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Geno’s goes national — D First it was tourists taking selfies under the neon lights. Now, Geno’s Steaks is taking its show on the road — opening new spots in Baltimore and Hampton Roads, Va. Because apparently “Only in Philly” does not mean what it used to. The Baltimore location will be part of Power Plant Live!, which feels about right. Nothing says authentic Philly like eating a $16 cheesesteak next to a Señor Frog’s. Virginia’s up next, meaning somewhere out there, someone’s already arguing about whether you can order “whiz wit” in a Tidewater accent. Look, we love a good cheesesteak success story. But there’s something a little cursed about exporting our city’s most sacred food. It’s like putting a Wawa in Wyoming — technically possible, spiritually confusing. If you want a real steak, you know the rule: It tastes better at 2 a.m., standing on a corner, arguing about which spot is worse. Philly loses its rock radio heartbeat — A+ (for love, not loss) Pierre Robert wasn’t just a DJ — he was the soundtrack of Philadelphia. For more than 40 years, his “Greetings, citizens!” kicked off afternoons on WMMR, his gravelly warmth turning rush hour into church. This week, the city lost him at 70. If you grew up here, you knew that voice. Pierre was equal parts rock historian and neighborhood philosopher, the rare transplant who went all-in on Philly until he became part of its DNA. The tributes poured in: Preston & Steve spent an entire show crying and laughing about him. The Hooters, Bon Jovi, and Bryan Adams all honored him. Even XPN’s David Dye nailed it: “It’s as if the Phillie Phanatic died.” And yeah, that’s exactly how it feels. He wasn’t the loud, sports-radio kind of Philly. He was the turn-up-the-dial, windows-down, “trust the tune” kind. The guy who could make you feel like the whole city was in on the same inside joke. Pierre reminded us that not all legends wear jerseys. Some just keep showing up every day, dropping deep cuts and good vibes until the airwaves feel like home. Goodnight, citizen — and thanks for the music. The Sixers are… fun? — A We don’t want to alarm anyone, but the Sixers are undefeated — and somehow enjoyable to watch. Tyrese Maxey’s averaging almost 38 points a game, rookie VJ Edgecombe is playing like he’s allergic to nerves, and even Embiid looks healthy enough to smile again. After a 24–58 disaster last season, this was supposed to be a rebuild year. Instead, we’ve got alley-oops, good vibes, and no postgame news conference meltdowns. Nick Nurse’s squad is playing fast, sharing the ball, and — dare we say it — having fun. Philly hasn’t seen basketball this loose since the Iverson era, and we’re all just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s early, but the city’s cautiously flirting with hope. Maxey looks like a superstar, Edgecombe’s the Rookie of the Year front-runner, and the Wells Fargo Center crowd is actually smiling. Sewage stew, Philly edition — F Congrats, Philly — we’re dumping 12.7 billion gallons of sewage-tainted water into the Delaware every year. That’s right: billions with a B, as in “better not fall in.” PennEnvironment says our waterways are unsafe for recreation for up to 195 days a year. Councilmember Jamie Gauthier called it a “public health crisis,” which feels like a polite way of saying “please don’t swim in poop water.” The city swears its 25-year “Green City, Clean Waters” plan is working, but it’s moving slower than the crawl to get out of the Linc parking lot after a Birds win... Maybe by 2050, we’ll finally be able to kayak without tetanus anxiety. Vare Gymnastics gets its glow-up — A+ South Philly’s scrappiest gymnastics team just pulled off the comeback of the year — and it’s not on the mat. After The Inquirer spotlighted their quest for gold (and matching leotards), donations poured in from all over the country — at least $40,000 on GoFundMe. The team also landed a surprise $7,000 from the manufacturer of so-called skill games looking to build good will while waiting for the Pennsylvania Supreme Court and state legislature to decide their (local) fate — specifically, whether they can be taxed and regulated. City Council President Kenyatta Johnson helped broker the deal, which means the Vare Recreation Center team can finally compete in style — rhinestone-studded bodysuits, new gear, even a long-dreamed-of air pit for safer landings. It’s the kind of rare Philly story where everyone wins: the kids, the community, and the internet commenters who actually opened their wallets instead of just typing “so sad.” Greyhound finally finds its way home — B After two years of dropping people off basically wherever the hell they felt like it, Greyhound is finally getting a real terminal again — right back where it started on Filbert Street. The Philadelphia Parking Authority will run it (what could go wrong?) and promises it’ll be “aesthetically nice and safe.” Sure, and the El’s always on time. Since the old terminal closed in 2023, riders have been shuffled from Market Street’s curb to a random corner in Northern Liberties, proving Philly can turn even public transit into a choose-your-own-adventure. Now, the PPA says the station could reopen before the World Cup hits town next summer. Which is great — because nothing says “welcome to Philadelphia” like getting yelled at by a bus driver while dragging your suitcase across Market East. Jason Kelce’s new scent: Eau de Brisket — A+ Just when you thought Jason Kelce couldn’t get any more Philly, he dropped a cologne that smells like a backyard barbecue. It’s called Slow Burn (yes, really) and it’s a collaboration with Kingsford charcoal, because apparently Old Spice didn’t have enough charred meat notes. The ad is pure chaos: shirtless Kelce in overalls, smoke swirling, whispering lines like, “Who needs musk when you can have seared meat?” Somewhere, Travis just spit out his protein shake. It’s ridiculous. It’s sensual. It’s somehow poetic. And it’s very Philly — part dad energy, part fire hazard. The scent promises “charred hardwood and carbon clove,” which sounds less like a fragrance and more like what your hoodie smells like after a South Philly tailgate. SEPTA’s flaming hot mess — D After five fires this year, SEPTA finally had to sideline all 225 of the 50-year-old Silverline cars while the feds investigate why our regional rail keeps turning into a barbecue on wheels. The Silverliner IVs have been clattering along since 1973 — older than the Phanatic, and just as unpredictable. Engineers have been reporting “fault lights” for months, which is apparently railroad-speak for “something’s wrong, but we’re still running it.” Replacing them will cost $2 billion, which SEPTA says it doesn’t have, so for now we’re stuck with a fleet that predates modern fire codes and still can’t tell operators what’s actually wrong. It’s so Philly it hurts: underfunded, overworked, and somehow still expected to run on time. The only thing running hotter than these trains? The collective patience of everyone waiting for SEPTA to finally buy something built after the disco era.
