curse your branches
45 & Locust. West Philly.
In retrospect, I probably should have driven to West Philly — the $51 parking ticket would tell me later in the evening. Fifty-one damn dollars for parking in a bus zone that wasn’t clearly marked and didn’t even have buses running on the route anyways because of the week’s earlier winter-weather? Goodness, this city can be a heartless bastard sometimes.
Otherwise, this cold winter’s eve in West Philly was an absolute gem. The Green Line (owned by Lancaster legend Denison Witmer’s younger brother, Dave) always has such wonderful shows. In December, Brown Bird Blonde Bird opened up for Brown Bird. This time Swear & Shake was opening for the pair of Birds.
The warmth of community is always so welcomed. Every evening spent at the Green Line is so full of friends who feel like family. The brashness of this winter’s eve was certainly softened by coffee, great friends and good music.
—
Wake up. Cough. Cough. Ehhhhh. Go back to sleep. It’s eleven. I should be up, but I feel like garbage. I’ll push through. Besides, I gotta call JFT cause we’re shooting pictures today. Even in the snow. Two hours later; forget about it. I’m out for the rest of the day. This is miserable. It seems like I’m always sick. Will this never end?
—
AFC Champions
January’s about gone already. Can you believe it? Wasn’t the Winter Classic just here? That was thirty one days ago, already?! April’s gonna be here before you know it. Playoff time. I love the playoffs. Nothing better than the NHL playoffs, ‘xcept maybe the Stillers in the Super Bowl.
Cook up some pierogies.
We’ll need ’em come Sunday, n’at.
an ode to 1999.
smile face
Remember when it was 1999 and we listened to Oasis compulsively? when 80 songs on a hard drive was a ton? when nightly Quake II battles turned into epic struggles for Kelly 9 (and eventually Kelly vs Myers) dominance? when our RA, Jon, would incessantly write us up for being too loud and then join in on the fun? when staying up til 4 and getting up at 7 was the expected life expectancy of a good night’s sleep? when JB would dance to Baby Got Back? when Steve Ward had his shoes pooped in or when he got locked out of his room with only a towel on by Jessica? when the phrase “you have not enough minerals!” made sense? when we all called each other by our computer game handles (Crotch, Merlin, Animal Cub)? when the cable went out during Super Bowl XXXIII? when we had no idea what Charlie was gonna do with 10 gigs of hard drive space? when 50 wings from California Pizza was an absolute delicacy?
I forgot about all of that ’til Wonderwall popped up on my Pandora station. Funny how one song can flood your mind with faded memories and fill them with color again.
black coffee in the afternoon, baby.
black.
It’s easy to think about doing something and thinking that by thinking about it that you’ve actually done it. I do this all of the time. I get thirsty; very thirsty. There’s water in the Nalgene on the table. I think about drinking it. I think about drinking it more. And more. And more. But my throat remains dry and scratchy. An hour or so later I wonder why I’m still thirsty. I wonder about it a lot because I’ve been thinking about that water forever. Perhaps an hour from then I’ll reach over and actually pick it up. Two hours after I’ve thought about taking a drink, I might actually take a drink.
—
The girls who work at Gleaner’s are so pleasant. Every time I go in there, it makes my morning. It makes my morning ’cause they’re so damn pleasant. I want to be that pleasant. I want to walk into a room and have people be excited:
“Schrott’s here.”
“I love that guy!”
“What a pleasant son-of-a-bitch.”
—
To-day’s weather was just like a year ago to-day. Drywall’s been good to you. First came the snow, then the sleet: cold and hard. Temperatures rose and with it came the soggy rain, then a mist. It drifted across Center City as we hopped puddles and breathed in the cold, wet air. The piercing air that stung our lungs was interrupted every few seconds by soft, warm cigarette smoke rolled from the finest cuts.
Keep hopping. Keep slipping. Keep soaking your shoes. Keep dirtying your jeans. Keep punishing your lungs.
Enjoy your worries. You may never have them again.
Yanna is 20 Months. Mummers. F- Pittsburgh.
yanna, new year's 2011, 20 months old.
2010 started and ended moderately miserably, but the in-be-tween was fantastic. If the rest of my 30s are anywhere near this good (and the older generations say they’re the best), I cannot wait. I’ve realized over the last two years that while I’ve experienced more, I’ve written less. So if I am to resolve anything (and I always do this with great trepidation as I can’t remember the last time I’ve made any kind of New Year’s Resolutions), it would be to write just a little more frequently (which probably isn’t that often anyways).
There are some fantastic new iPhone camera apps and I’ve found myself using my iPhone more than my other cameras. The low quality instantness (if that’s a word) is almost Polaroidian and while I lament the slow demise of the analog world, I’ll make due with what’s available. I love record keeping and statistical data. The former methods have been mostly pushed to the side and despite my moderate disdain for digital technology, it at least enables me to accumulate gross amounts of data, so I will revel in this.
New Year’s-ish images below:
justin miller
elle photography is magic
new year's 2011
two street. mummers row.
FU, Pgh
liberti
david schrott is everywhere 
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