Reid E.M Golden

I woke up North of Norris Square to one of the first true snow days in a few years. Lulled by the soft sounds of sleet passing through oak leaves, I drank my first cup of coffee in bed. A book in my hand and a dog at my feet. Given all that is happening in the world, I sought solace in Albert Camus. One line seemed particularly relevant,

“This is why we were defeated in the beginning; because we were so concerned, while you were falling upon us, to determine in our hearts whether right was on our side.” Resistance Rebellion, and Death p8.

Allow me to preface my observations. 

I moved to Philadelphia in my teens. I am not a native. I grew up in Cambria County Pennsylvania, about 200 miles North West. Coal country, in the woods and valleys of Appalachia. An area I lovingly refer to as Pennsyltucky. Despite my love of the trees and the mountains, work was stark in the summertime. After my first year at Temple University as a music education major, I found I had fallen into the biggest foot trap of my bloodlines. I drank, and smoked to excess. I spent my time nursing whiskey and beer on my mother’s couch while most of my peers had either not returned after their first year. I feared our differences had now alienated ys to the point of no return.

Rather than rot, I packed a backpack, my guitar, and my french horn and took the Amtrak Pennsilvanian for 6 hours to Philadelphia. I slept on floors, couches, and an ex-boyfriend’s place while he was out of town. I found work within a week. (Thank you to those who helped me, even though we don’t talk any more, I am ever grateful.)

I quickly became enamored with this city and its people. Philadelphians have a reputation of being shameless. For those recovering former Catholics, homosexuals, and weirdos, it is a respite of healing. 

Don’t get me wrong. I struggled, and witnessed struggles and horrors some couldn’t imagine. On the contrary, I’ve also seen open acceptance, kindness, and I-don’t-give-a-fuckery that is incomparable. I often joke that you could look like anything in Philly and no one will bat an eye. Banana suits, Elmo, goths, punks. The city is full of colors and patterns of self and cultural expression. It was no surprise to me that Temple University was named one of the most fashionable schools. This is a city of experimentation, scoffing at the mere idea of shame and self restraint. 

When my dog, Berry, let me know it was time to get up, I bundled us both up in our green and orange winter gear and walked through Norris Square Park. (My favorite colors. I’m thankful to live in a city with the Eagles and Flyers, so I can don them freely and in abundance). We stopped at our beloved Row Home cafe for a mocha and cheese danish. An Important ritual for myself and my dog, who knows they keep dog treats by the register. 

I answered emails while I waited. One of which was from Marcella, a tattoo artist from Now and Forever tattoos on Front street known as @M0thM0mmy. Her stick and poke style is unbelievably detailed and distinctive. I’m happy to reportI may be able to get my dream Franz Kafka Metamorphosis tattoo from her. Exciting news, as I’ve gotten tattoos for my birthday every year since turning 21. Most of which have been artists from the women owned and run shop. 

Coffee #2 acquired, my pup and I braved the snow to walk down front street to Palmer Dog park. Although we typically go to Pop’s dog park, I had no urge to drive through the increasingly slushy streets in my shitbox car. I’ve found the dog park community to be tantamount to my recovery from alcoholism. These sober third spaces can be rare to find, rarer to keep. The people are some of the most creative, funny, interesting, and welcoming I’ve had the pleasure to meet. Although my circle of friends seems more like a little black book for my hump happy dog. 

I moved to this neighborhood almost four years ago now. A lot has changed, sure. The mom and pop grocery store on Front & Susquehanna closed, new cafes, salons, and restaurants keep springing up. The park is rejuvenated, no longer a “needle park”, but something carefully cleaned and cared for by the Norris Square Community Alliance and the neighbors who love it. I am now a year sober, but I used to spend Fridays and Saturdays walking around the park cleaning up trash with punk and metal blasting in my headphones. It kept me distracted, and the laps past the bar on the corner helped my strength of will develop. (Although Halftime Good Times has great slushies in the summer and good deals on beer. I used to chase a shot of whiskey with Coquito and lay in a hammock in the summer trees with a book and my dog. Nothing really compares.)

I walked down Front street past graffiti, stickers, and posters. The voices of the people.

“Jumping fares & dodging squares”

The big pigeon standing sentinel where Zembo skate shop’s old location was.  

