We had rains yesterday like I've never seen before. I was reading freshmen placement essays on campus when they began and by 7pm when I was headed for home, the streets of Oakland had rushing water up to the height of the curb. The storm drains had quickly filled or gotten covered in debris and there was just so much water it didn't know what to do. It came from the sky and up from the streets simultaneously and it definitely had a current. Chunks of things swirled around in it and each step I took toward the car was cold and scary. The whole thing drew images of George Castanza shouting, "The sea was angry that day, my friends."
There were cops and firefighters everywhere, closing Ellsworth, parts of Walnut. It was bad.
Worse? We had water in the damn basement. Luckily, Corey has been panicking/freaking out about the baby and has been nesting. His version of nesting involves many shelving systems throughout the house, so luckily most of our things were already off the carpet. We had to scurry down there and grab Baby Love's new stuff and our camping equipment and Corey ran to Home Depot for a shop vac.
We've been taking turns sucking muck from the floor. My big job today is to go out and purchase more Borax and baking soda. Borax will theoretically kill and prevent the spread of mold spores while baking soda will eat up the odor.
The whole ordeal makes me more eager than ever for Bruno to arrive--he is the very Italian man with very hairy ears whom we have hired to take away the old concrete on the driveway that angles toward the foundation of the house, where water pools and, obviously, gets inside. Corey is also going to build a second water barrel to get the water from that downspout. Bruno told us he'd come "the week of the 20th." Gosh, I hope that means Monday...
Showing posts with label Pittsburgh. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pittsburgh. Show all posts
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Epic Fail
Last night was the Stanley Cup final. I missed the end of the game. This is because I am sometimes not very smart. Let me preface this story by pointing out that my parents have always INSISTED I keep my car's gas tank at a quarter tank at the LOWEST. As I grew up into a frugal, conscious adult, I realized safety was not the only reason for this, but also fuel efficiency. Corey does not share this idea and frequently plays Cosmo Kramer, driving the car until it rolls to a stop at the gas station. Somewhere along the line, I just sort of fell into step next to him. Now, we both drive the car until there isn't another inch it can drive, trying to force the other into being the one to pump the gas. I don't even know if this is a war we're aware of or just laziness. He's from New Jersey, after all.
So anyway, last night I knew the car was very low on gas when I left for Greenfield to watch the game. But I didn't leave early enough to get gas on the way there and figured I'd have plenty to just stop on the way home. I drove, circled for parking, and found the last remaining space--facing up a very, very, very, very steep hill.
Halfway through the second period, I got tired and wanted to leave. I had my teammate with me as she needed a ride to Oakland. The car would not start. The engine wouldn't even turn over, as whatever whisper of gas remained had rolled to the back of the tank on the hill. Great. Teammate 1 started to walk to the gas station as I protested, but she and I both knew I could not waddle there and carry gas back on my own. I barely even fit behind the steering wheel to start with.
Luckily another teammate emerged from the bar and gave us a lift. Which is good because the gas station had no gas cans to transport the gas. We had to sort of drive all over the place looking until we found one sitting by a trash can at the BP on Forward. I assumed it was there because a Good Samaritan wanted me to have it. We filled it with gas, vowed to return it in a few minutes, and headed back to my car.
Yeah, turns out the gas can was sitting by the trash can because it was broken. My two teammates insisted I not touch the fumey gas and worked out a MacGuyver-type solution, rigging water bottles and funnels and using pocket knives and other tools and tubes to get the gas from the broken can into my car. I stood at the ready with Purell and napkins. Teammate 2 headed back into the bar, because the third period had begun at this point, and Teammate 1 and I planned to head for the hills--or rather flat land.
The car started just fine, but the clutch wouldn't catch. I have been driving a stick shift for 12 years and can assure you I know how to pull out on a hill. I wasn't doing it wrong, the thing was just broken or out of gas or somehow malfunctioning. The car just sort of rolled down the hill...into Teammate 2's car. I started crying, Teammate 1 started laughing, and she took off down the road to get Teammate 2 back on the scene. I called Corey because I wanted someone to be angry with, and he seemed like a logical choice. He just said, "Hey, you knew it was low on gas when you left the house. Is our car ok?"
Luckily, nothing was wrong with either car. I had slammed on the break and grabbed the e-brake just in time--we had barely bumped bumpers. By this point, Detroit had scored and there were just a few moments left in the game. I was still wearing my dad's old #4 jersey, shaking, crying, and feeling like a total loser. Not to mention dreading going back to practice this fall, where I will certailny receive months of well-deserved haranguing.
