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PDF: 12.01.2011
(12/01/11 1:13pm)
Click on the issue for the PDF. See all of the articles in the issue here.
From the Editor: 12.01.2011
(12/01/11 7:48am)
I have a secret to share with you. Ready? I hate writing these letters. I'm not particularly funny (at least on purpose). I'm not witty or clever or profound. I'm just me. And as you've learned this year, I love TV for tweens, emo music from middle school and poop jokes, and I mention my mom in almost all of these.
From the Editor: 11.17.2011
(11/17/11 7:25am)
Rather than use this space as a letter, I’m going to make you a list. If you remember from a few weeks ago (for the three people who read these beside my beloved Mom and Dad), organized girls love lists. I am, in fact, an organized girl. So here’s my list for today. It's called…
From the Editor: 11.10.2011
(11/10/11 5:01am)
Penn’s changed a lot since I first settled into a cramped Hill double three and a half years ago. No more happy hour specials at LTs. No more terrible service from Marathon. No more almost drug deals at Cream and Sugar. But apparently the Penn landscape's changed infinitely for many alum traipsing back to campus this weekend. Choruses of “OHMIGOD THIS IS SO WEIRD” rang throughout Smoke's on Saturday night. "Nothing's the same!" a nostalgic sorority girl turned consultant cried. And then she took a shot. Well duh, ya weirdos. Of course nothing's the same. You all graduated. New babies moved in. Penn chugs along without you. That doesn't mean we don't miss you (because damnit we do) but it's probably a sad notion for alumni to face: Penn does not revolve around you. And this is pretty sad for seniors, too. You mean to say that the entire undergraduate body won’t welcome us back next year with open arms and free pitchers? You mean there will be no red carpet rolled out embellished with Kweder lyrics? How dare you! How will we get through the next few months? Oh wait. There’s a ton of things to look forward to. Especially in Street. Like two (not one, but two!) more sets of Shoutouts (p. 12). Cultural Elite’s coming out next week — will you make the cut? And a Joke Issue to boot. There are other things on the horizon, too of course. Walnut Walk. Senior Formal. Fling. Being a second semester senior part deux. Oh, and getting a job or something like that. Maybe. Hopefully. But until then, it might be time to try something new. Work at a homeless shelter (p. 8). Do some drugs at a concert (p. 10). Make some donuts (p. 6). Or just take a nice walk courtesy of Kevin Bacon's father (p. 16). Street your heart out,
From the Editor: 11.03.2011
(11/03/11 5:07am)
I have a theory about being brilliant. If you do something I don’t know how to do, then you must be the best at it. Take architecture. If you are an architect, I think you are the most brilliant architect that ever existed, simply because I have no idea what an architect does or how one would architect anything anyway. You are brilliant. You can show me a model of a decrepit house, but if it looks complicated and is on a computer, I'm impressed.
From the Editor: 10.27.2011
(10/27/11 6:53am)
Halloween makes people uncomfortable. Some can’t handle all the costumes, all the candy, all the frat parties named with terrible rhymes. But others get into it. Like really into it. Especially at Penn. For some reason Halloweekend becomes a Fling–like extravaganza… with fewer clothes and even less dignity. The party starts on Wednesday and ends on Tuesday. It’s quite the spectacle, one we all try to take advantage of in one way or another. A few of my friends live in a house on Beige Block with a large second floor porch, overlooking 41st Street. Perfect for people watching. This comes in handy at times like NSO, Fling and of course Halloween. From our mini tower in the sky, we heckle unknowing party–goers. It’s even better to perch up there starting at 9 a.m. the morning(s) after. Halloween walks of shame are not urban legends; they're one of the best sources of entertainment. This probably sounds terrible, that I’ve spent years scouting out the best way to poke fun at people just trying to enjoy a holiday. Well it comes from a place of love. I love Halloween. I love dressing up (preferably in something covered entirely in sequins). I love candy. I love frat par — okay you got me there; I don’t love frat parties with punny names. But everything else rocks. It’s a time to admire your peers’ creativity. Sophomore year our female ego of the week (page 4) was Picasso’s blue period. She taped blue tampons to her body. Come on. That’s awesome. And yes, it’s a time to laugh at girls trotting home in cat ears and stilettos at 9 a.m., with furry tails between their legs. So if you hate Halloween (attention, page 3), look at your choices. Look at your lives. And if you see a rowdy bunch on a green porch pointing at your ridiculous costume: suck it up. You probably deserve it.
a.kitchen is a Nice Addition to the Rittenhouse Bistro Scene
(10/26/11 10:24am)
Three months into its operation, a.kitchen still has that new–car smell. The restaurant gives diners the option between being seated outdoors, at a bar looking into an open kitchen or around a traditional table. It also serves breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Monsu lives up to its sister, Modo Mio
(10/26/11 10:22am)
In the heat of the Italian Market, Peter McAndrews’ latest venture Monsu — a twist on the French “monsieur” — brings Sicily right to your plate.