“Text this # for Squid facts”

Anti-flower-show-movement’s Nancy peaking coyly from the street signs.

Praise Dobler (and all his debauchery)

Kurt Viles mural isn’t too far away either. 

Liberty Choice and its ice cream/head shop is thankfully still here. If I ever lose access to their Baklava and Pistachio ice cream, I don’t know what I’d do. 

The snow was turning to ice, my dog didn’t seem dissuaded so we pressed on. We walked past the big field by Kensington Creative Arts High School (While I do play music, I no longer teach. I once had dreams of working there.) The steel columns of the train line were covered in posters, art, and paint. It’s comforting to see kids still active and thinking thoughts about the world and events. Their anger will initiate change, and keep our fires alight as we age. 

Palmer Dog Park was still closed to spread chopped recycled Christmas trees. The air was full of the smell of pine. Ice stinging my cheeks. In the green and black scarf knitted by my grade school friend Veronica, I felt like a kid. 

With an hour to kill, we walked to Heffe’s for an empanada. (I recommend the Barcelona, or the Apple Pie one) Four bucks, hot and fresh, hard to beat if you have cash. (Unless of course you go to the corner store on Howard and Colona st where they have hot, homemade pastillos for a dollar. Rice, beans, and meat as well. They sell out quickly!) Berry received a generous gift of bacon, so we enjoyed our treats as we watched the storm pelt the tent over the dining area. 

Palmer dog park is a small, stoney park behind the highschool. It’s carefully cared for by a passionate board of locals. The pine they laid was perfect for preventing my pup and I from slipping on the old icy stone road it was built on. The smell, with the cold, was perfect.

Berry told me he was ready to walk home, so we stomped through the now slushy streets. I picked him up and tucked him into my leather jacket to give his cold paws a break. We walked down Howard street, past the gym, the old rowhomes, the new brutalist concrete apartment building, past the eclectic Buzz cafe. The old trees along the community center that once gave us refuge in the rain have been cut down. Another unwelcome change. Alas, the wheel turns. 

Home again. We both got hot baths, he got lunch, I got a cup of tea.

My roommate Lou had just come home from NYC, where their artwork was featured in a gallery. Poetry in red thread embroidered on reclaimed lace, linen, rags, and handkerchiefs. This is their second gallery since the legendary salon at H&H books. The Head and the Hand brought together authors, poets, paintings, and artists of all walks of life from Philadelphia. Though the small space fills quickly, I’m excited to see where it goes. (and one day, record the live readings of poetry and the discussions resulting)

We cleaned and rearranged the living room to a Bauhaus record from my friend Sidra. 

When the sun set, it was time to go to a rock show.

It was fantastic, albeit unusually eventful. My friends, Elephant Jake, opened the show with an explosive and passionate performance that featured a new face on drums, and a familiar one on bass. They were extremely tight and clearly well rehearsed, but still had a few improvised moments on stage that set them apart from other acts I’ve seen. Their wholesome, playful, sincere dynamic shines. With clips of Mario Baseball projected behind them, you can get a sense of the kind of loveable weirdos they are. 

The rest of the bands were also great. They all had a very youthful sound that I can see the next generation of headbangers being keen on. Familiar Things, Puppy Angst, Afloat filled Philamoca with song and dance. It was unfortunate Old Soul couldn’t make it because of the storm. 

It was a night of dancing, headbaing, cracking jokes and beers with old friends and new. Most notably, someone ran through the crowd in his underwear. (Better luck next time Joel)

I am very thankful to have met my friends in the scene. If one of you are reading this, I love you all so much. I love your humor, and your gaze always looking to the future. Whether it be new strange projects, survival goals, or schemes of grandeur, every future with you all is the one for me. Thank you for letting me be a part of your lives. 

I ended my night with a burger, as all should after a rock show. It’s still rainy. I am sore and exhausted, but I have a roof, a full belly, and a dog welcoming me home. 

My cup truly runneth over in Philadelphia. 

Reid is a rural raised, Philly based musician and appreciator of all that is strange and unusual. They are currently drumming in the very new emo band Tragesty (@Tragestyy) which will have a new rock album released in April of 2024. They hope to pursue their own creative endeavors as a songwriter, poet, and haver of thoughts. You can find them as @R.E.M_Golden, or holding up amps in the pit.