He also has 2 CD’s, with classics like, My Time is Numbered, (?) Alligator Ass (Someone took me to a restaurant / and I had to eat something fast / I ordered me some chicken / They gave me alligator ass / Now you see why / I have a suspicious mind) and my personal favorite, Talk To My Ass (I went back home last night / I told my baby to get on up the road / Well she looked at me kinda surprised / Suddenly she not so cold / I told her I can’t no more sass / And from now on she can talk to my ass)

Aside from his film and music careers, he also teaches Martial Arts and is set to release his own line of energy drinks. But best of all are his philanthropic endeavors. Why? Because the philanthropy section of his website has this picture on it:

A little research revealed that the Panda shot is from a trip that Mr. Seagal took to Tibet. For a more complete and totally awesome slideshow of the trip, visit HimalayanExpeditions.com. I highly recommend that site.

What the tiler may have lacked in quality, he more than made up for in quantity. The current list stands at 40, with most recent sightings on Girard, Allegheny and Passyunk Avenues. That means that neighborhoods in deep north, deep south and everything in-between here in Philly has been tiled.

Except for a couple thinner strips on Girard and the one on the north end of City Hall all the ‘08 tiles look like this:

Here’s the list:

Broad and Allegheny
Broad and JFK (north side of City Hall)
Broad and Market (east side of City Hall)
Broad and Passyunk
Broad and Vine
Front and Girard
Girard and Frankford
Girard and Franklin
Girard and Lethigow
Girard and Marlborough
Girard and Palmer
5th and Market
5th and Walnut
6th and Market (2 tiles)
6th and South (3 tiles)
9th and Girard
10th and Girard
11th and Girard
17th and Chestnut
18th and Rittenhouse
18th and Spruce
18th and Walnut
19th and Arch
19th and Ben Franklin Parkway
19th and Chestnut
19th and JFK (north side of Logan Circle)
19th and Vine
20th and Chestnut
20th and Sansom
31nd and Market
32st and Market
33rd and Chestnut
33rd and Market
36th and Chestnut
36th and Walnut
37th and Walnut
38th and Chestnut

Unlike its big brother cocaine, crack is an equal opportunity high: cheap, common and accessible. On most of my crack runs, I was able to purchase a couple of small rocks for anywhere from $5-15. Crack is easy to find in most major cities. A good rule of thumb is to look for raggedy, jittery men pushing shopping carts down the street a little too fast.

I bought my crack right on the street from a high school kid. I thought of smoking my “blue tops” in an abandoned house, but the gentleman out front told me that the cover was $8. And that $8 was just the door fee. Once you’re actually inside, house crack-whores engage you in high pressure sales tactics, pawing at you with bony hands and licking their lips like desperate crack addled drug addicts. Also dissuading me was the lack of basic amenities like electricity, plumbing, air conditioning and valet parking. Authentic experience aside, I decided to take my crack home.

Not eschewing authenticity entirely, I stole a car antennae/pipe from an old Toyota Corolla and decided to smoke my crack in the small alley behind my house. On first impression, I thought it was fucking awesome. What a rush! Like the fast food version of cocaine, crack hits you fast and hard.

Each step becomes determined. Everything is forward and everything has purpose. No one can stop you. Then like 15 minutes later that shit wears off and you’re looking around your house for shit you can sell. How much can I get for that air conditioner? That TV? The bedding on my mattress? And where can I find a shopping cart to haul this around in? Damn, my lips are dry.

As you soon learn, everything in crack culture is about earning crack money. In the end, I found crack culture unappealing. While the pursuit of crack gave purpose to my increasingly pathetic life, I was left unfulfilled. I missed my job and a steady paycheck. I missed not having intestinal parasites and foot rot. Most of all I missed not coughing up blood.

My stint with crack may have been short lived, but I understand its appeal. While it wasn’t for me, crack dovetails nicely with the lifestyle of many Americans. And while I haven’t smoked rock for more than a year, I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart for that harsh chemical taste and crazy bug eyed rush.

