Recently, I spotted a “Nutter For Mayor” campaign sign on the side of a VW van, and I experienced a small explosion of nerditry. First, my inner Anglophile had a chuckle; Philadelphia’s current mayor is widely appraised as batshit insane, so it would be a natural transition if the office goes to a man whose name is “Nutter.”

  After I was finished (mentally) giggling like… well, like a nutter, I started thinking about the vehicle itself. When you read the words “VW van,” chances are you picture something shaped vaguely like a loaf of bread on wheels, with an interior featuring shag carpet, a pungent patchouli reek and a cloud of marijuana smoke so dense that it shows up on weather radar. Alas, the van in question wasn’t the iconic hippie mystery machine featured in countless American movies and TV shows. It was the modern version, the EuroVan, that VW made until 2003. It more closely resembles an aluminum baking pan and if it has a typical smell, it’s likely fast-food wrappers and middle-aged resignation.

  I went off on a weird internal tangent about how much more information and context would have been transmitted if the sign had been hanging on the side of an original VW van. Given Nutter’s popularity among the University City crowd, it would have been easy to picture affluent white kids in Che Guevara t-shirts, passing around a joint and pretending to be anarchists, or grey-haired hippie grandparents with fringed vests and ponytails, passing around a joint and pretending it’s medicinal. But there’s just no cultural information transmitted by a EuroVan. Can you picture the “typical” EuroVan driver? I get a vague notion of “pale and balding,” but that may just be residue from the momentary glimpse I got of the driver. I just can’t dredge up a satisfying mental picture.

  Usually, I’m all for individuality, and I consider stereotypes the worst kind of slothful thinking. Still, in this context, I feel like the message is somehow diluted. If I’d seen an original VW van sporting the “Nutter For Mayor” sign, I’d have some notion, however vague (or wildly incorrect), about the person making the endorsement. In the absence of any other argument - candidate credentials, plans for the office, criticism of other candidates, tabloid scandal - I’d at least have an idea of who else is supporting Nutter’s candidacy. With the EuroVan version, I’m left with nothing but an anonymous exhortation, like somebody ran up behind me on the street, yelled “Vote for Nutter!” and then darted into an alley before I could shout “Why should I?”

  The luscious fruit topping on this layer cake of nerdiness is that, since I’m a non-party-affiliated voter I can’t even vote in the upcoming primary. This also means that I’m effectively shut out of the mayoral election, since the Republican has a trailer-in-a-tornado’s chance of being elected. So all of this musing about campaign signs and arguments and information transmission is just for my own amusement.

  This is why the Internet is my closest friend.

  Talented (and scarily prolific) artist/writer Brad Guigar’s Eisner nominated webcomic Phables is a weekly about living in Philadelphia! It’s funny and thoughtful, and the “wow, he nailed it” moments come fast and furious. If you’ve ever spent any time in or around the City of Barely Concealed Misanthropy, you’ll appreciate Guigar’s take. I’ll race you through the archives. A clue; you’ll lose.

  I got to the Huntingdon station on the Market-Frankford line at about 2:10 this afternoon. Typically, I missed the train by about 45 seconds, but that’s a different rant. When I got to the top of the stairs, the booth which usually houses the helpful*, attentive** SEPTA employee was dark and empty. A cardboard sign stuck in the window read “USE BIG GATE TO LEFT,” and included three helpful arrows for riders like myself who, on the verge of heatstroke from walking to the train through the soup that is the summer in Philly, had a little trouble focusing on the words.

  I live and die by the Blue Line, so I’ve observed plenty of SEPTA’s worker drones. I know that they’re usually stuck in a tiny booth by themselves for hours at a time, and I don’t begrudge one of them needing to take a bathroom/snack/smoke break, especially when they leave the gate unlocked so riders who show up while they’re out of the booth can get to the platform. They get to take care of their basic biological functions, and I save a token. However, when I reached the gate area, the newly-returned attendant was berating a man who was having trouble going through the gate. He couldn’t get it to open, and she was rudely directing him to the open gate. Which was on the far right. The best part? Her parting shot at he went through the gate was “that’s what it say on the sign!”

  Apparently, the transit organization can’t even afford to hire people who know which hand makes the “L” when you stick out your thumb. I am suddenly in favor of casinos, if the state will promise to dedicate some of the revenue to ensuring all SEPTA workers have a first grade education.

*unhelpful **inattentive

  When it’s hot and humid - as if it’s EVER hot WITHOUT being humid in this town - the back of the bus smells like ground in BO rinsed in stale urine. Then again, so does most of the city. When the exhaust is the best-smelling part of your commute, it’s time to buy a gas mask.

Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  How come the El train in Philly turns into a subway in Center City? Also, why does the subway turn into an El train when it’s not in Center City?
- Blue Line Bandit

Dear Blue Line Bandit,
 There is doubtless a Perfectly Reasonable Explanation, involving water tables, soil densities, and other dull technical information. However, my Wildly Uninformed Perspective is skeptical about all that blather. In the early 20th Century when the line was being constructed, Center City’s roster of well-to-do residents and businesses was “important” in a way that the poorer western and northeastern neighborhoods weren’t. That disparity of economic swagger still holds true today. Coincidentally, Center City’s residents and businesses get to have their rail transportation buried underground, while people living in Kensington and West Philly have the pleasure of a gigantic metal monstrosity covering their streets and trains rattling by at the level of their second-story windows.

  This is, of course, rank speculation. If anyone has a less invidious explanation, I’d be willing to entertain it.

  Two boys, alike enough to be brothers, approximately 10 and 12 years old, respectively. Both of them were built like a “before” picture on an ad for some fad diet. Big, round bellies had completely engulfed the waistlines of their shorts; slabs of boy-breast that would have failed the pencil test even if a small dog were substituted for a trusty #2.

  How does that happen? Is there not a single adult in their lives that thinks “maybe these boys shouldn’t need training bras?”

  Back in June, I groused about how summer heat in Philadelphia is invariably accompanied by horrible, indoor swimming pool level humidity. Yesterday, I was proven wrong. The high was around 90, but the humidity was low. The result was a sky of clear blue instead of hazy grey, a slight but pleasant breeze, and the opportunity for perspiration to actually evaporate.

  Well played, stationary high pressure system. Well played. I see what you did there.

  Spend some time beneath the tracks of the Market-Frankford El with David Kessler’s Shadow World. It’s a video blog featuring the people who live and work in the city’s Kensington section. These are folks you don’t see in the “Philly’s awesome” flick that runs before Imax movies at the Franklin Institute. Their neighborhood struggles like an underfed vine in the grimy shadow of the El. The videos don’t editorialize; there is no Michael Moore-ish self-promotion. Just simple, revealing moments among the city’s forgotten, that should be mandatory viewing for the mayoral candidates.

  I’ve successfully created the world’s first chronometeorological transfer device. This morning, I swapped the August heat and humidity in the Delaware Valley for the drab, dreary chilliness of mid-October. I’m still damp, but it’s from rain and not sweat. I consider this a victory.

  Two important things that the Eagles need to do if they want to win:

1) Score (some number) points.

2) Stop the other team from scoring more than (some number) points.

  It sounds obvious, but this is Philadelphia. The most basic lessons are often the ones that we fail to grasp.