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Doing It Clean

I've been offered lots of weird stuff on South Street. From weed to watches to Bibles, nothing fazed me until this week. Throughout the turkey holiday, a pharmaceutical giant performed a promotion and "public service" for the upcoming flu season. Foot soldiers representing Pfizer, the creators of the cure for erectile dysfunction, were out in force with samples of Purell to help Philadelphians fend off the spread of germs.

At busy intersections throughout Philadelphia and five other major-market cities, Pfizer set up pushers to dole out the alcohol-based hand sanitizer. According to the pharmaceutical monolith, 50,000 of the free half-ounce bottles of hand sanitizer were to be distributed throughout the city over the holiday. While the guys in front of the Starbucks on Fourth and South tried to move their product, many people looked on bemused. Crossing the intersection, some recognized the forthcoming solicitation from a distance and quickened their walk with eyes fixed on imaginary objects on the street. Some who did slow to check out the free gel loaded up with two or three samples.

Apparently, much of the city did not get the message from public health officials touting the importance of hygiene to slowing the spread of the flu. One distributor who wished to remain anonymous told City Paper he'd had a tough time giving his samples away. "You would have thought that we were passing out rocks or fliers."

"The bottom line is that Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has recommended people wash their hands or use an ethyl alcohol-based hand sanitizer whenever a situation occurs without the access to soap and water," said Philip Tierno, director of clinical microbiology and diagnostic immunology at New York University Medical Center. Hand sanitizers are seen as an excellent alternative to hand washing. Tierno says a sanitizer's combination of gel and alcohol kills germs, while washing simply removes them.

When told that Tierno said he was at a higher risk of contracting germs through his part in this campaign, the anonymous distributor simply smiled. "I'm peddling this stuff out here and you don't think I know the whole contact thing?" He then revealed his private stash of Purell, an industrial-sized bottle he kept in his backpack.

--Dan Keashen

Today's Guest Lecturer: Professor Crazy Eyes

A beautiful Indian-summer morning on Temple University's main campus: bright sun streaks, warm breezes, fallen leaves. The atmosphere shifts. Clouds and ice-chilled winds seem to roll through the corridor between Barton Hall and Dunkin' Donuts. Students untie jackets from around waists and bundle them about their shoulders. It was as if some dread apparition had drifted through campus, darkening the day and existence itself.

Nah. It was only Marilyn Manson.

On Nov. 22, Manson—after selling out the Electric Factory the night prior—crashed an undergraduate Art and Society class at Barton Hall to serve as replacement teacher. It was all for Stand In, a program on MTV's 24-hour college network, mtvU. Like Snoop Dogg and John Kerry before him (at other colleges), Manson's appearance was a surprise. Only the network, Temple's philosophy department chair and the class instructor knew in advance.

"They came to me last week and asked, "How would you like to have Marilyn Mason teach your course?'" said class instructor Robert Main. "That seemed OK." Decked out in blue hair, chains and a T-shirt that read "Chix dig scrawny pale guys," Main, 23, seemed unfazed by having Manson teach his class. "Personally, I'm not particularly a fan of Manson's. I haven't liked his music since middle school."

Once there, Manson—looking a cross between Hitler, Crispin Glover and Eddie Munster with his all-black suit and giant sunglasses—deposited a bottle of absinthe on the desk, wrote his name on the blackboard ("Mr. Manson") and spent an hour discussing himself, opening the floor early to students with questions regarding Manson and fashion. Or Manson and censorship.

Foucault he is not. But Manson made eloquent, atypical remarks about his aesthetics ("For me, art is about aberration"); God ("I'm not someone who doesn't respect religion. But I don't care for the way religion is used to manipulate people."); and the government ("It's not so much Big Brother as it is a lot of little brothers"). In between, he made fun of blogs, reality TV and George W. Bush.

So how did he do?

"I didn't know enough about the class to know what they wanted," Manson told me privately. "But they seemed very into it. When I was their age, you would've had to have dragged me into something like this kicking and screaming."

"He did wonderfully," says instructor Main. "Really touched on things we discuss here—catharsis, the role of fashion, audience reception. He seems to be really content-driven rather than all image."

--Dominic Alphonso

An Immodest Proposal: What the Sixers Need

It is high time someone came out and said what everyone is thinking in the wake of the Nov. 19 rumble between the Pacers, the Pistons and Pistons fans: Sixers fans are total pussies.

What we witnessed at the Palace that night was a group of brave fans sacrificing their bodies for the good of the team. Realizing that the Pistons were simply not up to par with their opponents, the fans lured the Pacers' best players into the stands (or, failing that, took the court) and absorbed punches from them, thereby guaranteeing long-term suspensions for the team's top three scorers and once again making the Pistons the favorites in the Eastern Conference.

Ask yourself, Sixers fan: Would I take a punch from Ron Artest if it would make the Sixers the best team in the East?

Says here that you wouldn't. That you haven't. In fact, when's the last time you even tried?

In the aftermath of the brawl, it has come out that Pistons fans have been yelling racial epithets at players all season. Hello, Sixers fans? When Vernon Maxwell was drawn into an NBA crowd to punch a fan who made a joke about his deceased child, it was in Portland. Portland!

We know the problem isn't with Philadelphia. In 1995, Eagles fans booed a dog that dropped Frisbees in a halftime show. No, the problem is with Sixers fans in particular. If Pistons fans are the Michael Jordan of NBA fan bases—coming through in the clutch—then Sixers fans are more like, I don't know, the 2004 Sixers. Pussies.

You want to effect change? Start with the Boston Celtics and the Atlantic Division. So what if Paul Pierce's fist is the size of your head? You can sue for medical damages. Allen Iverson needs help out there, and it's pretty clear that Kenny Thomas isn't going to give it to him. Joe $50 six-pack is going to have to step up. Throw back a couple, brace yourself and mock a man for being stabbed eight times. Philadelphia needs a hero.

--Doron Taussig