9.5.18

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Tuck Barre & Yoga

September 5, 2018 | 34st.com

NEVER STOP HANGING OUT The Rise and Fall of Pilam

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Into to Philly Punk Scene

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Student Doc About Climate Change

september 5, 2018 3 WORD ON THE STREET On Meditation

4 EGO

EOTW: Michael Krone, MERT

Nick Joyner, Editor–in–Chief Remi Lederman, Managing Editor Angela Huang, Audience Engagement Director Annabelle Williams, Assignments Editor Autumn Powell, Media Director Cat Dragoi, Word on the Street Editor Caroline Riise, Ego Editor Jamie Gobreski, Music Editor Colin Lodewick, Senior Features Editor Sabrina Qiao, Special Features Editor Andreas Pavlou, Long–Term Features Editor Naomi Elegant, Developing Features Editor Liz Kim, Style Editor Ana West, Film & TV Editor Sherry Tseng, Arts Editor Eliana Doft, Lastpage Editor Ethan Wu, Photo Editor Morgan Potts, Copy Director Christopher Muracca, Print Director

6 ARTS

ICA History

8 STYLE

Fishtown, Tuck Barre & Yoga

LOL

10 FEATURE

The Rise and Fall of Pilam

13 MUSIC

Intro Guide to Philly's Punk Scene

LOL 15 FILM & TV

Student Documentary Filmmakers, Fuck Insatiable

LOL

Ego Beats: Sophie Xi Music Beats: Arjun Swaminathan, Sammy Gordon, Sophie Burkholder

Features Staff: Angie Lin, Julia Bell, Paige Fishman, Hailey Noh

Copy Editors: Kate Poole, Kira Horowitz, Sarah Poss, Serena Miniter

Style Beats: Emma Moore, Jen Cullen, Molly Hessel, Valentina Escudero Film & TV Beats: Zovinar Khrimian, Maryanne Koussa

Sofia Price, Analytics Editor Marketing Associates: Brittany Levy, Carly Shoulberg, Daniel Bulpitt, Ha Tran, Lauren Donato , McKay Norton, Merry Gu

Arts Beat: Michelle Wan

Cover design by Jake Lem

Design Editors: Lucy Ferry, Gillian Diebold, Ben Zhao, Christine Lam, Alana Shukovsky, Katie Waltman

Contacting 34th Street Magazine: If you have questions, comments, complaints or letters to the editor, email Nick Joyner, Editor–in–Chief, at joyner@34st. com. You can also call us at (215) 422–4640. www.34st.com

Lastpage Beat: Sami Canaan Staff Writers: Cass Phanord, Emily Schwartz, Lizzy Lemieux, Margaret Zhang, Riley Wagner Illustrators: Anne Chen, Anne Marie Grudem, Brad Hong, Carly Ryan, Catherine Liang, Jake Lem, Reese Berman, Saranya Sampath, Jessi Olarsch Staff Photographers: Emma Boey

tktktktktktk©2018 34th Street Magazine, The Daily

Pennsylvanian, Inc. No part may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express, written consent of the editors (but I bet we will give you the a–okay.) All rights reserved. 34th Street Magazine is published by The Daily Pennsylvanian, Inc., 4015 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa., 19104, every Wednesday.

Video Staff: Jean Chapiro, Abdul Sohu

LETTER FROM THE EDITOR I

love to call my mom. Often. For many reasons. Maybe I'm just a mama's boy. Maybe I rely on parental guidance a little too heavily. I'm a (relatively) long ways away from my home in Texas, and I've gotta keep in touch in the ways I can. FaceTime is all I've got. No train rides home to Long Island for me. Sometimes, it's hard for me to convey my feelings without breaking into Sandy Cheeks' hit song "I Wanna Go Home."

Moms are really helpful when you think about it. They're master resumé proofreaders and will talk you back from the edge following a catastrophic statistics midterm. They'll give you interview advice, and listen to your academic woes and petty interpersonal gripes. Moms have that magical ability to help you get your life in order, even from 1,743 miles away.

In college, your relationship with your mother changes. It was always just me and my mom growing up.

Back in home, we were more like roommates than anything. Coming to Penn has complicated this dynamic.

Distance leads to gaps in regular communication. You have to choose which events and inner thoughts are worth expressing through telephone. Gone are the days when you once could share the minutia of your day– to–day over lasagna. Now you have to be careful. What anecdotes and weekly tidbits are worth sharing? What pieces of information can best convey where you're at as a person, and how you've changed since you last saw them face to face? What will make her worry? What will put her at ease?

Truth is, I have no idea what the future will hold for my relationship with my mom. I don't know how far flung I'll be, or which coast I'll end up on. But I know certain things will never change. We'll always have our French bulldog photo back–and–forths and our convos about what's happened in San Antonio in my absence. I'll still call regularly, especially when shit hits the fan.

Mom, if you're reading this, I've got some laundry advice to ask you later this week. And I promise I'll respond to your emails about Wall Street Journal articles this semester.

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Overheards, Bingo 2

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Anne Chen | Illustrator

WORD ON THE STREET

word on the

STREET

AN UNQUIET MIND "Inhale, exhale," my mom used to tell me. Now, that's what I hear whenever I close my eyes and take a break.

Ahalya Rajagopalan One day, I came home to some sort of hipster who possessed knowledge of medication–free treatments. He was carrying this strange, golden, water–can–looking–thing, which he filled with saline solution. Then, he asked me to go with him to the bathroom.

Most children, at the age of ten, would be suspicious of such requests; they would question most things, actually—but at the time, I didn't think too much of it.

And anyway, even if I had, I could’ve never guessed what he had in mind: drinking the salty brew, apparently, would make me vomit and rid my body of toxins. Despite my protests, turns out, that was my mother’s goal.

My mother had been doing yoga for many years. Her captivation with meditation was only rivaled by her fascination with Ayurveda and ancient healing methods. When she had a bad headache or sinus problem, she would refuse to take any medication, thereby willingly sacrificing a good night's sleep—both hers and my father’s. But neither the occasional ginger she slipped me, nor the cloves she would often brew into a disgusting concoction, could top the time she quietly sent a hippie– healing–man upon me.

I think it was at this moment that my trust in my mother developed a long and jagged crack. I always ate my broccoli when I was little.

