Always interested in something new and different, no matter provincial it might seem, J and I packed ourselves into our car and drove into the mountains for “A Chocolate Affaire”.
Seven Springs made a wise choice by starting small, with a pair of goodies tents, a few vendors and live music. Since it was a perfect fall day the long line we had to wait in to obtain our chocolate treats was not a burden.
During our wait, we spotted the most interesting looking man. He was sporting silver horns through his nose. They were quite distinctive, curved in the style of a longhorn steer. Combined with an expensive leather jacket and kick-ass leather boots, he was quite a sight at the bottom of the slope. His three compatriots were also strikingly dressed, although they did not sport the same level of commitment to body modification.
The cannolli was excellent and the chocolate rum balls were dreamy. The chocolate creme brulee was a bit of disappointment.
Monday, September 26, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
Miscellaneous Observations
Observation 1:
When one is a bus rider, one must develop a self-defense mechanism for dealing with the fruits and nuts one is occasionally forced to share space with. Since engaged reading and headphones are not always an adequate means of self-defense, I find that pretending that I am deaf and dumb (or don't speak English) is rather effective. While it does not deter the said fruit from engaging in conversation, it does frustrate them a great deal when they do not get a response from me and leads to a great deal of amusement for me when I give an audible farewell to the bus driver before disembark.
My latest experience in frustrating a fellow rider occurred on Friday, when a rather nasty man, dragging a five gallon paint bucket (with what appeared to be potato peelings) and a bag of groceries, boarded the bus and settled into one of the handicapped seats near the front. He attempted to engage me in conversation as I was reading, and I automatically switched to deaf/dumb/non-English speaker mode as his behavior was highly eccentric.
Shortly after the man had settled down, a blind woman with a service dog boarded the bus. I rose to offer her my seat, but she found a space near a friend and began talking.
Nasty little man decided a little amusement was in order and started throwing cereal on the floor for the dog to eat. When the blind passenger realized that he was feeding her service dog, she started to yell at the man to stop. An argument broke out between the two of them. The blind woman was justifiably furious that the man was feeding her dog. Nasty little man claimed that the dog's sniffing of his potato bucket upon boarding meant that he was hungry.
Naturally, nasty little man turned to me and attempted to justify his bad behavior. As my stop was coming up shortly, I simply gazed off into the distance, nodding out of time to his remarks and smiling vaguely. I would have preferred to hit him with the book I was holding, but that would have been a waste of a perfectly good novel. I said a cheerful good evening to the bus driver when I left the bus and prayed that the man was not behind me.
Observation 2:
Pittsburgh is not exactly the wealthiest of cities. The demise of the steel mills has sent multiple neighborhoods into poverty. One of those neighborhoods is South Braddock.
Locals may wonder why darling husband and myself were driving through Braddock early Sunday afternoon. We were meeting friends to watch the Steeler game and the Parkway was its usual cluster. Depressing does not begin to describe what it feels like to drive through that neighborhood. It looks like a bomb hit it.
As we pulled up to a light behind two trucks, we saw a woman standing on the street. She was middle-aged, appeared to be pregnant and was stopping every vehicle at the light. She initiated conversations with the two vehicles in front of us and the one behind. As we were driving off I realized that she was a prostitute.
Surreal.
When one is a bus rider, one must develop a self-defense mechanism for dealing with the fruits and nuts one is occasionally forced to share space with. Since engaged reading and headphones are not always an adequate means of self-defense, I find that pretending that I am deaf and dumb (or don't speak English) is rather effective. While it does not deter the said fruit from engaging in conversation, it does frustrate them a great deal when they do not get a response from me and leads to a great deal of amusement for me when I give an audible farewell to the bus driver before disembark.
My latest experience in frustrating a fellow rider occurred on Friday, when a rather nasty man, dragging a five gallon paint bucket (with what appeared to be potato peelings) and a bag of groceries, boarded the bus and settled into one of the handicapped seats near the front. He attempted to engage me in conversation as I was reading, and I automatically switched to deaf/dumb/non-English speaker mode as his behavior was highly eccentric.
Shortly after the man had settled down, a blind woman with a service dog boarded the bus. I rose to offer her my seat, but she found a space near a friend and began talking.
Nasty little man decided a little amusement was in order and started throwing cereal on the floor for the dog to eat. When the blind passenger realized that he was feeding her service dog, she started to yell at the man to stop. An argument broke out between the two of them. The blind woman was justifiably furious that the man was feeding her dog. Nasty little man claimed that the dog's sniffing of his potato bucket upon boarding meant that he was hungry.
