Philly’s latest black market: dinner reservations | Weekly Report Card

It was only a matter of time before Philly turned dinner reservations into a side hustle. City Council’s going after third-party sites that snatch up tables at spots like Her Place or Zahav, then resell them for absurd prices — because apparently we needed a black market for 7:30 p.m. Resy slots.

Councilmember Isaiah Thomas’ bill would make it illegal to list a reservation without the restaurant’s consent, targeting sites like AppointmentTrader, where one dinner at Parc can go for more than a concert ticket. The app’s founder called the bill “communistic,” which is rich coming from a guy running the StubHub of date night.

Honestly, it’s the right move. Philly restaurants already survive no-shows, bad Yelp reviews, and people asking if they can “bring their own hoagie.” They don’t need reservation flippers in the mix too. With Michelin ratings on the way, it’s nice to see Council focus on protecting the places that make our food scene world-class — even if it means we’ll all still be fighting for a 9:45 table at Fiorella.

Philly’s a union town — so of course one of ours just went to the Super Bowl of Bricklaying and came home with a win. John Deslippe, a 26-year-old apprentice from BAC Local 1, took first place in the restoration category at the International Union of Bricklayers and Allied Craftworkers’ national competition in Detroit. Picture “Iron Chef,” but with split stone and caulk instead of sushi and soy sauce.The guy spent his weekends perfecting mortar joints — weather, ribbon, concave, you name it — and it paid off. He’s now officially the best in North America at making old brick look new again.It’s the kind of story that makes every South Philly dad puff his chest a little. The city may lose playoff games, pothole battles, and public meetings, but when it comes to the trades? We’re still champs.

Philly’s most iconic skate spot is back — in Sweden. Yep, the New York Times just profiled “Love Malmö,” a near-perfect replica of Love Park rebuilt with Philly granite, lampposts, and even a trash can that made the trip across the Atlantic. Only in Philly can a pile of rocks become cultural export material.

It’s also the place the city bulldozed in 2016, because apparently we can’t have nice things. Now, a Swedish bureaucrat-slash-skater spent seven years recreating it — down to the sound of the wheels squeaking on the granite — because he understood what City Hall didn’t: that Love wasn’t a nuisance, it was art.

Even better, the original stones apparently went missing somewhere in storage — which feels about right. If it’s not stolen, cracked, or covered in graffiti, is it even Philly?

At least someone’s treating Love with respect — even if it’s 4,000 miles away.

Rob Thomson’s coming back. So is the entire coaching staff. Which means after another heartbreak of a postseason, the Phillies’ big offseason move is... no move at all.

Dombrowski says Topper’s getting another year on his deal and they’ll bring in a new bench coach for “a fresh perspective.” Translation: same lineup, new guy with a clipboard. Sure, Thomson’s steady, respected, and not the problem. But something is off when a 96-win team keeps falling flat in October. The bullpen’s shaky, the bats go missing, and every postseason ends the same way — in stunned silence.

This was supposed to be the year the daycare grew up. Instead, it’s another rerun of what-ifs and “next years.” Running it back might be fine in April, but at some point, you’ve got to actually win the thing. Because this team doesn’t need another pep talk — it needs results. The city’s out of patience for moral victories and manager extensions.

Reddit spent the week debating whether the Northeast is “underrated” or “where bodies go to retire.” It started as a wholesome post about Pennypack Park and somehow turned into the most accurate portrait of Philly ever written.

Locals defended the area’s immigrant communities, food scene, and easy access to I-95. Others chimed in with, “Two people were just murdered there,” and got hit back with the perfectly Philly response: “What’s your point?” Someone else bragged about fitting eight cars in his Mayfair driveway, which feels like winning the neighborhood lottery.

As any born-and-raised Northeast Philadelphian would tell you, the Boulevard might be chaos — but it’s our chaos. Yeah, parts of it feel like suburban Jersey with hoagies, but Pennypack’s a gem, the backyards are big (by Philly standards), and the people arguing about it online are exactly what make it great. The Northeast doesn’t need outsiders to “discover” it. It’s already home.

Between SEPTA’s emergency train inspections and PATCO’s midweek meltdown, Philly commuters basically lived out a transit horror movie this week — just without the part where anyone gets rescued.

SEPTA’s scrambling to inspect all 225 of its aging Silverliner IV cars after five of them literally caught fire this year (love that for us). The agency says crews are hustling, but only a fraction of the fleet’s been cleared, and riders are paying the price: canceled trains, overcrowded platforms, and that special kind of Jefferson Station despair that makes you question every life choice that led you there.

Then, just to keep things interesting, PATCO tapped out completely on Wednesday morning. A power surge fried the Westmont Substation, stranding thousands for hours while NJ Transit tried to play hero with shuttle buses.

By the time everything sputtered back to life, Philly’s collective blood pressure could’ve powered the El. The only thing running on schedule this week was our rage.

Iron Hill went belly-up last month, closing all 20-plus locations overnight and leaving one question echoing across Facebook groups and Acme aisles: Where the hell did all the beer go?

Court filings show some spots — like Newtown — had more than $11,000 worth of beer sitting around when the taps went dark. It’s like a post-apocalyptic brewery where everyone vanished mid-shift.

The sad part? No one knows what happens next. A bankruptcy judge has to approve any sales, which means those perfectly fine IPAs and stouts could end up auctioned off to pay creditors — or just dumped. One lawyer put it best: “It’s not Prohibition. I’d hope they don’t just dump it.”

Somewhere, a dad in Delco is pacing the beer aisle like he’s looking for a lost dog, hoping to snag one last six-pack before it disappears forever. Raise a glass (of literally anything else) to the end of an era — and the weirdest scavenger hunt in craft beer history.