Results tagged “whilei”

I have been suffering from an incredibly huge bout of writer's block lately. That means two things: another one of my fifteen ideas for television shows that "can write themselves" will have to remain unwritten and all of my fans at the Phillyist have been without reading material for too long. So since my wife and Mom steadfastly refuse to read the paper, I thought I just had to get something on the site. Who's ready for some hate!?!?

Here's hoping that on the next album and tour, she takes the Middle Way.

I'm back from a two week stint in Texas, full of Mexican food and tequila and happy to be back with this guy and this guy. While I was home, Ross came to visit for a few days, and somehow, we got to talking about comfort food with Mamaist and Papaist. Surprisingly, it was a phrase that Papaist wasn't familiar with.

Let me just start off by saying that there is a lot of talent onstage during Being Alive. Let me follow that up by saying all the talent in the world can't save a bad show. It's not bad, I think, because Sondheim is some kind of holy, un-adaptable composer, whose music should never, never, ever be taken out of context, as some have suggested. In fact, more than a few revues have been built...

In a video presented by the Smithsonian Institute’s Latino Center after the premiere showing of the new film Bella at the United Artists King of Prussia Stadium 16—note to readership: unless you enjoy watching rich people kiss each other’s asses and overblow their purpose in life, you better get an aisle seat if you go to a film premiere—I discovered that both former Florida Governor Jeb Bush and the lead singer of the band Switchfoot were big fans of the film. While I hate to voluntarily put myself in the company of a member of Georgie Boy’s gene pool or a guy whose musical catalog is significantly lesser than Nickelback's, I have to admit that this Phillyist actually thought the movie was… aaah-ite.

While I would hate to date myself…oh, what am I saying, I date myself just about every time my wife leaves the house for 15 minutes: I am a member of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Being a member of the Art Museum has many benefits. Tops on the list includes getting to see tons of filthy rich white people doing their best Rocky impersonation, the privilege of being serenaded by a sketchy guy selling water out of a cooler while singing a ridiculously loud version of Jodeci’s “If You Think You’re Lonely Now,” and the honor of hearing umpteen jokes from your wife regarding the word “member.” “Wow, there are a lot of members here.” “That member gets priority status.” “Is that where the members enter?” The list could go on forever.

Music composed in the past century, or even music outside the canon of established masterpieces, often deters people from attending concerts, when they should really appreciate an opportunity to hear some new and fascinating music. Despite this hurdle, Ignat Solzhenitsyn continues the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia's off-the-beaten-track season with an adventurous, but well-crafted program of all-wind music from the past century: John Harbison's "Music for 18 Winds," Igor Stravinsky's Octet, Vincent Persechetti's Serenade Op. 1, No. 1, and Alban Berg's Chamber Concerto, Op. 8.

Choral conductors and choirs alike hold Bach's Mass in B Minor in both fear and awe. Its technical demands and emotional range keep all but the most serious musicians at bay. Because this mass is a pastiche of Bach's entire output, some may grumble that Bach reused much of his older material in this work. Despite Bach's recycling, the sheer passion of his music has captured audiences around the world.

Some people have a "Things to do Before I Die" list. I don't necessarily have a "list," but since I am obsessive about having lists, I do have some idea what I would put on that list. I can honestly say that I can officially check "Have a famous talented musician play a private performance for me" off my list. While I am a bit upset no one took my advice to see Abra Moore...

Muttered that, and so much more.

To the people around me at lunch yesterday:

Though MLS hopes to create a revolution in American sports with the signing of David Beckham to the L.A. Galaxy, it's more likely the move will have much more modest results. Über-celebrity that he is, one has to keep in mind that Beckham’s best playing days are behind him. As of today, it seems doubtful he’ll see any playing time with Real Madrid’s first team during the remaining 6 months of his contract with the Spanish side. Though it was growing ever more unlikely that he could ever play for England again, this move finalizes his international career with absolute certainty. A veritable elephant graveyard for former world superstars, the US is where great soccer players come to die. Though this was done before, one has to remember that it was with far greater footballers than Becks. All time greats Pelè and Franz Beckenbauer played on the all-star studded New York Cosmos in the 70s and despite their ability, stardom, and combined World Cup wins, soccer never quite took off here.

A ferocious head cold is slowly attacking everyone I know, and this Wednesday evening, I accepted that I, too, am sick. And then I accepted that I wanted soup and I wanted it now. On my way home from a rehearsal, I stopped by Szechuan Hunan Chinese Restaurant to pick up as much Wonton Soup as I could carry.

Yikes! I must not be very good at this gig, because this is the second time since I took up editorial duties last February that I need to apologize to an outstanding cast for my very un-critic-like behavior. I came in late. To a tiny theatre that you enter by walking pretty much on the stage. For whatever reason, I got the theatre location wrong. By about thirty blocks. I made good time, but not great time, and I missed the first five or so minutes of Simpatico Theatre Project's production of Patient A.

I'd walked past Bootsie's several times before its opening, each time with mounting curiosity. The name sounded to me like a mecca for New Orleans-style comfort food, Louis Armstrong's version of "When the Saints Go Marchin' In" playing over the sound system.

Dear Philadelphia:

I recently had the occasion to spend an evening cater waitering. Willingly. (I didn't look nearly as snazzy as this guy, but I actually had a lot of fun.)

A Phillyist reader sent us an email discussing a growing problem in Philadelphia street style: