Philadelphia

You Gotta Have Fun: A Cannoli Story

Yeah, Another Blogger158 Comments

My wife Sandy and I go out to dinner most Friday and Saturday nights. We’ve been doing this for years, and know that we’re fortunate as hell to be able to indulge ourselves in this way. The majority of those meals take place in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, which isn’t surprising, since we reside in those burbs. And once or twice each month we head into Philadelphia, a city with many fine aspects, including a pulsating restaurant scene that, like the universe, keeps expanding. Each of our Philly visits includes dining in a restaurant or pub. The abundance of good eateries is one of the reasons why I’m a major fan of The City Of Brotherly Love.

Sandy and I consider dining out to be a form of entertainment. It’s fun. Two Fridays ago (November 7th), in the burbs, we chowed down at a restaurant we’ve been to a lot: Anthony’s Coal-Fired Pizza. The Italian salad we ordered was A-OK, and the pizza that followed it earned, on my scale, a 6.8 out of 10. That’s pretty high praise from me, because I’m a pizza snob.

The salad and pizza filled us up quite nicely. There was no room for dessert, certainly not for cannoli, a not-on-the-light-side Italian pastry, which Sandy, almost in passing, mentioned was on the dessert menu. Cannoli — crispy, tubular shells of dough stuffed with one variation or another of a ricotta cheese filling — can be scrumptious. When the word cannoli left Sandy’s mouth, my mind lit up, and I found myself reliving a sublime gastronomic experience. Namely, the cannoli I’d swooned over a year or so previously, for they were perfection, at Little Nonna’s, an Italian restaurant in downtown Philly that’s hard to get into unless you’ve reserved a table at least several days in advance. I hadn’t eaten any cannoli since then. But the signs were clear. It was imperative that I interact with Little Nonna’s cannoli again. And soon. Damn soon. The next night, in fact, would be ideal.

Thus, as we were preparing to pay the bill, I said to Sandy that, when we got home, I was going to see if Little Nonna’s, by some miracle, had a table available for the following evening. The odds were low, but miracles, I hear, have been known to occur. The cannoli gods were with me. Back at the house, I couldn’t believe my eyes when Litte Nonna’s online reservation service offered a table for 7:00 PM on Saturday. I nabbed it. Cannoli, here I come!

Little Nonna’s
Little Nonna’s

We arrived at Little Nonna’s from a Philadelphia movie theater, where we’d seen Blue Moon, a literate and really good drama about Lorenz Hart, the brilliant but troubled lyricist whose songwriting partner was the composer Richard Rodgers. Little Nonna’s is a cool place. Dimly lit, casual and full of life. Sandy and I enjoyed the heck out of the salad we shared. Ditto for our entrees. The chefs there know what they’re doing.

Cannoli at Little Nonna’s

One hour into the meal, the long-anticipated moment was at hand, as a plate holding two cannoli was placed before us. They were a vision and also deelish. The hazelnut bits, chocolate sauce and powdered sugar saw to that. But were the cannoli fully as good as those on the previous occasion? You better believe it! My idea to revisit Little Nonna’s was one of the best I’d had in a long while.

As we all know all too well, our lives zoom by. That’s why it’s important to have fun on at least a fairly regular basis. Anything less than that means we’re not in the best of shape. If I hadn’t followed through on my goofy cannoli-related impulse, I’d have missed out on a fun-filled mini adventure. Which would have been a shame. For most of my adult life, I’ve been a frequent fun-pursuer and a usually successful fun-attainer. I have no plans to change.

Which Of These Do You Like Best? (Art On Wheels, Part Sixteen)

Yeah, Another Blogger161 Comments

In my late 20s, I moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA for employment reasons. I knew little about the city when I deposited myself there, but almost immediately developed a fondness for my new home. I liked the very old buildings that heavily populated, and still populate, many neighborhoods. And I liked the city’s parks, museums, music venues, record stores, and movie theaters. Hell, there wasn’t much about Philadelphia I didn’t like. And now, approximately 50 years later, my admiration for The City Of Brotherly Love is on an even higher plane than it was during my newbie days. That’s because, to cite a few factors, its restaurant scene has become world-class, its cultural offerings have expanded, and various parts of town have changed for the better.

