Happy Halloweeeennn!!!

Time to get festive this weekend!! Whatever your plans may be for ol’ Hallow’s eve, just remember that drinking and driving is not cool!  Be safe and be smart!  Cheers!

Pictured below, Mr. and Mrs. Mariah Carey at a Halloween Eve costume party at Marquee nightclub in NYC.  Miz Carey is dressed as a girl scout cookie of some sort and her husband Nick Cannon showed up as a pussy.

Hold the whip.

Hold the whip.


Watching “Casper” Makes Me Weepy.

Guten Maurning!

If loving this song is wrong, I don’t ever want to be right. I hadn’t heard it in like 13 years and somehow remembered all the words while watching “Casper.” Yeah, that’s how we roll here in Philly.

I’m not sure what’s worse–that Jordan Hill’s career never took off or that her biggest claim to fame is from this soundtrack?

Well, if you’re an 80s baby, you will definitely appreciate the kick-back clip below–most my comrades and cronies were in our teens or tweens when it came out. You know you had a crush on Devon Sawa. I know I had one or two Tiger Beat posters of him on my wall among the Jonathan Taylor Thomas collage.

Reflections of a Good Phillies Phan

av-phil.jpgI’m just a good fan in general.  I love sports (except basketball).  I follow the Phillies, Eagles, and Flyers all season every year, and if any of my teams is in the playoffs, I will watch every pitch, down, and shot on goal with the same intensity that Nora hits refresh on PerezHilton.com.  In the age of the 24-hour news cycle, when ignorant fools like Nancy Grace are not only listened to, but given their own shows on CNN, I can think of no better use for television than to bring me the Phillies in high definition.

The astute reader will note that I live in Baltimore.  That is to say, my mail is delivered there.  Where I actually am is more complicated; the AYF and my friends have made sure of that.  Where I am from has never changed, and never will, regardless of how many times I change my car license plates and voter registration.

I do not remember the magical night when the Sixers posted a ridiculous 12-1 record in the finals in the spring of 1983.  I was three months old, and I wasn’t a fan of anything that wasn’t feeding me or shaking keys in front of my face.  My first memory of any sports team doing anything was the Phillies in 1993.  I was ten, and had started following them the previous year, a year they spent in the basement of the NL East.  Baseball was the only sport I played then, and my township league team was called the “Paper Recycling Phillies,” a fact I remembered just now.  Sitting in my room, listening to the games on 1210 AM on my walkman because they went past my bedtime, Mitch Williams and Joe Carter gave me my first taste of the Philadelphia sports mentality, which I understood more and more as I grew.

Philadelphia was a city that was never quite good enough.  We were the runners-up, a city that could be great, but not the greatest.  Each year, there was something to anticipate, a big trade for the Phillies, a new draft pick for the Eagles…but the only consistency was our eventual failure.  Philadelphia’s teams went to the postseason 47 times between 1983 and 2008, seven times we made it to the final round.  Forty-seven times, an average of almost twice a year, Philadelphians were written up in newspapers across the country as the most recent team plowed over by the real winners, cementing our place in the footnotes of history.

You could see the defeatism in people’s eyes, the years of frustration mounting on top of each other, each loss magnified by the sum of losses past.  The most common reaction to the Phillies playoff run this year was “I still can’t believe we’re winning,” or, “I’m waiting to wake up.”  This is why it is fitting that the Phillies would be the ones to break this streak.  The kings of losing in professional sports – the franchise with the most losses of any team in American history – would be the ones to finally rise to the challenge and bring a parade (and, to a lesser degree, a riot) to the streets of Philadelphia.

So in the coming days, let the critics say what they want.  Even as I write this, a mere 17 hours after Ruiz caught Brad Lidge’s perfect strike three, the World Series is no longer the front page story on ESPN.  Apparently “Things That Go Bump”, a story about the secret phobias of the toughest players in the NFL, has supplanted the world championship of Baseball as the most important news item in the world of sports.  In this, Philadelphia sports’ lone shining moment of the past quarter century, know that the Phillies won unquestionably.  There were no significant injuries to any players on the teams we beat.  There were no close series to call individual calls into question or merit even the thought of the word “fluke.”  The only obstacles were the ones we overcame, like the 6-day layoff before game one of the world series, the muddy mess of an inning that Hamels pitched through, or having Tom Gordon on our postseason roster.

This was our year, this was our team, and despite the risk of sounding like a certain other Philadelphian, I felt perfectly justified screaming “YEAH, BABY!” in the middle of over a hundred thousand screaming fans on Broad Street.

Phil Nigon, baseball enthusiast.


