The Blurgh

Given that today seems like a beautiful, if crisp, day, I think I’m going to see if I can get some folks together tonight to cut a rug at a bar/restaurant in Bloomfield called Manic Attic. It’s a small place (as all places in Bloomfield are), but they have a house band that plays music that’s not too in-your-face, but also not drowsy. The kind of place where it’ possible to sit at the bar and talk to friends or get down on the dance floor, and it’s all good.

One of my favorite parts about the place, though, is the welcoming atmosphere. Most dance places, especially in other towns, have a real “screw you” attitude towards their clientèle–if you’re not hot and/or a great dancer, you don’t belong. Those kinds of places feed a common perception people have that they have to be good at something before they even try it, lest they embarrass themselves.

What the hell kind of BS is that? Manic Attic doesn’t buy into that sort of self-defeating and elitist drivel, and the way they counter it is with leading by example.

Although I don’t know the folks personally, I heard that the place was started by a group of friend’s who were fed up with how the dance scene was so non-inclusive, so they started their own place. Some of them are there almost every night, and they just rock out with reckless abandon. It’s hard to see them having fun and not want to join in, and that’s usually what ends up happening, even for the hard nuts to crack. It also doesn’t hurt that the band is totally rockin–live music makes a HUGE difference!

So there I am, hanging out at my favorite little café after work, waiting for Andi to show up so she can tell me all about her law school classmates’ drama and I can tell her the cute things my girls did today. I’m leafing though this magazine we got at the office this week and totally loving it. It’s called Femiyinz – awkward name, but awesome mag. It’s a new publication (this is the first issue ever) and it was started by three English/women’s studies majors at Chatham to highlight feminist issues with a bit of local flavor.

The barista walks by my table on her way back behind the counter, arms full of plates and coffee cups. She stops, backtracks a few steps, and stands right next to me. I look up to see her smiling broadly.

“You’re reading Femiyinz!” she cries. “My friends are going to be so psyched. They started that magazine. How did you get it?!”

I tell her about the PWF and how everyone was really impressed with it. She asks me what my favorite articles have been.

“I loved the piece about unions offering free childcare to mothers who are working to get off welfare and learn some trades,” I replied. “And the profile of the new president at the zoo was really cool.”

We talked for about twenty more minutes, long enough for Andi to come and join the conversation. It’s so cool having all these little outlets for feminism in Pittsburgh – from what my mom tells me, it was not exactly a feminist haven when she was my age. And how much do I love just randomly running into people who have a hand in all the cool stuff that’s going on around town?!

It’s that dreaded time of the semester again–midterms.  This time around it’s not too bad, but I am afraid that my biotech test is going to royally kick my butt.  There’s nothing like hoping everyone else in the class sucks at it as much as you do so that the curve will be enough to save you…it’s kind of like betting on who’ll lose a game instead of who’ll win it!

Otherwise, everything is going pretty well.  I had to tell CRR that I needed some extra time for studying last week, which they were cool about.  They’ve started hinting at some possibilities opening up after I graduate, which also makes me happy.  They’re good people and they do good work–it’s hard to get much better than that with an employer.

My directed study, though, has come to a bit of a roadblock.  We’ve done some interesting demographic research, which I’ll try to put up here sometime next week, and that shows some interesting trends.  What makes it hard, though, is trying to find a good measure of that nebulous thing we call “community.”  Some people have used things like fraternal organization membership and local sports clubs, but those plummet pretty much across the board nationally after the 1970s, even in places where there’s lots of “community,” so that doesn’t seem like it’ll provide a constant measure.

It’s also possible that what we call “community” has actually changed over the past hundred or so years.  Anyway, Dr. Lemley has a really good time thinking about this, but it’s starting to make my head spin.  Anyone out there have any ideas on the subject?  What does community mean to you?

When I was in high school, I had a habit of staying up all night just for fun from time to time. I would get these great bursts of creativity, get a whole ton of stuff done, and then be in a wacky mood the next day which didn’t really matter because it was just high school.

Yesterday I found out those days are looooong gone.

I pulled an all-nighter the night before last because I had two essays due and a mid-term that required major cramming. I was very confident that it would be just like the old days; I would get a second wind around 1:30 am and by the time 6 am rolled around, everything would be done. Well, as it turned out, by 3 am I was on my second pot of coffee, I had one essay done (poorly), an outline of the other one (also bad), and I’d been staring at the same two sentences of my textbook for at least 20 minutes straight.

I decided to crash for two hours, and then I somehow buckled down and got everything done. The rest of the day I felt slightly hungover. My body was in full-scale rebellion against my lack of planning, and the confidence I had felt a mere 12 hours earlier seemed like a distant memory.

Since then I’ve pretty much done nothing but sleep. This morning I felt better, but I’m afraid to look at the essays I turned in. Does this kind of stuff happen after college? Does a secret spell come along with your diploma that suddenly makes you organized? I really hope so, because otherwise, I’m screwed.

