In Philadelphia, most cab drivers don’t spend the ride mumbling into their hands-free cell phone like they do in New York — they actually TALK to you. At first is is refreshing, after a moment it feels intrusive, after three moments it is downright frightening. They’re all a little nuts. One cabbie began sputtering with rage over construction, another accused us of being tourists and began talking about the creation of LSD, a third forgot to clear his meter from his previous fare and had to “guess” on the amount owed, and a fourth told us to “be careful of those Indian restaurants. . . ”
An advertised Islamic Cultural Festival didn’t feature couscous or Turkish Music, it was all BBQ and Def Jam-esque poetry.
Also — should you be in town, the Quack Quack Medical Nostrums Prints and Posters exhibit at the Art Museum is open for just another month.