I ate Brussels sprouts too, without complaint. I did all of my homework, did well in school, was polite to my elders, and generally listened

Catherine Liang | Illustrator

to my parents. My mother had little reason to enforce certain parenting rules since I did most things myself. That is, of course, until I came to Penn.

Here, I am just a tiny fish in an ocean of stress-heads just like me. I don't walk anywhere I can run, and my thoughts are generally going through my head at 100 miles a minute. Add to that the high levels of stress, which—I think everyone agrees—are disproportionate to our age, and I've become sure the pressure we’re subject to is going to kill us all someday.

Mom didn’t pay much attention to this type of ever–cynical ranting. Instead, she she relentlessly stressed to me the critical need to practice meditation throughout a large portion of my life, especially as I got older. She knew exactly how this kind of environment would affect my mental health. Sometimes, I feel like I can hear my mom through the voice of the lady

from the meditation club, who stops me on Locust from time to time.

I still haven’t checked it out. Nobody else around me seemed to be bothered by their environment, so why should I be? Like many, I don't understand the point of yoga, and am definitely opposed to the idea of "emptying my mind," since as students a lot of our hard work goes to getting and keeping stuff in our minds.

On the occasions when my mother somehow coerced me into watching guided meditation YouTube videos, I would blankly stare at the ceiling just to satisfy her whims. Every so often, she would break the silence with the same three words: "empty your mind."

In those moments, I would realize that I was not meditating, and was in fact unconsciously thinking about what to eat for a snack when I would be released. I would then try and pull my thoughts back to what I was supposed

to be thinking about: nothing.

My inability to slow down my thoughts, I realized, is probably typical of most Penn students, since it’s hard to take a mental step back from the cultures of comparison and competition. Of course, that could also be because stress is somewhat normalized here, so no one thinks too hard about getting out of it. And, even if we did, whether or not we stick to a “zen” lifestyle really depends on the success of the first encounters with some of its practices. Mine should not be taken as a reference point.

“Inhale,” “exhale” is what you would usually expect to hear in any yoga class. Not the first I’ve ever been to: our instructor—who was guiding a bunch of middle–aged ladies, some of whom I’m pretty sure fell asleep—kept saying “deep annihilation,” or so I thought.

My first attempt at emptying my brain was hijacked, and I kept it occupied while trying to figure out whether I was the

only one who heard it wrong.

So, in that sense, a lot of times I thought about how the failure to get me into the “zen” mindset was not my mom’s, or CAPS’s, or even that of Penn’s hyper–competitive culture. It was, really, my own failure.

Mindfulness and stress–relief isn’t about emptying my mind, or clearing my head. It’s about understanding how and where to focus my thoughts.

It doesn’t mean assuming the lotus pose and breathing through one nostril. As I withered under the disapproving gaze of Mispronunciation Meditation Man, I shouldn’t have been trying to turn my brain off. I should have been trying to understand why I couldn’t slow down my thoughts, what was stressing me out, and what I could be doing to fix whatever was bothering me.

My mom would say, step back, reflect, and understand that you can’t control your surroundings—and, like most girls, I’m starting to understand her words. When I’m being bombed with tests and interviews, I found it’s important to be able to identify tiny things you can do to escape from these aspects of your life, even just for a couple seconds.

Forget reflection, even—the point is to just take a break.

Life here really is just one eventful day after another, and the only thing one can do is try to calmly get through it all however they can. I’m going to keep trying, mostly because my mom keeps forwarding me WhatsApp videos about the power of mindfulness, and I’m sick of them.

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EGO

A NIGHT WITH MERT On weekend nights, when an ambulance with blaring siren and flashing lights rushes down Spruce Street, pedestrians who witness this fleeting vehicle might assume that the ambulance is heading to the frat houses on campus. Unbeknownst to them, a group of emergency medical trainees (EMT) are probably already there. These bicycle–riding EMTs in red shirts represent Penn’s Medical Emergency Response Team (MERT). They are full–time students, and they do more than just emergency medical service.

To probe into the backscenes of Penn’s student–run medical force, I spent a Saturday overnight shift at MERT’s headquarters in the Butcher basement of Ware in the Quad.

With a squad room cleaning schedule and a semesterly

calendar pasted onto the wall, the study room is where MERT EMTs do their homework when they are not on calls. A large Emergency Preparedness Sector Map is also hanging in the room, since MERT EMTs need to know Penn’s map like the back of their hands. They should know the difference between McNeil Building and the McNeil Center for Early American Studies, between Hill Pavilion and Hill College House. With portable radios by their side, they are expected to respond immediately to calls, even if they are in the middle of watching a movie or taking a nap. David Gordon (C '19), Chief of MERT, says, “EMTs are always ready to respond.”

In addition to the study space, there are four other rooms in MERT’s headquarters: one lounge room that has a TV and

cozy couches, a bunk room for EMTs on duty to rest, an equipment storage room, and a bicycle storage and repair room.

The layout of these rooms is the same as that of the freshmen dorms above—a square–shape room with a water sink and a large window. And yet, the equipment stored in MERT’s headquarters could not be more different than the textbooks for freshman seminars and boxes of ramen that serve as the freshman survival pack. MERT's equipment is crucial to saving lives. As a licensed quick response agency, MERT carries the full scope of basic life support medical equipments, such as AEDs, naloxone, and pulse oximetry. Each of their five bikes are loaded with equipment that weighs up to 50 pounds, comparable to what you would find in an ambulance.

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WE VISITED THE MERT HEADQUARTERS ON THEIR BUSIEST NIGHT OF THE WEEK.

BY SOPHIE XI

Sophie Pelosi | Visual Staff MERT operates Monday through Friday from 5 p.m. to 7 a.m. and 24 hours on weekends. Since its founding, Penn MERT’s website states that the group has responded to more than 5,000 calls in their almost 11 years of service, and the average response time is less than 5 minutes. There are currently 46 active EMTs in MERT. David explains the process of calling MERT in clear procedures. When someone calls the Penn emergency number within the Penn Patrol Zone (43rd to 30th streets between Market and Baltimore), a dispatcher at the Division of Public Safety is connected, who will then dispatch MERT. Simultaneously, the Philadelphia Fire Department is dispatched, who will provide an ambulance if the situation demands one.

MERT’s goal is to take care of every person, and they are trained to deal with all medical situations. Anyone who reports an accident within the Penn Patrol Zone will be treated with first response medical services, not just members of the Penn community. MERT also does more than just emergency medical service, offering CPR classes to the community and collaborating with DPS on side–by–side dorm sprinkler demonstrations, which will take place on September 21.