I lived in Philadelphia for the first 30 of those 50 years. But then, for reasons we maybe didn’t think through properly, my wife Sandy and I made the “leap” to the burbs.  The burbs are okay, but I sure as shit ain’t in love with them. It’s a good thing that Philadelphia isn’t far away, for I can’t resist its call. I pay the city a visit two to five times each month, chowing down and drinking in taverns and restaurants, taking long walks, attending concerts, going to museums, etc., etc. There’s absolutely no doubt I’ll be a Philly aficionado till the day I no longer qualify for inclusion in the Among The Living category.

All of the above is a longwinded lead-up to a recounting of one of my recent adventures in the city I know better than any other. That activity took place two Fridays ago, a day that boasted clear skies and reasonable temperatures. I arrived in downtown Philadelphia in late morning, via the train I’d boarded in my little town. I was in the city to search for and photograph excellently decorated trucks, vans, buses, and other objects mounted on wheels. (“Huh? You were there to do what? Neil, you truly are a f*cking oddball,” I just heard one of this publication’s readers mutter. Oh yeah? Well, I’ll let that possibly inaccurate remark slide.) And so, after emerging from the train station I spent two and a half hours pounding the pavement in central and near-to-central sections of the city. And I met with good success, the result of which is the story you’re now reading. Namely, the sixteenth installment of Art On Wheels, a series I began eight years ago.

On the day in question, I snapped portraits of 18 wheeled objects, which very well might be my personal high. Following post-trek examinations of the photographs, I’ve selected six specimens that ring my bell loudly. I’d have included a certain Philadelphia tour bus and a certain food-supply truck among the six were it not for the fact that, as I later discovered, their images appear in previous editions of Art On Wheels. My half dozen choices are displayed on this page.

Which of them do you like best? My two favorites are the halal food cart and the Windstar bus. The food cart is an eye-popper, no? So many colors. Such vibrancy. I spotted it at the corner of 9th and Chestnut Streets, three blocks west of Philadelphia’s famed and historic Independence Hall. If I’d had any sense, I would have placed an order at the cart. I’m sure its offerings are delicious.

As I snapped its picture, the Windstar bus (Windstar is a charter bus company) was turning from Chestnut Street, where a few seconds earlier it had glided past Independence Hall, onto Fifth Street. I liked its artwork but wasn’t knocked out by it. However, when examining the Windstar photo on subsequent days, I found myself increasingly admiring the simplicity of the vehicle’s painted design and the way the undulating red and blue lines seem to imply that fun-filled, free-flowing times lie ahead. Windstar, I now am under your spell. I award you my top vote.

Well, folks, that’s a wrap. Thanks for reading this opus. Let me remind you to mind your Ps and Qs. And please don’t let the bed bugs bite. Till next time!

Which Of These Is Your Favorite? (Art On Wheels, Part Fifteen)

Yeah, Another Blogger165 Comments

When I gave birth to Yeah, Another Blogger in April 2015, I had no idea that two years later I would begin a project that would please the heck out of me and to which I’d return, and write about, time after time. Well, as we all know, life is full of surprises, to say the f*cking least. So, much to my amazement, here I am, about to report on the latest episode — the fifteenth — of said ongoing project: Art On Wheels. And I’m hoping that numerous Art On Wheels adventures await me, taking me, at minimum, into the mid-or-late 2030s. I’ll be jumping for joy if things turn out that way, assuming I’m still among the living. Of course, it would be miraculous if I’m able to bounce even half an inch off the ground at that point, as I’d be pushing or exceeding age 90. Still, half an inch is better than nothing. Or so I’m told.

Here’s the lowdown: Art On Wheels escapades find me searching for beautifully decorated wheeled vehicles, photographing them, and then presenting some of those photos, and my wobbly thoughts, on this publication’s pages. I used to track down my subjects by driving all over the frigging place in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. In recent years, though, I’ve gone into Philadelphia itself, whose streets I explore strictly on foot. I love walking and I love Philadelphia. On the other hand, I don’t love driving and I don’t love Philly’s burbs, even though that’s where I reside. Thus, Art On Wheels has become even more fun for me than it initially was.

Friday, the 18th of April, dawned peacefully, because Donald Trump hadn’t started in on causing further mayhem just yet. At 9:36 AM I boarded a train in my little town and rode it into Philly. I spent the next three hours pounding the pavement in the center of the city and in neighborhoods to its east and north. When I called it quits, I had racked up six miles of walking, a distance that’s near my upper limit of physical capabilities.

The search for worthy subjects bore less fruit than on any of my previous Philadelphia treks. But I found a few beauties, such as an Urban Village Brewing Company van, its exterior illustrated as snazzily as can be, and a Heineken beer truck, which is a vision in green. The design layouts on Sysco and on Philly Greens rang my bell too.

I was impressed the most, however, by a wheeled object that not only brought me up short but also made me realize I’d never before considered including a certain genre of art in Art On Wheels. Namely, sculpture. The beauty in question, a piece of heavy equipment manufactured by the Caterpillar company, was outside the front door, in Philadelphia’s Old City section, of what once housed the Painted Bride Art Center, a world-class presenter of music, dance and theater from the 1970s through the early 2000s. (Painted Bride still exists, in a different part of town, but is a pathetic shadow of its former self. Barely any shows take place at its new location.) Dig the incredible mosaics, by Isaiah Zagar, that cover the vacant building. Man, I went to dozens and dozens of performances in this venue. I miss it a whole lot.

I’m not sure why the Caterpillar product was there, but it absolutely rocks. For one thing, I’m down with the gold and black color scheme. Mainly, though, I’m taken with the heft of the structure and its efficient angularity, which bring to mind a mutant beetle possessing one hell of a giant pincer. This big guy would not be out of place in a museum’s or other institution’s modern-sculpture garden. Do you agree with me that it is #1, or is another of the wheeled constructions your favorite?

As I type this ending paragraph, I’m already looking forward to my next Art On Wheels expedition. Most likely it will take place in autumn of this year. I wouldn’t be surprised if it will be an eye opener, just as this most recent installment, thanks to Caterpillar, proved to be.

Spectacles!

Yeah, Another Blogger154 Comments

I’m not sure when the Northern Lights captured my imagination. Maybe when I was in my 30s. Whatever the case, for a hell of a long time I’ve wanted to see them up close and personal, not just on YouTube videos or on television documentaries. They (and their counterpart, the Southern Lights) can be spectacles of the highest order, as we all know. However, to satisfy this craving I’d have to head to Alaska, Iceland or the like in late autumn or in winter, which is when the light displays generally are at their best. Most likely, that would entail enduring ass-numbing temperatures, something I once would have been okay with but am not at all keen on anymore. So, I have a feeling the craving will go unfulfilled.

Cape Cod, Massachusetts (October 2023)

Well, I can live with that. But I sure wouldn’t want my life to be spectacle-less. Over the last 30 or thereabouts years, I’ve developed a powerful need to be thrilled and awed on a somewhat regular basis by one spectacle or another. By sunsets, for instance, many of which I’ve witnessed during that span. Man, good sunsets are jaw-droppers, right? They are so inspiring and beautiful, you can hardly believe they are real. The same goes, of course, for sunrises. But not many of them have unfolded before my eyes, as I am not a fan of dragging my previously referred-to ass out of the house at ungodly early hours.

Cape Cod, Massachusetts (October 2021)

And I can’t get enough of energized ocean waters, either. Watching and listening to waves develop and roll to shore puts me in a hypnotic sort of state. I engage in this activity frequently on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where my wife Sandy and I have vacationed almost annually since 1998. I purposely overdose on it, in fact, since our permanent home, in Pennsylvania, is nowhere near the ocean. By doing so, the magic of the Cape’s ocean waters stays with me for several months after I’m back home.

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (January 1, 2020)

Not every spectacle that rings my bell mightily is Nature-made, though. I’m into fireworks, which, when superior, are a fairly good rival, I suppose, to the Northern and Southern Lights. And in recent years I’ve enjoyed the Philadelphia Flower Show, a famed annual event that, out of ignorance, I pooh-poohed for decades before mending my ways.

Now, I’m not a gardener in any meaningful sense. Sandy and I own a home whose grounds I try to maintain halfway decently. Meaning, I mow, rake and prune — rudimentary tasks — to the best of my limited abilities. But I don’t plant or transplant flora, or nurture them in any way. That’s why I paid no attention whatsoever to the Philadelphia Flower Show (PFS) until 2016, when Sandy and I, kind of just for the heck of it, decided to give the production a whirl. It hooked me immediately, not because I found myself inspired to create flower beds at home or to learn the ins and outs of horticulture, but because it was spectacular. Imaginative installations and wide palettes of colors abounded. I’m proud to say I’ve returned to the flower show five times since my inaugural visit.

Philadelphia Flower Show (March 2025)

Though not quite as swell as some previous years’ extravaganzas, PFS’s 2025 version, held in a cavernous convention center in downtown Philadelphia, damn well was plenty good enough. Sandy and I visited the multi-day event two weeks ago, exploring the display areas for two hours, at which point we ran out of gas.

