Philadelphia local news, sports, jobs, cars, homes

Author: Abigail Covington

  • In a Facebook Marketplace and Depop world, Philly Craigslist still endures

    In a Facebook Marketplace and Depop world, Philly Craigslist still endures

    Every morning, Julie Parlade, a 34-year-old stylist from Springfield, wakes up and does what most millennials do. She reaches for her phone and checks her apps. Instagram, Gmail, maybe the news. Then she checks one more: Craigslist. Yes, that Craigslist. The classified advertisement website that was popular in the early aughts and 2010s. She checks it later in the day, too, pretty much whenever she has downtime. “It’s so automatic for me,” she said. “I have an obsession.”

    Parlade mostly sticks to the free section, where she has scored everything from a pair of Frye boots in perfect condition to an entire set of Le Creuset cookware. Half of her house is furnished from the Craigslist free section: the clawfoot tub in the bathroom, the subway tile in the kitchen, the mid-century modern furniture in the living room.

    She started using Craigslist around 2010, first for jobs and apartments, and never really stopped. Today, it’s still her go-to source for secondhand items, despite the rise of other online marketplaces like Depop and Facebook Marketplace. “Everyone uses Craigslist,” Parlade said, “so I feel like I’m able to get better things. It’s a much broader net.”

    Does everyone still use Craigslist? Maybe not everyone, but more people than you might think. Despite its reputation as a digital relic, Craigslist draws more than 105 million monthly users, making it the 38th most popular website in the United States, according to internet data analytics company SimilarWeb.

    And in Philadelphia , the site remains a daily resource for people seeking work, housing, materials, and other necessities. University of Pennsylvania professor Jessa Lingel, 42, who interviewed hundreds of Craigslist users in Philadelphia for her book An Internet for the People: The Politics and Promise of Craigslist, says the platform functions as a kind of parallel infrastructure to more polished platforms, particularly for people with fewer financial resources. “Craigslist still has a role to play for a lot of Philadelphians who are just trying to live their everyday lives,” Lingel said.

    Access to affordability

    That role shows up most clearly in the kinds of jobs and housing that still circulate through Craigslist. Lingel, who lives in North Philadelphia, said many of the users she interviewed relied on the site to find warehousing shifts, construction work, and short-term gigs paying around $20 an hour — work that rarely surfaces on platforms like LinkedIn or Indeed because “those other platforms haven’t called those folks in,” she said.

    The same pattern holds for housing. Affordable apartments and private rooms for rent still appear regularly on Craigslist, posted by college students seeking temporary roommates or by landlords unwilling to pay higher listing fees. As one of Lingel’s interviewees put it, the cheap housing is on Craigslist, not Redfin. He called Craigslist the “poor people’s internet,” Lingel said.

    Craigslist does not release detailed user data, so there’s no way to know how many Philadelphians still rely on the site. But, said Lingel, given that Philadelphia is the second-poorest big city in the country, it would not be surprising if “the poor people’s internet” remained especially relevant here. “Craigslist is gritty,” Lingel said, “and so is Philly.”

    Privacy protection and net nostalgia

    For some Philadelphians, the appeal of Craigslist isn’t affordability so much as how little of themselves it asks for in return. Unlike newer marketplaces that tether buying and selling to social profiles, Craigslist allows users to remain largely invisible — no profile photos, no friend networks, no algorithm stitching transactions back to a personal identity.

    It harkens back to a simpler time on the internet, and, according to Lingel, holds special appeal for young tech skeptics who “are more ideologically attached to Craigslist.” .

    “The comparison that I think of is children of the ’80s going to ’50s- themed diners and getting really into Lindy Hop. It’s like, ‘Oh, this is a vision of the internet that I want to have experienced but have not.”

    That simplicity is precisely what draws people like Raquel Glassman, a cofounder of a local kombucha company from Port Richmond, who mostly uses Craigslist to give things away. When she’s decluttering, she’ll box up items, leave them on the sidewalk with a handwritten “free” sign, snap a photo, and post it online. “It’s always gone within the day,” she said.

    If Glassman, 31, is going to sell an item, she likes that she can do it anonymously on Craigslist. Facebook Marketplace is more efficient, she says, but it’s not a great place to go if you don’t want your aunt to know that you’re getting rid of the “ugly lamp” she gave you. “She’ll see it on my Facebook because we’re friends,” said Glassman. “You put that on Craigslist if you want to sell that.”

    IRL effects

    But the funny thing about Craigslist is that while it lets you be a stranger online, it forces you to be your full self in real life, and some people prefer that. According to Lingel, hobbyists such as musicians and car enthusiasts are among the most active Craigslist users.

    Indeed, two of the most popular “For Sale” subcategories on Philly Craigslist are auto parts and instruments — both of which benefit from face-to-face transactions. They allow sellers to avoid shipping costs and allow buyers to inspect their purchases. As Michael Lesco, a 33-year-old musician and marijuana dispensary manager said, “If I’m going to put $300 into something, I want to meet you in person and put the money in your hand.”

    Like Parlade, Lesco also makes good use of Craigslist’s free section. Last summer, he used it to get mulch and brick for the garden he was building in the abandoned lot next to his house in West Philly. The project could’ve easily cost $5,000. Instead, he and his wife did it for less than the cost of their West Philly Tool Library membership. “We could not have done it without Craigslist,” Lesco said.

    Parlade’s most recent Craigslist score was also construction-related: free drywall from a contractor. “We’re going to use it to fix my dad’s house,” she said. Craigslist, she added, is “almost like a service.”

  • They put $300,000 down to move up in Passyunk Square | How I Bought This House

    They put $300,000 down to move up in Passyunk Square | How I Bought This House

    The buyers: Catherine Wargo Roberts, 45, content designer; Karsten Roberts, 46, respiratory therapist

    The house: A 1,700-square-foot townhouse in Passyunk Square with three bedrooms and two bathrooms built in 1915.

