Countdown to 2009: Jill's Top Ten Missed Posting Opportunities

7. Discovering PATCO
I've written about SEPTA at length. But until January of this year, I'd never really had a need to take the PATCO speedline. Compared to SEPTA, it was a dream. The cars are a bit dated, yes, but it's clean, quiet, and generally less crowded than the El or a SEPTA trolley or bus. Plus, discovering PATCO enabled me to discover some of the cute towns and great restaurants in Camden County. Collingswood may be a dry borough and a little wedged in the 1950s, but the gnocchi at Nunzio's is some of the best I've ever had. And if you really need to go somewhere with a liquor license, I was nothing less than happy with both the wine list and menu at Kitchen 233, right across the street from the Westmont train station.

6. Matisyahu
Matisyahu started his set late. And once again, the "it's a weeknight and I'm getting old" curse came upon me and I had trouble making it through more than half an hour of the Hassidic reggae star's October visit to the Electric Factory. I might have been tempted to stay if had been able to make out a word that was being heard, but the acoustics at the Factory (which we've made note of before) only annoyed me. No matter how engaging Matisyahu was onstage, no matter how amusing it was to see a 6'5" (give or take) Orthodox man dancing to reggae, and no matter how rockingly awesome his band was, I just couldn't stick around to listen to the impossible-to-distinguish vocals. I definitely want to see the artist again—but not at the Factory, and not when he's not going to get to the "good stuff" until well past my bedtime.

5. The Hungry Actress
I go see a lot of plays for Phillyist. And I write about them. What I don't write about is the fact that most of Philly's theatre companies have opening night receptions after their first "official" (non-preview) performance. These receptions are incredibly amusing to me—who knew there were so many starving theatre patrons? Or, if not starving, certainly... attracted to free canapes and cheese cubes. The food at these things often goes quickly, and there seems to be a direct correlation between age of the patron and amount of food consumed—the older the audience, the quicker the food disappears. So quick, sometimes, that by the time the actors get out of costume and come to greet their adoring fans, there's no food left. Most of the time, the actors suffer in silence. Occasionally, an enterprising stage manager will put aside some food for the cast while they change. But one well-known Philadelphia actress took manners in her own hands, reacting to the phenomenon of theatre-going hoarders by grabbing an entire basket of crackers off a reception table and making the rounds of the reception nibbling on its contents as if what she was doing was perfectly normal. This performance may have been better than the one she gave onstage that night. I'd've given her a Barrymore for it.

4. Game 5, Part 1
It was pouring on October 27 as I raced back from Rutgers over the Ben Franklin Bridge. I was driving one of my classmates into the city, and we speculated on the chances of the game getting rained out. But by the time I found parking, the rain had been reduced to a light drizzle, and as we parted, she to whatever bar she was going to and me to Skinners in Old City, we were both optimistic that the World Series would be done before the night was through. Mother Nature intervened, though, and that simply wasn't to be. The reason I'm including that night at Skinner's on this list rather than the night of the actual victory is twofold: one, I already wrote about it, and two, that first night was what the victory was supposed to be like: with a big group of friends, drinking beer and eating bar food (twelve hours into my diet!), waving my official unofficial Budweiser "Go Phils!" sign. The victory wasn't any less sweet two days later, but I felt better prepared for it the first time around.

3. Dinner at Modo Mio
My first cousin and I were always pretty close. We're the two rebel children who went off to Ivy League schools on the East Coast (she to Cornell; me to Penn) instead of going to perfectly good state schools in Texas. But she rebelled against Texas more than I ever could: she's a vegetarian. So when she came to visit me last month, I knew that our dinner plans weren't exactly going to include Fogo de Chão. Fortunately, I live a block and a half from Modo Mio, a 30-or-so-seat Italian BYO that I'd heard good things about, and Modo Mio, like most Italian restaurants, has its share of meat-free dishes. Even though we had to wait a while for our table (we had a reservation, but things were running a bit slow that evening), and even though nobody brought us the olive oil for our bread, the meal proved to be one of the best I've had this year—and one of the cheapest. Modo Mio's prix fixe "Turista" menu is only $32 for four courses, but worth so, so much more. Why I didn't write about my meal for the following week's Foodsday is beyond me. But take my advice and go. It's worth the trip to Northern Liberties (well, Olde Kensington, but only because it's on the North side of the street).

2. Domestic Bliss, with Visitors
I'm terrible at unpacking boxes. I just don't know where to put anything, so I end up getting so frustrated that I give up. But when Ross and I moved in together in July, I didn't have the luxury of giving up because (a) Ross would have killed me and (b) my mother and baby sister were coming to visit a few weeks later. The house was still in some disarray when Mamaist and Sisterist landed in Philadelphia, but by the time their plane touched down, I'd ceased to worry about the mess and started worrying about something else: they would be sleeping in the bedroom next to the one I shared with Ross. My mother has no problems with cohabitation (she and Daddyist lived in sin for a number of years before their marriage), but we sleep with the bedroom door open (the cats come in and out all night), so every time Mamaist or Sisterist had to pee in the middle of the night, they had to walk past our open door, where they could see Ross and me getting our spoon on. It was all very chaste, but still. I didn't sleep well until they left town. Why I missed the opportunity to turn this into a Monday Manners column is beyond me.

1. Tijuana Tacos
For six and a half years, I've been on a quest for good Mexican food in Philadelphia—and I've managed to find some, paradoxically in the Italian Market, as well as, more recently, on the border of Northern Liberties and Olde Kensington. More often, if I want real Mexican food, I have to make it myself—those recipes often appear on Foodsday Tuesday. So imagine my surprise to discover that the food court at the Bourse has an awesome taco stand, so authentic that tongue tacos are on the menu. When you think about it, it makes sense: the Bourse is where Philadelphia's Mexican Consulate offices are. Anything less than authentic wouldn't last five minutes there. But in an area dominated by unadventurous tourists in town to see the Liberty Bell and eat a cheesesteak, it's exciting to find a place like Tijuana Tacos, whose food always makes me happy. In fact, I think I'm going to go grab a taco now right now...

Image Credit: Flickr user Matti Mattila