—-

Atlantic City Sunrise: selections from Chapter 62, pgs 111-112

“Where are you going?” Cherry pleaded.

“You know where.” Said Ricardo. “To be with your sister.” He said with a sinister smile.

“But why?” She cried. “What does Linetta have that I don’t?” Cherry asked seductively as she began untying her Wal Mart smock. One breast fell gracefully from the side of her partially unfurled employee apron. It hung in the air like a small bag of water, inviting Ricardo’s icy blue stare.

Using his hand as a comb, Ricardo rubbed Vaseline Cocoa Butter through the hair on his chest, but the sight of Cherry’s long and supple breast made him pause, if only for a moment. The coldness again overtook his tan, chiseled face. Placing the Vaseline on the motel nightstand, he picked up a bottle of Axe Body Spray with one hand and a pack of Kool cigarettes with the other.

“Because she knows how to treat a man.” Said Ricardo as he lit a Kool. Smoke curled through the 3-day stubble on his face.

In disgust and sorrow, Cherry let out a sob and spit her Dentene Ice in Ricardo’s face. “Go then!” She shouted unconvincingly.

The gum bounced off Ricardo’s forehead like a .22 caliber bullet bouncing off a tank. But Ricardo wasn’t a tank, he was a human being. The gum packed an emotional sting, piercing the wall that he built between himself and Cherry. Confused and angered by the sudden loss of control, he lashed out, flinging his bottle of Axe Body spray at Cherry’s now naked body.

Catching the Axe like a cat catching a fly, Cherry lay back, her artificially tanned body reflecting an orange light in the afternoon sun. Behind her, the sounds of ocean and of the Atlantic City boardwalk whispered through the room. Now with Ricardo’s full animal attention, she inserted the bottle of Axe into her turgid vagina.

Like a stallion, he was on her…

—

OK, I have to stop writing this. It’s starting to disturb me. More tomorrow?

You read that right Philadelphia. Your beloved mayor is jihadist scum. Last Wednesday, I captured these images of Mayor Nutter doling out terrorist fist jabs at a public event. As a further insult, this was a Sunoco sponsored fun day commemorating our nation’s birth. Why is he corrupting our youth with this kind of behavior? I can only assume that his red shirt covered in “targets” is some kind of Blood gang symbol/uniform. I demand immediate impeachment.

—

—

—

Go America! Have a great 4th of July.

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But anyway, I wanted to be alone so I rented out 3 beds in the Bar Harbor Hostel. I had the whole room to myself. Some people love traveling by hostel, but fuck that. I enjoy the communal common space, but I can’t stand the dorm style sleeping arrangements. People stumble in and out at all hours. They’re loud. German couples start whining in German about stupid shit at 4:30 in the morning. Your bag is never safe. People smell bad and they snore.

I like having my own room where I can make my mess and not think about it. I like reading until I want to turn my light out. I like writing or going through photos or leaving my camera on my bed without worrying about it being there when I get out of the shower. I like going to bed and waking up on my own schedule.

Also it was in the center of town and 3 beds there were still cheaper than a Motel in Ellsworth.

But none of this is the point of the story. My inspiration for this post is a conversation I had with another traveler. Both of us were waiting to check in. The hostel wasn’t open yet and we met each other while waiting for the owner to get there. She was in her 40’s, reading a book alone on the front stoop.

We exchanged hellos and talked for a minute. I remember she said something about visiting Philadelphia once. I think she said she was from the northwest. She wore thin-rimmed glasses, khaki shorts and carried a well-worn backpack. She’d gotten to town on a bus. She seemed low on energy, like she was running on fumes. She wanted to talk to me, but her words took effort. She craved interaction but could hardly muster the energy it needed.

I asked how long she’d been traveling and she said “years.”

I asked what made her start. She told me that her job was killing her. It was too much work for too little appreciation. When she had a job, she worked in advertising. A relationship ended at the same time she came into a little bit of money. She’d been traveling ever since. I asked if she regretted her decision.

She brushed her hair away from her face and stared off into space. After a moment she said:

“I wish I’d taken a long vacation instead.”

