A Million Stories

All the news we care to print.

by Jeffrey C. Billman, Brian Howard and Holly Otterbein

Evan M. Lopez

Break out the tube socks, electrical tape and disinfectant wipes (lots of disinfectant wipes): The Philly Naked Bike Ride (PBNR) returns for its second installment on Sun., Sept. 5, wherein we all strip down to our birthday suits and parade around on our Schwinns in front of tourists and cops and God and everyone. It is a glorious thing.

For those of you living in a bubble, World Naked Bike Rides have been taking place since 2001, when the cyclists of Zaragoza, Spain, first placed taint on saddle en masse. Last year's inaugural local installment drew some 1,000 riders in various states of undress and body paint, pedaling leisurely around the city to promote cycling, fuel-conscious consumption and the shedding of excess, to say nothing of basking in the unique thrill of riding bare-assed through the streets with the Philadelphia Police Department's tacit blessing.

We caught up with one of the ride's facilitators, Clifford Greer, who provided a rundown on what's new and what's not for PNBR2010. As ever, "nudity is encouraged, but not required," says Greer. "Riders are welcome to go bare as they dare and [PBNR] is accessible to riders of any age and skill level."

Last year, many riders showed up clothed at the meeting point — Schuylkill River Park, though this year's will be different — and either stripped down there or en route.

"Self-serve body paint will be available at the meeting place. Some talented artists will be on hand to help out," Greer says. "We also encourage riders to arrive pre-painted, or in costume."

Last year's after-party was held at the Live Arts & Philly Fringe festival bar where riders pretty much had to get dressed or go home (and where a promised drink special never materialized). At this year's to-be-announced location, says Greer, the party will be all-ages, allow the legal minimum dress and include a drink special for riders of legal age (for realsies, this time). And, as with PBNR09, the starting location will not be announced until shortly before the ride: "To find out where the ride meets," Greer says, "riders should subscribe to our e-mail list [at phillynakedbikeride.org] or friend us on Facebook."

But what about those police, you may wonder. Isn't this technically illegal?

"We're hoping for a bigger ridership," says Greer, "and just as much support from the Philadelphia Police Department as last year."

To be bigger and supported while naked, strikes us as a violation of the laws of physics — but hey, at the PNBR anything's possible.

Mel Packer was never in a million years going to be a U.S. senator. The Green Party he represents will never be a major force in American politics. In a best-case scenario, he might take maybe a couple hundred votes, less than 1 percent of the total. He was nothing. And yet, as we told you last week, Joe Sestak crushed him, using an asinine state law and an army of lawyers and handwriting experts to force Packer, a 65-year-old Pittsburgh-area physician's assistant, to withdraw from the election.

Strategically, it makes sense: There's a chance that his race against Pat Toomey could come down to the wire, and the handful of votes that Packer might earn would make the difference. Morally, though, it's repulsive, particularly for a guy who calls himself a Democrat. After all, if Sestak can't beat Toomey, a shitheel literally to the right of Jesse Helms, without resorting to underhanded political machinations, that's pretty sad.

Sestak isn't alone. The Republicans used the same law to elbow the three statewide Libertarian candidates and a Tea Party candidate for governor off the ballot.

We rung Packer last week to get his take on this election mess: "If you're going to run at all, you're aware you're going to be challenged. If you don't walk in with a whole lot more [petitions] than what you need, you're not going to be able to stop them from challenging you — and they might challenge you anyway," says Packer.

To make the November ballot, he and the other minor-party candidates had to garner some 19,000 signatures . They did. But this was just the beginning. Under state law, if the majors challenge the legitimacy of those petitions — and they will — and if they win, the minors (read: the folks with no money) have to pay the bigs' legal fees . In two previous cases, one from 2004 and another from 2006, this has amounted to about $80,000.

In Packer's case, he says the Sestak campaign challenged virtually every aspect of his petitions: cases in which the signature and printed name spots were reversed, cases where the petition-signer wrote down their neighborhood instead of their city, and so on. The Sestak campaign even hired handwriting experts to challenge more than 700 of his signatures, Packer says. Given that he turned in about 20,500 petitions — and assuming an unavoidable error rate of 10 percent to 20 percent, he says — he was quite likely to lose, and he wasn't willing to make a $80,000 bet.

"Who can afford that? I can't afford that," he says.

Allow us to opine for a moment: The law in Pennsylvania effectively allows the Rs and Ds to kneecap potential rivals before they can even get out of the gate. It is profoundly unfair and certainly undemocratic, and completely contrary to the notion that democracy is based upon competition in the marketplace of ideas.

It needs to change. More than that, however, the politicians who exploit it to their benefit, who use the threat of legal sanctions to bully their competitors out of the race, should be ashamed of themselves.

Blow off Paul Glover's proposed Patch Adams Clinic in Philadelphia as a pipe dream if you'd like. We know, we know: A free medical clinic in a low-income neighborhood, which provides both holistic and standard care; supplies patrons with musical instruments, clown costumes and local food, just for fun; has a green roof; and is surrounded by orchards and vegetable gardens?

Where do you think you are, Glover, in a decent world or something?

Maybe so: Glover has already received a stamp of approval from the legendary Dr. Adams — who is not a spaz like Robin Williams, the once-funny actor who played him in the movie based on his life, in case you're wondering — and met with Councilwoman Maria Quinones-Sánchez about building the clinic in her district. He's also basically done this already; in 2006, he founded the Ithaca Free Clinic in New York.

Glover envisions a medical center where all basic services would be free, but additional care, including massage, acupuncture and other treatments, would cost $300 per year. "But you could pay $200 of that in sweat equity, as there will be lots to do," he explains.

Should you like to donate, add ideas or learn more, Glover is throwing a potluck for the clinic at the Calvary Methodist Church (48th Street and Baltimore Avenue) on Fri., Aug. 27, at 6:30 p.m.

"If we can build like urban Amish," says Glover, "we'll get it put together in a few years."