Winner Winner Chicken Dinner
(10/26/11 10:20am)
When you enter Rotisseur, you are hit by the gentle smell of roasted chicken. Blurring the lines between a sit–down restaurant and take–out and delivery place, Rotisseur brings quality, healthy and affordable home–style chicken to Rittenhouse. With its cheerful ambiance, oldies on the radio and modern decor, Philly native Aaron Matzkin’s little 16–seater prides itself on its local cage–free, hormone–free and antibiotic–free poultry.
Serafina's New City
(10/26/11 10:10am)
No matter how hard transplant New Yorkers try, Philly will never be the Big Apple. Nor should it try to be.
New Mexican Restaurant Isabel Still Needs Time to Get the Kinks Out
(10/26/11 10:06am)
Isabel is a small Mexi–Cali BYO nestled in the foot of a condominium complex right behind the Art Museum. Opened just a few weeks ago by Michael Poole and Van Chau, who also own Trio (a Pan Asian BYO about two blocks away), Isabel promises traditional favorites like queso fundido ($6) and chiles rellenos ($15), while spicing things up with a saucy Cali twist, incorporating items as exotic chocolate duck salad ($8) and a tequila–infused "drunken chicken" ($16) into their growing menu.
New Rittenhouse Thai spot Jasmine Rice is Small in Size but Big on Flavor
(10/26/11 10:04am)
Make sure you brush your teeth before you go to Jasmine Rice — the small space and tiny tables at this charming new Thai BYO will bring you pretty close to your neighbor, we’re just sayin’.
From the Editor: 10.20.2011
(10/20/11 5:48am)
Lists are like crack to organized girls. We can add to them indefinitely and make them look elegant and important with curly handwriting. Awesome. Most of my lady friends agree. Even some dudes. Lists rock. They keep you classy even if you spill coffee and wine all over them. They make you feel accomplished even if you never cross anything off. They're general ego boosters. Which is why when I was asked to meditate in class — yes, it's one of those feel–good classes made for seniors that's pretty much like group therapy — I took the time to make a list. Duh. This time about classes. With one semester left in my undergraduate career (gawdfabid!) I'm dumbstruck. Photography, graphic design, Urban Studies, something with Childers, like four more classes in my major. There were too many. And it's not like I'm the most curious student in the world. I've never taken more than four classes at a time. I admit to always checking Penn Course Review to make sure it isn't too hard. I started to curse myself. Bad, Jess. You should have taken at least six more courses. And summer classes! Pass/fail. Take 'em all! But then my professor snapped me out of my list–lovin' heaven and insisted we share our what we learned from our forced meditation. Learn? Apparently I didn't learn anything in four years. I cringed. I tried to hide under a desk until I realized the irony. I was asked to meditate. In a class. That counted for my minor. And made me happy. So instead, I made a list of my favorite classes starting with the unofficial one right here on these pages.
There's Something about Molly
(10/13/11 11:00am)
Dude!” one boy grabbed his friend’s hand. “I’m rolling face right now!” His friend nodded and swayed into him, putting an arm around the first boy’s shoulder. “Me too, man.”
From the Editor: 10.13.2011
(10/13/11 7:45am)
I had big plans for Fall Break. I wanted to go to Vegas. I had visions of flaunting my legality. I would sit at a slot machine, shmooze with Cher and sneak into the Real World suite at the Palms. Then Yom Kippur happened. With a last name like Goodman, I knew I couldn’t spend the holiest day of the year parading around with would–be Vegas showgirls. (Said would–be showgirls ended up spending their breaks on couches in New Jersey and Los Angeles. Hey guys.) Instead I went home to celebrate the Day of Atonement. But then a terrible, horrible thing happened. I didn’t go to temple. I’m admitting this in print: I didn’t go to temple on Yom Kippur. I didn’t even fast. While my parents were starving and shuckling at shul I was sitting in bed eating challah and watching the CW’s The Secret Circle — all four episodes. Back to back. I guess I can make myself feel better and say that in between tweenage witch clips, I reflected on the past year and repented in my own way. In reality I just snacked on my mom’s homemade matzoh balls. I guess I should have been more productive — or at least more God–fearing — this break. I could have brewed my very own beer like our Ego of the Week (p. 4). I could have watched Rent for the 18th time (p. 11). I could have even gone to see some cool sexy art exhibits in Philly (p. 13). So to all who ask me this weekend, “How was your break?”: I learned a lot about magic and gained three pounds.
