I’ve been trying to parse this letter to the editor from Friday’s Daily News for a while now with no luck.
I am not entirely convinced it is real. I now share my thoughts with you.
And that time was: 1640. I have on my desk the text of a letter to the editor to the Public Ledger in 1850 complaining about residents from other cities bashing Philadelphia (specifically, calling it “The Murder City”). As you can see, nothing is different in Philadelphia now.
Ten years? Seriously, nothing major happened from 1998-2008 that seriously made the city worse, unless you count the election of John Street. Which, eh, isn’t really a reason to leave Philadelphia and certainly didn’t make this city any more wretched.
Ohhh, so that’s you in the comments!
I wonder, though: How bad can it possibly be when the most horrible thing that’s happened to you so far is “My Philly.com experience was not as good as it could have been, because all the news I specifically searched out was kinda sad.”
So far, so good. Typical media-influenced exaggeration of crime in a big American city. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the attention paid to root causes. (Uhh, what Philly.com reader cares about that?) Here’s where I start to think the letter is fake:
I must leave Philadelphia because I cannot dress well enough!
I really need to find out the URL of that Lifehacker-type blog that’s about thief protection. Man, one can scarcely count the recent innovations in that field!
No one’s saying this city is Lovely Fun Time Paradise, a place I just made up. But as long as you’re relatively not stupid, you can stroll along the streets of even the toughest neighborhood without being disturbed. (And where exactly does this person live? Not West Kensington, I bet.)
How, exactly, is it the fault of Philadelphia or of criminals that this person is rude to her neighbors and strangers? Look, I don’t really greet strangers on the street — I’m sure I’d hate them — but somehow the level of violence in Philadelphia does not prevent me from saying hello to the people in my building or the man with the martini glass who sits out front of Louis Kahn’s house or the nice old woman who lives next to my parents in the Northeast or even the guy on the other side of my parents rowhome because none of them are out to harm me and I can’t believe I’m even arguing with this stupid letter to the editor on this hypercritical Philadelphia blog.
Allan Felder? Really? Didn’t he write a ton of disco songs? Anyway, man, sometimes I imagine what it was like when my uncle — who once entered (and maybe won?) a John Kruk lookalike contest — lived in Philadelphia.
Philadelphia International Records was founded in 1971. Coincidentally, Frank Rizzo was elected mayor that year. WHAT A TIME OF LOVE IT WAS IN PHILADELPHIA!
And here is the exciting conclusion, where we find out that our writer is going for her doctorate. And, after bashing the city for several paragraphs, complains about the negativity. There is absolutely no way this letter is real. None. This is faker than a 100 million Northeast Times letters.
Letters to the Editor, Allan Felder, Doctorates, Fakery, Hilarity, Negativity, OMG, Philly Self-Loathing, WTF