Philadelphia Flower Show (March 2025)
Philadelphia Flower Show (March 2025)

As always, I happily succumbed to the bright colors — of flowers, light installations and other design elements — that filled the hall. They got my juices flowing. And the PFS environment was a welcoming one, too, for, as had been the case on our previous visits, the show attracted a broad spectrum of people. Young and old. Black and white. Mobile and disabled. It felt good to be part of an inclusive community. Inclusion is where it’s at.

More spectacles are on the horizon this year. Flowering trees, magnolias initially, I think, probably will begin to bloom in my area in early April, possibly before then. Is there anyone who doesn’t like their enormous masses of blossoms? Also during spring, Sandy and I will return to Cape Cod. There, ocean waters and unobstructed sunsets, among other natural delights, will be on view. I can barely wait to soak all of this in.

I Have My Favorites, How About You? (Art On Wheels, Part Fourteen)

Yeah, Another Blogger156 Comments

On the final Monday morning of this year’s penultimate month, I boarded a train in my sleepy suburban town. One hour later it deposited me in Jefferson Station, smack in the heart of The City Of Brotherly Love: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. After exiting the station, I walked one block north on 10th Street, entering Chinatown, one of my favorite Philadelphia neighborhoods. My mission — to wander around the city, photographing well-adorned vehicles that cross my path — seemed to be off to an auspicious start, for I soon spotted a magnificently decorated truck, one belonging to the Rosenberger’s dairy company. Whipping out my phone, I took the truck’s picture, figuring there was a good chance it would be the best-looking vehicle I’d see all day.

Well, as it turned out, things slowed down considerably after that. I saw only eight more commendable wheeled objects during the two and a half hours I spent pounding the streets, at least five or six fewer conveyances than I was expecting. What’s more, a look into my blog’s archives two days later showed me that Rosenberger’s, and another top-tier truck I encountered that Monday, had made previous appearances in Art On Wheels installments. My policy is to exclude previously presented vehicles, so those two are outta here. Ouch!  . . . their loss pains me. One day I may need to rethink said policy. In any event, I’ve given some thought to the seven remaining transports, and have chosen the five I favor most. Their photos reside on this page.

Which of the five do you like best? My top picks are Freda Deli Meats (see above) and Office Basics (see below). Freda’s bold colors are balanced carefully. They reach out and grab you, but don’t slap you too hard upside your head or upside any other part of your body. Hell, you’d have grounds for a lawsuit otherwise. And I’m impressed by the asymmetry of the Freda canvas, its righthand portion extending a couple of feet below the rest of the design. That’s a sophisticated touch you don’t see too often on vehicle art.

As for Office Basics, I find myself almost mesmerized by its stoic presence. Its artwork proves that perfectly positioned concise shapes, and a limited palette, are all that’s needed sometimes. I have a hard time choosing between Office Basics and Freda. However, if some motherf*cker were holding a gun to my head and ordering me to make a decision, or else, Office Basics it would be. Sorry, Freda, that’s life.

I’ll say a bit more before being on my way, starting with this: My visit to Philadelphia took me far and wide. By no means was I only in Chinatown. According to my phone’s Health app, I totaled six miles of walking. And I did so with just a couple of brief pauses, so focused was I on trying to locate art that sits above wheels. I tell you, I am extremely thankful that I’m still able to carry on like this, seeing that I’m distressingly close to being old as dirt. My Art On Wheels ventures, and other long walks I indulge in, help to keep my spirits up and fulfill my need for adventure.

Finally, I’ll add that I’m amazed by the unpredictable nature of the Art On Wheels expeditions. I never know what I’ll find around the next corner or on the block straight ahead of me. These jaunts are treasure hunts. They are fun games, and a healthy way in which to spend some hours. I now have done my Art On Wheels thing 14 times, and haven’t begun to tire of it in the least.

Two Sunsets That Brought Me Up Short

Yeah, Another Blogger136 Comments

I’ve mentioned this several times before on this publication’s pages, and I’ll say it again: Smartphone cameras are perfect for those who enjoy documenting the world around them but can’t be bothered with cameras that have all sorts of settings requiring adjustment. They also are perfect for those who would be up shit’s creek trying to figure out how to use such cameras. I am a member of both categories.