From the Editor: 09.29.2011
(09/29/11 6:37am)
When I was a kid I would devour Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. I would sit in my bathtub and soak for hours, reading and re–reading stories of broken hearts and bones, tales of ‘tough stuff’ and tragedies. I think it stemmed from a typical t(w)eenage yearning to know what’s really up with our peers. Now a few years older, there doesn’t seem to be a pre–written bowl of soup for the college–aged soul. But I, and most of the people I know at Penn, still want to know what truths lurk behind masks of our fellow classmates. Enter sex. The last time I walked into a frat party, I was greeted by a couple making out. They were sweaty and the guy had his hands on the girl’s chest. Her bra was out and one bare leg slid up around his waist. They smelled like aged jungle juice. Within seconds they were humping against the wall. We’ve all seen this a dozen times. It’s impossible to miss. And then we walk away, look for something cold to drink and leave within 10 minutes. We never really know what happens beyond that. Do they go back to his room or her cramped double in Hill? Do they have sex? Was this the first time they met? Do they use protection? Do athletes have more sex than nurses? Do female engineers whack off more than Wharton males? We conducted a sex survey (page 9) to find out the answers.
From the Editor: 09.22.2011
(09/22/11 5:06am)
My first concert was a really sweaty My Chemical Romance set at the Downtown in Farmingdale, New York. I was 13 years old and I thought it was the COOLEST thing in the entire world. There were smelly dudes in black ripped t–shirts passing joints around and breaking beer bottles. My 13–year–old emo boyfriend got stuck in the middle of a mosh pit and got a concussion. I wore Converse lace–ups and a denim miniskirt. It. Was. Awesome. Even though I now think My Chemical Romance is pretty terrible, I was in heaven. I think everyone feels that way about their first concert — a thumping bass and a chance to be in the presence of your high school heroes. It doesn't get much better. Fast–forward an entire adolescent lifetime. I'm a wee bit older and (I think) I have better taste in music. I've been to my fair share of concerts and I've even kicked some dirt around with strangers at a handful of festivals. I'm no concert queen, no tiara full of tunes, but I do love being in the presence of live music. From a tiny dive bar to Madison Square Garden, the feeling's always the same: lights, jams and a good crew of dudes. So concert lovers, join me in welcoming a new babe to town. Her name is Union Transfer and she’s pleased to meet you (p. 10). She’s got three bars so we’re obviously intrigued. And if that doesn't tickle your fancy, try your hand at the POPPED! Music Festival (p. 13) this weekend. All this jamming jargon not your style? Get off your couch and go to the Rotunda. Suck it.
From the Editor: 09.15.2011
(09/15/11 7:38am)
Being Google–able sucks. We crazy college kids can’t really do stupid stuff anymore. Well, that’s not true. We totally can but we just can’t brag about it in publications like these anymore. No longer can I fill this little space with illicit advice to freshpeeps (don’t drink the jungle juice). No longer can I brag about that totally crazy moment I had with Ken Kweder in the kitchen of Smoke’s last spring (it was magical). Now our names are all out there in that damn web–iverse and future employers are just waiting to call us out for our 2008 profile picture, where we’re pouring champagne on each other (Mom, I promise I never did this) and degrade the rants we wrote on our LiveJournals about emo bands on Long Island. Let this be a warning, dear readers: If you do something stupid online, we will find it. And we will write about it. Please visit Exhibit A: Freshman Superlatives. But let me backtrack. For those of you who haven’t seen 34th Street before, welcome. Officially we’re the weekly arts and culture magazine of the Daily Pennslyvanian, Penn’s independent newspaper. Unofficially, we Toast and Roast your frat parties, we break Penn down for you letter by letter and we play favorites. We’re the magazine you don’t want to tell your parents you write for. We use uber dashes and we REAL TALK. If you show up to our writers’ meetings every Thursday you’ll probably get a warm beer. Back to Freshman Superlatives. This, froshbabies, is your introduction to Penn. We love you. We hate you. We kind of want to be you (four more years, please!). So we present you with your Penn '15 minutes of (un–Google–able because there are no last names) fame until you become an Ego of the Week… if you're lucky.
TV Recap: Bandwaggoning with RR/RW Challenge
(06/23/11 5:00pm)
We’ve been waiting with bated — we mean normal — breath for the return of the guiltiest of guilty pleasures: the Real World/ Road Rules Challenge: Rivals. Street’s here to recap what will hopefully be the most malicious season yet because well… we’re addicted. And it’s the summer. So why not waste all our time on Bravo and MTV reality reruns?
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