Omar

Omar is our neighborhood character. He doesnt care what he does cuz he doesnt care what you think. When hes not completely obliterated, he’s a really nice, cool, and interesting guy. I wish ppl who didnt know him wouldnt judge him. Sure its not all roses (like the time he just walked into my house uninvited and started playing my roommates guitar) but if he knows you arent fake, he’ll help you out. Sometimes he leaves food or things he found around town for me and my roommate. He comes to my porch and says hi to my cat through the window. He has his good and bad moments, but overall, I think Omar is great and the ppl who judge him are «nothing but sheep» as he would say!

But try to understand, try to understand
Try try try to understand
He’s a magic man.

I’m new to the neighborhood, but this is what I see — the guy’s extremely sick, drinking himself to death, and the college students (and other younger locals) think that’s funny. It’s a reinforcement of the stereotype that the young intellectuals in this area are very intelligent — just ask them — but not very streetwise or considerate.
True story — one night my neighbors were playing music on their porch and egging Omar on as he danced to it. They’d turn up the music and change songs to watch him change his dancing. They were making him dance for them, for their own amusement, and giving him booze in return. He was begging for treats. They could just rescue a dog.
You’ll forgive me if I don’t «dig» that «flavor.»
And by the way — I don’t mean for this review to be «of» the guy himself, because I think posting a review of a diseased human being who’s not a street performer is unforgivably dehumanizing and demeaning. He desperately needs help, and you guys are rating him like he’s a yogurt shop. You don’t have *anyone* you care about, or are related to, that is a serious alcoholic? You don’t know how this works? Shame on you, grow up and get it together, you guys.

In the words of Angelo, who runs Evans pizza
«He’s Omar… he never die!» (the conclusion to a story which involved Omar being so drunk that he kicked him out of the shop, punched him in the rib, causing him to be flung into a car down Locust street and breaking said rib)
If you don’t know Omar, just wander around Locust st between 46^th and 43^rd for a while, and you’ll find him. Open a can of beer and you wont even have to search.
It’s worth the experience.

My first encounter with Omar took place at the CVS located on 43^rd & Locust. This particular location had recently installed self-​checkout registers, and Omar was standing at the front of the store, asking to no one in particular «who was responsible for the intellect of the computers»? He then proceeded to taunt the manager, whose name I believe is Charlie, by asking him a slew of nonsensical questions. Omar then disappeared for a few minutes, returning with a fluffy white dog, which was not his. He held this pooch high in the air and announced that he had a «fancy, fancy dog for a fancy CVS». I left scratching my head.
Since that first enchanting encounter, I have had the pleasure of spotting Omar around the neighborhood, most notably at this year’s Best Fest, as he tagged onto the end of the drum line as it made it’s way out of the park. He was shirtless, with a painted face, beer & smoke in hand.

10% funny, 10% intriguing, 80% exhausting

Review 800 (900 counting updates)! When you reach a number like that you earn the right to take a degree of certain civil liberties (I am fearfully intrigued by what Dave H. may review at 2000!). And that’s exactly why I decided to dedicate this illustrious number to one of West Philly’s most infamously notorious neighbors!
After the many encounters I’ve had with Omar throughout my 2+ year West Philth residency, Ive considered him to be equal parts cultural enigma; and complete and total basketcase. After all, the same person who introduced Dr. Dog with a poetic verse of psycho babble when they played Rittenhouse Square a couple years back; is the same person who managed to get in a verbal sparring match with a pirate while Joe Jack Talcum played an Equinox Festival at Clark Park. In another world, time, or reality; Omar could easily be the next Socrates. But in Philly he’s a cultural misfit who manages to keep things beyond amusing; so long as he doesn’t try to steal your beer.
In my own personal experiences with Omar he has tried to kiss me on my forehead while basking in my tallness. But he has also tried to challenge me to a fight for looking at him funny when I was talking on my phone and wasn’t even paying him any mind. It got to the point where I would have retaliated back in a dervish, if I didn’t remember him looking so adorable while dancing with dogs in the park.
If you experience Omar in extremely large doses, then I can understand why you might find yourself headed towards the brink of insanity. But if you come across Omar in small and unexpected doses, then he can be as therapeutic as watching a reality television trainwreck; minus The Situation, Typically horrible VH1 Bromances (
), and ghastly catch phrases. And for that Omar, I thank you!

Omar was one of the first people I met in West Philadelphia, and continues to be someone I see often. Just last week he ran alongside my bike with me and gave me some huge high fives. He’s walked me home in the middle of the night, sung my praises (literally) at porch parties, and always hollers out when he sees me on the street
Omar can definitely be an acquired taste. If he’s got his drunk on, and gets angry, he can be a real pain in the ass, as belligerent as they get. He’s been known to steal alcohol, and has no qualms asking for yours, or your cigarettes. That’s on a bad night.
Get him lucid or happy, and he can be a real joy. The man has seen every movie ever made, and can quote them all. He knows way more about geography and world politics than I do, and can tell a great story about his escape from Morocco. He’s a philosophizer by heart, a wanderer by trade, and usually gets by on the good graces — and couches– of his West Philly friends.
You might find him incomprehensible, but that’s probably just because you aren’t fluent in Omar. Try a little harder and you might learn something.

Well, someone seems to have opened the floodgate… Thanks for that!
OMAR!!! You are insane. I both love you and hate you at the same time. When you aren’t trashed off your rocker you are very polite, make great conversation, and entertain me for the portion of my walk that you join me for. When you are drunk off your rocker, you are hilarious up until you become mean and insulting. I love it personally, but there are some folks who just don’t dig the flavor. Anyway, you’ve not only found yourself a niche in West Philly, but now you’ve got yourself Unilocaled and myspace. Omar, is there no place safe from your wrath? I hope not.

Omar is West Philly’s equivalent of Borat. He has a thick accent and often shouts in broken English about how he loves American women. Most of the time, though, he’s screaming at you from outside, asking you to let him in to chill with you on the balcony, or harassing you for a cigarette outside Fiume or The Other Green Line.
Omar has crashed parties with his dog in tow, commandeering hookahs and terrifying non-​West Phillyites. He has belligerently challenged the philosophical views of many a grad student in a drunken mess of syntax outside of Fiume. This is the Omar we know and love (or love to hate).
But last night, I learned something new about Omar: he can read poetry beautifully, in English and French. Last night Omar was a poet upon a rooftop and not just an absurd quasi-​homeless guy. And for that, he’s got a special place in my heart.