Not surprisingly, then, I began snapping away pretty regularly soon after obtaining my first smartphone in late 2015. All you need to do is aim, touch the screen briefly here and there to adjust for distance and brightness if you so desire, and then press the big button. Voila! Mission accomplished. Easy as f*cking pie.

I’ve put hundreds of the photos I’ve taken to good use, placing them in Yeah, Another Blogger stories. And a fair number of those hundreds are sunset scenes, nearly all of them drawn from vacations my wife Sandy and I have enjoyed on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, USA.

Well, despite the fact that cyberspace currently contains several trillion sunset images, I’m never the least bit reluctant to add more of them to the unimaginable glut. I mean, it’s not as though somebody is going to sue me if I do. Right? On second thought, I damn well could be wrong about that. Whatever, I’m willing to take my chances. Away we go!

Cape Cod sunsets, when viewed from Cape Cod Bay, are magnificent when the atmospheric conditions are favorable, for there are no obstructions to hinder your view. Obstructions, however, are a given just about everywhere in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, which is where I reside, and in Philadelphia itself. I haven’t been to Cape Cod or anywhere else with wide-open, west-facing views so far this year. Nevertheless, two sunsets in my region brought me up short.

Jenkintown, Pennsylvania (July 2024)

In July one evening, walking to our car after eating and drinking in a pub in the village of Jenkintown, which is a few miles from our suburban town, I asked Sandy to stop for a moment, as I’d just noticed a pale orange tinge to the mostly hidden lower sky. The hue looked absolutely fine in the disappearing daylight, set off as it was by houses, overhead utility wires, parked cars, foliage and scattered clouds.

And so, confronted with a view I deemed worth remembering, I yanked my iPhone out of my pants pocket. Ten seconds later the deed was done. The photo is one of my favorites among the many I’ve taken to-date in 2024. There’s a sense of peace and stability in it. But wait . . . somewhere off in the distance I can hear my doctor talking to me: “Neil, you’re old as dirt, unfortunately,” he’s saying. “If you have any sense left at all, you’ll stare at this photo a lot. Doing so will lower your blood pressure and might extend your life a little bit.”

Thanks, Doc. Will do!

Fishtown section of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
(August 2024)

And in late August I became indebted to the phone once again. On the way back to our car after dining in Philadelphia’s Fishtown neighborhood, a small section of a sunset, smiling coyly, presented itself to me and Sandy on Jefferson Street.  Overall, the scene was denser and more complicated than its Jenkintown counterpart. There was more going on than I could comfortably absorb and process.

My iPhone came to the rescue, taking in the entire display and freezing it at 7:56 pm. The resultant photo pretty much blows my mind. It’s an exhilarating jumble of shapes and lighting effects. Every time I examine this picture I notice something I hadn’t before. I love it. Hold on a second, though . . .  my doctor is speaking to me again: “Neil, the Philadelphia photo is an absolute blood pressure raiser. It’s too intense for a geezer like you. Stop staring at it!”

Sorry, Doc. No can do!

I’m In Love: A Philadelphia Story

Yeah, Another Blogger173 Comments

In 1974, while floundering in life, I moved from a town in New York State to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania for employment reasons. I knew almost nothing about the city when I started my new job as a caseworker with the Pennsylvania Department Of Public Welfare. Well, I lucked out. The job became the first section of a PDPW career that lasted well over 30 years. And, right from the start, I felt at ease and at home in The City Of Brotherly Love.

I was wowed by Philly’s music scene and museums, its art galleries, bookstores and record stores, its beautiful parks and plethora of houses and other structures erected in the 1700s and 1800s. I had landed in a place loaded with history and culture and, as it turned out, poised to embrace the future. For, Philadelphia has gotten better during the subsequent years. A world-class restaurant scene has developed, for instance, something almost nobody would have predicted back then. And the looks of downtown Philadelphia improved, taking on a modernistic slant when a crop of skyscrapers, as sleek as can be, began to rise in the 1980s.

To this day, Philadelphia’s assets have resonated with me quite perfectly. Which is why I’ve never tired of Philadelphia. There’s zero chance my love for this city will end before I bid farewell to Planet Earth.

In 2005, for reasons too banal to go into, my wife Sandy and I moved from Philadelphia to a nearby suburb, where we still reside. However, the relocation didn’t mean that my need to absorb Philadelphia’s vibes had lessened. On the contrary. For the next four years I continued to get my Philadelphia fix regularly, because I worked in an interesting section of the city and also because I frequently indulged, during non-work hours, in good stuff the city had to offer. And, since retiring from PDPW in 2009, I’ve journeyed to and immersed myself in Philly two to five times each month, often with Sandy. I just can’t stay away.

