The Flaming Lips
Photo By: Michael T. Regan
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I am completely taken with The Flaming Lips. You might remember them from their single, "She Don't Use Jelly." The band and their sound has come a long way from their '90s grunge and that hit song. The band has grown up. Their music, as exhibited on their last few CDs, has become very ambitious and more accessible. And though there is a certain undeniable beauty in songs like "Do You Realize?" the Lips are still very much a psychedelic band. The proof is in their newest CD, At War with the Mystics.
The Treo
Beauty, to me, can be defined as constant Internet connectivity and the ability to communicate with others anytime, anywhere. I realize this might be the definition of "terrifying" to some people, but, if you see things the same way I do, then A) you're correct, and B) you need to own a Treo 650 or 700. The Treo gives you access to the Net anywhere that you have cell phone service. Imagine never being bored again on long walks across the city and always having an excuse for spelling errors and extreme brevity in e-mail responses (the small, built-in keyboard). Beauty, indeed.
Diddy
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I don't think I've ever been more obsessed with another man my whole life. When he's on TV, I'm riveted. When I hear his music, my heart beats faster. He's the third person in my almighty Madonna/Oprah demigod triad; this past summer I spent two hours riffling through XXXL shirts and way-too-baggy jeans at his flagship store on 41st and Fifth, simply because I overheard the sales clerk say, "He's on his way over." Diddy is the sexiest man alive believing you can do anything, and then doing it, defines gangsta.
Feet hitting pavement
This past weekend, more than 10,000 runners completed the Philly Marathon. They huffed and puffed past half a dozen landmarks and vibey neighborhoods to finish a grueling 26.2 miles for a free T-shirt. I commend them. And while I wasn't one of them, Philly remains my favorite place to wear out my sneakers. Granted my treks usually involve beers and impulse buys, but my feet can still take me nearly everywhere I want to go. Traffic sucks anyway, so I trade cars, buses and tunnels for architecture, food, wine and shopping. There's nothing like spending a Saturday strolling from the Art Museum, to South Street, to Old City, to wherever, and coming home with aching dogs, a full belly and a new outfit.
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