Confessions of a Bad Phillies Fan

I’m just a bad fan in general. I hate sports. I’ll follow it if I have to, but game day is most certainly not on my list of viewing priorities. Yes, Gossip Girl is more important than Monday Night Football.

As most of you know, the Phillies won the World Series last night. It really is a historical occasion because Philadelphia just broke the 25-year streak of simply not being good enough. I’m choosing my words carefully here because I wouldn’t be accurate to say that the Philly sports teams suck–because they don’t.

For the short time I’ve been half-ass interested in this city’s sports, I remember watching an NBA championship game between the Sixers and the Lakers, I’m fairly certain the Eagles went to the Superbowl and lost to Tom Brady’s dashingly good looks, and finally…the Flyers, just this past year, had a shot at going to Stanley Cup if it wasn’t for the Penguins being just a little bit better than them.

Last night I walked over to Broad Street to join in on the post-game festivities. The memorable moments of the night included the following:

1. Monkeys Grown-ass men climbing street light posts and trying to knock it down.

Putting their gymnastics skills into good use.

Putting their gymnastics skills into good use.

2. Cars turned over. Classy Philadelphia.
3. Whores Girls propped up on the shoulders of guys, making out and/or showing their titties, after they were encouraged to do so by drunk babbling men.
4. Men dropping their pants and bearing everything God gave them. It was a real turn on?

The PG version of what we really saw...

The PG version of what we really saw...

5. “Put ’em on the glass”–some chick putting her breasts against her window. No reason really.
6. Gragabashdootyoon (Fire-worshipping)–or so it seemed. Locals had the brilliant idea to push a dumpster down to Broad Street and light it on fire.

What the cops were doing about it.

L: Chaos | R: What the cops were doing about it.

7. Tearing down street signs, banisters, and anything that was meant to make the city beautiful.
8. Ripping trees and bushes out of their roots.



9. The stink bombs were fun too.
10. People of all walks of life. Rich, poor, good, bad, black, white, crazy, less crazy…high 5ing and hugging. After all, this is the city of brotherly love. That was the only decent thing I saw last night.

Hugging criminals.

It all comes down to love, love, love!

Would I partake in anything like that ever again? Nah…once is enough. Besides, you guys actually think Philly will win anything else in my lifetime? KIDDING!

Congrats, from the bottom of my heart, to the city that claims it invented baseball (and the first night baseball game!) and to the Phillies for their World Series win.

Similar to the pile we would see during Camp Haiastan talent shows, except these guys have real talent.

Similar to the pile we would see during Camp Haiastan talent shows, except these guys have real talent.

Lou Diamond Phillips Is Dreamy

Never wake someone up on a Saturday morning and demand they come over because there are “Mexicans on TV.”  Especially if those Mexicans you speak of is really because “La Bamba” is on.

The scene below is the epicenter of the movie where Richard Valenzuela makes the transformation to Ritchie Valens.  Keep an eye out for the grimy Mexican brother that steals the scene by saying things like “You tell ’em, carnal.”

FACT, “Come On, Let’s Go” was the first song recorded by Valens and it is the best song among the hits he put out in his tragically short career.  What you hear in the clip is not the original Valens recording, nor is it Phillips’ angelic voice– “Los Lobos” (not to be confused with the “Los Lonely Boys”) did all the recordings for the movie and soundtrack.  The band makes a cameo in the film where they are playing at a ballroom brothel.  Valens’ brother comes in clutch in that scene again by describing it as “a prom that puts out.”

Separated by YOUR MAMA…and Neil Patrick Harris

The chick from How I Met Your Mother

Left: TK, Boston Native | Right: The chick from How I Met Your Mother


Ohhhh what’s this, what’s thisss? Stephen Starr, of Continental and Buddakan fame, has just opened the doors to his new (yet old) eating establishment.

Butcher and Singer, opened yesterday where Striped Bass used to be–on 15th & Walnut. Think of it this way, he pretty much gave Striped Bass a makeover and turned the fishy eatery into a manly steakhouse with an Old Hollywood charm. Sounds like my type of place!

Chef Shane Cash’s menu includes classics like lobster Newberg with caviar and sherry sauce, Delmonico steak, and chilled asparagus salad. Bring back the power lunch with the Cobb salad, lobster club, and Waldorf chicken salad — and make it legit with a few sidecars or martinis.

The architecture of the restaurant is massive and the decor is tasteful. Don’t be surprised if your cube/office feels claustrophobic upon your return from lunch! Well..assuming that’s how you roll, dawg.

I will eat you.

I will eat you.