When talking about MERT’s group culture, David says, “I have met some of my best friends on campus through MERT.

[MERT] is not only for the community, but a community itself.”

On Saturday night, a few MERT members were watching the movie 21 right before they were dispatched. A 2013–2014 photo album in MERT’s headquarters reveals memories shared amongst MERT members from having dinners to attending conferences to showing up at a once–then Senior’s graduation ceremony.

MERT members come from a wide range of academic backgrounds. Alongside the expected biology or pre–med students, there are MERT members who major in architecture, economics, religious studies, and nursing. Graduate and LPS students are also welcome to join.

Students who work for MERT are not paid, but gain value in their experience. Jai Patel (C '20) views MERT as complementary to his medical study, since it’s “not parallel with any labs or lectures” and gives him opportunities to interact with patients. David agrees, “There’s so much this community can teach on how to be confident, how to communicate with patients, and how to deal with emergencies.”

At the center of MERT’s website is its emergency number. The idea behind this setup, as John explains, is that people can easily find the number at any given time. MERT is committed to prioritizing patients’ needs and extending its help to every individual in the Penn Patrol Zone, not just drunk students at frat parties on a Saturday night.

EGO

EGO OF THE WEEK Four years of service on the Undergraduate Assembly has made Michael Krone the perfect spokesperson on how to better improve student life at Penn. He always sees the cup half full and is passionate about empowering student groups on campus. And although he knows anything and everything about student life at this school, he still hasn't been to the Philo Halls (anyone want to show him around?). He told Street about his experience with the UA, his agenda for the upcoming year, and his experience at Penn.

By Sophie Xi 34th Street Magazine: What have you been working on lately?

Michael Krone: I’m really excited for this year to help lead the undergraduate assembly, to just be as productive as possible, and to really make change for the student body in a positive way. We totally redid our committee structure within the undergraduate assembly, going from four to five committees, to place a greater focus on community involvement as well as a greater specificity to each of the committees that we had before. We’re also focusing a lot on prioritizing student wellness. On the first day of classes this past Tuesday, we gave out wellness guides, which were just little half sheets that contained a lot of really awesome resources for students to reach out to in a time of need.

Street: Any other wellness initiatives?

MK: We are looking at the way that clubs recruit new members and making sure that they’re doing it in a responsible, comforting way. There’s a fun tool that we came up with that’s going to be launched today. Emily Su, the SAC vice chair, Elena Hoffman, who is the communications director, and I developed an app called Get Involved at Penn. It’s a club recruitment tool where you can took up any sort of category of clubs, any interest in the community, and public service groups. We just want to make sure that those kinds of stressors are being mitigated in any way possible.

Street: Why did you initially decide to run for UA? MK: Coming into freshman year, I did the PENNacle pre– orientation program and was able to meet a lot of student leaders who were involved in student government. For example, Jane Meyer, who was UA president at the time, had mentioned her experience and what she wanted to do as president. I wanted to be exactly like Jane when I grew up.

Now I’m in her position and it’s kind of funny to see how that worked out. I ran for UA freshman fall and lost. I came in 17th place and the top 8 got spots. It was a good experience because it taught me that if I wanted to get involved, it would be up to me to take the initiative to do so.

Street: Has your life become much busier after becoming the UA Student Body President?

MK: No one tells you how many emails you get. It’s a lot and I try to respond as quickly as possible. It’s been a lot of emails and a lot of meetings which is fun because I come out of those meetings with a really good sense of, “this is something that we’re doing and it’s something that’s tangible.” It’s a lot to keep up with.

I have specific folders for the emails and developed a very convoluted system that I think only works for me.

Street: What’s a typical day in your life now?

MK: I wake up at around 8:30 or 9 a.m. I will check in on emails to see if there’s anything I need to respond to. I

read the DP pretty much every morning, not in print but usually online. I’ll then have classes. Then, I have my work study job at the Office of StuAutumn Powell | Media Director dent Affairs. There’s no real typical day, but that’s generally the flow. Apple Watch has been the best and worst thing for me. It keeps me organized but also makes me glued to it.

I try to view everything that I do in the structure that this MAJOR | Political Science and is something that I get to do Economics, minor in American rather than something that Public Policy I have to do. I get to have a ACTIVITIES | The meeting with UA cabinet, Undergraduate Assembly Student with President Gutmann, and Body President, Student Activities that’s super cool. I get to go Council, Penn Shabbatones, Mock to rehearsal and sing Hebrew Trial, Kite and Key, PENNacle music with 16 of my best Pre–Orientation Program friends. Focusing on the getting to do things rather than HOMETOWN | Lafayette Hill, PA having to do things is a good way to keep you going.

Street: Tell us about Philly. something that you wish to Street: Anything you want to say to the freshmen? change at Penn.

MK: You’ll always want more time at Penn, so make the MK: I want the students most of what you have. groups to have little to no stress at all when it comes to reserving space for where they What was your Common App essay about? need to meet. Prioritizing the My dad passed away in junior year of high school. My Comneeds of student groups is remon App essay was about taking that loss, which was obvially important because that’s ously very powerful and tough to deal with, and turning that into something productive. This meant throwing myself into where students find their commy extracurricular involvement at school, whether that was munities, passions, and best the theater, music, performing arts, or student government friends. Working to increase back then. the availability of space and There are two types of people at Penn… reduce the cost associated is The people that read my school emails and the people that an impact that I’d like to have send them right to the trash. over the next year. #1 item on your Penn Bucket list?

Street: Any future plans afI’d love to go to the Philomathean Halls on the 4th floor of College Hall. ter Penn?

Favorite Spot on campus?

MK: I had a really good opThe Office of Student Affairs. portunity last summer to inGive your freshman self one piece of advice. tern with McKinsey & ComLive every moment to the fullest and stop counting down to pany. I will be working as a breaks and exams because it’s not productive. business analyst with them in

MICHAEL KRONE

LIGHTNING ROUND

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The Ucity staple has been home to the likes of Andy Warhol and Jackson Pollack over the years.

Michelle wan For those not yet familiar with the medium–sized, used– to–be–white, glass–paneled building tucked between Urban Outfitters and Wawa down 36th, it’s the Institute of Contemporary Arts (ICA), a museum designed to introduce the university community and broader Philadelphia to what was “new and happening” in art and culture.

