KEYSPOT: 100k hours of computer training to 10k Philadelphians in last year, planning for end of federal funding [VIDEO]

More than 70 computer training centers in Philadelphia have been given new life and helped familiarize more than 10,000 low-income residents with digital technology in the past year.
Next up for the KEYSPOT initiative, backed by the Freedom Rings Partnership, is to figure out what to do when the $18 million initial federal stimulus funding runs out a year from now. It’s something the partnership is putting as among its top priorities says Joanne Ferroni, among the Drexel University-based coordinators.
“We are working with sites and managing partners to come up with a collective vision for digital literacy and then support individual partners to sustain their own efforts,” said Ferroni. “We are collectively working toward a broad-based funding strategy that will support Philadelphia becoming the most digitally literate and digitally engaged city in the country.”

This appeared on the Technically Philly website on August 3, 2012.

Read the entire article here: http://technicallyphilly.com/2012/08/03/keyspot-100k-hours-of-computer-training-to-10k-participants-in-last-year-planning-for-end-of-federal-funding-video#more-16526

And yes, that's my annoying voice at the beginning of the video. 

N3rd Street: a cluster of tech businesses claim a corridor from Old City to Northern Liberties

A stretch of North Third Street in Philadelphia is on its way to acquiring a new moniker: N3rd Street.
In recent years, the corridor from roughly Market Street in Old City through Northern Liberties has been gradually filling with nerd-centric office buildings and shared workspaces. If Philadelphia is to strengthen its case for being a hub of innovation, the city could use its fair share of blocks known for technological residents.
While certain neighborhoods here have already grown a reputation for intellectual capital — think, University City — narrow stretches that identify how Philadelphia is silly with digital smarts are successes themselves.

This appeared on the Technically Philly website on June 20, 2012.

Read the entire article here: http://technicallyphilly.com/2012/06/20/n3rd-street-a-cluster-of-tech-businesses-claim-a-corridor-from-old-city-to-northern-liberties#more-16109

Network of Women in Computer Technology hosts 31st annual conference

With the number of women in America earning doctoral degrees in computer science and engineering steadily increasing during the first decade of the 21st century, according to the National Science Foundation, a natural question arises. Why aren’t more females making their mark in the world of technology?
One organization addressing this question by working to help women make their mark in technology is the Network of Women in Computer Technology.
This organization, which held its 31st annual conference this weekend, aims to enhance the workplace presence of females interested in technology.

This appeared on the Technically Philly website on June 15, 2012.

Read the entire article here: http://technicallyphilly.com/2012/06/15/network-of-women-in-computer-technology-hosts-31st-annual-conference

Startup Weekend Health winner Quick See MD directs users to ER alternatives

The first weekend in June marked a milestone in health care for Philadelphians with the first Startup Weekend dedicated solely to improving health care systems. Billed as a $2.7 trillion industry, healthcare caught the attention of an entrepreneurial community centered in a life sciences hub.
The weekend winner was Quick See MD, a web tool aiming to direct people to nearby clinics and other medical facilities other than often over-burdened emergency rooms.
Startup Weekend, the launch-a-business-in-a-weekend event first conceived in 2007 by Andrew Hyde in Boulder, Colo. and most recently held locally during Philly Tech Week, focuses mostly on mobile applications, websites and other simple life online businesses. But like the popular TED conference and lightning talk event Ignite, Startup Weekend just may be taking a more narrow focus, highlighted by this weekend’s Startup Weekend Health.

During the summer I was a staff reporter for Philadelphia Neighborhoods, a hyper-local publication based in Philadelphia. Through this publication, I was partnered as an intern with my partner at PN with Technically Philly, a niche media publication focused on anything technology happening in Philadelphia.

This appeared on the Technically Philly website on June 5, 2012.

