The Real Estate Blog

It seems all of us (or at least most of us) here at One Fine Philly have recently relocated or will soon. I'm jumping into the fray -- my lease isn't up until end of December, but there are a lot more properties on the market now than there will be over the Xmas-New Year's holiday. And who really wants to move New Year's Day? I plan to cultivate quite a hangover, and I wouldn't want relocation plans interfering.

Anyway, I was looking in the South of Federal, East of Broad area. Italian Market, Bella Vista, call it what you will -- it's where I work (!Employment = Yay!) and it's convenient to public transportation. But the neighborhood is apparently a little to up-and-came, and I need more up-and-coming, financially speaking. With a job in arts, it simply isn't wise to have rent exceed 3 weeks' pay. Although I do like pasta ... and cereal. My beer tastes are a bit more refined, though, so I can't exactly spend ALL my money on rent.

A dear friend lives in Point Breeze, and I've admired her house the whole time I've known her. Gorgeously rehabbed, on a fairly quiet side street, with a deluxe kitchen, back yard, finished basement, central air, and laundry room ... it's a dream! Point Breeze has a bad rap as a drug drop zone -- apparently, the mafia would drop the drugs right on Point Breeze Ave. and the dealers would head up and down that street, delivering to the north and south. Fun! But when I've visited at night, I've met with friendly older generations sitting on their front steps, watching as children play and talking quietly. I've been introduced to at least six new neighbors in two visits. And more importantly, I've been able to imagine Luke playing in the nearby park, riding his bike down the side streets, and playing with kids his age.

So when a house that was EXACTLY like my friend's, rehabbed by the same owner, became available, I jumped! Unfortunately, I should have jumped a couple of weeks earlier -- someone had put a deposit down right before me, but because of a mix-up I thought for a day and a half that I had the place. Talk about letdown! I consoled myself with the distance from the Broad Street line and the necessity of cabs late at night. Still, it felt like a blow -- I had started thinking about where my furniture would go, what colors to paint the walls ... the works.

Just tonight I found another house in the neighborhood. Different owner this time, but SAME BLOCK as my friend, on her sweet side street. Not quite as nice a rehab, but still very nice ... and somewhat cheaper rent, which is all good! I refuse to get my hopes up as high as they were, but I still find myself thinking ...

could this be home?

Maybe this is all too intimate to be interesting, dear readers. But I do know this: we all feel the pull of a place that's more than just where we keep our stuff. A place we can curl up and feel comfort. A place to bring friends, a place to bring family. A place that wraps us in its arms at the end of a rough day, where we can say, "it's good to be home."

I'm hoping that by the New Year, I'll be home.

Post-Blogging

I'd do better if I could manage to post things BEFORE they happened, but ...

I happened into Anthropologie tonight, and there was a fantastic benefit going on, for the charity Gilda's Club. From 7 p.m. to 10 p.m., Anthro played host to everything from a raffle to a fashion show, with delicious hors d'oeuvres from Catering by Miles. On top of that, a portion of all sales and all raffle proceeds went to Gilda's Club, a non-profit organization helping cancer patients and their families. Though I hadn't known about the event ahead of time and I was in a bit of a hurry, I did manage to pick up this fun beaded necklace. Lily likes it, as you can see.

The lighting in my apartment is awful. I hate recessed halogen lights. So bright! Donations of floor lamps in interesting shapes are now being taken. I found this French Fifties design at modernism.com for only $950. It would look stunning in here.

Hot Dog!

Dog friendly haunts in Philly:

1. The Sidecar at 22nd and Christian welcomes dogs outside. I just spent several hours with a friend and her dog at one of the sidewalk tables, drinking beer and admiring the other pups scattered around us -- the waiter got Hugo (a super-sweet Boxer) a bottle of water and checked back on him as well as us as the night progressed.
2. Good Karma Cafe on 22nd and Pine welcomes dogs -- if you're grabbing a cup inside, Pooch is welcomed in; if you're sitting outside, your canine friend is part of the family.
3. Tavern 17 at 17th and Locust has a "Yappy Hour" where you can drink people cocktails and Rex can drink his own concoction of broth and so forth. Delicious!
4. Parc is home to the wealthy and the well-fed canine -- you can't walk past without excusing yourself to shi-tzus and bichons who got there before you.

