Poor Ryan's Almanack

Life on Mars

2007-02-11T20:38:00.000-05:00

B. and I have been checking out the 700 Club in Northern Liberties [insert whichever Pat Robertson joke you just thought of here], and I'm going to give it a Philadelphia Awesome Level Rating of Red: Severe Awesomeness. Many thanks to Jake's friends for introducing it to us during his birthday festivities.

The downstairs bar area is a bit narrow, but a vast array of beers makes up for that. I had a Fuller's on tap, (Was it an ESB, was it something else? I don't even know. But it was good.) and a Troeg's Mad Elf, which is akin to the fermented intangible spirit of the holidays made into a beer.

Upstairs has a small bar with a more limited selection, some plush couches, and a very fun dance floor. Everyone on the dance floor singing Weezer's "The Good Life"? Check. So dark that everyone looks like crazy dancing silhouettes? Check.

I hardily endorse this fine establishment.
[Paid for by Poor Ryan 2008]

Fun Philly Fact Number 2

2007-02-11T20:36:00.000-05:00

A cheesesteak can defeat a pirate in single combat. But it can't beat a ninja. Or a robot. Yet strangely, it can defeat a ninja-robot.

"That's that space elevator everyone's been talking about!"

2007-01-30T20:06:00.000-05:00

During an insightful discussion at dinner, B. and I talked about the fact that people just don't build stuff the way we used to. Sure, we build skyscrapers, but let's do a little comparison:

The Great Pyramid in Egypt is 481 ft tall, and were built with relatively simple tools. Taipei 101 is the tallest building in the world at 1,667 ft.

Come on! The Great Pyramid was built in 2560 B.C.! It's been almost 5,000 years, and we can't even build four times larger? That's not right.

By my calculations [unscientific], we should be able to build a monument of some sort 20 miles tall. You heard me. 20 miles. That's into the stratosphere. And I'm talking the literal stratosphere, not the hyperbole people use for something that goes really high into the air.

Although it does pose some problems (it could possibly cast entire cities in shadow depending on the time of day), it's worth the labor. We have the technology.

We should strive for greatness.

[postscript. I just realized that I've proposed we build the Tower of Babel. I consulted with the Bible, and it didn't end well for those people. Sit tight while I regroup and think of a better plan.]

The opposite of rejection is ... jection? That can't be right...

2007-01-23T19:48:00.000-05:00

In the world of literary magazines, there are three types of rejections.

Type 1: A small, form rejection slip, dutifully sent to you in your SASE. When you receive it, you think it a bit unfair that they rejected you with your own stamp.

Type 2: Same as type 1, but with a personal, handwritten comment on it. From as simple as "Thanks for submitting," to "Nice narrative," anything written by a human hand is a good sign -- it means you were close. I have received several of these, and they are pretty sweet. (For a rejection)

Type 3: An acceptance. So, it's not really a type of rejection, but a list with just two items seems odd.

The point of this little digression: I just got my first poem accepted! It will appear in the Spring 2007 issue of Philadelphia Stories -- available at all Philadelphia Free Library locations and Borders Book Stores. Plus, they're free.

But for now, back to the grindstone, to brew up some more poems, and mix some more metaphors.

Don't stop 'til you get enough

2007-01-20T21:57:00.000-05:00

Some songs just make people want to dance. Uncontrollably. For example: last night at Johnny Brenda's, Bryan and I were peacefully sitting down to a few beers when a hipster-type guy wearing what appeared to be a circa 19th century Marines overcoat (complete with shoulder boards) walked in and stood at the bar next to our table. Then, Michael Jackson's "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough," came on the jukebox. Everyone in the place was instantly, and instinctively, grooving out--even the people sitting at the bar were bobbing their heads along to the music. And Major Hipster next to us broke out his best Thriller movies. The song ended, and all returned to normal.
Bryan and I decided on a new strategy to fight crime in the city: sound trucks riding the streets, blasting the Jackson Five's "ABC." Cause people can't commit crimes when they're dancing. Unless they're in West Side Story. That's the last thing Philly needs: dancing gangs. We should probably think on it some more.

Fun Philly Fact Number 1

2006-11-29T21:46:00.000-05:00

The women at the Please Touch Museum have already heard the pick-up line you're thinking of. So don't try it.