Posts Tagged ‘Walking Pittsburgh’

Bad Art and iPods

September 25, 2008

This last weekend, my best pal from highschool came to visit. As the host, I had a credible and decent agenda laid out. However, my lesser demons tend to get involved when I make plans, giving black eyes to anything with a halo. So the agenda got pretty much blown to hell.

The original plan was as follows:

-Shadyside Arts Festival
-Lunch in Shadyside
-Roller Derby Championship
-Dinner…somewhere?
-Alcoholocaust

I only managed three of the five. Ouch.

So my buddy gets lost on the turnpike (laugh all you want, but I did it at least three times back when I still drove) so that buys my hungover ass two extra hours of tequila induced nonsleep.

He shows up, I man up, we stroll up.

To Shadyside. I make him buy me a hotdog to keep both the physical and spiritual sickness at bay. I had forgotten what a lame fuckaround these kinds of things are. Thomas Kinkade would fit in perfectly. Almost the entire lot was shite art for idiots with too much money.

Perfect for Shadyside.

There were some really cool artists- a bronze sculptor, a few painters, one or two other sculptors, but you had to wade through series of tents filled with uninspired tripe. Most of the tents had manual credit card swipers ready. Imagine.

To perfect this sickeningly bourgeois experience, this one here knuckled under and replaced (and recycled for a 10% discount!) his long-dead five-year-old iRelic.

In the Apple store.

The moral of this story is that for all my grousing, I’m no better than the lilies of Shadyside, because I fucking need an iWant, dammit.

I just have better taste in art.

Not skill, there was a good bit of skill there, more so than my technical learnin’. But a shithouse is a shithouse, and I can manage some usable, albeit grimy receptacles.

I had fucked us by forgetting to buy Roller Derby tickets until the night before. They were of course, sold out. Congrats, Bitch Doctors!

So a meal was next. Back to Bloomfield, and Lot 17. I was thereby informed I had already taken my buddy there, so….Brillobox!

Closed? At like 5? Fuck.

Here’s where the lesser demons really got busy.

hey we can just go to the strip it’s totally not that far away

Dear lesser demons, the Strip is over twenty fucking blocks from that particular spot of hell-borne inspiration, you fucks. And my damn sandals gave me blisters.

So, great conversation, urban blight, and eventually Primanti’s. Then, for some reason, I’m all like, “Yo, fuck the 54c, I don’t even like that bus.” So we walk downtown.

We finally hit a 61 back to Oakland for Dave & Andy’s (dude, Strawberry Coconut!) and then walked back to my house, leaving us both wholly satisfied with a pretty packed afternoon and early evening.

Then we each bought a bottle of wine.

I recommend this to anyone:

The bottle is a magic trick! It disappears in a single gulp and you are magically invincible. It does not help yr pool game, however. As the neighbors made obvious. Then, wanting to show my pal how I roll when the night creeps into my veins, I demand we all go to Sonny’s. They told us it is haunted, and used to be a way-station on some old passenger train line. No shit. Some guy told me I should write horror poetry, but I was too chickenshit to tell him there’s not too much I could do to make it more horrible, haHA!

We finally came back into orbit, only to have me force my friend into the waiting arms of a neighbor for a salsa lesson. Perfect way to end an evening.

I awake Sunday, he drops me at work on his way back to the 216, leaving me with a compound hangover, a reaffirmed disgust for Shadyside, the hypocrisy of a shiny new iNeed and a half-finished painting from Friday night.

Shit, I’m not all mouth.

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