She was in the hostel as long as I was. I didn’t talk to her again.

36th and Walnut
37th and Walnut

38th and Chestnut
36th and Chestnut
33rd and Chestnut

33rd and Market
32nd and Market
31st and Market

—-

6th and South, (3 tiles)

—-

Also, Justin spotted a tile at 5th and Girard. I haven’t been up that way in the last few weeks, but I’m guessing there are more along Girard Ave.

While the city is tops in “murder” and “crackhead,” Baltimore edges us out in “homicide.” (and “The Wire”) For some reason Hanoi and Singapore take the number 1 and 2 spots in “I hate myself” but Philly rounds out the top 3.

But let’s dig a little deeper. This graph shows search trends for Obama, Clinton and McCain. It looks like McCain has enjoyed a recent surge. Combined with Hillary’s post-losing freefall, he now generates as many search hits as her. What a maverick!

With that said, all 3 candidates are easily dwarfed by an ever-growing interest in “porn.”

Also curious is the springtime surge in porn searches. The trend is 4 years old:

But why? Do humans have a latent instinct to mate in early spring? Looking at Southern Hemisphere results (Australia) my theory appears to hold up. The porn spike down under is in December:

So there you have it. A few minutes with google trends and I was able to perform a highly flawed, and completely unscientific sociological experiment. What a world. That’s all for now.

Also, last Friday’s post listed 12 new Toynbee tiles here in Philly. Since Friday I’ve seen additional new tiles at:

5th and Walnut
5th and Market
6th and Market (2 of them, 1 already badly damaged, the other nearly destroyed)

Also, Justin reported a tile at 34th and Walnut and I’m sure there are more.

* Photo credit: stardotjpg from the Tile message board.

To help make this uninspired batch more interesting, let’s try to trace in what order they were placed. We can also glean some interesting information from their placement.

All the new tiles were glued in crosswalks. Most are out near the center of the street. All the tiles were placed from a car. How do I know this?

All tiles appear on the side of an intersection where a car would stop for a light or sign. If you’re looking for tiles, this is a good place to start. If a road goes north, look on the crosswalk on the southern side. If it goes east, look on the western corner. All large tiles follow this pattern. Small, “index card” tiles placed between 2002 and 2007 don’t necessarily stick to this. Judging by placement, I’d say that the tiler has been using a car with increasing frequency in the last couple of years.

In contrast, a ton of new Robot Men appeared in the last couple weeks. None of these follow the glued by car pattern. They appear in any crosswalk or even in the middle of the block. They’re clearly put down by someone on foot.

Other, large new Toynbee tiles along City Ave. and Roosevelt Boulevard also suggest the use of a car. I don’t post about these tiles out of prejudice. For whatever reason the Greater Northeast and near suburbs have a hard time clicking in my mindspace.

But getting back to the new downtown Toynbee tiles, here’s how it went down:

1. The first tile was glued at Broad and JFK, where it merges westbound at City Hall. This is a large, 4-line index card style tile.

2. The tiler then continued south on Broad to Lombard, where he made a right. At 18th he made another right, dropping his 2nd tile at 18th and Spruce.

3. Continuing on 18th he dropped the third tile at 18th and Rittenhouse.

4. Finishing off his assault on the Square, the 4th went down at 18th and Walnut.

5. At Sansom, he made a left, dropping the 5th tile on Sansom at 20th.

6. He made a right at 20th and Sansom and dropped his next tile at 20th and Chestnut.

7. Going north on 20th to somewhere just past Vine, he cut back towards the city. After stopping off at Whole Foods, he made a right at 19th, dropping his next tile at Vine Street.

8. The next went down just a block away at 19th and the Parkway (north side)

9. Next was 19th and Arch.

10. 19th and JFK

11. 19th and Chestnut, then a left on Chestnut.

12. The last of the batch was dropped on Chestnut street at 17th Street.

Alternately, it’s possible that he didn’t turn at 18th and Sansom, instead traveling up 18th street past Vine, laying the 19th street tiles, making his Sansom Street turn at 19th, and rounding out the last 3 with numbers 5,6 and 12 in the list above.