One cool thing, though, is that for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Gretchen and I are planning on going out to enjoy a night on the town. First we’re going to hit up the new Jamaican place in Bloomfield (have you seen all the crazy new restaurants going up around there?), and then hop the train downtown and catch a show. Although maybe the tickets would be better used as a bribe for my professors..

I should have worn pantyhose under my pants because this thin cloth is just not cutting it.

I hope the office isn’t still out of tea and coffee.

What’s the freezing temperature of snot?

I wonder what it’s called when the wind blows so hard on your forehead that you get a headache from it.

Why did I buy a white coat when all my winters are spent in Pittsburgh? Seriously.

I think that dude just saw me wipe my nose on my mitten and then nonchalantly drag it across the thigh of my jeans. Very classy.

She’s wearing a skirt and boots but no tights. How is she not dead?

Goddamn it, does the walk usually take this long?

Early February during my junior year of college – three years ago today, to be exact. The spring semester (if you can even call it that, since the wind chill regularly hovered around the single digits) had just started and I was already overwhelmed by the classes I was taking. Writing the Memoir? The Politics of Women’s Bodies? Practical Applications of Astronomy? Was I really ready to handle all this?

As it turns out, I was, just not on this particular Saturday night. That night, I was going to relax, watch some old movies with my roommate and maybe crack open a bottle of Muscadet. I had just chosen three of our favorite films when Andi burst through the front door of our tiny Oakland apartment.

“Forget the movies, forget the wine, we’re going out,” she announced. I groaned.

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Uh, have you not heard about my week? I have to read five chapters of that women’s bodies book by Monday and I’m supposed to turn in the first draft of my memoir on Wednesday. What am I going to say, ‘small town girl moves to Pittsburgh and fakes her way through a ridiculous writing class that’s supposed to be about telling the truth?’ No. Tonight is for wine and Casablanca and spending time with your best friend.” I looked at Andi pointedly, trying to guilt her into changing into her pajamas.

I had forgotten that Andi is impervious to my guilt trips.

“Gretch, I love you, but seriously, we’re going out. Nothing major, just a small house party that Josh is having tonight.”

“You’re breaking our date so you can flirt with Josh?” I exclaimed. Josh was her co-intern at the ACLU and I had been hearing about him since August.

“I’m not breaking our date, I’m just changing the location. We’ll be together at the party, you know. And there will be other guys there.”

I sighed and realized I wasn’t going to win. After changing back into jeans and a sweater, we wound our way through South Oakland until we arrived at quite possibly the ugliest house I’d ever seen – green aluminum siding, red shutters and crumbling steps.

“Lovely chateau,” I whispered to Andi, but she ignored me and greeted Josh at the door. He nodded politely to me, then they started talking about the case they were working on at the ACLU. Recognizing a brush-off when I saw one, I headed back to the kitchen to inspect the wine choices, figuring I was lucky if I could find a box of Franzia.

There was another guy in the kitchen, already inspecting the bottles of wine lined up on the counter.

“Please, god, tell me there’s something to drink besides Boone’s Farm and Natty Light,” I said. He grinned.

“Actually, these pickings are pretty slim,” he said, “but I’ll share my private stash with you if you promise not to tell anyone else about it.”

“What did you bring?”

He pulled a bottle from a backpack lying on the counter. “Muscadet. Ever have it?”

“No way! I was going to have a quiet, relaxing evening with my roommate drinking Muscadet tonight!”

“Well, you and your roommate have exceedingly good taste,” he said, twisting the cork out of the bottle and pouring two glasses. He lifted his up. “To quiet, relaxing evenings.”

We clinked glasses and then proceeded to talk about everything under the sun. Pittsburgh city politics, the Academy Awards, the Amish, our mutual love for Marvin Gaye, how it was possible to both love and hate being in college all at once, our families, constellations, summer jobs. It was freewheeling and spontaneous and astonishing and sweet. And I didn’t really want it to end.

But around 2 AM, Andi drifted into the kitchen and said she was ready to go home. I turned to my companion and smiled.

“It was nice talking with you,” I said, “but I don’t know your name.”

“Frank,” he said. “Frank Zielinski. And you are?”

“Gretchen Parker. Want my number?”

He laughed. “Yes, I definitely want your number.”

“Good, because I want yours too.”

We exchanged numbers and polite pecks on the cheek. He called the next day. We’ve now been together for three years.

Does he ever have my number.

Between attending the opening of a new Artist’s Marketplace and having my yearly exam, it’s been a pretty full week. So I was glad that last night I attended the chillest author reading I’ve ever been to.

