icepack

Sam Bushman is laughing at this Philly top-ranking hoo-ha that National Geographic's spitting up. The legendary, just-passed press agent always knew Philly was no next big city. It was the city, a bustling town where broads and pugs congregated into the night at the Saxony, the Swan or Frankie Bradley's long before after-hours guys had to worry about 24-hour slot palaces stealing their thunder. Bushman understood that the client — not the publicist — had to be the star. I miss that already. "He was a gentleman," says Daily Newsie Stu Bykofsky, en route to Sam's services, joking (I think) that Sam never really liked me much. That said, I was under the impression it was Stu who wasn't liked, what with the blackened right eye he's been sporting. (You should see the other girl.) No fight. No "elderly abuse" ladled out by younger girlfriend Jenn Graham. Stu was walking by Westy's Tavern ("No, I wasn't in it") when he tripped over some yellow plastic that holds the bundles of Daily News. Bang. Zoom. "Had it been on my side of Callowhill, I'd be suing my employer and getting that million dollars I want to leave. … Now I've got a gash on my right eyebrow to match the one on my left. Since I'm not big on looks, it won't hurt my career." We here at Icepack can rest easier. … Let's leap back to that National Geographic Traveler thing, the yay-Philly story that was once rumored to be called "Philly, Really?" NGT Ed in Chief Keith Bellows told a little bird that was never the case at a Cuba Libre party for the article last week. The article with its genesis in a dinner Bellows had with Tony Goldman (Goldman told him Philly was a great unheralded town) was meant to be called "Philly, Really" "as in, we really mean it," said Bellows. Never a question. Just, you know: SHOCK! Thanks, asshole. … Whaddawelove? That Scott Storch — the former Roots keyboardist/Dr. Dre associate now sorrowfully producing Paris Hilton — is being named in pubs like The Star as canoodling with the night-vision cash-queen to the point where she broke her engagement with Paris Latsis. Daaaag. … Almost as scary as Scott 'n' Paris is David E. Williams and lady friend Jennifer Bates taking over Bar Noir for a pre-Aleister Crowley-B-day celebration with Germ Books + Gallery Oct. 10. The rarely live Williams and friends ("My neighbor Karen from Rocket Cat Cafe and I are doing a cover of 'Wildfire,' the great '70s pop song about a dead horse and a dead girl who turns into an owl," says Williams) will do a hymn to the genius of Idi Amin, while David Talento, Bates' band Parasite Militia, and Oneiric Imperium play on. … Another Fishtownie, Marc Brodzik — shop foreman for Woodshop Films of Hello My Name Is Darren fame — met with Sufjan Stevens after the latter's TLA show. Stevens and his producing/label-owning pal Daniel Smith (Danielson Famile) are part of the soundtrack Smith'll release for Brodzik's next film, one concerning the plight of Western Pennsylvanian coal miners. Brodzik was readying the documentary for Sundance as we spoke. … WHOWHATWHERE: We didn't make it to the Heery Casting call for the shooting-soon Vince Vaughn film. That'd be stalking. But some of our pals got close to folk filming in Philly riiiiight now. Like one anonymous bud wound up at the Naval Yard between 3 and 6 a.m. for some of the final Invincible shots with Mark Wahlberg and Co. "After, the shoot, Ace — that's Mark's assistant — kept trying to hook something up." Was it something dastardly and nefarious at 6 a.m.? More wholesome was Lady in the Water star Paul Giamatti, who along with his wife and kid (on a two-wheel bike with training wheels!) got stopped by Dummytowners Collin Keefe, Holly Drauglis and Camille Escobedo along 18th and Walnut. Marley Marl stopped at DJ Sat-One's gig for the latter's After Midnight CD release at Grape Street. During last week's 35th anniversary party of Wayne Edwards' clothiers, I nearly had to snap the Hugo Boss out of Sixers coach Mo Cheeks' hand. Party or not, don't snag my goods. And on the high-ticket tip, Italian jewelry designer Roberto Coin — the king of three-color gold — hit Bernie Robbins' Main Line shop to show off (and sell) his charitable diamond-charm YouthAIDS bracelet. … DJ Cocaine Waterslide lifts and separates from his usual Town Jewelrz to wonk hard at Wax, 112 Chestnut, every Tuesday. Me likeee. … When David Commander ain't busy playing bass with drummer Ned Sonnenstein for the Helen Back-less Jimi Mooney ensemble Tapeworm, he'll be tackling his puppet multimedia jam Piggy with tart improvisational troupe The Minor Prophets at Five Spot Oct. 6. … R.I.P. Players, the legendary 2 Street bar that was as pimp-daddyish and secretive as its name implied. "All the players all over the world are crying," said designer/denizen K Vaughn at Sunday's closing. Not quite as pimpish but just as sadly over is Philly's decades-old (sike) Bigger Lovers. Pat Berkery, Bret Tobias, Ed Hogarty and Scott Jefferson will end it all amicably at Indre on Nov. 5. Parting = sweet sorrow, doncha know.