During the last decade or more, one of the activities I’ve most enjoyed is taking long walks, with no agenda in mind, through different Philadelphia neighborhoods. Nearly every block contains one thing or another that grabs my attention, and the rhythms of my legs in motion make me feel free. My latest expedition took place on the final Tuesday of July. That’s when I drove sleep-deprived Sandy, who was too groggy to be behind the wheel safely, to her hair salon appointment in Philadelphia’s Queen Village section. After I parked the car, Sandy entered the shop where magic occurs, and I ventured off to see what was up in Queen Village.

Over the next hour and a quarter I walked along many of Queen Village’s blocks, some of which I’d never been on before. This neighborhood, which is a bit south of Philly’s far-better known Old City section (Old City contains Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell and other famed American landmarks), has a fair number of green spaces and a few funky commercial corridors. On those corridors, one finds taverns, fabric stores, a Jewish-style deli and other eateries, a bookstore, tattoo joints, craft shops, and on and on.

Most of the blocks, though, are primarily residential. They are calm, partially shaded by trees, and just plain lovely. The majority of houses, I’d guess, date from the 1800s. There are plenty from the 1900s and aughts too, and some that remain from the 1700s during Philadelphia’s early years of development. If Sandy and I ever seriously contemplate moving back to Philadelphia, Queen Village might be a neighborhood for us to consider landing in.

Before heading back to the hair salon to retrieve Sandy, I popped into Three Graces Coffee, in the heart of Queen Village, to rehydrate and have a bite to eat, as the outside temperature (85°F/29°C) had begun to drain my aged bod of energy and had put me on the verge of sweating like a frigging pig. Three Graces saved the day. A glass of iced peppermint tea went down swimmingly. And a blueberry muffin, as good as any I’ve ever eaten, put a smile on my inner face. I was content, and already looking forward to my next round of exploration, whenever that might occur, in the city I know best.

Art On Wheels, Part Thirteen: Which Of These Are Your Faves?

Yeah, Another Blogger175 Comments

When, in September 2017, I published my first Art On Wheels essay, I doubt if I’d have guessed I’d still be tracking down artistically decorated vehicles nearly seven years later. But I am. Why? Because after my second or third expedition in search of same, I knew for certain that I get big kicks from the endeavor. It’s fun. And, even though your correspondent is older than f*cking dirt, having fun remains high on his These Are Important Aspects Of Life list.

And so, on the final morning of April 2024, I found myself in the center of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, having been transported there by a commuter train I’d boarded in my suburban-Philadelphia town. The hunt was on. Based on past experience, I was confident that a large number of excellently adorned trucks, vans and other wheeled assemblages were out there. The question, as always, was how many would cross paths with me. I was hoping for at least ten.

Well, I walked and walked and walked, covering about five miles of territory. In the two and one quarter hours I was on the street, I aimed my phone’s camera at 16 wheeled objects and then snapped their portraits. I enjoyed pretty much every minute of the treasure hunt. The fact that the adventure took place in a fascinating locale sure didn’t hurt. Believe me, I know I’ve oohed and aahed about Philadelphia time and time again in Yeah, Another Blogger. But I just can’t help myself, as this city truly has got what it takes. Philly is a winning combination of the old and the new and the in-between, of the chic and the stately and the funky. Plus, the sections of Philadelphia I traversed that day were popping with people whose collective energy rocked the air. I was in my element.

Now, all of the 16 wheeled subjects looked fine to me. While caught up in the excitement of the chase, however, I wasn’t precisely sure which were the standouts. Since then, though, I’ve examined and graded the vehicles, using the photos I took, and have whittled down the 16 selections to my top five. I have no idea how the 11 omitted carriers are able to make their presence known right now, but I hear them cussing at me. “Up yours, Neil! We deserve to be included in your story!” they just shouted in unison. I understand their pain and frustration. I empathize. Nonetheless, here’s what I have to say to them: “Tough shit, guys! Deal with it!”

Although my five faves are displayed on this page, I now will limit my commentary to the two that, in my book, tie as the gold-medal winners. No offense, of course, to the trucks promoting JDog junk removal and hauling, Surfside Iced Tea + Vodka, and White Claw Hard Seltzer. They look very cool, but I feel they don’t quite reach the heights achieved by the graffiti-covered truck and by the Tea Around Town bus.

