Rewind/Fast-Forward

City Paper: The Year in Rewind.

by Duane Swierczynski

Like Comcast On Demand, my memory can be frustratingly spotty. For instance, I can recall with absurd clarity the events of Dec. 23, 1980. (My father walked my brother and me from his woodworking shop on Griscom Street to the hair salon where my mom worked on Foulkrod Street, then we all had dinner at the Hercules Diner on Frankford Avenue. I had tapioca pudding for dessert, with a shotgun-pattern blast of cinnamon on top. We arrived home and I stared at a tree ornament made of green yarn.)

Now ask me about something that happened last month. Go ahead.

COMMUNICATION ERROR (CM-20)

See?

Since this issue is all about taking a look back at the previous 51 issues of City Paper, I decided to do the same thing. Only, because my memory sucks, I did it the hard way: issue by issue. My God, were there some seriously strange moments.

January: Mike Regan is mugged outside of his own home; loses $40. Ashlea Halpern writes her first Paper Doll. Meredith Lindemon tries to become a Scientologist. Hickey gets drunk and decides to run for mayor.

February: Everybody's in a tizzy over the Muhammad cartoon. Doron Taussig hangs with illegal immigrants, who refuse to be photographed; we show an empty kitchen on the cover instead. We also redesign the whole friggin' paper. Despite this, the Lilys' Kurt Heasley is so damn tall, he has to stoop on our cover.

March: Local Support, our podcast curated by Jon Solomon, debuts, much to the delight of holy rollers who plug in their amps. A City Council committee approves a smoking ban, much to the dismay of Hickey, who promptly storms off to Vegas. Some company called McClatchy buys the Inquirer and Daily News, even though it doesn't really want them.

April: Naked City profiles a juggler. Rick Mariano resigns, gets ready for the slammer. Rodney Anonymous suggests we invade Japan. Everybody's in a tizzy over This Modern World being stretched to accommodate a new layout. Sheesh.

May: Turns out, everyone was right; we squish This Modern World back to its proper proportions. A Nicetown woman tries to rip off her husband's testicles. Brian Tierney buys the Inquirer and Daily News. The Clog is born — messily, as if from a bloody fever dream.

June: A.D. Amorosi talks to Sam Katz, who says that Frank Keel wouldn't know the truth if it "bit him in the balls." A certain member of our art department dons a bikini and sits outside of City Hall for a cover shoot. (Hint: It wasn't Dennis Crowley.) Naked City profiles freaky ghost hunters.

July: Mayor Street reveals that our emergency management system kind of sucks. Later, the mayor also says that people living in a city understand that they're "going to have a level of violence." Nice. Later, I force everyone to take long walks during the hottest week of the year and write about them. Nobody's happy this month.

August: We run the caption "Hose on the Street Corner" and nobody notices. We run our fourth Roots cover and everybody notices. Naked City profiles an 86-year-old weightlifter named Morjorie Newlin, which kick-starts a ridiculous avalanche of e-mails about the story that continues to this day. You all can stop now. Seriously, people.

September: Holy fucking shit! We turn 25! Twenty-five! Twen ... ty ... five! Oooh, shiny silver cover.

October: Naked City profiles a guy who makes porno playing cards. Did a single person write in? Noooooo. Doron Taussig wrote a seafaring adventure story that contains the line, "Sometimes you have to catch the vomit in your mouth and wait your turn." Our long-awaited spiffy new Web site goes live. Because you know, sometimes, you just have to wait your turn.

November: Evan M. Lopez draws a series of illustrations for our annual CP Choice issue that continue to give the staff nightmares, in particular, the one with the fat dude eating the deer. Jesus Christ, Evan.

December: We run our 78th holiday-themed cover of the year; seven additional holiday-themed covers are slated for January. Mayor Street's two least favorite casino proposals receive green lights. (Nanny nanny poo poo, Your Honor.) Naked City profiles a sword swallower. Stuck for a final "Editor's Letter" of the year, I come up with this.

(duane@citypaper.net)