Magda Hausmann is one of the coolest young adult fiction writers out there. Her books are realistic and funny and really deal with the pitfalls of living life as a teenager. When any of the girls at the PWF ask me what they should read for their next book report, I usually come back with a Magda book that’s aimed at the 12-to-14 crowd. Thankfully, there are about a dozen to choose from - she’s pretty prolific.

Anyway, she is super laid-back and last night took questions from the audience as though we were all BFFs who just happened to run into each other at a cozy coffee shop. In response to a question about where she gets her ideas, she smiled broadly and said, “I look around. Everything is right there waiting for me to write about it.” And to another person who asked whether she was worried that her books dealt with themes that were too “adult” for teenagers, she raised her eyebrows. “Teenagers are mini-adults trying to come to terms with this thing we call the real world, right?” she said. “I try to write about as much adult stuff as I can, to help these people prepare and realize they’re not so alone in their struggles. They struggle. They struggle mightily. We should be helping them along the way.”

So super cool. I think my author-crush on her skyrocketed last night. I’m totally in love.

Last night, Gretchen and I went to the opening of a new Artist’s Marketplace location, this one in the Strip.  That’ll make three locations so far, and if the new one’s anywhere near as successful as the past two, there’ll probably be at least one more popping up in the next year or two.

The first location was setup in the South Side about 10 years ago in the old South Side Market House building (off of Carson on Bedford Square), and I’m totally in love with the concept.  Artist co-ops have been popular in the city for a while, and some of them even provided spaces for artists to display and sell their work.  Pittsburgh’s also been known for its neighborhood arts festivals, and the booths that get the biggest draws in those festivals were always the ones where an artist was actively doing work.  A group of artists decided to combine the elements of those different ideas and put it all in one place.

The building is divided into 20+ studio/gallery spaces with a large central open space down the middle.  The studios/galleries are large enough to provide an artist with enough room to have a full-size workspace and also have a place to display their pieces.  The open space down the middle gives the building a very old-timey marketplace feel–almost like something out of the Middle Ages.  People love coming to watch the artists work, especially those doing metal and woodwork, and the artists get to interact with people and give their work a lot of visability.  It also provides artists with a productive setting to interact with each other, and many of them end up working together on different projects.

Pittsburgh is also a terrific place for these types of attractions since there are so many old warehouses and factories that lend themselves well to studio renovation.  A few years after the South Side location opened, one opened in Lawrenceville in one of the old buildings by the river.  At that point, people knew what the marketplaces were all about, and it was an instant success.  The opening Gretchen and I went to last night was a big event, and we have no doubt that it’ll take no time for it to become yet another attraction in the Strip.

Last weekend, Gretchen and I were lucky enough to score tickets to The Tubes concert, and it was awesome. Neither of us have seen The Tubes since they made it big nationally and, as I’m sure you know, tickets were not easy to come by. It just so happens, though, that they recorded their first album at Washie’s, so my dad was able to pull some strings to get us in.

The Tubes have a great 80s/funk fusion kind of thing, and they somehow find a way to incorporate an accordian into almost every song they play. I also can’t imagine a better place for them to play in than Venue 13. It’s on 13th and near Sarah in the South Side in this crazy old police station. There was a big fire in it that gutted the place decades ago, and it was abandoned for a long time. When things started happening in the South Side, a clever investor bought the property for practically nothing, and over several years renovated it into an intimate but large venue. It’s great because it attracts national acts but still has the feel of a small club.

My Dad told me that he remembers sneaking into the building before it was sold and goofing around with his friends. It tried to get more details on what exactly he meant by “goofing,” but when I asked, he suddenly remembered he had something to do that was “very important…”

Since I’ll be starting an internship at Community Recycling and Renewables (CRR) in a few weeks, my days at the Castle are coming to an end.  It’s been awesome, and I’m going to miss the money a lot…I don’t know if you knew this, but there is quite a pay differential between bartending and interning!

It’ll actually work out all right, because starting in January, the Castle will be undergoing some renovation and expansion into the adjacent store.  Because of that, a large part of the bar will be unavailable, so they are cutting back on the number of people working every night.  I will miss it though, and I might try to start working there a few nights a week again after the semester’s over.  By then all the work will be done, so they’ll definitely be in need of people.

And I have to admit, I’m a little proud of myself–one of the main reasons that the owner decided to expand was to increase the capacity of the theatre and stage, and that’s largely due to the overwhelming success of the Rocky Horror night back on Halloween (my idea!).  The owner is planning on sponsoring an Indie movie night at least every week and also booking some bigger local bands as well as national acts to come play when the new and improved stage is done.

If you ask me, that’s something that Oakland desperately needs.  The South Side, Lawrenceville, the North Side and other neighborhoods already have big venues, but Oakland hasn’t had anything since Laga closed over 20 years ago (at least that’s what my Dad said).  He told me a story about sneaking in there to see P-Funk play when he was 16 or something…that must have been fun.