    The price: listed for $725,000; purchased for $725,000.

    The agent: Ashley Miele, Compass

    The living area in the home in South Philadelphia.

    The ask: Catherine Wargo Roberts and her husband, Karsten Roberts, had no desire to leave Passyunk Square. They were already deeply rooted in the neighborhood, with two kids enrolled at the local school and a daily life that revolved around a few familiar streets. But they had grown tired of their mixed commercial and residential block. “We were very happy for new businesses to come into the neighborhood and thrive,” she said. The block had become “just a little bit busier … than we wanted.”

    The search: In fall 2024, the family set off in search of a new house. They wanted more square footage, lots of outdoor space, and an unfinished basement. “Everybody in Philadelphia wants a finished basement, but everybody’s basement floods,” Wargo Roberts said. “I want an unfinished basement so that if it fills with water, I’m not freaking out.” They also needed to stay in their kids’ school catchment.

    The couple only looked at two homes. The second home was listed as a private sale.

    Their list narrowed the search to just two houses. One was north of Washington Avenue, which Wargo Roberts said “felt like a whole different ballgame,” even though it was close to the kids’ school. It also didn’t have any outdoor space.

    The other house they had to wait for. An agent friend had given them a heads-up that it would be on the market in a few months. The couple grabbed the first viewing available on the first day it was open for a private sale.

    The appeal: Inside, Wargo Roberts was immediately drawn to the home’s size and layout. It was 250 square feet larger than their previous home, and most of the extra space was in the first-floor living area, which Wargo Roberts appreciated. “I didn’t care about a big bedroom,” she said. “That’s not something I need.”

    Outside, the house offered outdoor space that felt special: a large backyard, plus a deck that connects to the master suite on the top floor and a second deck above it. “Most people walk in our backyard and are like ‘holy s—,” Wargo Roberts said.

    Wargo Roberts’ favorite thing about their new house? The giant backyard.

    The deal: The house was listed for $725,000. The couple submitted a full-price offer the same day they saw it. It was within their budget, and “the comps supported it,” Wargo Roberts said. The next night, they learned their offer had been accepted.

    The inspection revealed a failing sewer line and a bowing brick facade. The sellers agreed to a $7,000 credit for the sewer repair but declined to cover the estimated $8,000 cost of stabilizing the front wall. “They played hardball,” Wargo Roberts said. “They knew we wanted the house.

    The kitchen in Catherine Wargo Roberts and Karsten Roberts home in South Philadelphia.

    The money: The couple’s path to a $725,000 home began more than a decade ago in San Francisco. In 2012, they bought a condo for $562,000 with help from Wargo Roberts’ parents. “We never would have been able to do that without help,” she said. They sold the condo in 2017 and walked away with $330,000. They used $235,000 for a down payment on their first Philadelphia home, which cost $470,000.

    To purchase their current house, they used an interest-free bridge loan to cover the down payment while they waited for their old house to sell. “It kept me up at night every single night for 30 days,” Wargo Roberts said. “Because if the house you’re selling doesn’t sell in a certain amount of time, the interest ramps up.” Nine days after it went on the market, their house sold for $612,000, netting them $360,000. They put $300,000 toward the down payment on the new house — roughly 41% of the purchase price. Their monthly mortgage payment is $3,600. “That’s only possible because we had a giant down payment,” Wargo Roberts said.

    Marzipan the cat sits in the master bedroom in the home of Catherine Wargo Roberts and Karsten Roberts.

    The move: The family closed on their new house in April, but the sellers continued to live there for free until June, when they moved to Florida. Becoming a landlord for six weeks wasn’t worth the hassle, Wargo Roberts said. The sellers, she added, “got a sweet deal.”

    She did, however, request a security deposit. “What if they decided to chainsaw the fridge in half?” she said, laughing. “You have to protect yourself to some degree.”

    Because of the delayed closing, the family had time to prepare. They put seasonal items, books, and decor into storage to reduce moving costs and packed everything else themselves. The kitchen was the only thing they outsourced. “It’s a huge pain,” Wargo Roberts said.

    A friend with a pickup truck moved the family’s plants over, and Broad Street Movers took care of the boxes and furniture. “It’s always the skinniest dudes that you’re just like, ‘I can’t understand how you walk, much less carry my couch up three floors,’ but they did it,” Wargo Roberts said.

    The couple installed custom built-ins to cover up a neon wall in the master bedroom.

    Any reservations? “We probably overpaid a little bit,” Wargo Roberts said. “I would’ve loved to get it for $700,000 instead of $725,000.” Still, she is happy with the outcome. “We’re in a house that I feel pretty certain we’ll live in until our kids are out of high school,” she said.

    Life after close: Wargo Roberts wasted no time making changes. She painted multiple rooms and tackled one feature she couldn’t live with: a neon-lit wall in the master bedroom. “I called it the portal to another dimension,” she said. “It was so weird.” They used money they had set aside from the sale of their previous home to install custom built-ins on either side of the bed, covering it completely.

    The traditional South Philly vestibule that the couple rebuilt after moving in.

    They also rebuilt a traditional South Philly vestibule in the front of the home. “It was a vanity project for sure,” Wargo Roberts said, “But I just really wanted one.” She doesn’t regret it. “Best money I ever spent.”

    Did you recently buy a home? We want to hear about it. Email acovington@inquirer.com.

  • Philly residents thought they had a winter parking system. Then the snow stuck around.

    Philly residents thought they had a winter parking system. Then the snow stuck around.

