Gayle And Society Hill Hotel

When I was in my early 20’s, I worked at a bar in Philadelphia called Society Hill Hotel on 3rd and Chestnut. It is one of the oldest hotels in the United States if not the oldest, I honestly can’t remember. The bar was beautiful, it looked like something out of the 1800’s with beautiful cherry wood and huge mirrors and windows covering the entire place, during the day it was bright and open and sunny. To this day it makes me respect bars that can stand the test of time, that place always felt like home. The staff was amazing and everyone treated each other like family which is rare in the bar business. There were 3 owners, a crazy Frenchman, a sweet (but somewhat shady) Italian, and in insanely drunk Irishman who often would dance on the bar top and fall off. The Italians girlfriend was a stunningly beautiful African woman who would always bring flowers to the bar and rarely did not have a smile on her face. All three owners were very nice people but uhh… well we will get to that later. The work was hard for very little pay, but everyone got along so well no one really cared too much. During the day there were two plump middle-aged menopausal women chefs, one white from South Philly, one black from North Philly. Both were HILARIOUS, smoked Newport’s like chimneys and would often curse out customers if they complained about the food or didn’t tip a waitress. The bartender “Irish Bob” is to this day one of my favorite people in the world, Bob was an old school bartender with a thick Irish accent and amazing sense of humor who had traveled the world and settled in Philadelphia. He now owns a bar in Spain. Bob is probably the nicest person anyone could ever meet. There was another bartender (cant remember her name, who was dating a man who disappeared, I don't think to this day that they ever found him. Bobby and Lisa lived with Bob down the street and the 4 of us would go out quite often, resulting in horrible service for the poor unlucky bastards that came into that bar the next day.



Then there was Gayle…

Gayle was the oldest person who worked at SHH. She was tiny about 5 feet tall, slightly plump and had short white hair and piercing blue eyes which crinkled when she smiled. Gayle spoke in a south Philly accent and lived with her mother from what I remember. She was a sweet woman and the “mom” of the place, everyone loved her. When I first met Gayle I thought she was insane. She was talking about being psychic and seeing some woman outside that gave her a “bad feeling”. She often spoke about there being a ghost of a young girl and an older Victorian woman haunting the hotel. No one argued with her about that, the place could get weird, I mean really weird, glasses falling off of tables for no reason weird. Once Gayle told Chris he was a gladiator in a past life and was killed by a lion and was talking about his spirit animal and shit… we kind of just looked at each other quite confused.

















Then something really crazy happened…

We often had what we called “rock around the block” where we would go to other bars on the block and “exchange beers” with bartender friends. I once heard a quote that there’s probably a million dollars in tips in any given city that just floats from bartender to bartender that will never be put into a register, its true. One day Gayle and I went across the street to a now defunct bar I cant remember the name of. My friend was bartending and another friend Chuckles was cooking so we knew free food and beers were involved after a shift. The bar was pretty dead, so Gayle told me she was going to read my tarot cards. After some coaxing I agreed. Not only did she tell me exactly what my grandfather looked like blue eyes, curly hair, tall (keep in mind I am mixed race, I didn’t know my grandfather on my black side, she didn’t know that) she went on and on about things that absolutely blew me away. She told me my grandfather’s ghost was protecting me along with another ghost she couldn’t recognize. She mentioned one of my friends would steal something blue from me (which happened) one of my friends was keeping a secret from me (drug problem, she admitted to me later, and recalled Gayle saying this in front of her looking at her) Told me I would leave the bar and I would be angry (happened) but I would leave and work for a short stocky man with blonde spiky hair and blue eyes, I would think he’s shady but he’s a nice guy (fucking happened a week later) Told me my future husband would have blue eyes and blonde hair (didn’t happen!) She mentioned my new job would lead to “something different” (It lead to me moving to New York City) Please keep in mind she told me everything in much greater detail, but honestly this was years ago and I’m surprised I remember this much. After I left that bar I saw Gayle very rarely, although sometimes I would pop by and say hello to her. The bar ended up having serious issues, rumors of tax fraud, theft and shadiness from one (or many) of the owners. But as I said before, Philadelphia is a city of rumors, who knows what really happened. The place was sold a few years ago, still keeps the same name and I haven’t been back.

I still wonder what ever became of Gayle.

