Yes I can, if Frank Sinatra says it's okay
I can barely find enough things to talk about with the people I meet in the real world, so I won't belabor this e-Cyber entry with small talk. Sorry, this is a long, self indulgent, dreary entry.
Philadelphia is a great and sad city. I live in the skeleton of a Victorian neighborhood. Looking at North Philadelphia is like looking at the decaying body of a beautiful women. Looking at something rotten that still has a graceful shape and poise. A weird amalgem of beauty and revulsion, and all mystery. Where did it come from? What was all this before it curled up and died? I find myself becoming increasingly obsessed with what it was like here long ago, and having difficulty accepting what it is now. Part of me recognises the futility of chasing after a world that departed long ago, and that was rife with opulence, racism and classism at that. It was a product of rich Jewish and German immigrants that moved here a century and a half ago. They made their fortunes in industry, they slinked away from the first signs of decay within urban America, and ran, as cowards, away from the blacks. It was the rich, white aristocracy that built what once stood here, and it was they also who put it to torch with their exodus. I both love them for their creation and hate them for their betrayal. They built this ghetto. White flight; that almost makes it sound whimisical.
That's what I think when I let my inner monologue obsess over the state of North Philadelphia. It's not really as dramatic or as impoverished as I might make it out to be, but much has been lost to the ravages of time. When I let myself think of what might have been if there had been no abandonment here, I become very frustrated and angry. I think it began when I saw a picture of what Temple University looked like in the 1940's. The scene of a bustling Broad Street was as stately and more elegant than any European city I've ever seen. I think it angers me more that I'm being deprived of ever truely experiencing that lost metropolis. So, it's selfishness at it's core, masked as an indictment of the long dead progenitors of Noth Philadelphia. I can rationalize it, but I still want that impossible place to come back. The old, grainy photographs make it seem even more fantastical and surreal. What has replaced those old buildings is just salt in the wound. Sometimes it seems like no one knows how to craft something beautiful anymore.
And I think of what a ponce I am, wishing some crappy Victorian bizarro world would come back to life. I'd probably just get sick of it anyhow. God damn, I need a hobby or something. Temple is good, roommates are good. I'm really enjoying cooking my own meals. So, anyone that's read this far, stop by and I'll make you a fine meal and bore you to death with local history. Hope all youze Pali kids are having a good year; stay in touch.
Philadelphia is a great and sad city. I live in the skeleton of a Victorian neighborhood. Looking at North Philadelphia is like looking at the decaying body of a beautiful women. Looking at something rotten that still has a graceful shape and poise. A weird amalgem of beauty and revulsion, and all mystery. Where did it come from? What was all this before it curled up and died? I find myself becoming increasingly obsessed with what it was like here long ago, and having difficulty accepting what it is now. Part of me recognises the futility of chasing after a world that departed long ago, and that was rife with opulence, racism and classism at that. It was a product of rich Jewish and German immigrants that moved here a century and a half ago. They made their fortunes in industry, they slinked away from the first signs of decay within urban America, and ran, as cowards, away from the blacks. It was the rich, white aristocracy that built what once stood here, and it was they also who put it to torch with their exodus. I both love them for their creation and hate them for their betrayal. They built this ghetto. White flight; that almost makes it sound whimisical.
That's what I think when I let my inner monologue obsess over the state of North Philadelphia. It's not really as dramatic or as impoverished as I might make it out to be, but much has been lost to the ravages of time. When I let myself think of what might have been if there had been no abandonment here, I become very frustrated and angry. I think it began when I saw a picture of what Temple University looked like in the 1940's. The scene of a bustling Broad Street was as stately and more elegant than any European city I've ever seen. I think it angers me more that I'm being deprived of ever truely experiencing that lost metropolis. So, it's selfishness at it's core, masked as an indictment of the long dead progenitors of Noth Philadelphia. I can rationalize it, but I still want that impossible place to come back. The old, grainy photographs make it seem even more fantastical and surreal. What has replaced those old buildings is just salt in the wound. Sometimes it seems like no one knows how to craft something beautiful anymore.
And I think of what a ponce I am, wishing some crappy Victorian bizarro world would come back to life. I'd probably just get sick of it anyhow. God damn, I need a hobby or something. Temple is good, roommates are good. I'm really enjoying cooking my own meals. So, anyone that's read this far, stop by and I'll make you a fine meal and bore you to death with local history. Hope all youze Pali kids are having a good year; stay in touch.