The graffitied wonder struck a major chord with me the moment I spied it in Philadelphia’s historic district. The truck was parked about one block from where Benjamin Franklin, one of the USA’s so-called Founding Fathers, lived. I can’t get enough of its composition’s controlled wildness. The design is an invitation to visit, mentally, unusual realms. Seeing that voyages not of the ordinary appeal to me, I’ve accepted the invitation several times. The resultant trips, short though they were, delighted me.

As for the Tea Around Town bus, my eyes opened wide when I spotted it on a block near Rittenhouse Square, one of Philly’s finest neighborhood parks. I’d never seen this behemoth before. My best guess is that Tea Around Town is a new business venture. A quick look at the company website showed me that Tea Around Town offers, for $80 and up, a bus tour of downtown Philly, during which teas and pastries are served. And what a bus it is, blessed with exterior artwork as delicate and sweet as a butterfly. I’m at heart a softie. Not surprisingly, then, the Tea Around Town vehicle made me go a bit weak in the knees. I was smitten. Its style of painting, an excellent example of classic beauty, never will go out of style.

That does it for today, folks. I’d be interested to learn your thoughts about the art on view in this story. Goodbye till next time!

Love, Love, Love

Yeah, Another Blogger151 Comments

A few weeks ago, I, an art lover, spent an hour surfing the web, learning about the numerous outdoor sculptures dotting the University Of Pennsylvania campus. Much to my amazement, I discovered that one of the late artist Robert Indiana’s famous LOVE sculptures sits smack dab in the middle of the university’s grounds.

LOVE Park, Philadelphia

Now, I’d been fully aware of, and had seen multiple times, two other of his LOVE sculptures, both of which reside in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. They have become tourist attractions, especially the one in a park within a stone’s throw of City Hall. That park, in fact, is known to just about everyone as LOVE Park, rather than as John F. Kennedy Plaza, which is its official name.

But it was news to me about the University Of Pennsylvania, a major Philadelphia institution located a mile from downtown. This meant, of course, that Philadelphia displays three LOVE pieces, which is fitting, since The City Of Brotherly Love is one of Philadelphia’s nicknames. New York City, by the way, is the only other municipality in the world with as many as three. (Per Wikipedia, more than 80 LOVE sculptures are scattered around the globe.)

Well, being one who enjoys his mini adventures, I decided I should visit this trio of creations soon. And all on the same day, no less, which I was certain nobody had ever done before. Shit, I’m old as hell and heretofore had no claim to fame whatsoever. It was time to make my mark, no matter how incredibly insignificant it would be!

Sister Cities Park, Philadelphia
University Of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia

Thus, late last month I hauled my aged ass aboard a train that, in an hour, took me from my little town to the heart of Philadelphia. Five minutes later, there I was in LOVE Park. Fifteen minutes after that I strode into Sister Cities Park to examine its AMOR sculpture (Robert Indiana produced versions of LOVE in various languages; amor means love in Spanish and Latin). And I made my way to Penn’s sprawling campus from there, eventually locating and admiring its LOVE piece. Mission accomplished!

Why are there so many LOVE sculptures in the world? Why do people gravitate to them? I’m not an expert on anything, let alone love. But it’s pretty clear to me that love, in some respects, makes the world go round. Our planet, which might easily and accurately be viewed as a horror show, would be even more unsettling were it not for the love that connects nearly each person with at least a few of their fellow beings. People need love and want to love. Even if they don’t know it.

And so, Robert Indiana tapped into something elemental when he began inserting love into his artworks. In 1961 he used the word for the first time, in a painting, not a sculpture. He made his initial LOVE sculpture nine years later, and over time the demand for sculptural follow-ups took off. I suspect that the demand was boosted tremendously when, in 1973, the United States Postal Service issued a postage stamp with Indiana’s LOVE image on it. That stamp sold like hotcakes.

I think that the simplicity and the warmth of Indiana’s LOVE design are the reasons for its success. Four letters in basic colors. Nothing more. The letters cling to one another for dear life, the O nestled against the L and the E as if it were in a womb. The LOVE design makes us drop our defenses and think that —yes! — love is where it’s at. It’s all you need, as The Beatles famously noted. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have water and food too. In any case, one thing for sure is that few artists ever create iconic works. Robert Indiana, without any doubt, did.