Atlas & Fuck It! Mondays

I could write a novel about this bar…. EASILY. Atlas was a dingy dive bar located on the corner of 21st and South in Philadelphia. My friend Drew worked the bar and needed a Dj for a Monday night. I was young and just getting started so I agreed, I decided to name the night “Fuck It!” mostly because I knew on a Monday night Djing at a dive bar, I wasn’t going to make shit for money. The bar was run down and the owner Nick was a very intimidating South Philly man, rumored to have lit an enemy’s van on fire once. He looked like Jerry Garcia but Nick usually never spoke… he yelled, he lived alone above the bar and usually didn’t leave his apartment, he would ALWAYS call and complain about the noise coming from the bar. I remember strange women going in and out of his apartment a hell of a lot. Once a friend of mine who was kicked out of the bar was outside trying to yell up at Nick’s apartment window to get back in. Nick dumped an entire fucking bottle of laundry detergent on him, when my friend walked back into the bar he was fucking GLOWING under the black lights. That’s how Nick was. To be honest Nick was the first person who gave me a tough skin, shit nothing really scares me in comparison to that man, dude was nuts. The bar had about 10 names in 10 years, and was a strip club before it became Atlas. There were clouds painted on all of the walls, Christmas and black lights everywhere and the carpet looked like someone had died on it. The place always smelled like weed smoke and the bathrooms were filthy dirty and always broken. The bar back Juan once mentioned he had actually been to a third world country and the Atlas bathroom was worse than anything he had seen there…. he was serious. Despite this place being a shit hole it was actually the very rare combination of right place right time. No one gave a shit about anything in that place, not even Nick. There were $3 dollar pitchers of beer all night and I don’t know anyone who didn’t get at LEAST one free drink in that place.














I started the weekly with very low expectations but the first night was absolutely packed and I ran that night for about 3 years. People would often walk around drinking out of the $3 pitchers. No one gave a shit about that place, if you broke a glass? Oh well… ripped off the bathroom door? No big deal…poured a beer over someone?... Typical Monday, it just worked out of chaos somehow. It was rowdy as fuck but there were rarely any fights, with the exception of Newman throwing some asshole frat kid on top of a moving taxi. I booked everybody who would play on a fucking Monday in Philly some of whom got somewhat well known Jay Haze, AC Slater, Sean O’ Neal, Ivan Ross, god I cant even remember anymore. Usually the Philly hometown heroes played. The place was a shit show most of the time and the Dj’s were forced to drink a shot of Jameson every hour or they weren’t allowed to play (James hated this)
















Once when I was setting up, an off duty cop came in, he was telling us about how drunk he was and we told him we weren’t buying that he was a cop because he was too drunk… WRONG. He proceeded to get on his phone and call out that a cop was shot in our bar.. we thought he was joking… WRONG AGAIN. 5 minutes later 8 cops rush into the bar guns drawn screaming. My boyfriend at the time gave me a “were gonna fucking die” look. Needless to say the sober cops were not amused it was a prank. That’s how retarded that place was, random shit like that always happened.















There’s something special about dive bars. No ones worries about how cool they are, what anyone else is wearing, who anyone else is. People want to drink… cheap and throw an occasional chair. In clubs and upscale bars there is a system, people want to go, want to be seen and want to get laid and spend a lot of money doing it. But in the dive’s people go to NOT be seen, of course want to get laid but could honestly care less if they don’t and don’t get all bitchy if the drink isn’t mixed perfectly.

I never thought I would say this, but I miss that bar. Now there is a new bar there that serves “brunch”.

The one good thing about the recession is that it’s knocking these places back to their former shit hole glory.

"3rd And South"

“3rd & South”