Teammate 2 moved her car to a safe parking spot and I revved the enginve a bunch of times before attempting another pull-out. As the final seconds ticked away in the hockey game, I rolled into my neighborhood and got to watch Sid hoist the cup over his head while I sat on the floor and ate ice cream and cried.
Corey and I made a new rule in case I go into labor soon: all cars must have at least one quarter tank of gas. Always. No matter who is driving or how confident he or she is that there's one more trip in the tank.
So anyway, last night I knew the car was very low on gas when I left for Greenfield to watch the game. But I didn't leave early enough to get gas on the way there and figured I'd have plenty to just stop on the way home. I drove, circled for parking, and found the last remaining space--facing up a very, very, very, very steep hill.
Halfway through the second period, I got tired and wanted to leave. I had my teammate with me as she needed a ride to Oakland. The car would not start. The engine wouldn't even turn over, as whatever whisper of gas remained had rolled to the back of the tank on the hill. Great. Teammate 1 started to walk to the gas station as I protested, but she and I both knew I could not waddle there and carry gas back on my own. I barely even fit behind the steering wheel to start with.
Luckily another teammate emerged from the bar and gave us a lift. Which is good because the gas station had no gas cans to transport the gas. We had to sort of drive all over the place looking until we found one sitting by a trash can at the BP on Forward. I assumed it was there because a Good Samaritan wanted me to have it. We filled it with gas, vowed to return it in a few minutes, and headed back to my car.
Yeah, turns out the gas can was sitting by the trash can because it was broken. My two teammates insisted I not touch the fumey gas and worked out a MacGuyver-type solution, rigging water bottles and funnels and using pocket knives and other tools and tubes to get the gas from the broken can into my car. I stood at the ready with Purell and napkins. Teammate 2 headed back into the bar, because the third period had begun at this point, and Teammate 1 and I planned to head for the hills--or rather flat land.
The car started just fine, but the clutch wouldn't catch. I have been driving a stick shift for 12 years and can assure you I know how to pull out on a hill. I wasn't doing it wrong, the thing was just broken or out of gas or somehow malfunctioning. The car just sort of rolled down the hill...into Teammate 2's car. I started crying, Teammate 1 started laughing, and she took off down the road to get Teammate 2 back on the scene. I called Corey because I wanted someone to be angry with, and he seemed like a logical choice. He just said, "Hey, you knew it was low on gas when you left the house. Is our car ok?"
Luckily, nothing was wrong with either car. I had slammed on the break and grabbed the e-brake just in time--we had barely bumped bumpers. By this point, Detroit had scored and there were just a few moments left in the game. I was still wearing my dad's old #4 jersey, shaking, crying, and feeling like a total loser. Not to mention dreading going back to practice this fall, where I will certailny receive months of well-deserved haranguing.
Teammate 2 moved her car to a safe parking spot and I revved the enginve a bunch of times before attempting another pull-out. As the final seconds ticked away in the hockey game, I rolled into my neighborhood and got to watch Sid hoist the cup over his head while I sat on the floor and ate ice cream and cried.
Corey and I made a new rule in case I go into labor soon: all cars must have at least one quarter tank of gas. Always. No matter who is driving or how confident he or she is that there's one more trip in the tank.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Everlasting Love
I have decided that Corey and I do not yet love each other as much as our neighbors love one another. I give you two examples:
1. Cookie, Josie, and the gas cans--One day, I saw my neighbor Cookie struggling under the massive weight of an enormous red gas can, dumping fuel into his wife's tank. Cookie is about 77 years old with a bigger baby belly than mine and a 1930s-era leg brace that looks like Forrest Gump's in the early part of the movie. I regularly tell him he looks like the Tin Man. Anyway, I said, "Cookie, did Josie run out of gas?"
"Ah, no dear. This is just from the fuel perks." Evidently, Cookie and Josie wait until both cars are just about empty AND they have enough Fuel Perks for a free tank. Cookie then drives his bigger car to the pump, fills up, and quickly shoves the dripping nozzle into the waiting gas cans he has lined up on the ground. He thus maximizes his grocery dollars. (For those unfamiliar with Pittsburgh, every time you spend $300 at the grocery store, you earn a free tank of gas at the store's line of gas stations, only I'm pretty sure they mean for you to only fill up your own car)
Corey and I never even considered this. The thought never even entered our minds. This is mostly because Getgo has really shitty gas that makes the engine of the Nissan knock around. We once thought we needed a new transmission or something because I filled up with Getgo gas. We basically let our fuel perks waste away...but even if we didn't I don't think we would have thought of such a thing. We just don't seem to put our heads together to learn how to maximize "the system" yet.