And for bars that sound like they should be dog friendly but aren't:
5. Good Dog may feature many pics on the walls, but Fido has to stay outside. :(

5 ways to beat the heat

How to Beat the Heat:

1. Find a friend who belongs to the Lombard Street Pool, or any other pool in the city. Invite yourself along.
2. Swedish Fish-flavored water ice at Rita's. Not actually my favorite, but an interesting idea. I'm partial to mango-and-vanilla "gelati," which really bears no relation to gelato.
3. The Herron "Sprayground" Park at 2nd and Reed. Bring a child or several, for added street cred.
4. My personal favorite tactic: bathtub full of ice water and a pitcher of mojitos.
5. Clothes too hot? Bike naked! (Too bad you have to wait until Sept. 6.)

Blah

I have nothing interesting to say, except that it's hot and humid and I seem to have a head cold. Apparently my schedule--working six days a week between my two jobs (Wednesday I work both, for a nice 12-hour day) and then spending my "day off" with my 5-year-old doesn't exactly agree with my sissified slacker constitution. Especially when said 5-year-old wakes up 5 or 6 times a night for the three nights a week I have him. Wish me luck, fair readers, in staying out of hospital until I get used to the routine.

Welcome To My Face!

Come check out the first show of the Rittenhouse Square Concert Series, Wednesday night August 12, 7-9. This year the venue is playing host to some hard-rockin' folk! (Who can forget last year's Black Landlord?) Starting us off are Welcome To My Face and the Peace Creeps. WTMF is the brain/love-child of Jose Pistola's owner Casey Parker, and I've been told -- nay, ordered -- to come to the show. Shall I bring a spare pair of panties to throw? Or does bringing a spare pair defeat the purpose?

P.S. The Cafe Press shirt above comes in maternity sizes. How awesome is that?

Mad for Mad Men

So, everyone I know is buzzing about Season 3 starting up. And with the Banana Republic/AMC Casting Call contest going on, things are getting downright frenzied! My friend Kristy is in the running, and she looks FABULOUS. Vote for her! Daily! Truly, she's a terrific person, a talented actress, and downright gorgeous. Here's her pic:
Click the photo or right here to go and give her five stars! Remember, vote daily!

Bag or Behemoth?

My friend Mike has been writing some great men's fashion commentary, and he suggested we try writing coordinating pieces sometime. Today he suggests that men over the age of detention and whippits should ditch the backpack and go for a messenger bag. (I'm curious, Mike -- the verdict on the man-purse?) In keeping with the theme of bags, here's what I've been pondering.

Why oh why, ladies, are we all shlepping around bags sized to carry your average Oxford English Dictionary? (Not the abridged one.) Where I currently work part-time, we sell bags your average three-year-old would fit into comfortably. I've checked. I see women carrying not one but two large totes--generally unmatched, generally one in nice leather and one found at a grocery store, and they don't seem to be carrying around recent purchases in them. Whatever happened to proportion? A nice clutch? A small satchel?

I'm just as much to blame as anyone. I have a deep-seated affection for my leather hobos, my new woven soft leather tote, and anything I can fit four hardbacks and a laptop into. Still. I call for a return to common sense. Any bag that cries out to be filled with 50 lbs of stuff--especially when said stuff is all mixed together in a huge sack with no dividers--is a chiropractor's dream.

So I have a new resolution: One bag, unless I'm shopping or carrying my son's backpack for him. Lipstick, wallet, phone, mints, collapsible hair brush. This is more than enough for out-and-about. If I'm heading to work, a slightly larger bag with my work papers neatly stashed in a folder will fit nicely into this:

Otherwise, I'm thinking more like this:But if I absolutely must carry something larger, for say, a weekend in NY or a presentation with lots of handouts, let it be something fabulous. Like this:
All the pockets are functional and separate compartments! It sooooo appeals to the obsessive-compulsive in me.

And as for backpacks -- Mike's right, ladies. Save them for the kids.

Cool Vintage Etsy Find

I've been checking out vintage clothing lately -- I think it's because I'm invited to an awesome Mad Men party next weekend, to which I need to wear show-appropriate cocktail attire -- and this terrific Philly-based Etsy shop is number one on my list right now. Sweet Tooth Vintage has a great selection from the '40s to the '80s and a keen eye for fashion-forward retro. Here are a few of my favorites (photos credited to Veronika Placek, and aren't the poses adorable?):

I'm seriously considering the pink one for the Mad Men party.