Read the entire article here: http://technicallyphilly.com/2012/06/05/startup-healthcare-weekend-winner-quick-see-md-directs-users-to-er-alternatives

Detroit Cobras

They’ve come a long way, baby. Still, after enduring a long series of lineup changes since their 1995 founding, Detroit Cobras give new meaning to the term “cover band.” Digging up classic R&B tunes, along with rock ’n’ roll b-sides we’d never hear on the radio, DC breathes new life into songs with a swaggering soul-based flair. Sure, the group may be well over a decade old, but it’s got the garage rock ethos covered, complete with drawling vocals and primitive-sounding guitars. Thankfully spare of cheesy gimmicks and seeping with ’nuff talent to go around, Detroit Cobras will leave you wondering how a cover band could ever sound this good.

 http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/Calendar-July-18-24-2012-162773156.html?page=2&comments=1&showAll=

This appeared in the July 18, 2012 edition of Philadelphia Weekly.

Jesse Malin

Most think that there are two schools of thought musician Jesse Malin could fall into. Surviving the ’70s and ’80s means he could belong in the traditional “I remember when ...” school of rock ’n’ roll reserved for those who hit their prime back in the day. Then there’s the newer and more trendy school that follows the “I kept up with the changing times of rock music,” ethos reserved for those both talented and timeless. It’s no question that the 44-year-old falls into a school of his own that is both reminiscent of the beginnings of rock ’n’ roll and edgy at the same time.
 http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/Calendar-June-27-July-3-2012-160523485.html

Appeared in the June 27, 2012 issue of Philadelphia Weekly. They posted a typo with the artists name, there is no "e" at the end of "Malin."

Exitmusic

The crooning tunes of Exitmusic leave goose bumps on the skin and send chills down the spine. Whether that’s from the achingly beautiful voice of Aleksa Palladino or the sometimes guttural tones of the accompanying band, we’re not quite sure. The experience of Exitmusic’s live performance brings out the best and the worse in us, where sweeping melodies and drawn out vocals spur memories we swore were long forgotten. Not unfamiliar to the area but different from everyone else, this one-quarter Canadian four-piece brings the frost of Northern weather to the American East Coast like nothing we’ve ever seen before.

 http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/Calendar-June-20-26-2012-159624725.html?page=2&comments=1&showAll=

Also appeared in the June 20, 2012 edition of Philly Weekly.

Turning violet Violet

Turning Violet Violet has mastered the art of masking heavy lyrics with upbeat pop tunes. The band performs with a ferocious honesty not often seen in the indie scene. The song “Take Away” exemplifies touching, heartfelt lyrics covered by lighter tunes, where lead singer Sarah Gulish croons about the passing of her grandmother. This six-piece lighten things up with melodic guitars and swelling vocals and we wouldn’t be surprised to find a sound bite from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory thrown in, a nod to the origin of the band’s namesake.

 http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/Calendar-June-20-26-2012-159624725.html

Appeared in the June 20, 2012 edition of Philly Weekly.

Vintage Kicks

Vintage Kicks sing about everything from the 1 percent and Wall Street to surfing gnarly waves with a catchy, pop-punk infused chorus-verse-chorus formula overflowing with “hey, hey’s!” and “oh, uh-oh’s.” Slightly reminiscent of that ’90’s “What’s My Age Again?” trio, this Philly five-piece formed less than two years ago, but you’d never know it giving a listen to their seasoned-sounding 10-song EP, King Geek. Despite their youth, Vintage Kicks know when to pay respects to a fallen source of inspiration. As evidence, see their recently released YouTube video of the keyboard-heavy cover of late Beastie Boy Adam Yauch’s “I Don’t Know,” and dance to the revamped classic.

http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/Calendar-May-16-22-2012-151575915.html

Appeared in the May 16 edition of Philadelphia Weekly. The band actually tweeted this article, and posted it on their Facebook, crediting me in the byline. I was pretty stoked.