As a “kunsthalle,” a non–collecting museum that organizes or imports exhibitions, the ICA has grown from two staff members to 26, developing an international reputation as a leading venue for contemporary art and culture. Here are just some of the most popular exhibits over the years that have come to define the museum’s values and influence.

1943–1945: The Decisive Years Amidst a time embroiled in controversy over which of the abstract expressionists had started action painting, the ICA made its own choice in selecting Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Willem de Kooning, and four other artists as the most important

abstract expressionists to display. At first, the artists didn’t want to be exhibited with each other because each thought he invented abstract expressionism as a genre, but fortunately, Sam Green, then the ICA’s director, got the artists to cooperate.

Such is the dynamic that has always existed within the ICA. The artists have always been central to ICA’s exhibits and programs; they work closely with curators and provide and encourage new sensibilities, ideas, and modes of expression. Regarding artists in high esteem, ICA tries to support them by giving them the platform to experiment and redefine the creative process.

1965: Andy Warhol's first solo show It’s hard to believe that the famous Campbell artist once had an exhibition at Penn.

Curated by Sam Green at the Fisher Fine Arts Library (where the ICA started), the exhibit was the first solo museum exhibition of Warhol—a defining moment both for the artist and the ICA. In terms of what it meant

MUSIC

for the museum, the Warhol exhibit expanded late– modernist notions of art that were bound by more concrete art forms such as painting, photography, film, and performance to varied conceptual art that celebrates “ideas.” The exhibited artworks, including the S&H Green Stamps poster, “200 One Dollar Bills,” and the famous “Electric Chair,” challenged the primacy of the works on display at the time. The tension created by showing art that’s anti–establishment has been one of the ways that the ICA has pushed for a wider boundary of art and has defined what is “contemporary” in art.

in 1977 and 1978. The work is a tribute to the ancient Greek epic poem, The Iliad, depicting many of the events that occur in the poem through a narrative form.

Further along, the ICA in the 70s was also characterized by the emergence of “video art,” reflecting the pluralism of art at the time. As artists working outside the mainstream modes of art production gained recognition, the ICA took to displaying such works from every continent in the world to showcase the diversity of this new art form.

1970s: “Made in Philadelphia,” Cy Twombly and Video Art

1988 Robert Mapplethorpe: The Perfect Moment

As a hallmark of contemporary art in Philadelphia, the ICA does not fall short in supporting the local artists who live and work in the city. From 1971 to 1978, then–director Suzanne Delehanty organized a series of exhibitions called “Made in Philadelphia.” One such artist featured was Agnes Martin, who had then stopped painting all together. Her work, often consisting of stripes and grids, used such minimalism to bring to light a perception of perfection that comes only from self–awareness. She was different from the motley of other minimalist artists in that her work, in spite of its bareness, retained a sense of spiritual and human flaw.

During these years, a good portion of ICA’s programming led to several exhibitions’ later collection or permanent installation at the

Ha Tran | Photographer Philadelphia Museum of Art (PMA). As in the case of Cy Twombly, his "Fifty Days at Iliam" is currently installed at the PMA after its showcase

A comprehensive retrospective of works by New York photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, “The Perfect Moment” spanned 25 years of his career, featuring celebrity portraits, interracial figure studies, and some highly controversial subjects including homoerotic images and graphic depictions of sadomasochism. On tour in the summer of 1989, the exhibition became the centerpiece of a controversy concerning federal funding of the arts and censorship. Mapplethorpe’s works were put on trial, and it was the first time a museum was taken to court on criminal charges related to works on display. The ICA defended public funding for the arts and artistic freedom in response and the issue became one of the most heated battlefronts in the era’s culture wars. The resulting attention challenged perceptions of art, public funding, and what constituted “obscenity.”

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ST YLE

A guide to a great night in the often overlooked nightlife of Philly's trendiest neighborhood.

Emma Moore

Sorry Fishtown, the secret is out. Gritty, artistic and cooler than Center City, put this popping neighborhood in northeast Philly on your to–do list.

Formerly the city’s commercial fish–packing center, Fishtown is now a bustling center for arts, music, and good food. Tattoo parlors, vintage stores, and restaurants line the streets from York Street to Frankford Avenue. While it's a great place to hang out during the day (stop by Suraya for a mind–blowing Middle–East-

ern brunch), Fishtown is even better at night.

Follow this guide for your next night out in Fishtown:

1. Get there

Take the Market–Frankford line Eastbound and get off at Girard (approximately 25 minutes).

2. Pregame with a pho BYO

Stock 308 E. Girard Avenue Tucked away on Girard, this small but beautiful BYO serves

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Southeast Asian soups, salads and noodles. The summer's 8 p.m. light floods the sleek interior with natural ambiance, making this hole–in–the–wall somehow both elegant and cozy.

What to Order: Start with the Gin Thoke, a zesty Burmese ginger and cabbage salad topped with crunchy dried chickpeas, pear, melon and sesame seeds. Crisp, refreshing, and satisfying, this salad makes for a healthy lunch or a light appetizer to

share. But save room for the real star of Stock: their namesake, the pho. Stock serves up a traditional chicken pho and a scrumptious vegan version of Vietnamese soup made with mushrooms. Don’t be intimidated by the substantial bowl of soup. Served steaming hot in a massive white porcelain bowl brimming with fragrant broth and chewy rice noodles, the Stock pho will give you a warm hug in soup form.

3. The BYO continues.. with dessert

Cake Life Bake Shop 1306 Frankford Ave Cupcakes, edible glitter, and Beyonce converge at Cake Life, Philadelphia’s one and only BYO cake shop. Packed at any hour, this gorgeous bakery off of Frankford Avenue serves stunning custom cakes and unexpected treats like pizza croissants and pistachio baklava clafoutis. Good luck deciding what to order. Periodically, they offer generous samples by the register—grab a few as you deliberate. A personal favorite is the raspberry chocolate tart—a velvety dark chocolate cream balanced by bright acidic berries and topped with insta– worthy 24k gold leaf.

Last September, Jay–Z ordered Beyonce’s 36th Birthday Cake from Cake Life, a stunning black and yellow geode– inspired cake. While their geode cakes start at a staggering $3,500, the majority of their offerings are in the palatable $3

Tim Kiser via Wikimedia Commons // CC by SA 2.5

A Night on the (Fish)Town

to $10 range.

What to Order: Raspberry chocolate tart, pistachio baklava clafouti, honey lavender shortbread, any of the cupcakes…any of them.

