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Sleight of Hand
It's early in the year, but I feel confident in predicting that the biggest political train wreck in Mayor Nutter stripped the Under the current system, the city determines the market value of a home and multiplies that by 32 percent to come up with the assessed value. It then applies a 9.8 percent tax on that assessed value. In short, we have become used to low assessment numbers in Now, imagine this fall when you get a letter from the city telling you that your home, which previously had been assessed at, say, $100,000 will henceforth be assessed at $400,000. That's called sticker shock. The $400,000 is supposed to reflect the market value of your home. i.e., the price it would fetch it you put out a "For Sale" sign tomorrow. Re-assessing every home in the city -- along with all commercial properties -- is a gigantic undertaking, even with the use of computer programs and statistical analysis based on actual real estate sales. But, wait, it gets trickier. More Publius |
Truly a Blue StateThe latest Franklin & Marshall Poll confirms everything you've heard from friends and family about... Taps for Greene?It may be time to play taps for Carl Greene's career at the Philadelphia Housing... A Taxing SituationMuch to their distress, Pennsylvania legislators will be back in Harrisburg today (Aug. 23) to... The Word of the Dayis REFORM. The Delaware River Port Authority, hammered within and without for its spending and... Paging Mr. GreeneThe head of the Philadelphia Housing Authority has gone missing. The staff and the board... Johnny Doc ReduxHe's baaack. So reads the opener of a Daily News profile of John Dougherty, leader... |
A Managerie of Men
By Leslie Cottle»
This weekend my girlfriends were approached by a 20-something man claiming that Philadelphia girls just weren't making the cut compared to the usual "Southern Belles" he was used to. He even defined Southern Belle for my friends.
Southern Belle (noun)- A girl born and raised in the South. Southern cooking, Southern accent, and Southern "old money". The kind of girl everyone dreams to be or meet. Proper, educated, has etiquette, says, "Yes, sir" and "Yes, mam" and means it.
Since I grew up in Virginia and moved to Philadelphia as a teen -- with my "Southern Belle" roots intact - I understand the guy's point of view. But, here is my question: Does he know what kind of men roam around Philadelphia?
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This Old House
By Rachel Levy Lesser»
I grew up in a house built my grandparents. The new construction was complete in 1967, and it was distinctively theirs. The 6-foot bathtub and extra high counter tops were designed by and for my 6-foot-4 grandfather. The art studio complete with a science-like lab sink and oversized slots for canvases was what my grandmother, the budding artist, had always wanted.
It wasn't their house for as long as they would have hoped. After my grandfather died suddenly, my grandmother wanted nothing more of their dream home in Yardley. She moved to New York City where she could be near the art and culture that she craved.
This left my young parents in a precarious position. They had outgrown our small ranch
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The Reluctant Park Mom
By Kate Wright»
I recently attended a birthday party for my son's two-year-old friend. I knew only a few of the people there -- namely, the hosts and their extended family -- but that afternoon I met other moms, dads, and kids who live in my neighborhood. I settled in, keeping watch over my son, who was not yet one, as he played with the big kids. The sun was out. I had a cold drink in my hand. It was a beautiful day.
A woman approached. We introduced ourselves and she asked me where I lived. When she found out I was from the neighborhood, she seemed surprised and said: "Oh. Are you a park mom? I've never seen you at the park before."
I stood there, staring at her, until our hostess explained: "She's a friend from before the park."
"Yes," I said, suddenly feeling awkward. "I do go to the park from time to time, but we do other things as well."
The truth is, I don't want to be a Park Mom.
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Harder Than I Thought
By Debra Bourdeau McLoughlin»
It was harder than I thought.
We had joked about it - "Promise you'll pull the plug," my mother would say. "Sure, no problem, " I'd answer. And we'd laugh. As time went by it was less joking and more promising. I promise I won't let you suffer. I promise no life support. I promise I won't let you lay there with tubes coming out of you.
As I watched her sleep - at least I hoped she was sleeping - I looked at all the tubes. And I thought about broken promises, and the phone call. "You have power of attorney, will you consent to surgery? Without surgery, she will not survive the night." My brother, who was there with her, pleaded for her life. And so I consented, against the thousand promises, against my better judgment.
It was harder than I thought.
My siblings and I fought over feeding tubes and respirators and extra measures and what she wanted and what she didn't want, over medical care and nursing homes. Over life and death. Because one did not have the heart to stop treatment and another did not have
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Born to Boycott
By Janet Golden»
Not so long ago I emailed a close friend an article that revealed her favorite line of yoga wear, Lululemon, came from a company that promoted the works of Ayn Rand. I expected her to be grateful for the news and, since she is a good left political activist, to thank me for alerting her so she'd never shop there again.
Instead she asked: "Why did you have to tell me that?"
I was shocked at her response. But then, I come from a boycotting family.
Growing up in Southern California we boycotted all things John Birch Society. No Russell Stover candy ever passed my lips. As my mother taught me, Mrs. Stover gave money to the Birchers.
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