2. J, G, and the letter--when we related the Cookie/Josie story to our other neighbors, they scoffed. They were far more advanced! J and G also waited until both cars were approximately empty and they racked up the free tank of gas--they even went so far as to drive one another's cars depending on who was going further and who was closer to empty. But then they actually coordinated a time to both drive to the gas station together. Only they didn't visit just any gas station. They drove to the one in Lawrenceville, where they were likely to get a full lane to themselves. Since they had gas tanks on opposite sides of their vehicles, J would pull in facing forward and scootch up as far as he could at the pump. G would then back into the same pump and have his tank open and ready to go. J would fill up his bigger car first, then hurry up and move the nozzle over to G's car.
They were really milking the system, because G's car requires 91, so they were getting free, nearly-high-quality gasoline. I told them this was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard in my life. "Yes," J nodded, "It's a true partnership."
This was all until they got caught.
A few weeks ago, they were filling up at their regular Lawrenceville Getgo when the 16-yr-old attendant noticed their shenanigans and shut off the gas pump. I feel like Corey and I would have high tailed it out of there, or I sure would have, for fear of the law, etc. Not J. He went inside and raised a stink! G whispered to me all of the things J said to the poor attendant, using very J-like facial expressions and citing the printed fuel perks policy or something like that, and then told me J wrote a letter to the company. "You know that letter is on someone's office wall somewhere," I told him.
G nodded. "We never did hear a response." Just the mention of the incident had J all in a fit. He decided he was going to show them. He would switch to Cookie's method and buy some big gas cannisters.
All the while, G just sat back and smiled. He knew J had to do this, had to react that way, even if it was irrational. He knew he was powerless to stop the scheming and just sort of went along for the ride...and the free gas. And that is what made me see what I have to look forward to as Corey and I get to know each other even better.
Someday, Corey will realize that I have to keep talking about the awful police officer in the Strip and that I can't let it go, but that I also don't want him to list proactive solutions to the problem (I just want him to say, "That DOES sound terrible! You must have been so upset!").
And maybe I'll come to realize that he needs to have piles of receipts and Cold-eeze wrappers on the hard surfaces of our house and that no amount of bins or drawers or organizational accoutrements I install will change that, so I can stop spending our money at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and just recycle the piles without comment.
When that day comes, we'll stop bickering with each other and getting into arguments and we'll just get past it and work together for a common purpose. Maybe we won't steal gas from Giant Eagle, maybe we'll continue our mission to find free parking for Pirates games or avoid Ticket Master fees. Whatever goods/services we decide to take advantage of, I feel excited for the ways we'll plan it together and make it our own family process. Then we can drink a beer together and laugh at the suckers who don't have our coordination or problem solving skills. That sounds like love to me.
1. Cookie, Josie, and the gas cans--One day, I saw my neighbor Cookie struggling under the massive weight of an enormous red gas can, dumping fuel into his wife's tank. Cookie is about 77 years old with a bigger baby belly than mine and a 1930s-era leg brace that looks like Forrest Gump's in the early part of the movie. I regularly tell him he looks like the Tin Man. Anyway, I said, "Cookie, did Josie run out of gas?"
"Ah, no dear. This is just from the fuel perks." Evidently, Cookie and Josie wait until both cars are just about empty AND they have enough Fuel Perks for a free tank. Cookie then drives his bigger car to the pump, fills up, and quickly shoves the dripping nozzle into the waiting gas cans he has lined up on the ground. He thus maximizes his grocery dollars. (For those unfamiliar with Pittsburgh, every time you spend $300 at the grocery store, you earn a free tank of gas at the store's line of gas stations, only I'm pretty sure they mean for you to only fill up your own car)
Corey and I never even considered this. The thought never even entered our minds. This is mostly because Getgo has really shitty gas that makes the engine of the Nissan knock around. We once thought we needed a new transmission or something because I filled up with Getgo gas. We basically let our fuel perks waste away...but even if we didn't I don't think we would have thought of such a thing. We just don't seem to put our heads together to learn how to maximize "the system" yet.
2. J, G, and the letter--when we related the Cookie/Josie story to our other neighbors, they scoffed. They were far more advanced! J and G also waited until both cars were approximately empty and they racked up the free tank of gas--they even went so far as to drive one another's cars depending on who was going further and who was closer to empty. But then they actually coordinated a time to both drive to the gas station together. Only they didn't visit just any gas station. They drove to the one in Lawrenceville, where they were likely to get a full lane to themselves. Since they had gas tanks on opposite sides of their vehicles, J would pull in facing forward and scootch up as far as he could at the pump. G would then back into the same pump and have his tank open and ready to go. J would fill up his bigger car first, then hurry up and move the nozzle over to G's car.