Veronika also has a great blog: http://sweettoothvintage.blogspot.com. She's a pleasure to read!

I had the chance to converse with Veronika, and she had this to say about her passion for vintage: "while i sell clothing from the 40's - 80's, i really love clothing from the late 50's and early 60's. i really appreciate the kitsch aspect to vintage - everything from absurd glittery jumpsuits to sad clowns to overly ornate party dresses. i think most of this stemmed from movies i'd watch from my mom when i was younger, and the flea markets i frequented with my dad every weekend. i love the feminine shapes that clothing had - i'm a dress girl myself, and i find that vintage dresses fit me the best. talk about a perfect fit!"

Baggo

Is it BAAAAAG-oh or buh-GOOO? Who knows. Either way, make your way to the Keep Tuesday nights, and you will find a committed set of athletes, focused solely on their love of the game and their dedication to a dream: tossing a beanbag onto a board, or if you're lucky: into a hole.

To call the Bag a beanbag is technically incorrect: apparently, the Bag is stuffed not with beans but with corn. Hence the alternative name for the sport, which is Cornhole. You see why I call it Baggo.

At any rate, on any given Tuesday for the past year and a half or so to the best of my knowledge, a determined cluster of men and women have joined together in celebration of Summer, of Beer, and of Baggo. Here are a few photographic representations:

Jen Childs Rocks My World

So, I had mentioned the Barrymore nominations. I attended the epic-long ceremony to announce the nominated performers, designers, and directors; and I have to say, a lot of people are scratching their heads. This is not meant to detract from the work that did get recognized ... but wow. If you're curious, go over to the Theatre Alliance site and check them out.

But after that, I had the inexpressible pleasure of watching Jen Childs workshop a performance piece at the Suzanne Roberts Theatre for a select group of friends and fellow artists. Jen is a co-founder of 1812 Productions, and a marvelously funny performer; but that is not what makes her (in my humble opinion) perhaps the best female actor in the city. Rather, what I treasure about her is that she has a directness, an honesty and openness and total willingness to go to scary emotionally vulnerable places on stage -- and she takes the audience with her every step of the way.

The piece tonight took us through Jen's complicated relationship with dance. I don't want to give too much away, as the piece isn't finished and hasn't been publicly presented ... but by the end of the performance I had laughed and cried, both with abandon, and I felt like a bigger-souled person for it.

Watch for Jen Childs. Seriously, people, your life here in Philly is not complete unless you've seen her perform. And when this piece opens, buy tickets and take all your closest friends.

(And if Jen reads this and will send me a picture to post, I'll put it up -- otherwise, I can't think of anything that would do justice to her awesomeness.)

Kids and Pets

A couple of weeks ago, I was visiting a friend's house, with my 5-year-old fabulous boy in tow. He had a blast playing with her boxer puppy and taking Polaroid photos around the house. So as we were walking home with said friend and said friend's dog, we heard a loud (LOUD!) cat's meowing coming from nearby. We looked around and found a sweet black and white kitty stuck up a tree -- it was just after the 4th, and there were fireworks going off nearby, which probably scared her up there in the first place.

Without thinking twice, I jumped onto a nearby chain link fence and climbed it. Then, I swung over to the tree and climbed that, and got the kitty in my hands. I passed her down to my friend (my son was holding my purse for me), and leaped clear from the fence -- it was that kind of chain link that has sharp edges at the top (in case I was trying to break into the house rather than just steal a kitty from a tree).

So I land on the pavement, cutting up my hands on the gravel and broken glass, and my fabulous boy says to me: "Mommy, you're like a kitty superhero!!!!"

Yes, folks. That was me. A Kitty Superhero.

So after that, upon discovering that she was skinny and didn't have a collar and wasn't spayed, I proceeded to take her home to my small apartment and my two other cats. I got her shots and had her spayed. I kept her separated from my cats, because they couldn't get along. I snuggled her, let her sleep with me, and generally loved her up for three weeks while waiting to find her a good home. And my son named her Snowdrop -- he's developing a sense of irony, apparently.

And finally I found a home for her! I asked a co-worker if she wanted a cat, and she said yes. We did the exchange yesterday, and my two little spoiled fluffballs seem all the happier for it.