    By the time Taylor Schuler finally freed their car, they were exhausted. It had taken five hours across two days, hacking at the wall of ice encasing their Prius’ bumper, shoveling piles of frozen snow off the tires, to complete the job. As the sun set on their afternoon of labor, they were tempted to put a piece of furniture in their hard-earned spot, a practice sometimes known as “savesies” in Philadelphia.

    But they knew better. Having just moved to Philly from Houston, the 28-year-old academic librarian wasn’t all that familiar with cold-weather etiquette, so they took to the internet ahead of January’s snowstorm to figure out what exactly Philly’s rules are. They gathered that people weren’t all that fond of the “savesies” practice, so, tempted as they were to hold onto their spot, they let it go.

    Once the spot was cleared, they circled the block, a quick trip to make sure their car was still working. Their internet research had also led them to believe no one would just take their spot immediately. As they rounded the corner toward their house, though, they saw another driver lurch into the spot they just spent hours digging out.

    “Oh jeez,” Schuler thought to themselves. “It’s like the Wild West out here.”

    In some snow-burdened cities, saving a shoveled-out parking spot is a deeply ingrained winter habit. Boston even formally acknowledges the practice by allowing residents to mark a spot they dug out for up to 48 hours after a storm. In Chicago, protecting your precious dug-out parking space with a lawn chair is called “dibs,” and it’s been a beloved and widely accepted tradition since the great blizzard of 1967.

    But Philadelphia exists in a murkier middle ground. Until about two weeks ago, it snowed infrequently enough and melted fast enough that any theory about our collective approach to storm parking was never really put to the test. But the lingering snow has revealed a kind of civic chaos, with neighbors operating under wildly different assumptions and fights breaking out over who is entitled to snow-cleared parking spots.

    The divide is often generational. Older residents, who experienced harsher winters, are more likely to embrace savesies as another classic Philly tradition while younger residents and transplants see it as territorial nonsense, out of step with the values of densely populated city life.

    Schuler finds the entire debate exhausting. “I just want to be able to go to work and come home,” they said. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

    Connor Phan digs his car out after the recent snowstorm.

    Jeff Martin, 43, who lives in South Philly, describes himself as firmly “no savesies” but with caveats. He won’t put out a chair. He won’t defend one. But he also won’t move someone else’s. “I don’t believe in the chair,” Martin said. “But I’m going to obey the chair.” His reasons are entirely practical. “I don’t want to get keyed,” he said.

    Martin argues Philadelphia’s parking wars are a symptom of the changing climate. “The fact that over the last 20 years, we haven’t gotten as much snow as we did over the previous 20 years has made us forget how to deal with it,” he said, “and the city forget how to deal with it to the point where they don’t properly fund the removal of snow.”

    For the record, the city is firmly in the “#nosavesies” camp, and the police routinely remind Philadelphians that saving parking spots is illegal. Of course, that doesn’t stop people from doing it — and other people complaining about it.

    Lucas Tran didn’t see the cinderblock in the spot he parked in on Tuesday night. It wasn’t until another driver pulled up and told him that he was in her spot that he became aware of it. She said she had dug out the spot herself, saved it with the cinderblock, and that Tran had to move.

    Can I move the cones my neighbor places to save his parking spot?

    At first, he refused. But he backed down after she called him a liar and a “little b—.” He didn’t want things to escalate. The next day, she left a handwritten apology on his car. “Thank you for moving your car,” it read. “You are NOT a little b—.”

    Tran takes a “special exception” approach to the savesies debate. If the woman had been elderly or a first responder, or if it had been two or three days after the storm rather than a full week later, he might have been more understanding. “But the roads are drivable now, he said. “There are more options to park. You can’t keep claiming a spot that’s public property.”

    Back in West Philly, Schuler spent the week parking wherever they could. The spot they dug out remained occupied until one evening, when they pulled up, excited to reclaim what was once theirs — only to find a folding table balanced on two overturned pots in their way. Someone had “savesied” Schuler’s spot.

    Schuler snapped a photo and uploaded it to Reddit, where the response was nearly unanimous. As one Redditor put it, “that’s diabolical.”

    It was the one version of “savesies” Schuler had never seen defended. “If there’s anything people agree on,” they said, “it’s that you don’t do that.”

  • It only took one day to buy their West Philly dream home | How I Bought This House

    It only took one day to buy their West Philly dream home | How I Bought This House

    The buyers: Malcolm Critcher, 32, creative director; Rhiannon Critcher, 32, communications analyst

    The house: A 1,590-square-foot rowhouse in West Philly with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, built in 1925.

    The price: listed for $425,000; purchased for $410,000

    The agent: Benjamin Camp, Elfant Wissahickon

    Rhiannon and Malcolm Critcher bought their West Philly home after a very short search. They saw only two other homes.

    The ask: After a few years in Tucson, Ariz., Malcolm and Rhiannon Critcher knew they wanted to return to the East Coast. They tested a few cities first. Washington felt “a little too nerdy,” Malcolm Critcher said. New York swung too far in the other direction: “a little too main character.” Philadelphia felt just right. “It was a Goldilocks situation,” Critcher said. “We both came here and instantly fell in love.”

    They moved in 2023 and rented in Center City for a year to get their bearings and explore neighborhoods. They fell in love with South and West Philly, but the latter’s parks and tree-lined streets ultimately won them over. They wanted to start a family soon, and West Philly‘s “green, verdant life,” Critcher said, “just felt like a really cool place to be a kid.”

    Their must-have list was short but specific: a kitchen meant for hosting, an open-concept floor plan, and a basement big enough for Critcher, who is 6-foot-4, to stand in.

    The search: One morning in November 2024, after getting breakfast in West Philly, they decided to walk to nearby open houses. They saw three houses. The third was a recently renovated semi-detached twin with light pouring in from multiple sides.

    One of three bedrooms in Malcolm and Rhiannon Critcher’s home.