Another theory states that I’ve completely lost it and should stop thinking about this for a while.

Unlike most Turing Tests, Facebook’s reCAPTCHA technology generates real words. Because very occasionally these words can be mildly entertaining, I’ve never bothered verifying my account to make them go away. Yes, my life can be dull. Also, if you’re really lucky, a pair of offensive words sprouts up. Take this famous example:

So before that nice lady could be added as a friend by some random guy she went to high school with, he had to type in the phrase “rape now.”

But anyway, today - while adding an old co-worker to my friend list - I generated my own random mix of words. While my example is light on sexual violence, it more than makes up for it in old fashioned racism.

That’s all for now.

There used to be an elderly cowboy who would ride up 22nd street from regions south, all the way to the stables in Strawberry Mansion. I used to see him all the time, but haven’t spotted him in years. All in all, I’m glad that these random horsemen are around. It breaks up the monotony of the normal cityscape. There’s also something about a 75 year old man in a black cowboy hat, chaps and spurs riding a horse through the intersection of 22nd and Market that’s just great.

All this is just an explanation into this google streetview scene at 17th and Cambria. Philadelphia, you’re one weird city:

–

—

I am constantly probing my anus for any signs of rectal fever. Rectal fever is most easily distinguished by an abnormally hot rectum. There is only one truly accurate way to diagnose rectal fever and that is with products like the Rectal Fever Thermometer. Sometimes people will walk up to you, grab the fatty tissue of your left buttock and exclaim:

“Feels like you’ve got a case of rectal fever.”

This method of diagnosis is highly inaccurate. The feel method may distinguish a hot ass from a normal one, but full-blown rectal fever is a condition entirely different. The feel method is wholly unscientific for a number of reasons.

First of all, unless you’re butt naked or you are Prince, the feel method is obstructed by the layers of clothing covering the ass. In my case the feel method is usually impeded by the presence of tight stone washed jeans or Lycra booty shorts. Even with full-blown rectal fever, you can’t feel the heat through denim. Sometimes also, my pants conduct their own heat thus promoting mixed results. Secondly, the feel diagnosis of rectal fever can be skewed by bias of the feeler. Remember personal bias can lead to misdiagnosis of rectal fever. I thought one girl that I know had rectal fever for years, although later I found that I was just hot for her. Her rectum was warm, even hot, but not feverish. My bias led to misdiagnosis.

To diagnose true rectal fever, you’ve gotta get in there with some technology. The Greeks often diagnosed rectal fever in their young servants with the single finger method. If you’ve ever seen the movie Caligula, you know that techniques varied between the Greeks and the Romans. These days our instruments are far more accurate.

The Rectal Fever Thermometer is the cutting edge of rectal fever probes. Soft, gentle and easy to assemble, the Rectal Fever Thermometer is a must buy. At less than 5 dollars, you’d be cheating yourself if you didn’t purchase this product and stick it deep into your anus. Everyone should know if they’ve got the rectal fever. The readout is quick and accurate. You’ll know in minutes just how hot your rectum truly is.

This is also the thermometer advertised as the one that doctors use most. I know my doctor diagnosed his own case of rectal fever with this very thermometer. I was there the night he did it. But that’s a separate story.

I am proud to say that I’ve got the fever. In fact, I’ve got a wicked fierce case of it. Sometimes it is a burden, but usually the benefits outweigh the detriments. My doctor tells me it will go away by the time I’m 40, so for now I’m living it up. Buy this thermometer and see if you’ve got the fever too.

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But seriously, I had planned on doing something subversive with my economic stimulus check, like putting it into a savings account or spending it on a Mexican vacation. But then I saw it there on my coffee table and I got to thinking. Wouldn’t it be cool if I could take a photo of it? Minutes later, I spent 80% of it on impulse. God Bless America!

Until they can do this, all of Philly’s graffiti, murals, stickers, posters and robot man tiles are shit. As a side note, Toynbee tiles are still cool. Via Geekadelphia.