Style & Soul

Artists in residence (Philadelphia Inquirer)

Krista Peel and Zak Starer live what they call "the perfect life."

Until eight months ago, that meant handing over their West Philadelphia apartment to complete strangers every two weeks while they stayed with friends.

These days, the young married couple still share their space with others - only now, they don't have to leave home to do so.

As founders and codirectors of the Philadelphia Art Hotel, Peel and Starer run a rent-free artist studio and residency out of their spacious East Kensington rowhouse. In return for two to six weeks of housing and studio space, the artists need only donate some of their work to the house, making an already vivid interior color scheme abundantly rich. (The bright yellow window frames of the Art Hotel already stand out on the city block.)

But during the six months of the year when they host their carefully chosen pool of 12 to 16 national and international artists, Peel and Starer also reap other, intangible benefits.

"When I think about my perfect day, it includes making art a part of my lifestyle," said Peel, 36. "Zak and I are both artists, so we wanted to be connected to other artists and talk about artwork on a regular basis. But we didn't want to run a gallery - we wanted a more private space."

Dawg Years (Philadelphia Inquirer)

The list of names posted on the wall at the Skate Zone was Jean Shea's first indication that her dodgeball team was not like the others.

One by one, she read the other teams' attempts at anatomical-parts puns (think anything involving the word balls). A peek into the gym confirmed it: Her team, the G-rated "Ball Dawgs," was poised to be annihilated - by a bunch of teenagers.

Of the 24 teams that signed up for the spring competitive dodgeball session in Voorhees, only Shea's group - now affectionately dubbed by others in the Glory Days Sports league as "Team AARP" - has players older than 40.

As expected, the Ball Dawgs were pummeled that first day. But three months into the season, the team of Haddonfield husbands and wives - the oldest player is 55 - has stuck with it, earning some grudging admiration from their younger opponents as well as a respectable eighth-place standing in the weekly league.

While the Ball Dawgs' competition might look forward to going head-to-head with a team their parents' age, not everyone thought dodgeball for geezers was such a good idea.

"My 18-year-old daughter was totally embarrassed that her parents were out there playing dodgeball against a bunch of kids her age," said Reg Blaber, 47. "We really had to work hard out there to earn her respect."

Geocachers get around (Philadelphia Inquirer)

They travel in packs, noses just inches away from GPS screens. Suddenly, "I found it!", one boy announces, grinning and peeling away from the group of a half dozen. The others intensify their focus. "Me too!", shouts another a moment later, until all six kids are crowded around a tree on Girard Avenue, pulling out from a knot a plastic screw-top bottle painted to resemble tree bark. It doesn't look like much from the outside, but everyone gathers around, eager to see what's inside.

This is geocaching (JEE-oh-cash-ing), a high-tech game played using coordinates and global positioning systems to find hidden "treasure." It's open to anyone - hiders or seekers - with a GPS and access to www.geocaching.com, where more than half a million registered users download and upload the coordinates of nearly 1 million hidden caches and relate their experiences from this worldwide scavenger hunt.

Although some adventures can take hours or even days, the contents inside the actual cache are rarely valuable - many times just a logbook and a small, worthless trinket.

Polo: No Princes or Ponies (Philadelphia Inquirer)

Dubbed "The Game of Kings" in sixth-century Persia, polo still conjures visions of manicured lawns, tight white breeches, and rows of gleaming horses.

Not so at a grubby little roller-hockey rink at Front Street and Washington Avenue.

"3-2-1-GO!" a voice bellows from the sidelines, and six polo players fly toward center court, racing to gain possession of the ball. Two players reach the center at the same time, scrabbling for control. A third player joins the fray, steals the ball, is catapulted through the air, and lands on the ground, mallet still in hand.

But in this game, nobody goes to catch the horse. The fallen player dusts himself off, collects his "steed" - a retrofitted, beat-up Schwinn - and pedals back into the game. This is hardcourt bike polo, and there's no time for licking wounds.

Or for extraneous rules. Although the game is a combination of equestrian polo and grass polo - a dignified, centuries-old bicycle game that even had a cameo appearance in the 1908 London Olympics - hardcourt functions on the less-is-more philosophy. The game's official origins can be traced back to about 1999 in Seattle, but details still are being ironed out.

"The game mutates with every new city it hits," said Peter Dalkner, 32, a mechanic at Trophy Bikes on Walnut Street. "Everyone brings a slightly different set of rules about game length, court surfaces, and regulations to the game, and they all meet somewhere in the middle. Usually."

Totes Hold Their Own As Art (Philadelphia Inquirer)

The routine used to be mindless - "Paper or plastic?" - as much a part of the shopping ritual as endless check-out lines and squeaky grocery carts.

Now you're more likely to hear "Did you bring your own bag?", often prompting an embarrassed look and a mumbled, "Must've left it in the car."

While shoppers are queried by cashiers and City Council hashes out a possible plastic-bag ban, one group is poised to capitalize on the public's growing conscience - reusable bag makers.

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