    They both wanted to buy it right away, but worried they were being impulsive, so they decided to test the walk to the train. The couple doesn’t have a car and relies heavily on public transportation. It took less than five minutes. On the ride home, they realized they weren’t interested in delaying for the sake of process. “If you find the perfect thing early on, it’s still the perfect thing,” Critcher said.

    Having previously bought and sold three houses, Critcher had the confidence to move quickly. “I know what I’m looking for and what I want,” he said. They called their agent and made an offer that afternoon.

    The appeal: The layout was the first draw. The open first floor flowed naturally from the living room to the kitchen, making it feel larger than its footprint. Then there was the renovation. Unlike the gray-floored, hastily flipped houses they had seen elsewhere, this one felt considered, as if the sellers had remodeled it for themselves, not for resale. They liked the finishes, the flow, and little design choices like the kitchen backsplash. “My wife walked into the kitchen and was just like, ‘Wow, this is my favorite kitchen I’ve ever been in,’” Critcher said.

    The couple wanted a kitchen that would be great for hosting.

    For him, the basement stole the show. It was finished, spacious, and didn’t require him to duck.

    The deal: The house was listed at $425,000 — the very top of the couple’s budget. It had been on the market for just one day when they saw it. They decided to offer $25,000 below the asking price, but they promised to take it as-is, as long as the inspection didn’t reveal anything concerning. The sellers agreed to the terms but requested $410,000, which the couple agreed to.

    Light pours in from multiple sides of the Cratchers’ semi-detached twin.

    The inspection came back spotless. The appliances had all been replaced in 2018. The sewer line had recently been redone. There were no structural issues. “Literally the most perfect housing inspection possible,” Critcher said.

    The money: All told, Critcher and his wife brought a little over $100,000 to closing. Most came from the sale of their previous home in Tucson. They bought that house in early 2020 for $179,000 and sold it in 2024 for $300,000. The proceeds went straight into a high-yield savings account and remained untouched until the couple was ready to buy again.

    The couple’s dog, Pablo, likes to hang out in the second bedroom.

    The down payment on their new house came in just under 20% — about $82,000 — and closing costs were $26,000.

    For Critcher, the exact breakdown mattered less than the total. He approached the purchase with a fixed pot of money and trusted their lender and agent to structure the details responsibly.

    The couple loved the open floor plan on the first floor.

    The move: The couple closed in mid-December 2024 while they were out of town. A notary in Arizona helped them file the necessary paperwork. The move itself happened in mid-January. Compared to moving across the country a year earlier, moving from Center City to West Philly wasn’t too bad. They hired movers to load a U-Haul from their sixth-floor apartment, then unloaded it themselves at the new house. Packing took about a week. The move took two days. Unpacking stretched on for a month.

    Any reservations? Critcher wouldn’t recommend their approach to first-time homebuyers. “It was very impulsive,” he said. “But we both just fell deeply in love with it.”

    Life after close: They’ve kept things simple since moving in. They haven’t undertaken any major renovations or upgrades. “We’re just kind of floating,” Critcher said.

    Did you recently buy a home? We want to hear about it. Email acovington@inquirer.com.

  • He was ‘particular but not picky’ about a two-bedroom in Norris Square| How I Bought This House

    He was ‘particular but not picky’ about a two-bedroom in Norris Square| How I Bought This House

    The buyers: Evan Todtz, 35, urban designer

    The house: A 960-square-foot townhouse in Norris Square with two bedrooms and one bath, built in 1920.

    The price: Listed for $255,000; purchased for $255,000

    The agent: Kate McCann, Elfant Wissahickon

    Todtz saw potential in the house’s flexible floor plan.

    The ask: Evan Todtz was tired of commuting from Baltimore to Washington, D.C. He didn’t want to live in the latter, and he couldn’t find work in the former, so he considered the next-closest big city: Philadelphia.

    “I’ve always really loved Philly and wanted to spend more time in it,” Todtz said. When his company approved a transfer to its Philadelphia office, Todtz moved north and rented an apartment in Norris Square. A year later, he was ready to make it official. “I felt like I was getting into a groove in Philly,” he said, “and I wanted to invest in a place and make this my home.”

    Transit access was Todtz’s top priority. He frequently travels along the east corridor for work, so being close to the Market-Frankford line, which could take him directly to 30th Street Station in the “wee hours of the morning,” was a nonnegotiable. He wanted two bedrooms, enough space to host visitors, and an outdoor space. Everything else was flexible. “I’m particular, but I’m not picky,” he said.

    Todtz liked the living room’s tan walls and dark floors. They made the room feel cozy.

    The search: Todtz began looking seriously at the end of 2023, after attending a first-time homebuyers workshop hosted by Philly Home Girls. Over a month, he saw several homes on weekends and evenings. He saw the house he would eventually buy early in his search, but it felt out of reach. Originally listed at $280,000, it hovered just above what he felt comfortable paying. He put it on a mental “maybe” list and kept looking. One month later, the price dropped to $255,000. “That’s when it felt within striking distance,” Todtz said. “It was closer to comps in the market.”

    The appeal: Todtz immediately noticed the quality of the renovation. The house looked polished but not flashy, neat but not boring. “There weren’t super high-end finishes I wasn’t going to appreciate,” Todtz said, “and there wasn’t the gray-washed millennial nothingness design that so many new houses have.”

    Instead, the house felt solid and lived-in, with dark wood floors and warm-colored walls. “It was very cozy and pretty,” Todtz said. He also liked the flexible floor plan and could see “potential in the footprint,” he said. Mostly, he liked that there wasn’t anything glaringly wrong with it. “It just felt very manageable,” he said. “It didn’t feel like I was taking on a massive project that I didn’t know how to start.”

    Todtz said he would be happy with any kind of outdoor space.

