Seeing other cities

This weekend, after a long break, Brad and I once again made an excursion to a city on the list of Places We Might Want To Live When We Leave New York. (Longtime readers may remember the first of said excursions, which resulted in a fly-by-night visit to Richmond and the balls-out disqualification of North Carolina in its entirety after a be-pigged pickup truck roared past us on the highway.)

Our city of choice for this weekend was one to which neither of us had ever been: Pittsburgh!

Things initially got off to a rocky start, with a drive from New York that was punctuated by traffic, rain, and no small amount of bickering. I’m pretty sure that I took the following picture immediately after making the maudlin suggestion that this was clearly a terrible idea and we should just turn the car around, go home, and get divorced.

Il pleure dans mon coeur comme il pleut sur la Route 76.

Fortunately, the angst turned out to be easily cured on arrival in the Iron City -- by a shower, a beer, and a view of this building that looks like a glass castle.


And things only got better from there! Dinner at a tapas place on Carson Street was followed by the revelation that smoking is permitted in certain Pittsburgh bars, allowing for the enjoyment of a rare evening in which Brad was not forced to desert me every half-hour or so to stand like a smoldering pariah on the sidewalk, and also allowing for a terrific moment of marital bonding wherein, cigarettes in hand, we guiltily/gleefully admitted to each other that we really liked that Avril Lavigne song currently playing on the jukebox.

On Saturday, there was a stroll through the Mexican War Streets, a visit to the Warhol Museum, and a terrific burger. We also made the acquaintance of these fine fellows near the Roberto Clemente Bridge.


It was late in the day when we arrived at PNC Park for the Pirates-Giants game – where, after a short cloudburst, we stepped out to our (really excellent, really cheap) seats in the left-field grandstand and were met with…. this.

Conversation immediately following:

Kat: Is it me, or does it seem like Pittsburgh is trying to seduce us?
Brad: Yes, and it's working.
(pause)
Brad: But we have been drinking, so maybe we should be careful.

And so we didn't proclaim an immediate plan to move to the 'burgh, although really, it didn’t seem that the day could get much better – what with all the art and architecture and burgers and rainbows.

Until midway through the game, when Brad suddenly grabbed my arm.

“HONEY!” he shouted with the sort of urgency that usually means I am about to walk into moving traffic. “For the love of God, pay attention!"

What was the source of all this excitement, you ask?

"Hot dogs!" Brad shouted, his eyes open so far that I could see the whites all the way around. "Hot dogs are being shot at us from an air cannon!!!”


Yes, that’s right: in Pittsburgh, you can hear the words “hot dogs” and “air cannon” used in the same sentence.

We didn’t ultimately catch any of the hot dogs… which is probably a good thing given that, if we had, Brad would have almost certainly insisted that we move immediately to this magical land of rainbows and flying meats. And so we are back in New York with no plans for permanent departure.

But damn, Pittsburgh. Well played.