The Fractals-Published Piece

The ’90s brought us lots of things, some of them easily forgettable—America Online, the Tamagotcihi, the Macarena. But it also brought us things we’ll never forget­—Bill Clinton’s cigar acumen, MC Hammer’s pants and, of course, Philly guitar wizards Huffamoose, the fractured remains of which still plug in their amps under a new moniker, the Fractals. A decade of making music together in their current form means these guys lay down tracks with skill and precision that redefine every old-school notion you had about pop-punk. Relive the ’90s and enjoy the bands born-again success, but please, leave the pager at home.

http://www.philadelphiaweekly.com/arts-and-culture/Calendar-April-25-May-1-148725285.html

This is the edited piece which was actually published to the calendar in the Arts&Culture section of Philadelphia Weekly Online. This counts as the first piece ever that I actually got paid for.

The Fractals-Second Edit

The 90’s brought us the moderate musical success of Huffamoose. The last decade of the 20^th century also brought us the political prowess of Bill Clinton, America Online, the Tamagotchi and the musical delight of MC Hammer. More than one distinction lies between the Philly band and the Macarena or Video Cassette Recorders. Most obviously, it’s the permanence of the group members. The fractured remains of Huffamoose still plug in their amps under a new moniker, The Fractals. A decade of music making together in their current form means these guys lay down tracks with skill and precision that redefine every old-school notion you had about pop-punk. Re-live the 90’s and enjoy the bands born-again success, but please, leave the pager at home.

Never published. This is the original that I sent in and was then edited. 

The Fractals-First Edit

Everyone knows, Philly boys do it right, and the quartet that make up The Fractals are no exception. They croon, they swing, they rock and roll. They tear it up with a sense of cohesion amidst chaos.  They beat drum kits and guitars with talent and ferocity not heard locally since the underground 90’s scene that they also had an instrumental hand in creating with their previous musical endeavor, Huffamoose. A decade of music making under their belts means these guys lay down smooth tracks which redefine every old school-notion you had about pop-punk, and put other rocker vets to shame. It’s because of this that they represent and epitomize the hard-hitting nature of the city from which they hail, Philadelphia.

Never published. This was the first draft that I sent to Philly Weekly yesterday, and the editor told me it "reads as a long platitude." (I had to look up the definition of "platitude," it means "trite, meaningless, biased statement, often presented as if it were significant and original." Ouch. At least he was nice in the way he said it.)

Meeting at the Coast

“I almost held a wedding in Mall of America once.”

“Wait, what?”

“I almost held a wedding when I worked at Mall of America once. I’m a pastor and I’m licensed to do weddings.”

Surprised and standing in the middle of a Teavana store in New Jersey, I never would have guessed I worked with a pastor. Mitch had transferred to the Deptford store only a few weeks prior. We spend almost every shift together, dishing out tea to customers who were hard-pressed to part with their hard earned paychecks. My jaw dropped slightly as I put my Teavana apron on.

“You’re a pastor?” I said, my hands paused mid-knot behind my back.

“Yeah, I have my degree in pastoral studies.”

“Oh…cool.”

***

On his baptism day, Mitch wore a traditional Christening gown. A decent length of fabric hung beyond his legs, in a shade between white and eggshell, the customary uniform to wear at your baptism. This attire is the commonly accepted dress for a babies christening day. In a Catholic Church in Minnesota, the priest was dressed in traditional barb of a long-sleeved, white, robe with a high collar and gold-stitched detailing. The priest also wore wire-rimmed glasses and read from the Bible while pouring cup full of Holy Water over baby Mitch’s head as his mother held him above a bowl the size of a bird bath. His grandfather recorded the entire event on a now out-dated camcorder.

Half way across the nation and three years later I experienced the same religious undertaking. My mother embroidered beads onto my long, off-white gown. My god parents held candles as my cousin stood on tip-toe to see what was happening through massive, prescription glasses that were high fashion in the early 90’s. My god father, who is also my uncle, still had brown in his hair and moustache. My god mother, who is also my aunt, was a shade thinner, and donned a dark, floral print dress. After church my family spent the evening gorging on catered food, while I enjoyed bottled vegetables and napped. The VHS tape, filmed by my grandfather and packed away in my basement illustrates this. My off white ceremonial gown is framed and hung in my dining room at home in New Jersey.