They were really milking the system, because G's car requires 91, so they were getting free, nearly-high-quality gasoline. I told them this was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard in my life. "Yes," J nodded, "It's a true partnership."
This was all until they got caught.
A few weeks ago, they were filling up at their regular Lawrenceville Getgo when the 16-yr-old attendant noticed their shenanigans and shut off the gas pump. I feel like Corey and I would have high tailed it out of there, or I sure would have, for fear of the law, etc. Not J. He went inside and raised a stink! G whispered to me all of the things J said to the poor attendant, using very J-like facial expressions and citing the printed fuel perks policy or something like that, and then told me J wrote a letter to the company. "You know that letter is on someone's office wall somewhere," I told him.
G nodded. "We never did hear a response." Just the mention of the incident had J all in a fit. He decided he was going to show them. He would switch to Cookie's method and buy some big gas cannisters.
All the while, G just sat back and smiled. He knew J had to do this, had to react that way, even if it was irrational. He knew he was powerless to stop the scheming and just sort of went along for the ride...and the free gas. And that is what made me see what I have to look forward to as Corey and I get to know each other even better.
Someday, Corey will realize that I have to keep talking about the awful police officer in the Strip and that I can't let it go, but that I also don't want him to list proactive solutions to the problem (I just want him to say, "That DOES sound terrible! You must have been so upset!").
And maybe I'll come to realize that he needs to have piles of receipts and Cold-eeze wrappers on the hard surfaces of our house and that no amount of bins or drawers or organizational accoutrements I install will change that, so I can stop spending our money at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and just recycle the piles without comment.
When that day comes, we'll stop bickering with each other and getting into arguments and we'll just get past it and work together for a common purpose. Maybe we won't steal gas from Giant Eagle, maybe we'll continue our mission to find free parking for Pirates games or avoid Ticket Master fees. Whatever goods/services we decide to take advantage of, I feel excited for the ways we'll plan it together and make it our own family process. Then we can drink a beer together and laugh at the suckers who don't have our coordination or problem solving skills. That sounds like love to me.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
New Maternity Shirt
Why, yes! That IS an image of me, 35 weeks pregnant, wearing an early 70's era Penguins jersey! Thank you for asking! How did I get it? Interesting story!My father has always been a weird man. His support of various sports teams has surrounded underdogs and misfits (the man grew up in Eagles country a die-hard Coywboys fan, after all). Evidently, back in the 70s, he supported the Pens, even though they sort of sucked.
At that time, he had a baby (my sister) and a wife (Deb). He and Deb decided to get divorced and Deb took the Pens jersey with her on the way out, giving it to Chuck, my dad's brother.
So, for roughly 30 years, this beat up old Pens jersey--that may or may not have been an actual practice jersey for Dave Burrows--sat in my uncle Chuck's closet. I don't even think Chuck watches hockey. Not that I ever saw my dad watch hockey.
I never really watched hockey, either, until I started dating this Australian dude who loved Mario Lemieux like I love rugby. So all the hockey I've watched in life has been either Penn State Icers hockey or Pittsburgh Penguins hockey. I digress.
A few days ago, my parents were eating dinner with Chuck, who said he had a gift for me--the jersey! The long lost jersey! It occurred to Chuck as the Pens made the playoffs that I should have it.
Everyone started freaking out--first, how soon could my mom get it to me to wear and help the Pens to victory? My dad wanted to know why his brother had stolen his precious jersey all these years. My older sister wanted to know why she wasn't the rightful recipient of the game sweater (she didn't even know what the Stanley Cup was, so that argument ended right there).
Needless to say, it arrived in today's mail, just in time for the game, and it fits over my pregnant belly. I shall wear it all this week. It will be like my playoff beard, this holy, well-loved, tattered, actual 1970s era Penguins jersey. It has real armpit stains! Who knows where this shirt has been?!
UPDATE: My dad has added new information. Uncle Chuck says the jersey definitely is a real life practice jersey worn by an actual Penguin. My dad says the jersey came from 1972, when his first wife traveled to Pittsburgh for a field hockey tournament (high school, you know...) and purchased it. That would make it for real a Dave Burrows jersey, possibly stained with his defensive genius.