    The deal: By the time the price dropped to $255,000, the house had been sitting on the market for months. Todtz and his agent sensed the seller was “eager to get it off his books,” so they offered the asking price and requested a 3% seller’s assist. The seller agreed. “That was a huge win,” Todtz said. It effectively lowered the price to $247,000.

    The inspection turned up only minor issues. The silver coating on the roof was wearing, and the seller, a small-time developer from Queens, N.Y., offered to address it without hesitation. “He was very chill,” Todtz said. “It was great to work with him.”

    The money: All in, Todtz spent about $21,000 on closing costs and upfront expenses. Todtz’s mortgage is through the Keystone Home Loan Program, which required only a 3.5% down payment, provided he paid mortgage insurance. The money came primarily from his long-term savings.

    One of two bedrooms in Evan Todtz’s house.

    “Every paycheck since graduating from undergrad, I’ve been putting money away,” Todtz said. “However modestly, whether it was 50 bucks or 100 bucks.” Eventually, he transferred some of those savings into a mutual fund that he let grow for a decade. He put the rest in a high-yield savings account. He also received a few thousand dollars from his grandmother’s estate.

    The move: Todtz closed on April Fools’ Day, which he feared was a bad omen. His agent reassured him it wasn’t. He spent the next month moving small items in his car, then hired movers to handle the bulk of the work over a weekend in May. He didn’t ask his friends to help him move. “I want to keep my friends,” Todtz said. ”I don’t want to make them stop talking to me.”

    Todtz loves his kitchen even though it’s “a little small,” he says.

    The move was mostly smooth, except for one casualty: a box spring that couldn’t fit up the new house’s narrow staircase.

    Any reservations? Todtz doesn’t regret buying, though he acknowledges that homeownership comes with new anxieties. Given the current state of the economy, “renting and being able to flee is kind of attractive,” he said.

    Still, he’s glad he made the leap. “I’m happy to own,” he said, “and I feel comfortable learning as I go.”

    The custom wood butcher block Todtz built with the help of the Philadelphia Table Co.

    Life after close: Most of the changes Todtz has made have been cosmetic. “I didn’t want to bite off more than I could chew,” he said. He tackled the patio first, pressure-washing the concrete, re-staining the fencing, and adding cafe lights. After that, he partnered with Philadelphia Table Co. to build a custom wood butcher block that has doubled the counter space in his kitchen.

    He has a couple of larger projects he plans to tackle next year, such as a full HVAC upgrade, but for now, he’s focused on rebuilding his savings. “I’m happy with the investment,” he said, “but I’m very much in a house-poor moment right now.”

    Did you recently buy a home? We want to hear about it. Email acovington@inquirer.com.

  • They paid $2.5 million in cash to renovate a historical Society Hill church | How I Bought This House

    They paid $2.5 million in cash to renovate a historical Society Hill church | How I Bought This House

    The buyers: Carrita Thomas, 33, nonprofit program evaluator; Jake Stein, 42, CEO of a tech start-up

    The house: A 6,775-square-foot church in Society Hill built in 1920

    The price: Listed for $2.5 million, purchased for $2.5 million

    The agent: Kate McCann, Elfant Wissahickon Realtors

    Carrita Thomas and Jake Stein on the main floor of their newly purchased church in Society Hill.

    The ask: Carrita Thomas and Jake Stein moved to Society Hill in 2021 and immediately fell in love. They grew even more attached after having their first child. They loved the abundance of playgrounds and parking. But most of all, they appreciated how the area functioned as a village. “We have a great community of friends,” Thomas said. “We are very close with our neighbors.”

    But when they found out that Thomas was pregnant with twins, their rowhouse, which once felt generous, suddenly seemed cramped. They needed more space fast but didn’t want to leave the neighborhood. They also wanted on-site parking and outdoor space for Thomas to garden. Plus they needed at least six bedrooms. The couple knew they were in for a difficult search.

    One of the church’s courtyards with plant beds where Thomas and her daughter recently planted bulbs with friends.

    The search: The market moved fast for houses that met their criteria. More than once, they scheduled showings for houses already under contract. Once, they scheduled a showing three days after a house came on the market, only to have the agent cancel because it had already sold. After several misses, they decided to reassess their options, including renovation. “We had not been interested in it before because we’d only heard negative stories,” Thomas said.

    Around the same time, Stein noticed a sale sign on a vacant church two blocks from their home. It had been unused for decades, its landscaping overgrown, its windows dark. “I always thought it was so cool and interesting,” Stein said. “And what a waste.”

    That discovery shifted their search. Instead of continuing to hunt for the impossible-to-find, perfect rowhouse, the couple began to consider the most glaring fixer-upper in the neighborhood.

    The couple fell in love with the church’s raw materials, like the stained glass windows lining its walls.

    The appeal: Thomas was initially skeptical. Every church conversion she had seen leaned toward a loft-style layout, and she didn’t want to live in an open, cavernous space. But walking through the property with an architect helped her picture more-private floor plans.

    One of the church’s main selling points was its driveway and ample parking space.

    Inside, the building was structurally sound and full of “high-quality raw material,” said Thomas. But what really sold them was the “insane amount of outdoor space.”

    To get a sense of renovation costs and trade-offs, the couple also consulted with someone who had previously run a design-build construction company. That process replaced vague anxiety about expenses with concrete ranges. “There are really expensive versions of renovations,” Stein said, “and there are much more reasonable versions.”

    Understanding that they could “choose their own adventure” and “dial up or dial down the budget based on their design decisions” made the renovation seem actually doable, if not meaningful.

    Thomas appreciated that the church had once been a place where people gathered. “One of our primary values is community,” she said. And the idea of restoring that function — even in a different form — felt really special to the couple. “It just adds so much richness to our lives,” she said.

    One of Stein’s favorite features of the church is the basement and the giant warped Ping-Pong table, on which he’s played multiple games.