But my son, after saying goodbye very sweetly and giving her a final pet, went over to the couch, sat down, and buried his head in a pillow. I went over and put my hand on his back, and he started to cry these awful, heartfelt miserable sobs that made me flashback to when I had to give up my childhood puppy of six months because my mother just couldn't deal with a dog in the house.

At any rate, FB came around and realized that kitty would have a much better home than she would have without our intervention. And I realized that I can't possibly rescue every stray cat I come across--but that when I'm faced with dire need, I will do what I can to help out.

If you would like to do what you can, you can help out by a) spaying or neutering your pets, and/or b) donating to your nearest no-kill animal shelter or pet rescue. Just google it, folks, and five gazillion hits will come up, complete with reviews.

If you feel like being social and fancy about it, there's the annual Fur Ball to benefit the Morris Animal Refuge in Philly. While I wish the organization was a no-kill shelter, they do good work in rescuing and finding good homes for abused, neglected, or abandoned animals. And you get to dress up!

Barrymore nominations coming soon!

It's an exciting time in the Philadelphia theatre community: on Monday at 4 p.m. the Barrymore award nominations will be announced. (No, not that Barrymore.) NYC has the Tonys, DC has the Helen Hayes awards, and we here in Philly have the Barrymores.

I am particularly excited because this will be my first event in my official capacity representing Theatre Exile. I'll get to schmooze and meet people and get phone numbers and so forth, and when people ask me what I do, I will no longer say, "Well, I've been in grad school forever, and right now I'm selling shoes." Yay!!!!!

If you're curious who gets nominated, check here. For more info about my company and the fabulous season line-up we've got going, check here. And for what I'm thinking of wearing for the awards ceremony ... maybe this?,

Crimes Against Shoe-manity; or a How To List

Philadelphia is no stranger to fashion. With Joan Shepp, Knit-Wit, and now Barney's Co-op lining Walnut Street, and Boyd's just around the corner, caché designers are readily available, and all the other shops follow along with everything from cheap punk to pricey prep. Heels, in particular, cross the fashion spectrum, and everyone from society mavens to tattooed moms sport dizzyingly high stilettos and platforms on occasion.

Too bad not everyone can walk in them. There is nothing more unattractive than a well-dressed woman who carries herself like a linebacker or a disaffected pre-teen; and somehow the higher the heel, the more obvious the offense. As I walked along Walnut Street this afternoon, I was a few paces behind a well-toned, beautifully coiffed, impeccably dressed woman in a pair of gorgeous YSL stiletto pumps. As she swaggered along, no doubt thinking she was all that, I figured that my 5-year-old could have easily run between her legs, such was the distance between her knees. Her toes pointed out at a diagonal, and overall she looked more like a muppet than a minx.

It has been remarked frequently that I can walk in heels. And I mean walk. And so I feel it my duty to share with you, lovely readers, some tips that can help you strut more like Heidi than like Kobe, regardless of the height of your heels.

1. Align your spine. Knees, hips, shoulders, head, all should be on the same vertical plane. Unless you want to look like you're wearing a bustle, don't stick your butt out; leaning forward gives you that learning-how-to-roller-skate off-balance look. As you walk, keep your head over your hips and your hips over your feet. Shoulders back, abs in, etc.
2. To the best of your ability, place your feet one in front of the other, as if you were walking on a straight line drawn in front of you. You don't have to be extreme about it; the point is to have your legs brush each other just a bit as you walk, rather than having a visible gap between your knees. A natural stride may well have you placing your feet straight forward from your hips, and since your hips are spaced out your feet would be too. However, walking in heels is not natural. Remember that, and think "tightrope."
3. Point your toes forward, not out. Leave the turned-out hips in ballet class and keep those feet parallel.
   
4. Imagine you're walking on your tiptoes. You'll lose your balance if you think you can put your weight down on your heels. Your weight will rest on your heels simply because of the height; don't do the standard heel-toe walk or you'll constantly be catching them on the pavement and tripping.
5. Slow and steady doesn't mean you have to take baby steps. For more advanced walkers, lift your knees a bit more than seems normal to allow you to take a longer stride without leading too much with your heel. But don't do the runway pony walk, this isn't ANTM.

If my little tips help to rid the streets of Philadelphia of the scourge that is bad walking, I'll have served my purpose. And maybe it'll give some of you who've resigned yourselves to ballet flats the urge to try for an extra inch or two!