My first real apartment was on 3rd and south street in Philadelphia above a dirty dive called “name that bar”. Moving in was terrible. The apartment was rented previously by a heroin addict who had been thrown out (later I found out that he was in jail). When I moved in I moved a shelf to have a (thankfully capped) heroin needle fall off the top and hit me in the forehead. It was pretty much an omen of things to come. The owner (a rumored drug addict) used to build bombs for GE in the 60’s. Ironically he was an ex hippie with wild (and always) messy long grey hair, who rarely wore a shirt. He once told me that “love was like catching lightning in a bottle”, I never forgot that. He bought the building with the GE money and lived underneath us in a dilapidated apartment that held literally STACKS of VHS porn as well as an unarmed warhead in his place. I was 20 (and a fucking idiot to take this apartment) but the rent was cheap, the apartment itself was in a great location, I worked at the bar downstairs and my friend “crazy colleen” lived next door. Colleen was a stripper who practiced Wicca quite often, and would have insanely wild fights with her then boyfriend. She often told me about how aliens would come and check people out when there was a lot of fog and that my best friend and I were from the same alien ship. Once Colleen found a cat “Jinx” who she abandoned when she moved out, the landlord threatened to kill the cat, fortunately my best friend saved her and still has her. Regardless I loved Colleen, she would give you the shirt off of her back, and I often got into a lot of shit trying to protect her, usually from herself. People told me Colleen used to be normal, but the Russians tested E pills on her in the rave days and she went nuts. Last I heard she was living out of her car in South Philadelphia, but who knows Philadelphia is a city filled with rumor. The place was in great condition but the building itself was a DISASTER. There was a rowdy college bar next door we would occasionally shoot fireworks at during especially loud nights. The bar wasn’t all bad though, sometimes we would lower a bucket with a rope into the backyard and the bartender would fill it with bud light. There was no wall in the hallway outside of the apartment, only chicken wire. One drunken misstep and you would be terribly injured if not killed. There were also no lights in the hallway, which made this especially scary and dangerous coming home late at night. The attic above the apartment was abandoned and there was a LOT of weird random shit up there, old dusty photos, records, books, furniture. It was like a museum of stuff abandoned by all of the weird freaks that had lived in that place over the years. Some squatter friends of mine, and their dog liberty lived up there for a little while and discovered a fully working claw foot bathtub hidden under trash.

The bar downstairs was rumored to be a stop on the Underground Railroad, and there was a tiny hideout carved into the stone which only people who worked there knew about. It was fucking CREEPY late at night. The heat never did quite work and I usually could see my breath while I worked in winter months. There were random leaky pipes that would drop random leaky shit on random heads quite often. The owner was a GENIUS with electronics, I’m guessing from his GE days. He would often rewire things and turn off the heat, hot water, and lights when he needed money. There was very rarely ever hot water, so I would shower at a friends gym down the street. The owner always complained that the hot water was broken but once for 2 weeks when he was in jail (I’m guessing for some drug shit) everything worked perfectly.

My roommate had just moved in from Baltimore and had a deep bond with my cat “chunk”. We got along pretty well and were poor as shit, I mean poor poor. We both were only Djing and working in shitty bars and we busted our asses to pay rent and somehow survived. There was a pizza shop down the street that would trade us beer from our bar for food. Philly punk legend Mike Lassiter would often hook up margaritas and food from Copa along with a multitude of other bartenders. 611 records, coffee shops and parks were the usual hangout spots during daylight hours. If you lived on South Street you pretty much knew everyone who worked or lived on that street and everyone hooked one another up with discounts, drinks, free stuff.

The apartment was condemned which I will write about in an insane ass story later that involved a cop falling through the roof. But I'll always look back on this apartment and remember when I very first fell in love with the amazing city of Philadelphia.


I’ve been pretty uninspired with my writing lately, and read a good quote

'don't get it right, get it written.'

So I’ve decided to write about the thing that truly inspires me, my life.
I hope you guys all remember these moments if mentioned and I’ll try (not promising anything) to write more about these insane moments in the future.

Philly truly is the city of brotherly love, people helped each other when they were down and still do. That being said, I miss you all terribly and its stories like this that make me realize how amazingly strange and wonderful my weird ass life is.

Let's Get Lost

"Some people sleep until morning. Others know they have to bring the morning." -- Shlomo Carlbach

MIND = BLOWN

It's time I suppose

Been Pretty Uninspired

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." Hemingway

Snorlax Fuckin Owns You

Music For Fall

A lot of you have been asking me for music. So I made you a little sleepy playlist for the fall. All mps's are up on zshare just click the song titles to grab them. Enjoy!

Slowdive - Blue Skied an' Clear
Pretty much the best song ever made

Bedhead - Foaming Love
sleepy 90's indie rock, an absolute favorite band of mine

Papercuts - Summer Long

Neil Halstead - Witless or wise
Slowdive's neil halstead

Coleman Hawkins - Body & Soul

Wax Doctor - Drums In A Grip
Love Wax Doctor, Love Jungle!

Deux - Game And Performance
i usually hoard little gems like this, grab it before I change my mind.

T.C. Curtis - you Should Have Known Better
Another gem from the disco days. Amazing tune I would normally hoard.

Portishead - It Could Be Sweet
Raver Early Morning/Afternoon Anthem

This Scarlet Train - Picture Frame
Recently spent 3 days sorting through 400 hard to find no wave tracks, this was one of the rare gems I found.

Barbara Lewis - Pushin A Good Thing Too Far

Teengirl Fantasy - Thieves

She's All Up Above

A bird you can't touch
She wants to be a flower
In the City
Yeah

Shes All Up Above (zshare)