    The deal: Thomas and Stein knew that the terms would be largely out of their control. The seller, who lived out of state, had owned the building for decades and was not inclined to negotiate. She had rejected several offers over the years and did not advertise her property as being for sale online. Even getting the asking price took effort. Their agent had to follow up multiple times. The seller eventually told them it was $2.5 million. She had recently rejected an offer below the asking price without counteroffering, so the couple didn’t bother negotiating. “We know we would only get it if we met all of her terms,” Thomas said. They submitted a straightforward offer, including skipping the inspection, at the asking price, and the seller accepted.

    Interior views of the newly purchased church owned by Carrita Thomas and Jake Stein.

    The money: Thomas and Stein put $2.5 million down in cash — the full cost of the property — the day they closed. They did not take out a mortgage. The funds came from the sale of Stein’s former software company, which he sold in 2018 for $60 million. Their renovation budget is still fluctuating.

    The move: Thomas and Stein closed on the church at the end of September.

    A view of the staircase in the rectory that is attached to the church.

    They spent the past few months figuring out how to approach the renovation, talking with people who had done similar projects, and meeting with contractors. “It’s a slow process,” Thomas said, “but it’s a really important part of it.” Now, they are finalizing contracts with vendors. She expects the entire project to take about two years. Construction is still a ways away.

    They are living in their Society Hill rowhouse for now, and it no longer feels too small. “We’re pretty comfortable,” Thomas said. “Something changed for me after I had the twins. I think both of our tolerance for chaos just went up a lot.”

    Any reservations? The couple is happy with their purchase, even though there are still many unknowns. “A lot of careful planning needs to go into this,” Thomas said. “There are a lot of open questions still,” Stein added. They will have to knock down a few walls to figure out what is even possible. It will take at least 10 months to finalize the design. The couple is up for it. “It’s a cool project,” Thomas said.

    Life after close: Even though the renovation hasn’t started, the building is already functioning as part of the neighborhood again. The couple hosted a Halloween party for their neighbors, and a few weeks later Thomas had her daughter’s friends over to plant bulbs.

    Did you recently buy a home? We want to hear about it. Email acovington@inquirer.com.

  • Remnants of a 19th-century shipwreck have washed up on a New Jersey beach

    Remnants of a 19th-century shipwreck have washed up on a New Jersey beach

    Remnants of a 136-year-old shipwreck have been discovered at Island Beach State Park in Ocean County. Large, wooden chunks of the Lawrence N. McKenzie, a 19th-century schooner that sank in the Atlantic Ocean on March 21, 1890, surfaced on the shoreline following weeks of beach erosion caused by persistent high winds and rough surf, according to a statement from State Park officials.

    “Beach erosion during the winter months is common at Island Beach State Park and is part of a natural, cyclical process,” the statement said. “Most beaches recover from the erosion during the calmer summer months — but for now, this winter’s erosion has revealed a glimpse into the park’s maritime history.”

    Pieces of the Lawrence N. Mckenzie, a 98-foot schooner that sank off the coast of New Jersey in 1890, were discovered on the shore of Island Beach State Park.

    The 98-foot McKenzie was hauling oranges from Puerto Rico to New York City when it encountered a thick fog near Barnegat, New Jersey. According to a report that Captain Lawrence McKenzie filed with the insurance company, there was six feet of water in the vessel’s hold when members of the Cedar Creek U.S. Life Saving Service rescued the eight-person crew.

    Barnegat’s coastline is notorious for its constantly shifting shoals and channels. The Army Corps of Engineers estimates that between 1705 and the introduction of the steamship, there were 40 shipwrecks each year off the coast of Barnegat, earning the coast of New Jersey the nickname “the graveyard of the Atlantic.”

    Island Beach State Park officials are currently monitoring the area. They reminded visitors to respect the park’s historic artifacts. Touching or removing any part of such objects is prohibited and subject to summonses issued by the New Jersey State Park Police.

  • She saved $100,000 for a house in Port Richmond | How I Bought This House

    She saved $100,000 for a house in Port Richmond | How I Bought This House

    The buyers: Mercedes Murphy, 33, healthcare worker

    The house: a 1,710-square-foot townhome in Port Richmond with three bedrooms and two baths, built in 1925.

    The price: listed for $289,000; purchased for $291,000

    The agent: Emily Terpak, Compass

    The exterior of Mercedes Murphy’s home in Port Richmond.

    The ask: Murphy had a strategy for maximizing her savings: never pay more than $850 in rent. If it went above that, she would simply move, which she did several times over five years. But eventually, what started as a strategy began to feel like a trap. “The quality of the places I was willing to pay for kept dropping,” Murphy said. When her small, rat-infested apartment in Point Breeze flooded — the second place she’d lived in that had flooding issues — she decided she’d had enough and set out to find a two-bedroom house with an updated kitchen for $350,000 or less.

    The search: Murphy looked across the city, including in Mt. Airy, Fishtown, and South Philly. Some houses looked good in photos, but looked worse once she saw the surroundings. A Northwest Philly rowhouse made a great impression inside, thanks to its sparkling wood floors, but not outside. “It was just parking lots, and nobody was around,” Murphy said. “It wasn’t very safe.”

    She saw a promising place in Fishtown — a beautiful house with updated appliances, right by Girard Avenue. But it was small and had only one bathroom. Murphy debated the pros and cons with her then-fiancé (now husband), Stefan Walrond, for a few days, then made an offer. Almost immediately, she regretted it. She pulled her offer less than 24 hours later. “They had so many offers already,” Murphy said, “I didn’t feel like fighting for it.”

    The living room in Murphy’s Port Richmond home. She liked how large it was compared to others that she had seen.

