Tuesday, March 30, 2010

i like my pittsburgh gray

I like my Pittsburgh gray
like silver with grit
bridge gray
steel gray
river gray
rain gray

the gray at the bottom
of bottomless
old coffee
gone gray with milk
explain that to the hapless fly
who thought it was liquid sky

The gray of the face of age
that answers the door
invites you to tour the knick-knacks
collected on off-season road trips
to the Outer Banks
to Pennsylvania's not-as-grand canyon
to the Maple Sugar Festival in Somerset
with the eighth grade in the '50s
whose alumni meet every ten years
at South Park or North Park or the edge of wood
behind the Eagles lodge
and wear pictures of themselves as teenagers
around their necks
like cutout dolls of historical eras
they read of and forgot
the thin gray smile
of been-there






Friday, March 26, 2010

4th Annual Yearly Commemorative Goofy Ass Post

OK, I admit, I can't get it together to write more than once a year or so. Life is bursting full and, much as I pretend in the back of my brain that I am a writer, I must not be, because, well, I don't write.

But I do have many ideas. Many, many ideas.

I want to write about the quirks of Pittsburgh, about the row of vinyl library-style armchairs outside the abandoned warehouse in Hazelwood and the old guy who sits in one of the chairs next to his dog, sitting in another, and how the two of them spend hours watching the trucks groan past, breathing in the smoky black crap the rigs spit out. I want to write about the Buena Vista Coffee Shop that opened on Buena Vista Street in the Mexican War Streets and the earnest owner, Brent, who never gets a day off and got roped into opening the coffee shop by his wife, who bakes all these amazing baked goods, even the biscotti; and how he wonders earnestly why, when he tells people his wife bakes all the amazing baked goods, all of us respond, "Even the biscotti?" I want to write of the entrance interviews of dogs conducted by doggie daycare centers; of great walks up and down staircases in great gritty neighborhoods; of Pirates opening day and the grand old tradition of cutting school to go to opening day and how it is that must be the only day of real hope in a Bucs fan's year.

That is not all I want to do. I want to write my "How to Cook Without a Cookbook Cookbook," where I lay out a general cooking guide for people who think they can't cook or need a recipe to make a cup of tea. It will contain the inspiration, the genesis of the idea that I got thirtysomething years ago, when my friend Roma (the eventual bridesmaid in charge of cigarettes) was broke but wanted a birthday cake for her boyfriend Ballistic Ed. Thank God Ed didn't make the cut eventually. But so when Roma says, "I don't have money to buy a cake," I say, "Why don't you make one," and she goes, "I can't bake," and I say, "Here's a recipe and all the ingredients," and she says, "But I don't know how," and so I read her the recipe, step by step, without embellishment, and she bakes a cake. And it turns out, yeah, fine. Except that it was for Ed, which is enough to sink any birthday cake and deflate any birthday balloon. It will contain the "add an egg" rule, the "add diced tomatoes" rule and I will have to spend days and weeks and months cementing the recipe ideas so they are reliable and yet not chalky and heavy like cement tends to be.

And I want to write kids' plays for schoolkids to put on, kind of plumped-up fairytales with wisecracking mice wearing shades and sucking on grass blades. And "Knit One, Curl Two: Combatting Sedentary Knitinaction with Good Eats and Ass-Kicking Workouts," a collection of knitting patterns matched with complementary healthful yet related recipes and Ass-Kicking exercise.

I want to publish Rob's "(my made-up title deleted so as not to leak the contents)" amazing book, and Cory's "Brave Little Tailor" play from when she was 12 and wrote it for PALS Players to put on so we wouldn't have to pay royalties. And Lou's book of Math Mysteries. And Riki's first book of poetry. And collections of Red-Eye Theatre Project's 24-hour plays.

And then there is Knitting and all the great Unfinished Projects.

And then there is Embroidery, and then Sewing, and all the great Unfinished Projects in this best of all possible worlds.

And so I say to you a goofy ass good night. We will see, we shall see, if I make any of my dreams come true.