Ever think to yourself: Hey, I wonder where I can have a threesome and then promptly forget about it? Well, one of our writers thinks he's found that place. Want Mexican food that doesn't burn on the way out? Of course you do. More of these questions and answers have found their way into this year's Better Than Best issue. And what's better than best, you ask? We have no idea. We just knew we couldn't use Best Of, because another publication in this town has it on lockdown. But that doesn't mean we didn't put an enormous amount of effort into bringing you the most random hidden gems Philly has to offer. Because we did. And we think we've got a pretty good list going on here.
So, before we give any more away, we present you with our Better Than Best issue. Here's what you can find:
The issue also features personal essays by some of our favorite colleagues, who dish on what aspects of Philly they're head-over-heels obsessed with.
Tara Murtha: Our staff writer is obsessed with the vile spewed daily in the Philly.com comments section.
Michael Alan Goldberg: Our other staff writer is obsessed with photographing the city's forgotten spaces.
Brian McManus: Our music & food editor is obsessed with, of course, dive bars.
PW's drunks think Locust Bar is the best straight bar that's turning into a gay bar. They also think Abby's Desert Lounge is the best place to catch an awesome cover band. Cheers!
Mexican food that won't burn on the way out; best place to meet a server you'll wanna date immediately; best long hot weiner; and more gems for the foodie in you.
There are a lot of people in this town who deserve a shout-out. Like Carl Greene, former head of the PHA. You can find him under Best Scumbag. M.Nutt's in there, too.
Wanna know what the best local porn site is? Hint: It's also the biggest news site. Best place to find a threesome you won't remember? Maybe it's at Voyeur. Maybe not.
Need to reverse evidence of your sins? There's a facial for that. Going through a breakup and need a slammin' haircut? There's a salon for that. Need some leather? There's a leathersmith for that! Welcome to our treasure trove of style finds.
If you're lookin' for a cheap laugh, we've found the place for you. Also, did you know that there's a mural in the Gayborhood that looks like sperm?
I still subscribe to the weekend print edition of the Philadelphia Inquirer. But while there’s nothing quite like snapping crisp pages over a fresh cup of coffee in the morning, a hard copy lacks one of my favorite—by favorite I mean mesmerizing and riddled with psychic pain—parts of reading our city’s paper of record: the trash-talking of Philly.com commenters.
I’m obsessively drawn—camera in hand—to the ruins in our own backyard, to experience and document parts of our own nearly forgotten history before they’re torn down, or they collapse, and are gone forever.
I moved to Philadelphia in ’05, a long journey from my distant planet known as Houston, located in a galaxy far, far away called Texas. It was August, and much to my surprise, the weather was just as fucking putrid and hot and humid here as it was back there, which was and is the only similarity the two locations share. (In Houston, for instance, people are secretly racist. Here, they wear it as a badge of honor.)
Savage Love: Sondheim is solace