    The appeal: A week after she pulled her offer, Murphy got COVID and couldn’t attend showings. Her fiancé went to see a house in Port Richmond without her. “He did the tour,” she said. “He sent me photos and did a little video walk-through.”

    Murphy could tell that this might be the one. It had everything she wanted, including lots of space, two full bathrooms, and an updated kitchen. It even had a backyard with a cherry tree and enough room for their dog. What ultimately sold her, though, were the finishes in the kitchen and upstairs bathroom: the gold faucets, the marble countertops, the built-in bench in the shower. “I loved the modern aesthetic,” Murphy said.

    The deal: Murphy wanted to avoid a bidding war, so she offered $291,000, $2,000 over the asking price.

    Murphy fell in love with the modern finishes, like the gold faucet, in the bathroom.

    The inspection was straightforward. The only major issue was the roof. It would need to be replaced in a few years. A few of the appliances looked like they wouldn’t last very long either. Murphy didn’t ask for any concessions or credits. She just made sure she had enough money saved to pay for replacements down the line. Sure enough, the fridge broke one week after she moved in, and the roof started leaking within the year.

    The money: Murphy, a self-described “huge saver,” started aggressively saving money in 2015, the year she got her first “major job.” When she went to buy a house seven years later, she had just over $100,000 in savings. “I always lived really below my means,” Murphy said. She drove an old used car, lived with roommates, and didn’t have any “crazy expenses, like video games or makeup.”

    “I’m just not a big spender,” she said. Not having student loans helped too.

    Murphy loved the modern aesthetic of the kitchen.

    Murphy used $70,000 for a 20% down payment. She tapped into her remaining $30,000 to pay for the new roof, which cost $6,000, and a new washing machine, which cost $1,700. Her parents bought her a new fridge for $2,000.

    The move: Murphy’s landlord allowed her to break the lease she shared with her fiancé due to the flooding. She hired movers for the first time ever. “I moved so much in Philly before that I knew this time I definitely wanted movers,” Murphy said. It only cost $400. “We didn’t have that much stuff,” she said, “and we weren’t going very far.”

    Any reservations? Murphy and Walrond love their neighborhood and their neighbors, but they wish they lived on a quieter street. “Aramingo is a main thoroughfare,” Murphy said. “So we have a lot of emergency vehicles come by.”

    Other than that, Murphy wishes she negotiated more. If she could do it all over again, she wouldn’t offer $2,000 over the asking price. She would also ask for more concessions from the seller to address the aging appliances. “I didn’t even think to do it,” Murphy said. “I was just so happy to get a house.”

    Mercedes Murphy and Stefan Walrond pose with their pets Archie (left) and Onyx at their Port Richmond home on Tuesday, Jan. 13, 2026, in Philadelphia.

    Life after close: Murphy hasn’t changed anything since moving in, just repaired things. The leak in the roof damaged the bedroom drywall, which she is now in the process of fixing. And she had to replace a leaky window in the office. Despite the minor inconveniences, she’s happy with her purchase. Now she’s focused on rebuilding her savings. She wants to get back to $100,000. “Let’s see if I can do it again,” she said.

    Did you recently buy a home? We want to hear about it. Email acovington@inquirer.com.

  • She moved home and started whispering about Wawa. Then she went viral.

    She moved home and started whispering about Wawa. Then she went viral.

    Of all the things Betsy Kenney thought she might go viral for, whispering about Wawa wasn’t one of them. But the 38-year-old comedian’s Philly “ASMR” videos have taken off on TikTok and Instagram, turning Kenney — who spent more than a decade pursuing a comedy career in New York City — into an unlikely local celebrity.

    If you aren’t familiar with ASMR, which stands for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, it’s a relaxing sensation triggered by soft sounds or repetitive patterns. People watch ASMR videos of soft tapping, scratching, whispering, or crinkling to unwind. A video of someone getting a scalp massage? Pure bliss. A video of someone with a strong Philly accent asking if you know their cousin while scraping a spoonful of Rita’s water ice? Less so. And therein lies the joke. “People find the Philly accent to be like nails on a chalkboard,” Kenney said. “And I thought it would be funny to combine the two.” The contrast clicked immediately.

    Kenney’s videos have racked up millions of views, circulating through group chats and comment sections thick with recognition and debate. They’ve drawn fans far beyond the region and even earned an endorsement from Kylie Kelce, who rated Kenney’s Philly accent an 11. For Kenney, the sudden attention has been somewhat surreal, considering it only arrived after she stopped chasing it.

    Betsy Kenney, the woman behind Philly ASMR, in Philadelphia, December 11, 2025.

    For years, she had been grinding through the familiar comedy circuit in New York. She took improv classes at the Upright Citizens Brigade, acted in commercials to stay afloat, and wrote constantly. “I really wanted to do comedy as a living,” Kenney said. “And it turns out it’s really hard.” There were moments of traction. Kenney and her writing partner had a short film debut at the Tribeca Film Festival. They created a web series that was acquired by IFC. They hosted a podcast that found a sizable audience. “That was big,” she said. But none of it added up to stability. Then came COVID, two babies, and a move to Kenney’s hometown of Philadelphia, a return that quietly reshaped how she worked.

    Back home, the pressure shifted. Kenney was no longer measuring every idea against an imagined career outcome. She was tired, busy, and short on time, and that looseness made room for something new. In September, she posted her first TikTok: an impression of “Phillies Karen,” aka the lady who stole a baseball from a kid at a Phillies game. It went viral. Before that, she said, she’d always been too self-conscious to post comedy online. Now, with less to prove and less time to overthink, she kept going.

    She began posting whenever inspiration struck. Ideas surfaced in the slivers of time she had to herself, like in her car after school drop-off, or before pickup. Some of her best brainstorming happens in the shower, which is why her hair is often still wet in her videos. “I’m not trying to do a soaking wet Kim K thing,” Kenney said. “It’s literally the only time I have.” (Kenney is a full-time parent.)

