Dear Pittsburgh: I love you, but...

by PittGirl

 

Honey, after 40 years of marriage, I still love you, but if you don't stop plucking your nose and ear hairs with $13 needlepoint-tweezers, I will use your golf clubs to dig holes in the garden. And also to beat to death any rodent I encounter while digging.

Kiddo, now that you're 14 years old, I want to tell you I love you, but if you would begin wearing deodorant, perhaps the stray animals will stop following you home mistakenly believing you are leading them to fresh carcass.

Have you ever done that? Looked at someone you love, said you love the person, and then added a big fat BUT at the end of it?

You have? Good. Because, Pittsburgh, my dearest city, I love you always and forever, BUT...

1. I will never understand why Steely McBeam exists.

In 2007, when the Steelers first threw out the news of an impending mascot, I was skeptical. When the Steelers revealed an overalls-clad man wearing a foam head made to look like a steelworker, I was aghast. When the Steelers revealed the name of the mascot, I vomited.

In one fell swoop, the Steelers went from being the no-nonsense, blue-collar, hard-hitting, smash 'em, bash 'em, we don't need no stinkin' cheerleaders team to the team with the mouth-breathing, roided-up Village People-reject as their mascot. I don't ever wish death on anything but pigeons, but Steely McBeam obviously needs to die. Preferably in an unfortunate impaling accident with that steel beam he carries around.

2. [Thump] do you think [rattle] we can do something [thump] about the potholes?

Last year Mayor Lukey, not long after declaring and losing miserably The War on Snow, defiantly, without an official act of City Council, declared war on potholes. I've taken an official survey of my car and the bill from my mechanic and the pain in my neck from the thumpity-thumps, and I can tell the mayor with certainty that the war has been lost. Mission un-accomplished. No aircraft-carrier celebration for you, Lukey. The potholes have reigned supreme, clutching in victory countless random chunks of vehicular undercarriages.

3. Your parking tax is making me poor.

In 2006, the City of Pittsburgh's parking tax at 50 percent was the highest parking tax on Earth. Not in the United States, not in North America, but in the universe! There were aliens parking their spaceships on the Planet Luminia shaking their green bulbous heads and chanting, "Those poor Pittsburghers." And I mean that literally.

Since then, it has dropped to 37.5 percent, but that's still the highest in the nation. Funny thing is that, when the tax dropped from 50 percent to 37.5 percent, parking rates didn't drop. Now parking-lot operators insist that if the tax doesn't drop further, they'll be "forced" to raise rates in much the same way that I am "forced" to eat the Ho Hos I keep in the drawer next to my bed. (I don't really do that. I just made that up.)

I think I'll start riding a bike to work and take my chances on getting swallowed by a pothole that escaped the war unscathed.

4. Your citizens' cars will not be sucked into a brain-collapsing vacuum if they don't brake during their entire journey through the city's tunnels.

What is it about the mouth of a tunnel that sends a signal to the brain of many a 'Burgher, telling his or her brain to send a message to the foot to BRAKE.

Sixty percent of 'Burghers arrive at a tunnel and immediately decrease their speed by 70 percent, causing traffic and accidents and general hell.

The city got wise to this and hung signs before each tunnel reminding drivers to "Maintain Speed Through Tunnel." It's not working. What they need is a sign that says, "Be warned all ye who enter here: If you decrease your speed upon entrance, we will be forced to shoot at your car with a shoulder-fired rocket launcher. Have a nice day."

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PittGirl Rants/Raves

Rant:
I've had it with business-suited men who pull their golf umbrellas from their trunks, open them up to reveal enormous parachute-sized canopies, and then walk down the sidewalks of downtown forcing other pedestrians to either hop off the sidewalk and out of the way or to take a spoke to the eyeball. Buy smaller umbrellas!

Rave:
The G-20 Summit comes to Pittsburgh next month, not long after the Furries of the world descended on the city for Anthrocon 2009. What I wouldn't have given to have both of those conventions happen at the same time. Hey, look, there's Nicolas Sarkozy! Oh, hey, look, a blue wolf with bunny ears and cow udders! Only in the 'Burgh.

Rave:
I have discovered a little local business called "Cookies from the Hart" which sells homemade cookies with surprises in the middle. Peanut butter cookies stuffed with Bananas Foster. Chocolate chip cookies stuffed with brownies. Snickerdoodles stuffed with chai icing. This is like tearing apart a marshmallow and finding a s'more inside. Yum!

Rave:
My niece is not quite two yet. She will grab her mother's iPhone, turn it on, open up apps, scroll up and down, spell words, solve puzzles, land airplanes, whack moles and she'll do it all without the assistance of an adult. Hand that same iPhone to my mother and she'll ask, "Hey, how do I turn this doohickey on?" Kids are smart little techies.

Rant:
Today I met a four-year-old girl who told me all about Hannah Montana (she's like, awesome), the Jonas Brothers (Squeeee!), and BEYONCE! When I was four, I was listening to Miss Piggy and was feeling a little naughty listening in on her breathy, "Oh, Kermieeee." I was NOT busting a move and growling, "I am ... Sasha Fierce."

Rant:
While at a small park lake recently, I happened upon a fisher, one of many, reeling in a fish. He grabbed the poor fish, let it suck air for a minute, unhooked it, and then violently hurled it back into the water before baiting his hook again. I wondered how many times that fish got caught that day and how hard it prays that someone just lets him die already.

Rant:
I discovered that my favorite muffin at my favorite donut place has three times more fat than their donuts - donuts I have eschewed because of said fat. I could eat a Whopper and still eat less fat than is contained in a single muffin. I could eat three donuts. Four tacos. I could eat two bowls of ice cream drizzled with chocolate and nuts. Muffins are crafty evil-doers.