Cheesesteak – hold the roaches.

ATTENTION PHILLY!!

Want to know whether the dining establishment, food truck or greasy spoon you frequent is quite UP TO PAR, if you know what I mean?? WELL NOW YOU CAN. B/c my beloved programmer husband, as a totally free service to fellow Philadelphians, has just unveiled his brand new PHILADELPHIA FOOD SERVICE INSPECTION DATABASE. A readily-search-able, fully-indexed AND MAPPED program you can use at home or from a mobile device.

Never heard of a place and want to check it out before you sit down to eat? Now, FOR FREE, you can go to WELCOMETOPHILLY dot COM, and search for any health code violations they may have. Roaches, check. Mouse feces, check. Dirty work surfaces, nasty left-out food, even type in UNWASHED HANDS, and it will LET YOU KNOW. Restaurants, food trucks, cafeterias, nursing homes, schools – it’s ALL THERE.

Restaurants will be unhappy certainly, but SCREW THEM. You have the right to know this information before you sit down to that big steaming bowl of staphylococcus.

To use the website, simply go to WelcometoPhilly.com, and type your query into the SEARCH BOX. You can search by zip code, street, address, business name, and of course the ever-entertaining *search term*. I cannot tell you how much revolting fun I’ve had simply typing in random words and seeing what comes up. Then again, I can’t really eat out – SO WHAT! if that Chinese place down the road has maggots crawling through its rice bin. YUM_YUM_YUM> More for YOU!

Sewing basics: A Parable of Life.

Props to the lovely Lee_ahh over at Only Partially Insane for inspiring me to relate my own tale of sewing machines. and Life.

About a year ago, I was feeling a particularly intense urge to start sewing larger projects, things that would necessitate purchase of an actual sewing machine. I had wanted one for a coon’s age, but had never made the investment. So I did a little online research and quickly concluded I couldn’t afford much. Yes there are amazing machines out there, but most of them are way out of my league in both price and function. I was looking for something along the lines of my 7th grade Home Ec machine. This would be the model with 2 buttons, 2 functions, and dingus-proof threading. I am a handy gal, but I know my limitations. And since it had been a good 20 years since I turned out that last hot dog pillow and pair of bermuda shorts, I was going to need some help. My mom agreed to walk me through everything when she came on her next visit. Check and Check.

I began looking for a very basic sewing machine at a very basic price. Since I don’t do an awful lot of sewing, and had been acquiring fabric strictly at thrift shoppes, I hadn’t realized that many sewing shoppes have shuttered since I worked in one circa 1991. If I were a sociologist I might be interested in researching the reasons for this decline. The prevalence of women in the workforce and their corresponding lack of time for hobbies, the advent of technology and rise of global outsourcing. But as I am not, I will simply say Home sewing seems to be a dying craft. The expense & time involved in making your own things – clothes, housewares – is too great to make it practical for most women. Sad, but true.

With my closest sewing shoppe now out-of-business, I turned to none other than my beloved Target. And I was not disappointed. I picked up a sturdy looking simple Singer machine, along with notions, for about $100. YAY!! I brought everything home and set it aside for that weekend’s visit with my beloved parents. My mom – in addition to being an amazingly beautiful intellectual powerhouse and nursing exec, is also a SEWING EXPERT. She no longer has the time to undertake projects, but back in the day she made clothes for me & my sister, costumes, clothes for herself. She even used to make all her own clothes in high school. I KNOW I AM BRAGGING, but she is my mom and she rocks.

So that weekend rolled round, and I pulled out the sewing machine. And of course, as this is MY LIFE, it was inevitable that something would be slightly.. off. Or in this case, way more than slightly. I knew as soon as I opened the box that something was wrong. First of all, the cord was stuck on top of everything, not packaged properly at all. Upon further examination, I noticed there were several sections along the cord that were completely melted through, and the foot pedal was noticeably damaged. What the HELL?? I took the machine out of the box. The case below the needle that holds the bobbin (I don’t know the technical term for this) had cloth STICKING OUT OF IT along with knotted jacked-up threads. The machine itself was filthy, like someone had smeared it haphazardly with axle grease or their lunch. It had without a doubt been used – and not just used, but USED. DAMN! The old scrooge-a-roonie. Some a**hole had decided to buy a new Singer, plop their old nasty broken one back into the box and return it for a big fun freebie. And of course no one at Target had thought twice about looking in the box. Why would they? People are honest. Right?