    A few days after “Phillies Karen” took off, she posted her first Philly ASMR video. Then came her impression of Ms. Rachel if she were from Philly. She tried non-Philly bits, too, but they didn’t land the same way. Viewers were clearly responding to the specificity of her hometown voice.

    Betsy Kenney, the woman behind Philly ASMR, in Philadelphia, December 11, 2025.

    Kenney isn’t the only creator to build a fan base on the back of the Philly accent. There’s also Olivia Herman, whose no-nonsense impression of a Philly mom has attracted over 200,000 followers and a brand deal with Burlington Coat Factory. But where Herman leans into parody, Kenney aims for recognition. The humor doesn’t come from exaggerating the accent, but from treating it as ordinary. That’s no small task considering how difficult the Philly accent is to fake. “It has one of the most complex vowel systems of American English dialects,” said Betsy Sneller, a professor of linguistics at Michigan State University, which makes it difficult to imitate if you didn’t grow up with it.

    Kenney did. She was born and raised in Northeast Philadelphia by two parents from the area. “Philly is all I knew,” she said. Sneller said that familiarity is evident in Kenney’s use of Philly-specific phrasing — “it’s so expensive anymore,” “youse” — and regional slang and cultural references like Mom-moms, bo-bos, and the Roosevelt Mall. “There’s such an identifiable feeling of place,” Sneller said. “It feels so specific.”

    In fact, Kenney has found that the more specific she is, the more people connect with her work. In the comments section of a video where she asks which parish “Father John ended up at,” viewers pile on with recognition. “Wow, so we all had a Father John then, lol,” wrote one. “We all Father John in eastern PA,” wrote another. Even the Eagles chimed in: “My kinda ASMR.”

    Now that she’s back in Philadelphia, the specific details her audience loves are easier to access. Kenney improvises most of her videos, following associations as they surface. So a trip to Franklin Mills might trigger a memory about a childhood birthday, which turns into a video about Stock’s pound cake. Her family is another steady source of material, especially her father, who works in a Philly courtroom as a stenographer and comes over every week with fresh stories. “If I ever need inspiration,” Kenney said, “there it is.”

    Back home, surrounded by the people and places that fuel the work, Kenney isn’t in a hurry to turn her TikTok success into something bigger. She isn’t chasing the next step the way she once did in New York. “This is the first time in my comedy career that I’m just having fun,” she said. “And now that I’m back in Philly, and that’s what’s blowing up, I’m just really happy.”

  • How to have a Perfect Philly Day, according to novelist Adam Cesare

    How to have a Perfect Philly Day, according to novelist Adam Cesare

    Adam Cesare knew by the third date that if he and his future wife were going to end up together, he was going to have to start calling sub sandwiches hoagies. “She’s a Philly lifer,” the New York-born, USA Today best-selling author said. Sure enough, after graduating from college in Boston, the couple relocated to Philadelphia, where Cesare threw himself into the city’s film and literary scenes. “I took to Philly like a fish to water,” Cesare said. That was 15 years ago.

    Fast forward to today, and the former high school English teacher is an acclaimed local author with more than a dozen horror novels under his belt, including the popular Clown in a Cornfield series, the first of which was adapted for the big screen and released in theaters this past summer. Now, Cesare is gearing up to release Clown in a Cornfield 4: Lights! Camera! Frendo!

    When he’s not busy editing his manuscript, Cesare still loves to explore Philly’s extensive film and lit scenes, roaming through used bookstores or catching a flick at PhilaMOCA.

    Here’s how Adam Cesare would spend a perfect day in Philadelphia.

    9 a.m.

    First, I would make sure it’s not a Sunday because I want to go to Beiler’s Doughnuts in Reading Terminal, and it’s closed on Sundays.

    11 a.m.

    After Beiler’s, I’d pop over to Old City to go to The Book Trader. I could name-drop all the current new bookstores, but there’s something about used bookstores that I really like. I’d swing by the comics shop, Brave New Worlds, because it’s right next door, then I’d head to Mostly Books on Bainbridge. I love that place. It’s great because they have a pretty decent VHS, DVD, and Blu-ray selection too, so I’ll get a few movies.

    I might also pop into the Philly AIDS Thrift. It’s fun to walk around. They have a good book section. It’s mostly general fiction. I like their physical media section too. You can get the DVD or VHS of every television series that’s been kicked off Netflix.

    1 p.m.

    For lunch, I’m definitely going to Monster Vegan. It is what it sounds like. It is a really good vegan restaurant themed on monsters. They play clips from Count Yorga and stuff on the walls. They do events, too. I once saw Lloyd Kaufman present Class of Nuke ‘Em High.

    3 p.m.

    After lunch, I might drive over to Manayunk to check out Thrillerdelphia. It’s a new bookstore that exclusively sells horror and thrillers. They just opened two months ago, and I did one of their first events. They’re really nice people, and they have a great selection.

    5 p.m.

    It’s time to beam back down to South Street for dinner and a movie. On a perfect day, I’m going to Royal Izakaya, a Japanese restaurant I like to go to on my birthday. Since money is no object on my perfect day, I’ll order the omakase. Let the chef decide.

    7 p.m.

    There are so many good places to see a movie in Philly. There’s the Philadelphia Film Society. There’s also PhilaMOCA. It’s probably my favorite place to go. They work closely with Exhumed Films, which is a group of film fans who screen 35mm and 16mm films from their private collection in local theaters. They do a lot of work with The Colonial in Phoenixville as well.

    The last time I went to PhilaMOCA, I saw Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and John Cameron Mitchell was there doing a live commentary, which was sick. They do really cool stuff like that all the time.

    9 p.m.

    That was a full day. I’m good for bed now.