernist jigsaw puzzle, while turn of the century gas lamps hang from the copper-colored coffered ceiling. To match the standing ashtrays and other antiqued accoutrements, unfinished walls add an urban aesthetic and the jukebox spins mostly rock, including a large selection of The Who.
(02/28/03 5:00am)
Before you tango, you must learn to walk. Often misunderstood, tango is more about the caminada, or basic walking step, than clenching a thorny rose between your teeth.
Friday night milongas, or dance parties, transform the second floor of the University City Arts League into an informal, but spirited ballroom. Despite an almost equal breakdown of the sexes, beautiful women in flowing skirts and towering dance shoes gladly pair up with wiry middle-aged men who know how to lead.
Before things on the dance floor really heat up, anyone from beginner to dancing queen is welcome to try out their moves. At nine, a tango crash course is offered to those in need of a few steps to promenade around the floor with.
Around 10:30, the regular crowd arrives with the understanding that the main dance floor is theirs, and open only to those able to navigate it. If you're too timid to brave the floor, there's a small adjacent studio for practice or grabbing a quick bite from the snack table.
Soon it will be time to test out your footwork on the main floor. Don't worry about making a few blunders, genuine dancers of the Argentine Tango are too laid-back to hold grudges.
In reality, true tango is rooted in originality and spontaneity. According to co-instructor Kelly Ray, tango evolved in the sultry dance halls of early 20th century Argentina. Criticized for being "too passionate and too sexy," tango was absorbed by European ballroom dancers who rigidly standardized its steps.
Since then, Argentine tango has been rediscovered by people like Kelly Ray and Lesley Mitchell who sponsor dance parties, potluck dinners and teach both informal and ongoing classes.
Those with rythm are as welcome as those without. Philadelphia's tango community will be beside you, and you'll learn quickly, or at least enjoy a people-watching opportunity of a lifetime.
(01/31/03 5:00am)
Competing with Old City bars and eateries so chocked full of yuppies that there's barely a place to sit or stand, designer Jeff Low describes Denim's 6,600 square feet as "theater but comfortable." Offset by long, dramatic chiffon curtains and colored light fixtures, Denim's six lounges are a warm but tasteful synthesis of bar stools from Italy, chrome vintage antlers and silver hand-strung beads from a Walgreens after-Christmas sale.
While Low does an amazing job creating a versatile denim palace for under a million dollars, the d‚cor is predictable and unflinchingly heterosexual at times. Custom black and white photographs of male/female pairs striking erotic poses line the walls of the denim lounge, while sexy mosaics of women in the men's room and male mosaics in the ladies room are billed for installation.
Denim
1712 Walnut Street
(215) 753-6700
www.denimlounge.com
With its star-crossed sights set on the likes of celebrities, sport-stars and foreign dignitaries, Denim has the fabulous in mind. The VIP lounge -- complete with a security entrance on Chancellor Street and fur throw pillows -- overlooks the 30 foot-long bar, allowing celebrities an unobstructed view of the commoners. Mahogany liquor lockers are available for $2000 per annum for Denim's frequent patrons. On opening night, DJ Jazzy Jeff was spinning while representatives of pop-stars Pink and Eve were scoping out the scene.
Despite its appeal to the rich and famous, a meal at Denim is scrumptious and rather affordable -- small plates range from $8-18 and entrees from $18-40. Tattooed from legs to chest, Executive Chef Scott McLeod hails from the South. His influences, however, are largely Latin and French. McLeod gingerly wields his meat thermometer, roasting both meat and fish to perfection. The coriander rice crusted tuna, accompanied by a roasted vegetable crˆpe ($26), is both savory and tender, while the filet mignon with parsnip puree is juicy and flavorful ($32).
Whether you come for apple martinis or for dinner, the churros accompanied by three sauces are not be missed. With a hip atmosphere perfect for people-watching and a not-so-clamorous noise level, Denim is ideal for dates. Plus, the mirrored tables provide a great opportunity to check your makeup or dislodge something from between your teeth, while directing your date's gaze towards the Philadelphia skyline.
(10/24/02 4:00am)
In the middle of a city, people slept with their doors unlocked. Everyone knew each other and chatted on their front steps. It was a poor neighborhood, but residents would help each other with the rent from month to month -- they were so closely knit that they thought of themselves as an urban tribe. Walking down the streets of the neighborhood, you could hear jazz emanating from the houses, the bars and Club Zellmar, a local music joint.