And for the boys: my friend and colleague Mike at Modus Wardrobing offers his glossary of mens' shoes. Check it out!

Baked Love

Corporate fundraisers, wedding favors, opening nights, housewarmings, graduation parties? Think cookie!!!

I'm going to let the photos of Zoë Lukas's amazing cookies from Whipped Bakeshop, based here in our lovely city, speak for themselves ...




(via Whipped Bakeshop's flickr photostream, which you should definitely check out.)

A Michael Nutter cookie? Wow. Love him, hate him, you have to appreciate the artistry.

And, oh yeah, she also does cakes.



From the website:
"Zoë went on to earn a degree in painting from the Maryland Institute College of Art, and her paintings have appeared in numerous shows. Zoë's love of art and baking combined when she moved to Philadelphia in 2003 and worked for three of the top bakeries in the city, all the while continuing to create her own treats for friends and family. In 2007, she decided to take the plunge and start Whipped Bakeshop. Zoë vows never to work in a cubicle again!"

Here's to cubicle-less-ness, Zoë.

Urban Renewal

Yesterday was a rough day. After a long day of selling shoes, walking around in fabulous but decreasingly comfy heels, I headed out to meet some friends and watch the all-star game. (At The Keep, in NoLibs -- a great little bar with a patio in back!) On the way, I found out that my son has been getting into still more trouble at school; that getting divorced amicably is a challenge no matter how you slice it; and that my martial arts training hasn't completely left me. As I walked down Chestnut Street, a guy walking towards me kept moving in my way. I'd move, he'd move. He was obviously doing it on purpose. So when I was right up close to him, he leaned in with his shoulder as if to knock me down or make me flinch, and I did a rising block with my forearm and shoved him outta my way. Kept walking. Didn't look back.

So on my way home, I was still in a growling mood. In my head, stressing about a job interview, thinking about parenting, and so forth. As I entered Rittenhouse Square on the corner of 18th and Walnut, I noticed some skateboarders sitting on the wall by the entrance. One of them called out to me: Hey! Check this out! I looked, expecting something unsavory ... and what I got was this.

With a goofy grin, the one guy lifted up his skinny-jean-clad leg, and put his ankle behind his head. The other guy, with an equally goofy grin, just nodded, as if to say, "That's right. That's what I'm talking about."

I, who had up until this point had a Don't Mess With Me glare on my face, burst out laughing. It felt so good ... and suddenly I noticed the stars were out. There were lovers kissing on a bench. Someone had plugged Christmas lights in and decorated one of the stone urns in the center of the square. Others had brought plastic chairs with them and were sitting in a group, eating and playing soft guitar music.

I love Philadelphia. And what I realized last night was that the city loves me back.

Happy 4th!!! (Updated)

My favorite part of the 4th of July holiday is spending time with friends and eating delicious grilled food. Last night I spent some time on a rooftop, watching folks play baggo, eating burgers, and drinking sangria -- perfect! Today I'm heading out to the 'burbs for more fun, kids, dogs, and burgers. Tomorrow, I have the pleasure of working all day. Sigh. But two out of three ain't bad!

For those of you braving the Sheryl Crow extravaganza, ... well, have fun. I'll wait for Jill Scott to come back!

UPDATE: The 4th BBQ was fabulous. I love hanging out with theater/creative people and their kids ... my boy had a blast playing in the mini-pool, swinging in the hammock, catching fireflies, and constructing marble towers ... and he took charge over the erecting of tents for those who were staying the night. Actual conversation:

Unsuspecting Partygoer: So, Fabulous Boy, what's the next step?
Fabulous Boy: (dismissively) You put together the pegs.
UP: Uh, oh, right. Yeah. But how do you do that?
Fabulous Boy: (duh!) Like this ... and then they go in that hole and that hole. Call me when you're done.

My kid freakin' rocks.

What's love got to do, got to do with it?

I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately--how they work, how they don't, and how many different kinds of intimate relationships there are just within my own circle. Granted, my circle are a bunch of left-wing radicals ... still. What works, works.

