A Train To Somewhere
It’s true – CWW hopped a train from New York to Pittsburgh a few months ago and hasn’t looked back (except to occasionally check that he isn’t being followed by the natives in Deliverance). Now, I’ve become quite the advocate of my fair city, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention a few of the more disturbing Steel City traits I’ve witnessed with my own two peepers.#1. The Superbowl is its own holiday season. I was driving to a party on Superbowl Sunday when some guy who looked like Kenny Loggins almost sideswiped my car, and then gave me the ol’ “I’m older than you, so it must be your fault” stare.
Being a native New Yorker, I instinctively threw my car into park and ran up to the douchebag’s window to verbally tear him a new one. His response? He cracked his window and, in a sheepish mumble, said, “please, come on buddy… it’s Superbowl.”#2. They use french fries like you use salt… no – like you use oxygen. Got a ham and cheese sandwich? Throw some fries on it. Got a salad? Throw some fries on it. Pizza? Fries. Fries? More fries. I found a fucking french fry in my mango smoothie last week. Not saying it wasn’t delicious, just saying… wtf.
I’ve since taken the liberty of inventing a new Pittsburghism, which I now bestow upon my adoring and/or torch-wielding readers for copyright-free use: “I’d put some fries on that”. For instance, let’s say you spy a sultry little brunette at a party, boasting cleavage that could make a grown man cry (out of his penis). Well, you might lean over to a buddy and say, “Damn… I’d put some fries on that.” Got it? Great, now go forth and play that baby out until it hits VH1 compilation show fame.#3. I don’t know what got into Pittsburgh’s ancestors (their drunk cousin’s penis, perhaps?)
And yes, if you’re counting, that makes 3 parenthetical references to penises), but there’s an astonishing percentage of offspring here who suffer from severe limps, rickets, and other bipedal handicaps. For what it’s worth, their spastic motions are a little catchy, and with the right dance tune thumping in the background could easily become the latest craze. I mean, I’m sometimes surrounded by these poor souls and can’t help thinking that I’m being treated to a performance of West Side Story.