Naturally, nasty little man turned to me and attempted to justify his bad behavior. As my stop was coming up shortly, I simply gazed off into the distance, nodding out of time to his remarks and smiling vaguely. I would have preferred to hit him with the book I was holding, but that would have been a waste of a perfectly good novel. I said a cheerful good evening to the bus driver when I left the bus and prayed that the man was not behind me.
Observation 2:
Pittsburgh is not exactly the wealthiest of cities. The demise of the steel mills has sent multiple neighborhoods into poverty. One of those neighborhoods is South Braddock.
Locals may wonder why darling husband and myself were driving through Braddock early Sunday afternoon. We were meeting friends to watch the Steeler game and the Parkway was its usual cluster. Depressing does not begin to describe what it feels like to drive through that neighborhood. It looks like a bomb hit it.
As we pulled up to a light behind two trucks, we saw a woman standing on the street. She was middle-aged, appeared to be pregnant and was stopping every vehicle at the light. She initiated conversations with the two vehicles in front of us and the one behind. As we were driving off I realized that she was a prostitute.
Surreal.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Thrown Out
For over a year and a half I have been going to the Health and Wellness Institute run by the YWCA. Yesterday I received a letter announcing that the non-profit was closing the fitness center, gym and pool. Members with time remaining on their contracts could contact the YMCA and transfer their membership. Those who paid in advance could receive a refund. Very sorry, exhausted all options, end of story.
I am sick at heart. For myself yes, but also for my fellow members. Although I am not the most social of people, the routine of seeing the same women week in and week out was familiar and comforting. All types of women came to the gym. Young, elderly, fit and infirm. African-American, White, Christian, Jewish and Muslim. What will happen to them?
I am sick at heart. For myself yes, but also for my fellow members. Although I am not the most social of people, the routine of seeing the same women week in and week out was familiar and comforting. All types of women came to the gym. Young, elderly, fit and infirm. African-American, White, Christian, Jewish and Muslim. What will happen to them?
Sunday, September 11, 2005
The Louvre Metro Stop Entrance
I don't have a story about this stop. The juxtaposition of grand old buildings with a modern and funky structure just worked for me.
Friday, September 02, 2005
The Bus Ride - A Short Story
Every morning I ride the bus to work. Parking is expensive and I do not enjoy the stress of rush hour traffic, so the bus is the right choice for me.
One cannot help but overhear conversations when riding the bus. It may be a means of transportation, but it is public transportation, which means that there is no such thing as a private conversation.
Two of the more memorable fellow passengers on my route are recovering Meth addicts. These two women are walking proof that using a substance capable of blowing up buildings and generating toxic waste is a very bad idea. Their conversation gives me hours of mental entertainment and good stories.
One day this past week, the two meth addicts boarded the bus. They were joined by a third companion, a man of an indeterminate age, and all three were upset. One woman was nearly hysterical, holding her nose and wrist and crying. Her two companions had to hold her up as the three of them trudged up the aisle to the back door.
As the ride progressed, it became clear that the three had just been in a car accident. The man had a shallow cut across his forehead. The hysterical woman had bashed her nose and right wrist hard off the dashboard.
As they continued talking, more of the story was reveled. The man with the cut never bothered to renew his driver's license. The woman with the broken nose had a suspended license. One of them was driving (I never determined which one). And they were complaining about how surly the police were.
You think?
One cannot help but overhear conversations when riding the bus. It may be a means of transportation, but it is public transportation, which means that there is no such thing as a private conversation.
Two of the more memorable fellow passengers on my route are recovering Meth addicts. These two women are walking proof that using a substance capable of blowing up buildings and generating toxic waste is a very bad idea. Their conversation gives me hours of mental entertainment and good stories.
One day this past week, the two meth addicts boarded the bus. They were joined by a third companion, a man of an indeterminate age, and all three were upset. One woman was nearly hysterical, holding her nose and wrist and crying. Her two companions had to hold her up as the three of them trudged up the aisle to the back door.
As the ride progressed, it became clear that the three had just been in a car accident. The man had a shallow cut across his forehead. The hysterical woman had bashed her nose and right wrist hard off the dashboard.
As they continued talking, more of the story was reveled. The man with the cut never bothered to renew his driver's license. The woman with the broken nose had a suspended license. One of them was driving (I never determined which one). And they were complaining about how surly the police were.
You think?
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