Some questions floating around in my brain: does traditional marriage have a place in today's society? I know people who are together, living in the same house, simply because they cannot afford a divorce and all the splitting of property and income that entails. People who are together and who function smoothly, but who haven't made love in years and who can't imagine doing so. And then there are the couples who seem perfectly suited for one another: affectionate, respectful of each other, sharing their lives and a mutual circle of friends ... I used to fall into that category, at least outwardly. When the depression and pressure of living up to expectations got to be too much I had to leave. Are there happy couples out there? Long-term marrieds, who still snuggle and smooch and look forward to seeing each other at the end of the day? I'm sure you must be out there, right?

And then there are the many variations I've seen. A friend, let's call him Fred, has been in an open relationship with his wife since they met some seven years ago. Both of them have outside relationships, with varying levels of disclosure, but they also share a house, parenting, and a level of commitment that has nothing to do with legal vows. In fact, they never had a ceremony, but because of the state in which they live they are common law spouses. It seems to work for them, at least as well as traditional marriages seem to work.

I know some friends who are in a tripartite relationship -- a married couple, plus their girlfriend. As long as all three of them are getting something satisfying out of the relationship, I think this is great. The balance must be tricky, but then, the balance in any relationship is tricky. I think stepping outside the box can put balance in the spotlight in a positive way -- it requires negotiation rather than assuming everything's fine as long as both parties follow "the rules."

And don't get me started on the whole gay marriage issue. My gay and lesbian friends have relationships just as healthy, just as complex, just as supportive as my straight friends (and of course, just as messed up in a similar ratio), and if marriage is something that they shouldn't be allowed to do according to the Christian right, then f**k marriage. Seriously. Also, the kids of gay/lesbian couples that I know are well-adjusted, loving, happy little people, so let's here it for family diversity!

For me, I think the most important parts of any relationship are (and here comes a list):

1. Honesty. Not just with each other, but with yourself. Nothing kills a relationship more thoroughly than a lack of self-awareness.
2. Independence. Especially emotional independence -- and this flies in the face of all the romantic crap we're led to believe, that we need someone to "complete" us, that true love means not being able to live without the other person. Dependence leads to resentment. Resentment leads to contempt. Contempt leads to those conversations in the car where you say, "you didn't signal back there, did you?" and the other person says, "of course I did," and you say, "I don't think you did. You never signal. You're going to get us killed." Lather, rinse, repeat.
   
3. Respect. I can't be in love with someone I don't respect, and I can't be in love with someone who doesn't respect me. The first step in loving someone else is loving yourself, and if you love yourself, you know you deserve respect.

I don't have all the answers, obviously. I find it interesting that after all the craziness of the past few years, I'm now in a committed monogamous relationship, but I have my eyes open, and I think he does too, and at the end of the day, I'm happy. What more could I ask for?

Name That Address ... Silver Screen Edition

One of my favorite homes in Philly.

And right around the corner from it, they're shooting exterior shots for a new film with Dr. Horrible himself, Neil Patrick Harris. Also some other people none of whom I've heard. Add to this the Al Brooks project that is slated to start filming in July, and Philly will be crawling with talent and gaffers! Maybe even a best boy or two! If I didn't already have my own best boy ... I'd know where to get one.

How Crazy Would It Be?

To continue the saga of How To Buy A House: Under-Employed Edition, I'm beginning to see the financial possibility of home ownership. I'll have a down payment from my divorce settlement, and the mortgage payments would be lower than my rent. The sticky wicket is this: no employment history to speak of, and a part-time job that barely covers my work wardrobe, let alone my rent! Hmmmph. Buying a house would save on the monthly bills, but I can't buy a house because I can't afford my current monthly bills.

Here comes the crazy part ... I'm considering asking a friend to buy a house with me. A female friend who likes my kid, my cats, and my sensibilities. One who can offer the employment history to coincide with my down payment money, and split the mortgage payments with me. Someone who will be easy-going about the eventual re-financing if either of us decides to move out for whatever reason. Someone I'll like having around.

I've written about how important my girlfriends are to me, and how proud I am to have made some wonderful ones over the past few years. So it really isn't surprising to me that when considering sharing my home with someone, it's my girlfriends I mentally page through. After all, I may be in love, but I'm not going to do the let's-move-in-together thing, not for a good long while. And somehow it doesn't feel like I'm abandoning my independence if I share a house with a fellow traveler--you know, one I can bum a tampon from in a pinch!

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go play "Sistahs are doin' it for themselves" on my iPod.