4. Hit the clubs

Gritty, loud, and eclectic, nightlife in Fishtown is not for the faint–hearted. Bars, clubs, and live–music venues are packed in the streets near Girard Station, which fortunately lends itself as an easy commute back to campus. Bonus: cover fares are usually cheaper than downtown.

Where to GO: Saint Lazarus Bar 102 W Girard Ave Dark, edgy, and decorated like a psychedelic church, Saint Lazarus is the place to start your night. Come for the pink rum fishbowls, stay for the R&B DJ parties.

The El Bar 1356 N Front St If you're looking for something chill, head to the El Bar. Right below the El itself, this cash–only dive bar is a Fishtown classic and a great place to meet the locals. Chill on the back porch or play a round of pool.

Kung Fu Necktie 1248 N Front St Part club, part live music venue, Kung Fu Necktie is more than a kickass name. You'll find everything from indie punk concerts to Drake and Rihanna DJ parties. Warning: it gets packed after midnight so get in early.

ST YLE

Feeling the Burn at Tuck Barre & Yoga Bored of your workout? Check out this barre studio in University City.

Emma Moore “Squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.”

Red faced and dripping sweat, I clenched my thighs together, cursing the tiny rubber ball wedged between my legs. “Now squeeze and squat. Squeeze and squat,” intoned the cheerful instructor, gracefully demonstrating the plié. I gripped the wooden ballet barre with white knuckles, quads burning and shaking. Barre is not for the faint of heart.

To experience this challenge, head over to Tuck Barre & Yoga, the latest barre and yoga studio in University City, located at 34th and Lancaster. Founded by Callie Kim, a Penn Law alumna, Tuck offers three types of yoga, various barre classes, and meditation sessions. With one location in Point Breeze, Tuck officially opened their second University City studio in mid–April. This week I went to check out their University City classes.

Barre is a trendy full–body ballet–inspired workout that promises to tone your arms, legs and abs. The workout consists of performing small pulsing movements using your body weight and dumbbells and holding ballet positions to “feel the burn.” As a self–proclaimed Pottruck addict, I was pretty skeptical of barre, preferring weight training and running to fad fitness classes that I thought would have no real effect. Oh boy, was I wrong...

On Monday at 10:30 a.m., I showed up for my first class, “Break a Sweat Barre,” with my equally unsuspecting friend. It was just the two of us and the instructor, a friendly, perfectly toned, legging–clad woman named Kate. I wanted to be Kate.

Little did I know the pain she was about to put me through.

We set up at the ballet barre, each with a mat, red rubber ball,

and a set of two pound dumbbells.

I felt a little ridiculous holding these tiny weights— would they really do anything?

To start, Kate led us through a a dynamic warm–up with squats and ballet positions.

Then we picked up the dumbbells and started to simultaneously squat and curl. After 100 reps, those two pound dumbbells were like lead weights in my hands.

My biceps, triceps and shoulders were on fire and I could barely raise them to chest height.

Next, we put the rubber ball between our thighs. Gripping the ballet bar, we began to squeeze while doing pliés. My quads were shaking. I hated that ball with a passion. Our workout concluded on the mat with a five–minute plank series that left my arms and abs burning. At the end of the 45–minute workout, I was out of breath and true to the class's name, drenched in sweat. But I was also refreshed and ready to return.

On Sunday at 11 a.m. I tried “Core Barre,” which was packed.

I snagged a mat near the front, and grabbed my two pound weights, well aware that I could not handle even three or four pound ones. Core Barre was ab–focused, so we worked for the majority of the time on the mat. We also did some difficult hamstring presses on the barre— my feet were in the air, back on the mat, and I wanted to quit

me grinning widely even as my arms and legs were trembling in pain.

Overall, Tuck Barre & Yoga offers a challenging, unique workout that I can’t reproduce on my own. After doing barre, I realized that my abs aren't as strong as they could Courtesy of Tuck Barre and Yoga be. The workout the entire time. targets your entire Take this class if only for the core, including your upper and instructor, Callie K. The owner lower abs and obliques. There's of Tuck, a Penn Law alumni, no time to lie on your back like full–time attorney and barre you might while working out on instructor, Callie K is a hilariyour own in Pottruck, sneakily ous, unfiltered badass. She had checking your phone and calling

it quits after a couple half–hearted crunches.

Tuck offers a student discount starting at $18 for a drop in.

While the fees are steeper than Pottruck's classes, the price beats some Center City alternatives.

Offering over 40 classes per week, it’s not too difficult to find ones to fit your schedule. The studio also offers three variation of yoga: Yin, Buti and Vinyasa.

I have yet to try the yoga classes but Buti yoga, a fast–paced, strength–based class set to music, looks intriguing.

On September 15, Tuck and Barre will be hosting a Yoga with Pigs class at their Point Breeze studio. So far, it's completely booked, but keep an eye out for future openings!

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F E AT U R E

THE RISE AND

F E AT U R E

BY ANGELA LIN

FALL OF PILAM Looking back on the history of Penn's “alt-frat” and storied diy music venue.

Amanda Silber.ing | Photographer & Autumn Powell | Media Director 1 0 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E S E P T E M B E R 5 , 2 01 8

“There was one party,” Tong recounts, where “so many people were dancing on the main floor that waves of oscillation were causing the floorboards to gyrate a good foot up and down.”

As striking as the memory of an undulating dancefloor may be, the reality of the building’s infrastructure raised questions of safety. According to a University–mandated architectural review from almost two decades later, the house was burdened by “weak masonry around the walls [...] significant termite damage in structural joists and water– damaged ceilings and walls.” The frat would be stamped unsafe for occupancy and hit with an advisory for residents to relocate.

“The building had structural challenges. [It] was frequently under need of repair,” Tong acknowledges. “But I assume that’s common with a lot of fraternity houses.”

Infrastructure wasn’t the only safety issue that Pilam brothers faced—in 2003, a small fire occurred at the house, caused by a cigarette left burning on a chair.

In Kuo–Hsien Tong’s (C '89) experience, William Kramer (W ’85, C ’85), a Pilam Pilam’s M.O. was band parties. The throw- alumnus, describes the space as a “pit.” Holes downs, always rowdy, showcased music from peppered the walls, the front staircase jutted public FM radio bigwigs to local up–and– out from the building, and the brickwork was comers, from punk to surf rock and everything shoddy at best. “It was not quite unsafe at the in between. time, but it was not in the greatest shape.”