Starting in the 1^st grade, as part of the Catholic faith I was required, mostly at the wishes of my grandmother, to attend CCD (Continuing Catholic Development). Classes were held every Monday from four to five p.m., for grades one through five, and seven to eight p.m., for grades six through eight. Sessions met in the Catholic school that was just across the parking lot from the church, in rooms whose floors were covered in blue Berber carpet that was foreign compared to the slick white tile floors in my public school building. Unfortunately for them, the unpaid teachers who were sentenced to have myself and another kid in my class at regular school, Michael, got more than they bargained for. CCD was created to espouse the strict- no sex before marriage - abortion equals sin - thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain – beliefs. Even during elementary school neither Michael nor I gave these convictions much credit.

In 1998 I was in the 2^nd grade and after two years of CCD, my mother and I went shopping for a pretty white dress. The one we got was plain, knee-length with that scratchy material underneath the satin, adding volume to the skirt. I got a matching veil onto which Mom sewed by hand a delicate beading detail. The same beaded pattern was affixed by my mother’s hand to the now elaborate white dress. I got white stockings and shiny white shoes with a thin strap that crossed over the top of my foot and a heel about three-quarters of an inch high. At my first Holy Communion I looked just like every other girl in the church.

My family belongs to St. Rose of Lima, a church that resided in a brown-brick building which seems to be cold every day of every year. Instead of paint or wallpaper, or even ancient tacky tapestry depicting biblical figures, the bricks also show inside. My suburban church – not surprisingly built in the shape of a cross – provides acoustics to put any recording studio to shame.  A more than double life-size crucifix is stationed at the far end of the building, directly across from the main entrance with most of the pews falling in rows so that the main aisle allowed anyone taking a seat to genuflect (I always forgot.)  All the lighting is artificial. Although elongated, arched windows line the walls every four feet or so, the glass is stained in dark, sunlight gobbling panes to illustrate the Stations of the Cross, when Jesus walked to his death…or something.

The day of the ceremony there were streams of soft, white fabric draped along the ends of the pews. Fastened above this were large, homemade, matching white bows crafted out of satin. Upon first walking into the church there were large flower arrangements, following the same color scheme, set atop two tables that were on either side of the main aisle. The weather outside was wonderful; a clear, crisp spring day in New Jersey. The double-wide front doors were left open to let in the smell and sounds of fresh weather. 

The ceremony began around mid-morning one day in early May that year. Every girl wore a veil; every boy wore a black, blue or white suit. Grandfathers, uncles and fathers told us we looked beautiful. Mothers, aunts and grandmothers just couldn’t believe we were growing up so fast. That day the words of the priest slid over my ears as visions of the feast waiting for me at home clouded my mind, which should have been focused on the gospel and growing within the church. Finally we walked down the aisle between wooden pews; our hands held in prayer and received the body of Christ for the first time.

Three years before this and halfway across the nation Mitch also attended his first Holy Communion. Family came in from all around and as part of the celebration of his growth within the church, food was waiting back at home. His grandmother called him “handsome” in his miniature black suit and tie. He went through the motions, received the holy Eucharist and proceeded up the religious ladder.

***

In my room at home I squirmed and came up with ways to pass the time.

“It’s not a big deal. We’re not even that religious. Just do it.”

Walking down the stairs to the living room where my mother sat with a cup of tea watching television, my breath caught in my chest. I’m not sure why I felt so nervous.

“I don’t want to be confirmed.”

That look was one I would never forget.

“Why not?”

I fumbled over my words. Nervous nausea was getting the best of me.

“Well since you can’t come up with a good enough reason, you don’t have a choice.”

