Drexel University, voted ugliest campus…again.
Philadelphia has been rated ugliest, fattest, most depressed, with highest crime rate on top of carrying the shame of crap sports teams. The native me would make like a tourist and whip out the I-heart-NY tshirt and Yankee cap. I would revert to the Jersey City ‘aw’ (dramatizing words like coffee, salt and dog) and cross three lanes at a time on the parkway (otherwise known as the Jersey slide) on my way to Belmar to pick up some dudes with blowouts.
But then there’s the part of me that thinks ‘hey! Damn it, I live here!’ Sure, it’s hard coming from the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps, the financial/fashion/culture capital of the world, the greatest place on earth, but I’ve learned that Philadelphia is not just the Liberty Bell, Pennsylvania not just for the Amish, and Drexel not just for engineers.
For instance, if you’re looking for a good picnic area on Drexel’s campus, you could go to…
Philadelphia has really great… uh… hm.
Or, or you could go visit...
SO WHAT if I haven’t been to anywhere in PA besides, well, Amish country!! (10 years ago with my grandparents to get us city kids out for some fresh air)
Look, if you want trees, go to Maine. You want smarts? Seattle. Want pretty people? Slut your way over to LA. If you like playing the underdog, Philly’s the place. If Philadelphia were a human personification, it would be Elliot Smith- ugly, depressed, perhaps with bad cholesterol (but not fat), and fucking brilliant. It’s got its own melody. It’s slow and sad, but damn it we all can’t be Britneys. We’re too real, man.
(with Philly’s crime rate, there’s a good chance we’ll have the same end as Elliot)
You want to hug Philadelphia, pat it on the butt and tell it “you’ll get up next time, slugger.” When Travel & Leisure magazine picked their dodgeball team, we didn’t get picked last. We weren’t *that* kid; we’re not Pittsburgh. We all know from high school that people like Philly grow up to be important (Seattle’s a yuppie, New York grew its hair out and started a band, Vegas is turning tricks and LA probably OD’ed).
I got mad L.O.V.E for Philly, fo’real- so gutter, so gritty, so hood.
So go ahead, run your tubby ass up those Art Museum stairs a la Rocky. Throw your arms up when (if) you get to the top. You’re alright in my book, Killa.
---You didn’t think I could go a whole post on Philly without mentioning Rocky, did you? And while I’m at it- Ben Franklin, Ben Franklin, Ben Franklin!