The late ‘80s reveled in live performance. The CD had debuted only a few years prior; if you Still, the place had its charms. “We had beer wanted music, you’d usually opt for a cassette. on tap 24/7,” Kramer says. “You can’t do that But if you were a fraternity at the University today.” of Pennsylvania antsing for the wildest party In its double life as a music venue, Pilam possible, the best move was to hire a live band. has hosted headliners like Wesley Willis, of

Montreal, and, recently, Japanese Breakfast. 3914 Spruce is home to rock history—namely, reunion shows for The Dead Milkmen, a Philly–based punk–pop group best known for MTV hit “Punk Rock Girl,” and King Missile, of “Detachable Penis” notoriety.

The annual Human BBQ reigns as its biggest bash of the year—half a day’s worth of band rotations and barbecue meat (vegan options available). Musical acts alternate between the basement and the living room.

Groupies and general guests alike mill about and indulge in all shades of debauchery. “[Pilam’s] reputation in Philadelphia was that it was a Penn–affiliated organization, so it wasn’t necessarily ‘that cool.’ But we could bring a lot of good acts, and we had the protection of the school, so we couldn’t really get shut down in the way that other underground house venues were getting shut down,” explains James La Marre (C ’11), who served as president of Pilam during his time at Penn. “We had more longevity as a stage, and could create more of a cultural impact.”

Holden Jaffe performed at the 2018 Human BBQ as part of the folk rock outfit Del Water Gap, named for the nearby recreation area

where the Delaware River carves through the Appalachian mountains. “We’re from New York, and there isn’t really a house show scene developed there,” Jaffe says. “This sort of vibrant Philly house scene is so new to me, and Pilam was the first DIY show we did there.”

It was his second time playing at Pilam; the first was in January of 2017—a Friday night in biting cold winter. “We rolled up there, and there was a bunch of bands playing. Within twenty minutes, the whole PA broke. There was probably 150 people there—talking, smoking.

The energy in the room was like nothing I

had ever felt in front of a totally foreign crowd before.”

Many Pilam brothers admit that they never expected to join a fraternity. For Cory Schwartz (C ’03), a musician and artist, not only was Pilam vastly different from the average fraternity on Locust Walk, but also “a real hotbed for alternative, intellectual activity.”

Pilam created room for Penn students who wavered on the social fringe, but it also accommodated Philadelphians at large.

Schwartz remembers the train–hopping 11

10

Beneath a dropped ceiling crumbling tile by tile, on a floor sticky with week–old alcohol, between walls tattooed with anthems and illustrations of classes past, 3914 Spruce Street tells a story decades deep. Since the early 1970s, the four–story dwelling nestled between Pi Kappa Alpha and Sigma Alpha Epsilon has served as home to Penn’s chapter of Pi Lambda Phi, better known as Pilam. But under the weight of debt, this has all come to an end.

Pilam has braved two mergers, a fire, and an advisory to relocate, culminating in close to a million dollars' worth of renovations that saddled them with lasting debt. In March 2018, after years of struggling to offset that debt through rent payments, the group was forced to leave.

Somewhere along the way, the fraternity has become an archetype, occasionally featured on the Penn meme page, Official Unofficial Penn Squirrel Catching Club/= Pilam abbreviated is grungy and idiosyncratic, an alternative space facing what some consider its inevitable end.

S E P T E M B E R 5 , 2 01 8 3 4 T H S T R E E T M A G A Z I N E 1 1

F E AT U R E

“anarchists” who would crash in the basement of Pilam, “spreading their ideas. And these kids were all really well read too—quoting Chomsky and stuff like that. They ended up ruining our toilet in the basement. We filled it with cement but they kept using it, so we kicked

this.’ We still need that, and that’s why it’s unfortunate that we lost the house.”

But some brothers have far less flattering perceptions. Pierre*, an inactive Pilam brother of color who asked to remain anonymous, found that “the aestheticization of punk

Photo Courtesy of Rickie Mangerie

them out."

Despite the “fraternity” label, Pilam is often seen as a welcoming space for women and LGBTQ+ students. The group shifted towards an informal, gender-inclusive structure that allowed for non-male unofficial members. Sophie Germ (C ’19), one such member, de– activated from a Panhellenic sorority after feeling “like a piece of meat, in terms of being paraded around to different frats...When I walked into Pilam, that was completely not the case.”

Current brother John Willis (C ’21) considers Pilam a “perfect space to host other queer people”—Willis has helped organize a Queer Student Alliance Valentine's Day party and a gay Spring Fling party, both held at Pilam.

“People would come up to me and say, ‘This is amazing; we don’t have a space on campus. We needed

by wealthy white kids was very off– putting. Their voices tend to be very loud in this space.” He finds the frat’s supposed inclusiveness selective and untrue; he believes it’s also a reason for Pilam’s current financial distress.

“Pilam at face will welcome anyone who shows interest to it, but a lot of that is because the space is kind of desperate. We struggled a lot with filling up the rooms," Pierre says.

The house is designed to accommodate up to 18 people, with rent ranging from $800 to $1100 a month. According to Anton Relin (C '19), a former Pilam treasurer, the property's manager, Apartments at Penn, allowed the group to pay their debt incrementally with the help of rent payments.

Anton confirmed Pierre's observations, explaining that the group's struggle to fill the house, even with additional female

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boarders, has led to the group's financial tumult.

"Pilam shows you its dumb principle to accept everyone, to being wholly inclusive, which is the antithesis to a fraternal structure.

Which is: we will select the people we like, but we will really like them," Pierre says. "Pilam was an experiment of the opposite, which is: we will select anyone who takes us. Pilam was an experiment of a non–exclusive social club, and it was ultimately a failure.”

Former boarder Olivia Pawling recently published and circulated a document titled: Pilam (as it stands) is Inherently Hypocritical due to the Misogynistic and Bigoted Nature of all Nationally Recognized Fraternities, and Masquerades as a Safe Space when in Reality it’s a Haven for Narcissistic Outcasts who think Painting the Walls of their Mansion is a Political Movement: A Concept The document calls out the chapter for reportedly brushing assault and harassment complaints under the rug; for attracting bigots, “false punks,” and abusers; for touting a phony DIY label (“DIY is not just some meaningless word people throw around for clout points… at least not outside of this convoluted, intensely misogynistic, and disturbingly unaware circle–jerk of (a lot of) pretentious children.”)