***

Freshman year of high school, I was pissed. I managed to calm down and make my case. I stomped my feet. I whined. I spoke with Mrs. Johnson, the woman who ran the CCD program in my parish. She was older, maybe in her 60’s. Short, brash blonde hair, clear blue eyes and the sweetest demeanor I have ever met. When I told her I did not want to be Confirmed tears swelled in her eyes. I wasn’t convinced. I was 14 and angry. I did not want to be confirmed as Roman Catholic. Eight years of religion class once a week was enough, too much actually, for me. My mom didn’t talk to me for a week. I didn’t want a party, or gifts. I didn’t care that my dying grandmother wished for me to be confirmed. I wasn’t doing it.

Or so I thought.

After numerous threats and a bout of the cold shoulder, my mother forced me into the Confirmation ceremony that transforms teenagers into adults in the eyes of the Church. The event was held one September evening. I wore matching black pants, v-neck shirt, jacket and Doc Marten boots. Instead of growth this was my religious funeral and I made sure to dress appropriately. My neighbor and friend of my mother for 30 years acted as my sponsor during the ceremony, since my grandmother was wheel-chair bound and could not move by herself. When the time came, my grandfather wheeled my grandmother out to the front of the church so that she, as my official sponsor, could be with me to receive the Eucharist. We reached the alter where the priests were handing out those half-dollar sized wafers, Father Mike who had heard of my fits and tantrums said “Ahhhhh. The Body of Christ.”

“Amen.”

***

In Minnesota, Mitch participated in the same event as I, but with much less fuss. Without complaint, he dressed nicely and participated in the Confirmation ceremony. He walked down the aisle of the church, took the Holy Communion, turned and went back to his seat. Just another kid going through the motions that night, the priest wouldn’t recognize him today. Afterwards he went home, ate a fantastic meal with his family, and called it a night, feeling no different than he did when he woke up that morning. Except now he was an adult in the eyes of the church.

During mid-March of this year Mitch made the move from the mid-west and his picturesque home town of Cottage Grove to the East Coast, specifically the foreign land of South Philly. City blocks replaced suburban developments. Long highways connecting counties over flat land were swapped for toll bridges to New Jersey. Cheese steaks from Geno’s substituted home cooked meals from mom.

This is where our lives meet, and divide.

After the night of my Confirmation Ceremony I never stepped foot in another church until two years later, at the death of my grandmother. The same one who had been my sponsor for the ritual that I never wanted to take part in, the same one who was my second mother. I never would have dreamed of missing her funeral. Besides this I avoided church as much as possible. After taking care of the bare minimum my mother stopped bugging me to attend mass. I remained on the East Coast, at home in New Jersey and found a retail job at Teavana in the Deptford mall.

Mitch had worked at the Teavana in the Mall of America, and when he came to South Philly to plant churches for CityLife Church, Teavana transferred him to work at my store. Once turning 18, Mitch became a Christian and attended North Central University with a major in pastoral studies.  Leaving Roman Catholicism for Christianity had been the plan for a long time; it was simply a matter of pleasing his family – especially grand mom – while he had to.

At 23, Mitch is not the typical pastor. Better dressed than most he can often be seen wearing well-fitting jeans and a graphic-tee, more often than not with a phrase from his favorite television show, The Big Bang Theory, sprawled across the chest. This attire applies when he is not working his day job as store manager at Teavana, where he dons well tailored dress pants, only black or gray, and a long-sleeved button down shirt, no matter what the weatherman says. A mess of deep red-brown hair that seemingly never grows lies in thick waves on top of his head, while color-matching facial hair covers his upper lip and chin. His bright blue eyes are almost always hidden behind a pair of black, wide-rimmed - but not hipster - prescription glasses. He drives a wide, silver Pontiac Grand Prix that handles most supremely in the snow, which falls heavily during the winter months at his home in the mid-west, but is a bear to park in his new home of South Philly.

When not working at Teavana, Mitch oversees many of the goings-on at CityLife. He plans events, holds worship ceremonies and most importantly of all, he acts as therapist for youths in the group, despite not being fond of that term.