Of course we took it back. That goes w/out saying. But it mandated no less than 2 trips to Target b/c that is how my life goes. When they finally took the stinking thing back – the SECOND TIME – they actually asked me whether I wanted to go get another one off the shelf. I politely declined. Yes, I know it was a complete fluke, my getting this broken machine instead of a new one, but WHY THE HELL RISK IT AGAIN? My mom had already left, taking with her her arsenal of sewing knowledge, so even if I did get another one, I wouldn’t know how to use it. YES, I KNOW I could read the manual, but I didn’t want to. I wanted my MOMMY. I wanted her to spend the time with me, bonding, and hanging out – laughing while showing me HOW TO THREAD THE DAMN THING. And since on my own I didn’t know anything about anything, I decided it was simpler to just say NO. Of course, I still want a sewing machine. One of those idiot-proof models, b/c that is the kind of person I am.

The parable of this simple sewing story is, in essence, the story of my life itself. I am a person who tries to be honest, to stay focused and determined, to enrich my life and the lives of others. To value the simple. And yet, I seem to – in some odd cosmic twist of fate – inevitably receive the shaft at nearly every turn. In this Case of the Sewing Machine, I was thwarted in my attempts to sew by the clever deception of others. And as in everything, I somehow managed to stay positive, to keep my sense of humor, even in the face of such adversity. I am not a paranoid person, but as the years pass and these weird and weirder things happen, sometimes I wonder whether the great cosmos has a bone to pick with me. Or perhaps it’s more like the case of me & my bird. I am just a favorite toy and have to be played with an awful, awful lot.

Things they’d arrest you for in the suburbs.

But in the city – anything goes. Need proof?

1) When we lived in our last apartment, my husband & I were awoken one night by noise in the alleyway. We looked out our 2nd floor window to find our landlord splayed on the steps outside his apartment, mumbling incoherently. What really caught our attention: he was dressed in drag and shooting up.

2) A couple years ago I was on the phone with a friend, looked out the window into our alley and spied a man standing there urinating. Middle of the day, just casually taking a wizz against my next-door neighbor’s house. I ran out and started yelling at him. He took off running down the block, fastening his pants as he went. I suppose I should be happy – another neighbor has a “pooper”.

3) Our block on summer nights is a prostitute’s dream – dark, semi-secluded with lots of tree cover. Some of the more interesting run-ins we’ve had with local hookers:

• My husband approached a car where an illicit rendezvous was taking place. He banged on the window and told them to hit the road. The client got out of the car and threatened to kill my husband. Threatening? Not really – since the dude was standing in the middle of the street buck naked.
• One prostitute was finishing up with a client. As I approached her car, she very considerately opened the door and proceeded to vomit on the curb. This would be just before she threw the used condom out the window.

4) Back in graduate school, I owned a Jeep Wrangler which I drove to & from campus. One morning, I left my apartment, got into my jeep to head to school, and noticed another car had pulled up right next to mine. As I was parked on a busy street, I assumed the person was just waiting to take my parking spot. Nope. I looked over (and being higher up – in a JEEP) saw Mr. Happy Hands going to town on himself, grinning up at me with enthusiasm. I did not smile back.

5) A few months later, same thing, different guy. I spent 20 minutes on I-95 trying to avoid some whack job driving right beside me, trying his utmost to get my attention, in my elevated jeep wrangler. To be safe, I now avoid all brownish Monte Carlos with Delaware plates.