Pawling declined to comment.

Soon, 3914 Spruce Street will be property of Drexel’s Pilam.

Like most other chapters of Pi Lambda Phi, Drexel’s chapter falls under what former Pilam treasurer Owain West (C ’19) describes as “whatever one’s normal conception of a frat is.”

“The cultures do not overlap

much, or at all,” West says, adding that even the house’s iconic illustrated walls have been painted over by Drexel Pilam.

A lot of alumni find the news, to varying degrees, disappointing.

Even Pierre acknowledges the loss: “I always had this feeling that Pilam, even if the people there were wealthy white people who didn’t get it, even if they were posers, even if the place was disgusting or literally falling apart, I guess there was this comfort that other people also felt, that Pilam was there for you. Now that’s gone.”

Omar Martinez (C ’21), a Pilam brother, thinks the change will be a good “opportunity for Pilam to rebrand itself, as an organization versus as ‘that house.’”

While Monica Yant-Kinney, a spokesperson for Penn's Office of Fraternity and Social Life, said in an email to The Daily Pennsylvanian that the chapter was "not evicted" from 3914, many members described their removal as an eviction.

At the end of the day, Pilam is its people, culture, and musical history—however inclusive or grimey or niche they may be. Pilam extends beyond a plot of land. Pilam is the message slathered behind the lime green of their basement bar, the single white–painted statement: “NEVER STOP HANGING OUT.” La Marre, the former Pilam president, says he’s nostalgic for the people, not the space, though he acknowledges he hasn’t been back at the house for a while.

“This might sound a little privileged to say,” he adds, “but I think it’s kind of punk that they got kicked out.”

ANGELA LIN IS A SOPHOMORE FROM EDEN PRAIRE, MINNESOTA STUDYING PHILOSOPHY, POLITICS, AND ECONOMICS. SHE IS A FEATURES STAFF WRITER.

MUSIC

A Beginner's Guide to the Philadelphia Punk Scene Sophie Burkholder

What you need to know about the underground music beyond the Penn bubble

By Sophie Burkholder Brad Hong | Illustrator

Philly has a chip on its shoulder. That’s what frontman Dan Cousart of local rock band RFA said when asked to describe the DIY scene of this city. You can hear it in Hop Along’s scratchy vocals or in the meandering twang of Kurt Vile or in the adolescent anxiety of Modern Baseball. Maybe it’s got something to do with an inferiority complex from being so close to New York, but the heart of Philadelphia rock is undeniably punk.

Of course local radio stations, including the Penn–affiliated WXPN, celebrated punk at its initial mainstream rise in the '80s, but for the past decade, Philadelphia has again become a haven for the scrappy fight–the–power sound. Just like Wawa, the Rocky Steps, and a lack of brotherly love for non–Philly sports fans, vibrant underground punk is essential to Philadelphia’s lifeblood.

The history of the punk scene here is long and convoluted, but music fans that ignore it in favor of insanely

priced stadium shows would be committing a grave injustice to both themselves and our fearless founder Ben Franklin (what’s more punk than a mulleted, electricity–experimenting dude that played guitar who wanted a turkey for our national bird?). Here is a crash course of the best punk places and people in Philly to keep an eye on when you don’t have time to spend hours combing through Bandcamp.

There's a huge DIY punk scene in Philly. With easy access to recording and production software through laptops, the amount of people making music on their own has blown up in recent years. Artists almost always post this music online somewhere, but the next best place to find it? College campus basements! This tradition isn’t so common at Penn (yet), but Drexel and Temple students host them on a regular basis. The events are relatively easy to find on Facebook (like DIY PHL or Philadelphia DIY Collaborative), but often

the best way to find them is through mutual friends at Drexel or Temple. The music and acoustics can be pretty hit or miss, but you’re guaranteed cheap beer and a crowd of hipsters smoking in the backyard.

If a grimy basement isn’t your vibe, there are plenty of small venues around the city that get the job done with a little more organization.

Some of the best include Everybody Hits (a North Philly batting cage by day, DIY scene by night), Kung Fu Necktie, Ortlieb’s, and PhilaMOCA, to name a few.

And at some of the larger small venues, including my personal favorite the First Unitarian Church, you will often catch a couple of small local bands as the openers for a bigger act. The best way to find exciting new bands is to see them live, so keeping up with the schedules for these venues is a great way to start immersing yourself in Philly underground punk.

But the broke college student is a stereotype for

a reason, and live music is rarely the priority of a growing expense list. So if you can’t make it out to a show for whatever reason, here’s a few great Philly punk bands that will help dilute the angst provoked by the most unwieldy MATH–114 problem set: Thin Lips: They released the new album Chosen Family this summer, and its 21st century version of the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper cover is a perfect reflection of the random and diverse human connections that make up our families. Songs to check out: “Gaslight Anthem (The Song Not the Band)” and “A Song for Those Who Miss You All the Time.”

Cold Fronts: Not as punk as the rest of this list, but definitely rooted in Philly DIY. Their live shows are not to be missed! Songs to check out: “This Always Happens” and “Buschleague.”

Swearin’: Allison Crutchfield (sister of Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield) leads the crunchy drive of the rhythms behind her in a softly soar-

ing voice. And they’ve got a new album coming out at the beginning of October.

Songs to check out: “Grow into a Ghost” and “Untitled (LA).”

LVL UP: The fuzzy rock of this band make them sound just like Neutral Milk Hotel’s EP Everything Is, so it’s a major modern tragedy that they recently announced their breakup and farewell tour. Songs to check out: “Hidden Driver” and “She Sustains Us.” Beach Slang: A more full– bodied and polished version of The Replacements’ style.

Songs to check out: “Throwaways” and “Punks in a Disco Bar.” Cayetena: This lo–fi all–female punk trio is the definition of girl power.

Songs to check out: “Hot Dad Calendar” and “Bus Ticket.”

And that’s the end of the brief punk history behind Philadelphia. So what are you waiting for? Get out there, get listening, or better yet, grab a guitar and join the rank and file!

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Student Filmmaker Spotlight: Daniel Fradin and Kyle Rosenbluth

How a freshman year friendship turned into a filmmaking partnership that's out to tackle climate change.

Ana West What are two rising Penn seniors to do during their last summer as college students? If you’re Kyle Rosenbluth (E ‘19) and Daniel Fradin (C ‘19), you fly to the Arctic Circle with recording and production gear in tow, and you make a movie.

