Philly Manifesto
Boy this blog sure went to shit.
Well, let's see if we can't jumpstart the muthafucka. So: I like cities, as all two of you prolly know. But I like cities for the gross stereotypes and zeitgeist approximations that get perpetuated about them. Like, LA is plastic; Seattle is vegan. Shit like that. It's where people take all that they experience about a place - the day-to-day living experience, the attitudes they encounter, the values and styles on display - and you try to put into words what a city means, as if it were a brand name.
Here (four beers to the wind) is my Philly take, after one year:
FUCK PHILLY. This is how Philly likes it.
This is the great Philly paradox: For a city that so celebrates its starring role in the story of independence, I've never seen a place where it's residents feel so trapped. Social mobility? HA! If you're born somewhere here (racially, class-wise, etc.), you are destined to die there, it seems. The city is almost arranged to keep people in their respective zones.
Paradox two: For a city earmarked for its "brotherly love," there is a festereing, a seething anger that burns deep within the people of Philly. Feels like a fight - or a riot - is always about to break out here. Brotherly love my ass.
It cherishes its story of Rocky and holds him up as blue-collar role model par excellence, but when the going gets tough - as it does for most every city, most all teams eventually - its sports fans resort to whiny disillusionment so quick you get whiplash. May? The Phillies are born-losers. October? Forget the playoffs for the Iggles. Bums.
Its customer service is uniformly ridiculous in its pissed-off moodiness - like New York rude on quaaludes. It responded to last year's It City, 6th borough media cheerleading with a jaded cackle and a trademark scowl.
There is no bright side that Philly can't ignore, no glass that can't be looked upon as half-empty (even if full). You are resigned and you are bitter, Philly, with your Napoleonic chip-on-the-shoulder living in the shadow of New York glamour and DC power.
Your prize cheesesteak distributor is an unabashed xenophobe and your street violence seemingly knows no end.
You wear your past grimly and eye the future with a weather-beaten apathy. Accentuate the negative? Ha. Fuck Philly. I know that's how you like it.
Allllllright, whaddya got out there in Company Blogland? Jeremy, what's the Seattle Manifesto gotta say? Null, weigh in on Portland? Can we get a Houston manifesto? A Tucson?
Hello? Anyone?
smooches,
DJ Holy Day of Obligation
Well, let's see if we can't jumpstart the muthafucka. So: I like cities, as all two of you prolly know. But I like cities for the gross stereotypes and zeitgeist approximations that get perpetuated about them. Like, LA is plastic; Seattle is vegan. Shit like that. It's where people take all that they experience about a place - the day-to-day living experience, the attitudes they encounter, the values and styles on display - and you try to put into words what a city means, as if it were a brand name.
Here (four beers to the wind) is my Philly take, after one year:
FUCK PHILLY. This is how Philly likes it.
This is the great Philly paradox: For a city that so celebrates its starring role in the story of independence, I've never seen a place where it's residents feel so trapped. Social mobility? HA! If you're born somewhere here (racially, class-wise, etc.), you are destined to die there, it seems. The city is almost arranged to keep people in their respective zones.
Paradox two: For a city earmarked for its "brotherly love," there is a festereing, a seething anger that burns deep within the people of Philly. Feels like a fight - or a riot - is always about to break out here. Brotherly love my ass.
It cherishes its story of Rocky and holds him up as blue-collar role model par excellence, but when the going gets tough - as it does for most every city, most all teams eventually - its sports fans resort to whiny disillusionment so quick you get whiplash. May? The Phillies are born-losers. October? Forget the playoffs for the Iggles. Bums.
Its customer service is uniformly ridiculous in its pissed-off moodiness - like New York rude on quaaludes. It responded to last year's It City, 6th borough media cheerleading with a jaded cackle and a trademark scowl.
There is no bright side that Philly can't ignore, no glass that can't be looked upon as half-empty (even if full). You are resigned and you are bitter, Philly, with your Napoleonic chip-on-the-shoulder living in the shadow of New York glamour and DC power.
Your prize cheesesteak distributor is an unabashed xenophobe and your street violence seemingly knows no end.
You wear your past grimly and eye the future with a weather-beaten apathy. Accentuate the negative? Ha. Fuck Philly. I know that's how you like it.
Allllllright, whaddya got out there in Company Blogland? Jeremy, what's the Seattle Manifesto gotta say? Null, weigh in on Portland? Can we get a Houston manifesto? A Tucson?
Hello? Anyone?
smooches,
DJ Holy Day of Obligation
posted by Aden at 8:46 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home