By now, you know my affinity for Phanatics that aren’t designed to just be the Phanatic.  When the medium through which your art is projected happens to be a six foot tall creature, it seems that departures from reality are more tahn welcome.  Some Phanatics have embraced this.  Others have not.

The Piazza, however, home to charming ‘lil shops and soothing evening tunes, is where all the cool kids hang out (I just discovered this fact–so they’ll probably pick a new spot within the next few weeks, I’ll keep you posted).  So you know their Phanatic is going to be all measure of different.  Different enough to be cool, yet the same enough not to start a panic.

(more…)

Let’s face some realities.  The Phillie Phanatic, while the single most fucking hilarious mascot to exist in the history of humanity, is a giant muppet from the Galapagos Islands with a lamp shade for a nose that is meant to represent a baseball team.  Now that the “Phanatic Around Town” art project has placed a bunch of identical, differently decorated Phanatic statues around Philadelphia, we’re going to like/dislike them.  Here he is in Center City, at the Free Library, the Franklin Institute, Rittenhouse Square, and Love Park.

This guy was telling me once that when he first moved to Philadelphia, he and his girlfriend came into the city by way of Boathouse Row.  He’d never seen it, and she kept making him look away.  It was sunset, so the spot was going to be lit up in all of its glory.

“Okay!” she said.  ”Look!”

He turned and saw a bunch of quaint houses neatly trimmed with strings of lights.  ”What do they do?” he inquired.

“They… nothing, they’re just… pretty,” she explained, stammering.

Two months later their relationship fell apart.

(more…)

The guardian of the night time stands tall in Central Philadelphia, donned in his signature solid gold t-shirt and casual declarations of love. You may stumble across him on a glorious afternoon while dozens of amateur skateboarders faceplant and taunt police officers behind him.  You may almost cause a traffic accident driving by, wondering what in god’s name he is wearing.  Or you may, as I did, cross paths with this magnanimous love monster on your way home from the bars, a PBR 40 in your hand, and demand to know why he isn’t instantly on your cell phone camera.

If you think I’m just saying that to excuse the fact that that picture is unprofessionally blurred, you are half right.

Love keeps us in the air. I WILL QUOTE JOSS WHEDON'S "SERENITY" ON THIS BLOG AND YOU WILL TOLERATE IT.

The other half of the problem was that everyone who was close enough to take my picture was either also fairly luck yto be on their feet or asleep on a manhole cover.

This Phanatic is my favorite so far.  He’s got City Hall on his shoulders.  He’s made a brash, bold fashion choice in his treasure chest-gold jersey, and the LOVE he’s decorated it with bounces nicely off the park around him.  He’s just out of reach of where the preteen skaters pollute the area, and not deep enough inside the park itself to fall victim to those genius, totally outside-the-box thinking engaged couples who decide “Hey!  Let’s get out engagement photos taken in LOVE park because we’re in LOVE!  Do you get it?  Ha, ha!  Delightful.”

He’s not trying to be too much at once, he’s not exploding colors all over himself, and he’s not too bland, despite the stony urban environment surrounding him.  Being ready to hug anybody who wants it, he is also a true advocate for love.  Except that he is not a living thing, and is incapable of such an emotion.

A point made to me by a passing police car mere moments after that first photo was taken.

Hey, its Love Park.  Anything goes.

AND IT IS CALLED THE “KEY TO GOLDEN LOVE.”  I don’t even know what that means, but I love it.

In the end, isn’t that the very nature of love?  Not understanding anything, but acting on it regardless?

Actually, yeah.  Kind of.  Wow.  A rational conclusion.  Not a lot of those on this blog.  Enjoy it while you can, folks.