I also want to point out that I had the jersey on all evening, and then made myself a watermelon/coconut drink. I turned around, all ready to sip my new not-booze, and banged into the wall and spilled watermelon all down the front. The result? No drink, had to take off the jersey to clean it, and the Pens went down 2-1. I scrubbed the juice out and slapped the wet jersey back on my body, and we went up 3-2. Just saying.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Neighborhoods
The sense of community and neighborliness in Pittsburgh continues to astound me. Each day makes me more happy to have moved here. Last night showed me two neighborly qualities unique to Pittsburgh: private BBQs and communal help.
Several of my friends and I went to the Pittsburgh Passion game to watch them stomp Erie in the playoffs. We showed up early, secured a sweet parking space on a street of questionable safety within one block of the stadium, bought our tickets, and sought some dinner. Right outside the stadium, a family sat outside with some lawn furniture and a huge grill. They had coolers and racks of chicken. It eventually occurred to me that they were selling the chicken and iced tea to boot! Three bucks for a half chicken that smelled delicious seemed like a good deal to me. They also had three dogs for two bones, so the writers and I took residence with the family for a bit and bought dinner from someone's house.
I actually heard of this happening before. My friend lives in Bloomfield and says she walks by these sorts of "stands" daily. Just men and their kettle grills on their stoop. Why not? It's just neighborly to stop by and eat some chicken. It's also very strange, because mothers with cigarettes shoo children out of the lawn furniture for us, the company. It was more fun than tailgating, though with less beer.
After the "game" (I use quotations because the Passion won 63-7, had 34 dressed substitute players and competed against a team who brought 15 players spending 60 minutes charging both sides of the grid iron) we discovered the Maxima had a dead battery. Not just a little dead. The clock didn't turn on. The windows wouldn't slide down. The "check engine" light did not illuminate. It was hopelessly dead. For the next hour, people kept emerging to help us. A man in a fancy car stopped to give us a jump for almost twenty minutes. Another man in a Cincinnati Reds jersey wrangled our corroded jumper cables for us as smoke and sparks flew through the air.
The Reds guy told us we could pour Pepsi on the battery later and get that corrosion gunk off of there. He kept checking back on us to make sure things were ok as we waited for AAA. I have never lived in a place where strangers would stop what they were doing for so long to help people in distress. Not even a AAA Plus membership can provide instant supervision and continued communal assistance. Eventually, Ed from the Marriott hotel drove the Marriott van over and gave us a jump with functional jumper cables. I was beside myself.
I feel I owe a karmic debt to the city of Pittsburgh and its people. I need to finally let go of the road rage and head-down-while-I-walk grumpiness that seeped into my skin working in New York. I want to be a neighbor.
Several of my friends and I went to the Pittsburgh Passion game to watch them stomp Erie in the playoffs. We showed up early, secured a sweet parking space on a street of questionable safety within one block of the stadium, bought our tickets, and sought some dinner. Right outside the stadium, a family sat outside with some lawn furniture and a huge grill. They had coolers and racks of chicken. It eventually occurred to me that they were selling the chicken and iced tea to boot! Three bucks for a half chicken that smelled delicious seemed like a good deal to me. They also had three dogs for two bones, so the writers and I took residence with the family for a bit and bought dinner from someone's house.
I actually heard of this happening before. My friend lives in Bloomfield and says she walks by these sorts of "stands" daily. Just men and their kettle grills on their stoop. Why not? It's just neighborly to stop by and eat some chicken. It's also very strange, because mothers with cigarettes shoo children out of the lawn furniture for us, the company. It was more fun than tailgating, though with less beer.
After the "game" (I use quotations because the Passion won 63-7, had 34 dressed substitute players and competed against a team who brought 15 players spending 60 minutes charging both sides of the grid iron) we discovered the Maxima had a dead battery. Not just a little dead. The clock didn't turn on. The windows wouldn't slide down. The "check engine" light did not illuminate. It was hopelessly dead. For the next hour, people kept emerging to help us. A man in a fancy car stopped to give us a jump for almost twenty minutes. Another man in a Cincinnati Reds jersey wrangled our corroded jumper cables for us as smoke and sparks flew through the air.
The Reds guy told us we could pour Pepsi on the battery later and get that corrosion gunk off of there. He kept checking back on us to make sure things were ok as we waited for AAA. I have never lived in a place where strangers would stop what they were doing for so long to help people in distress. Not even a AAA Plus membership can provide instant supervision and continued communal assistance. Eventually, Ed from the Marriott hotel drove the Marriott van over and gave us a jump with functional jumper cables. I was beside myself.
I feel I owe a karmic debt to the city of Pittsburgh and its people. I need to finally let go of the road rage and head-down-while-I-walk grumpiness that seeped into my skin working in New York. I want to be a neighbor.
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