This is it. The end. In 24 days -- a mere 576 hours -- I, with the rest of my class, will graduate. In 24 days it will no longer be appropriate to puke up vodka cranberry for four hours on a Friday morning.
Moss Hart, Kurt Weill and Ira Gershwin must have had copies of Hamlet firmly in hand while collaborating on Lady in the Dark. The protagonist of this 1941 musical, Liza Elliott, is repeatedly faulted as a woman who, like our favorite Dane, "can't make up her mind."
For Penn's Theatre Arts Program, Lady in the Dark represents an ambitious undertaking.
Don't be fooled by the cover of Groton-alum Curtis Sittenfeld's classy debut novel -- Prep. While the pink and green grosgrain belt around the book's middle may bring to mind your wasted summer on Nantucket or that yachtie you fondled at the Newport-Bermuda after-party, Prep's protagonist is not an elitist snob like you and I.
Tuesday was my 22nd birthday. It was also November 16th -- exactly six months until graduation. I didn't know whether to celebrate in the usual way -- get blackout drunk and make out with everyone I know -- or to finally trade in the Bacardi for the Botox.
Popular -- the complete first season
This show was admittedly the poor man's My So-Called Life, with a typical teenybopper cast of characters (the rich bitch, the quarterback, the ambiguously gay guy, the weird activist) and supposedly witty one-liners like"Michael Jackson called, he wants his eyebrows back." So why does it merit preservation for posterity on DVD?
Stop the pretending; we know your secret. You skipped the company barbeque to watch the finale of Outback Jack. And then you went to the CBS website after missing an episode of the Amazing Race, just to see if those douchebag twins were finally given the boot.
What do Burberry-clad yuppies, chimichangas and tequila have in common? All can be found in abundance at Mexican Post, Old City's numero uno Tex-Mex joint and arguably the best place for happy hour margaritas in Philly.
At Mexican Post, don't expect five-star cuisine.
Philly's restaurant impresario has done it again. For his ninth venture, Stephen Starr has taken the skeleton of the failed tapas bar Trust and turned it into a carnival of kitsch and cool rivaled only by his other fabulously popular "restaubars," Continental, Buddakan et al.
Over the course of my three years at Penn, I've been threatened with deportation twice, frisked three times -- not just checking my boots for box-cutters, but the full deal, burly mustachioed women and all -- and most recently, over Fall Break, denied entry into this land of the free/home of the brave by a smug U.S.
This weekend I learned a very important lesson: irrespective of the words of a noticeably frightened cab driver pulling over on 54th street, "Historic Bartram's Garden" is not the same thing as "Bartram's Village." One is a beautiful pre-revolutionary home and botanical garden set in 4 tranquil acres of Fairmount Park -- the other is a housing project, where nothing whatsoever could be described as "scenic," unless gutters full of syringes and empty 40s of Olde English appeal to you.