6 ) My first year of graduate school, I rented an apartment right next to a guy with an unbelievable addiction to (surprise, surprise) porn. Unfortunately didn’t know this until AFTER signing the lease. He seemed to be a fairly nice guy, but I don’t think I ever saw him with a pair of pants on. Liked to hang out in the hallway in his boxers. He appeared to spend all of his waking time watching porno movies, which wouldn’t have bothered me quite so much had he been considerate enough to a) turn down the volume, or b) close his window shades. As we shared a wall – which ever-so-conveniently happened to be wood paneled (old Victorian house), I spent many waking hours wondering whether he’d drilled some sort of Porky’s style peep hole into it I’d never be able to find. I started changing in the bathroom after that. Occasionally my cat Sammy would wander out into the hallway before I could stop him. Dude would throw his door open like he was waiting for it and immediately start petting my cat. I really didn’t like that. When workmen at the building started asking me about him – “hey do you know that guy? he’s got a real problem..” etc, it got to be a bit much. A small porn collection might disturb a sensitive person, but one so massive that it’s creeping out the Big Burly Workmen? YIKES. I didn’t renew my lease.

7) Same apartment – other side. This second guy was really nice with no apparent porn addiction. A big heavyweight footballer. One night, I woke up at 4AM, my apartment filled with smoke, someone wailing on the door (porn guy in his boxers) – hallway also filled with smoke. The fire department arrived in moments, no response from the Footballer. They break down his door to find him out cold. Turns out he’d gone to the huge Greek Picnic at the Plateau here in Philly, came back wasted and decided to make some hot dogs. Unfortunately, he passed out before he took the pot off the stove. Great smoking wieners, Batman!

More about my jeep. Man how I loved that car. Unfortunately b/c of the soft top it was the biggest theft magnet imaginable. I had at least one radio stolen per year, sometimes two or three, and additionally had huge kicker box speakers literally pried out of the back of my car. I installed a Viper alarm system, as in: “Protected by Viper, STAND BACK” which never did anything except amuse neighborhood boys who used to love setting it off, and annoy the sh*t out of myself and everyone else w/in 200 feet. While clubbing one night, someone stole the entire TOP off my car. This was only topped by coming out one morning to find someone had stolen both doors. Man I miss that car.

9) The second apartment I had in grad school was a lovely place – with built-in bookcases and a sweet little balcony I wasn’t supposed to use, but of course I did. The down side: people were constantly leaving the front door open, so occasionally you’d hear your doorknob rattle, look out through the peep hole and see some shady guy standing there on your doormat, mumbling something about having “mistaken your apartment for someone else’s.” Yeah, okay. I came home one day from school to find someone had conveniently popped the lock open on my door and stolen the few things I’d had worth stealing: my VCR, my jewelry, and my gym bag. Of course what do I miss still? The jewelry? Nah. WELL – yes, the one turquoise ring most definitely – but NO, it would be my ratty yet irreplaceable gym shorts which were in the bag, and doubtless got tossed right into some dumpster. Cops came, took the report. No arrest, no leads. No gym shorts. Sad story.

10) Several months ago, my husband caught a 9 year old kid trying to steal our daughter’s bike off our porch. Broad daylight, middle of the afternoon, and this kid’s flat on his belly squirming up our steps, reaching out to pull the bike to him, so he can leap up on it and flee. His two companions, on their own pint-sized bikes, were waiting as lookouts in the street. So my husband comes around the corner of the house and actually catches this kid in the act. And was he scared? Crying? Shame-faced? Fat chance. He actually had a lie ready & waiting. Told us he was coming up on the porch to ask for a tire pump. Funny, I didn’t know we looked like the local service station. Unless you’re looking for the SELF SERVE. Poor dumb kid. 9 years old and he’s already a remorseless criminal. I must have asked him ten times to tell me where he lived. YOU KNOW I was gonna set his mom straight. “Um, I don’t know where I live.” “I don’t know the house number.” “Our phone number just got changed.” etc. Too young for the juvenile court system, no parental supervision – Unless you’re counting the 17 year old thug he calls a friend. The future ain’t looking too bright.