1967, the year of the Summer Of Love, was the height of the hippie movement, when it seemed that peace, love and understanding had a chance of putting the human race on a golden path. As we know all too well, that didn’t exactly pan out.

1967 also was the year in which All You Need Is Love, by The Beatles, made its appearance. It would be inappropriate of me to end this contemplation without including their live performance of the song, whose message has resounded loud and clear ever since. The event was part of a broadcast called Our World, the first ever to be transmitted to a worldwide audience via satellite. Home from college during summer break, I, with my brother, watched The Beatles do their magical thing on a tiny television in my bedroom. The presentation mesmerized and excited us. Those were special days.

Click on the following link to view The Beatles in action:  https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6mtbyq

A Nice Day

Yeah, Another Blogger158 Comments

Twelve days ago, after paying our bill at Barbuzzo, a restaurant in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA, my wife and I exited the establishment and then walked a few blocks to Jefferson Station. There, we caught a train that returned us to our suburban town. Halfway between Barbuzzo and the station I said to Sandy, “This was a nice day.” I wasn’t the least bit surprised when she said she had been thinking the same thing.

Yup, our worries and woes were in hiding during the five and a half hours we spent in Philadelphia that Thursday, first at The Philadelphia Flower Show and then at Barbuzzo. I don’t know, maybe I’d been sprinkled with a heavy dose of magic dust before leaving home in the early afternoon, because I was cool, calm and collected in Philly, as relaxed as when I’m drifting off to sleep. Even the substantial crowd at the flower show didn’t bother me in the least. “Hell,” I said to myself, “everyone here has just as much right as I do to get up close and personal with the exhibits.” What? I, whose nerves often are easily jangled, actually felt that way? I did. I sure would love to be in such an at-ease frame of mind far more than I normally am. Will the transformation occur before my time expires on Planet Earth? Well, “miracles” are known to happen. But I’m not holding my breath.

I’ve been living in or near Philadelphia since the mid-1970s, but for decades never paid any attention to The Philadelphia Flower Show, a famed annual event. In 2016, though, almost on a whim, Sandy and I decided to go. I liked the experience, and now have attended five times. This year’s production, which ran for nine days, was as sweet as summer fruit, despite being held in a non-descript hall large enough to accommodate a number of jumbo jets.

Each year’s flower show has a theme, 2024’s being United By Flowers. I’m all for unity and, like just about everyone, am pro-flowers. So, I couldn’t go wrong. Excellent flowers were almost everywhere in the exhibits area. Ditto for other forms of flora. Sandy and I spent two and a half hours admiring the many installations, doubling back at times to re-examine the five or six that had particularly wowed us. We spent an additional 30 minutes wandering around the vendors section, where more products than you could shake a stick at — and not just horticultural items — were for sale.

Besides the beauty and creativity on display, was there anything else about the show I liked? Affirmative. I admired the diversity of people in attendance. They ranged in age from those that hadn’t yet reached their first birthday to old f*ckers such as me. A wide range of races and cultures were on the scene. And numerous folks with mobility issues didn’t let the enormity of the hall keep them away. Wheelchairs, motorized scooters and canes abounded.

Around 5:00 PM, Sandy and I heard dinner’s call. So, we bade farewell to the flower show and made our way to 13th Street. Philadelphia’s restaurant scene is amazingly strong, and a four-block-long section of 13th Street is one of the prime destinations for restaurant goers. We couldn’t get into Darling Jack’s Tavern, our first choice. But 50 feet away was Barbuzzo, an Italian eatery we’d passed many times but had never frequented. In we went. The place was mobbed, dimly lit and looked cozy. Could they accommodate us? Sure, but only at the chef’s counter, where two stools apparently had been waiting to greet our rear ends.

Happy with our perches, we watched meals being cooked five feet away from us, in pans sitting atop the burners of a stove as solid as an army tank. The burners’ flames, and those from the nearby wood-fueled pizza oven, kept us good and warm. I kept glancing at the oven, whose fury fascinated me. Its portrait was the only photo I took in the restaurant.

We kept things simple at Barbuzzo, whose menu ranges wide, opting for a salad, a Margherita pizza, beer and wine. Everything was delicious. And, before we knew it, it was time to head home.

At 8:06 PM, we arrived at Jefferson Station, giving us very little time to catch the 8:10 train. If we missed it, we would have had to wait an hour for the next one. F*ck that! But we didn’t miss it. Moving quickly through the waiting area and down the stairs, we reached the train platform just as the 8:10 was pulling in. Nice.