“Some people view me like a shrink. And that’s fine. But that’s not really what I do. My focus is more making sure everything’s okay. We’ll walk through it together, that’s the big thing. I’m going to walk through it with you, and be available longer than that one hour session.”

CityLife hold worship experience inside the Academy at Palumbo, a large brown, square building that encompasses almost an entire city block. This is also where Mitch gets the chance to spend time with kids involved with the Church, and can assist them the best he can. Arched windows reminiscent of a traditional church are sculpted in a line along what looks like from the outside to be the first floor. Above this at what would be considered the third and fourth floors are a few sets of vertical rectangular windows, in two sets of three, with another single window to the right and left of the two inner sets. Rather than in the center of the building, the main entrance is a regular sized door, much like one that would be seen on a residential home. It lies to the right, only a few feet from the corner of the structure. Above the doorway is a large cement plaque which reads “Academy at Palumbo.”

I haven’t been to mass since my grandmother’s funeral. The closest thing to celebrating the Catholic faith has been my attendance to my younger sister’s Confirmation, just a few months ago. Mitch and I met on the East Coast, not knowing each other grew up following the same beliefs. He went on to become a pastor, while I stay as far as possible away from any religious matter. When not working together we sometimes find the time to find new restaurants around his area of the city, and don’t feel the need to avoid conversation surrounding religious matter. I don’t take offense to what he believes; he doesn’t shove the Bible down my throat. While following different paths, as friends we help each other along. With all the things I have witnessed, I never knew a pastor could be so cool.

This was never published. It was written as a final narrative for my Advanced Magazine Article Writing class that I took Fall semester 2011. Long story short, my professor said this was terrible, and gave me a final grade that if it had been any lower I would have failed the class.

Get Hip to the Square

As of late last month, Franklin Square and its family-friendly attractions are officially open for the spring season. Play games of Philly-themed mini-golf, enjoy nostalgic rides on the Liberty Carousel, and snack at Stephen Starr’s SquareBurger. New to the square this season is The Pavilion at Franklin Square, a permanent venue for events and performances, including regularly scheduled “Once Upon A Nation” storytelling about historic Philadelphia.

Appeared in the April 2012 issue of Where Magazine-Philadelphia

Treasure Hunt

The Philadelphia Antiques Show houses treasures from more than 50 dealers at the Pennsylvania Convention Center April 28-May 1, showcasing everything from ornate jewelry to select pieces of furniture, like a rare African American Pictographic Plantation Desk circa 1870. Won’t be in town for the show? Visit local show exhibitors including Arader Galleries for watercolors, maps and engravings, The Philadelphia Print Shop for antique prints and maps or Schwarz Gallery for fine American and European paintings in Center City.

Appeared in the April 2012 issue of Where Magazine-Philadelphia

All That Jazz

Created in 2001 by a Smithsonian music curator, Jazz Appreciation Month celebrates the genius born out of the Roaring Twenties—from ragtime to smooth jazz, there is now something for everyone in the genre. Celebrate at the Kimmel Center for the Performing Arts April 3 with the dynamic Wynton Marsalis and members of the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra. April 28, come out for the Center City Jazz Festival, an inaugural event spotlighting the area’s top up-and-coming artists at multiple venues including Time and Chris’ Jazz Café.

Appeared in the April 2012 issue of Where Magazine-Philadelphia

Afrobeats on Broadway

The stirring music of critically acclaimed musical “Fela!” arrives to the City of Brotherly Love’s historic Academy of Music March 20-25. Based on the true story of Nigerian musical pioneer and political activist Fela Anikulapo Kuti, the show expresses the dynamic man’s devotion to the causes of freedom and human dignity through Broadway-style song and dance, largely based in the Afrobeat music Kuti originated. Now on its first world tour, this show is set to be an international sensation, particularly with such notable producers as Jay-Z and Philly-native Will Smith.

Appeared in the March 2012 issue of Where Magazine-Philadelphia