icepack

Last week, CP—through several columns—talked about hoisting our old trash and ringing 'n' bringing in the new. That touched me. Not just because they're things I'm glad 're gone (Jon Seidel, Trouble Everyday, Howard Eskin—I know. Still, I can dream) but because I've been thinking about who's got to go next. And that'd be you. NO. Not all of you. Just the deadbeats who've been refusing to go out 'n' drink because it's a weekday; because it's cold; because you have chillllllllllllldren and responsibillllllllity. Hey, I'm responsible to chilrun: tiny totting clubfucks who need company on weekdays. My idea: Ship out the drones and make Bolivian President-elect Evo Morales welcome so that he'll bring hip Bolivians with him. Not the dudes peeling cocoa leaves so to produce the coke-ayyyyne (then again!). I know: Morales is a leftist in bed with Hugo Chavez and Castro and a holdout to the U.S. where natural-gas reserves are concerned. But think of all the monied guys 'n' gals partying with the cookalooka he can provide this still-sleepy burg. … Hey! We need peeps like Jaiko Suzuki—go-go dancer/Nick Zedd friend/Vanity Set percussionist/Silk City Vampyros Lesbos stalwart. The Japanese dancer/DJ started a Mon Mon Mon Amour monthly last Saturday that took the "gei" out of Memoirs of a Geisha. … And putting the gay back in: Tracy Buchholz of Elevate party fame'll write a biweekly (twice? bisexual?) column for www.phillygaycalendar.com: "Very L Word meets Sex and the City, Philly dykes and the like," says Buchholz, who's also throwing the women's party for Blue Ball come May. "About time they did something for the ladies." … "I'm on the scene, baby." Now, there's a dozen white-belt-wearing boys that could've said that. And I'da hit 'em. But none has the pretty saavy of Lauren Hart who not only drops her swanky-folkie-jazzy new CD 5 Lifetimes at World Café Live Jan. 14, but, after shocking both audience and Slo Mike Brenner by appearing during the latter's New Year's Eve gig at WCL, she's now the new girl in the band "playing keys and singing for Slo Mo as well," says Hart. … SPOTCHECK: This week? Laura Vernola & Co.'s private membership Zee Bar opens its Owen Kamahira-done slate/redwood/brick 'n' mohair Scotch salon. If anyone remembers its former tenant Deco's opening—the cab through the front window—duck, sucker, come Jan. 12. Think throw pillows and chocolate milk and you got Sage Adderley's kid-friendly film and perf palace's addition to her two-year-old Sweet Candy Distro—Alternative Arts Center/Sweet Candy Zine Library—opening at 15th and Dickinson Jan. 13. And make like Paul Hardcastle and yell "N-n-n-ineteen" when the Bellevue opens Nineteen on ye old Founders spot in a couple weeks; a promised highest-in-city eatery, I certainly was high-est when at Founders last. … WHOWHATWHERE: Pink—she of Doylestown and getting-party-started fame—married moto-X-racer Carey Hart (not to be confused with the "Sunglasses at Night" Corey, which would've been really awesome) in Costa Rica Saturday. And all is right with the world. Bam Margera was spied bouncing between Amada and the Customs House while pop Phil and sidekick Chris Raab looked Mafioso-like in the back seat of Bam's Kompressor. Though I couldn't get there in time, Ice-spies tell me gap-toothed mogul Ted Turner (think David Letterman in Deliverance) turned Ted's Montana Grill bison-meat-haus into Green Acres with his hillbilly hokum when he stopped for a pre-opening visit to the Broad Street eatery. … "Butterfly" Charlie Gracie and comic Jamie Kennedy together again? The latter local hired the former local to play a 50th anniversary party for his Upper Darby-dwelling parents at the Union League over the weekend. … Are you ready for (very few copies, 500 I hear) a Yah Mos Def 7-inch, with some new songs, remixes and numbered/signed art 'n' stickers? Ask when you get to the Stabbin' Cabin (4308 Ludlow St.) Jan 13. And check John Nunn's gone-acoustic Hotpant Jutebox while you're there. … Want new pastry at Washington Square? Then ask for new head pastry chef Missy Holliley. … I'm sad I had to mourn the 20th anniversary of Lee Paris' death; he was a punk iconoclast/scene leader/friend and onetime boss o' mine at Yesterday's Now Music Today on WXPN. I'm sad that Lou Rawls died last week. Both men—though not natives—symbolized and transmogrified all that Philly music/art/artifice would be in their wake. But I'm sadder still that another symbol of Philly—Sylvester Stallone—has decamped for the threatened Rocky Balboa flick. Look for dopey tales of hanging lower lips, opera-singing waiters and more talk of the Italian Market and the Irish Pub than one season can bear. Ah, the winter of our discontent.