When I sit down with the pair of housemates, friends, and newly minted partners in filmmaking, they recount their decision to book a one way plane ticket to northern Canada and shoot a documentary about climate change in a remote town casually, with smiles on their faces.

“I

think we were both coming from places where in summers past—I study computer science, and Daniel studies English—we both worked desk jobs that we weren’t in love with,” Rosenbluth says. “And we wanted to see for our last summer, before we graduate, if we could do something really fun.” Despite limited prior documentary experience, shooting a movie together seemed like the

natural choice for two friends with a shared love of movies. (“The day we first became friends was freshman year,” Fradin mentions, “when I ended up in [Kyle’s] dorm room somehow. And he had a poster of the Wes Anderson movie The Life Aquatic with with Steve

Zissou—one of my favorite movies.” “I’d say a large portion of our friendship is based on a love of movies,” Rosenbluth adds.) In the fall of their junior years, they both studied abroad in Copenhagen, and while Fradin was taking a class on Arctic politics—much of which

centered around the impacts of climate change in the area—the inspiration for the documentary was born.

To film their project, Rosenbluth and Fradin traveled to a town in the far north of Canada called Tuktoyaktuk (shortened

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FILM & TV

to Tuk), which lies on the ArcticOcean’s Beaufort Sea and boasts a total population of about 950, most of whom are indigenous. Life is different in Tuk, and Fradin and Rosenbluth laugh about some of their adventures there, while recalling others fondly, like the “northern hospitality” they experienced. “We really wanted to go there, and we didn’t want

to leave until we had a story to tell,” Rosenbluth says, and they tell me several—like how twenty–four hour sunlight meant that they would look out the window at 1 a.m. to see nine–year–olds riding bicycles, or how they took offers from residents they had just recently met for places to stay and sleep.

But when they talk about the issues plaguing the small town, their tones turn serious. “Tuk

was being heavily affected by climate change. They were losing shoreline at a rate of up to ten feet a year—the permafrost was melting,” Fradin says. They make it clear that residents of Tuk are suffering from the effects of climate change, but express that they want to tell their story with care and nuance. “From the beginning, we were thinking about how would this come off—us trying

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two have a clear passion, both for this project and film in general, and have lots of ideas for their next steps. Currently, they’re in the process of editing down their project from this sum-

once it’s completed. When I ask them if they’ll collaborate again in the future, they both treat it as a given—but throughout the conversation, they also express how grateful they are to have been able to make this first one. “It was my first proper attempt at making a movie,” Rosenbluth remarks at one point, when I ask him about his experience before this project. “But since high school, I think, I had always dreamed about movies, but never thought I’d actually make

one.”

“You do need a few people to make a movie,” Fradin mentions towards the end. “It was always hard for me to make movies at Penn because I couldn’t find other people who

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mer, and hope to showcase it at film festivals and do a screening at Penn

wanted to make movies with me...you need to find a team,” he says. Looking over at Rosenbluth, he adds: “And luckily, Kyle and I can work together.”

FILM & TV

Courtesy of Netflix

'Insatiable' is Not Even Worth A Hate-watch Netflix's latest is as bad as everyone says it is—and even more insensitive.

Ana West Insatiable, the latest original show that Netflix has regrettably poured money into and is now throwing at all of us each time we open up our loading screens, is painfully bad. It’s billed as a comedy but feels like the writers were forced to watch YouTube tutorials on how to be funny and then locked in a writer’s room with no food and ten years’ worth of Cosmo magazines. I'm an avid, guilty watcher of reality shows and other garbage TV, but Insatiable is different—it is the rare show that manages to be trashy without even being slightly enjoyable to watch.

Insatiable centers on Patty Bladell (Debby Ryan), an overweight teenager who, after being bullied for years, snaps and punches a homeless man who asks for her chocolate bar outside of a liquor store. When her jaw is broken in the resulting scuffle, she is put on a liquid diet for months and emerges transformed and skinny, at which point she is taken under the wing of the attorney defending her for assault—who is, coincidentally, a beauty pageant coach who has been ostracized after being falsely accused of sexual assault, and is now eager to use Patty as his shot at redemp-

tion. And, somehow, it is even stupider than it sounds.

There is a litany of things that are just wrong about this show: a terrible fat suit, body shaming in every scene, a running gag about a bitchy pageant girl who accused a man of assault just to be petty, underage girls portrayed as seductresses who are constantly throwing themselves at older men, a best friend who exists just so that middle–school quality homophobic jokes can be thrown out about her being closeted, substance abuse only being mentioned as a punchline.

The list goes on—but these aren’t even Insatiable’s worst sins. Dark, edgy comedy isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but old school staples like The Chapelle Show and enduring hits like It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia are great examples of shows that flirt with being offensive while still making us laugh. Insatiable isn’t one of these shows—because it’s just not funny. At all.

There is very little that can be salvaged from the dumpster fire that is this show. The dialogue is puzzlingly bad. “I felt insatiable” and similar quotes get thrown around with a frequency and tone that reminds me of a bad erotic novel. There are bizarre

voice overs that switch from character to character and the love interest is the most mediocre white boy I’ve ever seen in a teen comedy which is a genre awash in mediocre white boys. There are fart jokes and there’s a gala for anal cancer. I’d call it juvenile comedy but that would be an insult to children’s television, where you can at least laugh at a good poop joke without getting a side order of

misogynistic bullshit. I can’t even discern whether the acting is good because the script this poor cast is working with is just so terrible. There might really, truly be no redeeming qualities to be found in this show.

I don’t know what Insatiable is trying to achieve. Yes, the premise is stupid, but every now and then there are moments where Insatiable shows glimmers of promise, or touches on a relevant

social or cultural issue before either screwing it up or immediately retreating. I’m inclined to think that in more capable hands, or maybe after a serious shift and a few seasons to regain its footing, Insatiable could be better than it is. But until then—skip over it. Delete it from your list, watch something else tonight, and while you’re at it, eat all the damn chocolate bars you want.

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Come enjoy our world-renowned music, dance and theatre, right on Penn’s campus!

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*Valid Penn ID must be presented to purchase tickets. One ticket per performance per student ID; two tickets per performance per staff/faculty ID. Based on availability. Not valid for guest events or Penn student shows. Must provide name and email address to get discounts.

AnnenbergCenter.org 3680 Walnut Street

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