icepack

So I'm singing that Flintstones' "Happy Anniversary" thing to myself — over and over — and it just seems freakish that other than my immediate family and a few still-alive brethren-buds, that Philadelphia City Paper is my longest held relationship. Its editors — sure. But more than that it's this deliciously oddball readership of mine that's been here that long, all along. Even the ones who leave town — they read. They gripe. They yell at me about not knowing who that one is and where that place is located and why don't I shut up and a) die, b) kiss them, c) choke, d) fuck them already, e) die 'n' die again. Clubfucks: They're adorable.If I still drank and gakked, I'd sidle up to y'all and tell you how much I loved you. But I'm no sidler. I'm also no hater, despite that playfully spiteful snark that's been part o' the Pack since its inception. When asked the other day, "Oh, beautiful, beneficent erudite ageless one, is there a place or person in this city that so burns your eyes we must destroy 'em like Troy?" I said no. I love Old City. I love South Street. These are places we gotstagotstagotsta make great and keep great — even if we have to banish New Jersey to New Hampshire to make it work for our benefit. This city's renaissances started in OC and Positively Fourth and South: FUCK YOU. Make it happen. I love NoLibs, even if the Devil dwells there. (Happy anniversary, Bart Blatstein.) I love Fishtown and Kensington, even though I no longer buy meth there and have zip reason to go. SIKE. So sing it like a Flintstone and come kiss me you fools. Or kill me. We sawr it. It's bee-u-ti-ful. (OK, so we're partial to Uptown. And South Philly. Nee-haw.) 21st and Market's sleek new club-a-dubby mega-plex Level. Open in October. Hey is it me or does it not yet feel like this new season of being oooot 'n' abooot is here yet? Will some guest bartenders at your fave watering holes make it so? OK, while Ms. Mariel — she the scion-ess of rock photog Scott Weiner — takes to the saloon of the Long Shot Lounge near Castor and Cottman Sept. 28, World Café Live starts its second anniversary right with lotsa happy hour guest-tenders. Like WYSP's Jacky Bam Bam, Oct. 10; YRock'sJim McGuinn, Oct. 4; WIP's Big Daddy Graham Oct. 19; and yours truly, Oct. 18. And tip me, fuckers — in cash, not coke bags, cuz all the dough goes to their Philly-2-NOLA jawn. Ex-Deuce chef Scott Schroeder just did a menu for Pontiac Grille, the spot once known as Dobbs. At least somebody likes the place. I don't say this just because nobody goes there. (Maybe Schroeder'll turn that around. Maybe that supposedly coming rock room upstairs will. I dunno.) I say it because even the peeps doing the Dobbs reunion shows Oct. 7 at Smokey Joe's and WCL seem to have never even wanted to consider its former address. I WANT ANSWERS HERE. Murder junkie/World Famous Crawlspace Brother Rich Hillen Jr. not only brings his Bros. to Bar Noir Oct. 2, but he promises Scareho in drag, a Needles Jones duet with writer/Jagger impersonator Marcus Shepherd and the introduction of Philly's newest transsexual-led band, Passolini's Assassins. "The New Minority broke up, and Hatter — she/he's their singer/guitarist — is doing this show under the new name," said Hillen of the Dead Kennedys/Cramps-like Pass-Ass. I know you've nearly bought out Park the Van Records' 1,000 handmade Dr. Dog EPs of Takers & Leavers found exclusively at AKA. It's brilliant cloppity-pop. But I just found matchbook covers of the band Dog used to be in — Raccoon. Calling eBay. Whowhatwhere: I know flippity-flabby Jennifer Tilly was playing too, but Philly-born Jonathan "Shecky Green" Shecter (TV's Hip-Hop Hold 'Em host, Source mag co-founder and CEO of Vegas' Hip-Hop Honeys DVD series) not only took part in the World Poker Tour jawn at the Borgata. Shecter, David Williams (a 2006 World Series of Poker bracelet winner and not the local goth-cabaret avatar) and poker bucks Joe Bartholdi and Joe Cassidy ducked into Lickety Split to see Shecter's old Friends Select pal/comic Danny Ozark. Ozark then took them to Delilah's Den to see more women who look like Tilly. The kids at Cashman & Associates are doing something at Boyds tony clothiers called B3 Sept. 28. What could dat stand for? Bargains? Naw. Bonin'? Not in a $3,200 Etro suit. OK, I'll go and let you know. Don't feel like getting a singer for your band that newfangled way? Like once-upon-a time Philadelphians Convert to 8 Bit, who changed their name to the_midnight.file and want you to hear demosat myspace.com/themidnightfile and then contact slferreiro@convertto8bit.com? Go old-fashioned and rent billboard space on I-95 off the Columbus Boulevard exit like Philly's Depeche/Killers/Duran-y TV Sound is doing (as reported on The Clog). Bassist Michael Barba wants a singer that looks as synth-glammy as they sound. Maybe hit B3 first. One day painter/filmmaker Marc Brodzik found 1,000 headshots of Philly actor Jeff Wolfe. Brodzik turned it into an art project by getting pals to deface 'n' exhibit them and throw a birthday party for Wolfe Sept. 28 at the Abbaye. Now? "Come at 7 [and] punch Jeff in the balls," says Brodzik. "I gotta split by 8:30. I fucked up and bought Sufjan Stevens tickets same night." This is charity, yo! King Britt's bud Shara "Ryat" Day and my bud Gravy Thomas are buddying with Earth Rights International for an Oct. 1 benefit at World Café Live starring the wordy likes of Ursula Rucker and Lamont B. Steptoe, fonk-a-donky DJ Logic and soulfest Taylor McFerrin — the Cell Theory scatter/leader whose Aqualounge nights were the best thing north of Spring Garden. How did we let him move back to Brooklyn? Sheet.

(a_amorosi@citypaper.net)