Further dispatches from beyond the Alleghenies

My car topped 100,000 miles this weekend.
They’re tearing down the Commodore building, the 19th Century red brick facility I went to Junior High in, in my hometown, and I am disproportionately angry about it.
Mackie is putting my iPod up to his ear and saying “hello” right this second.
I brought Owen to a preschool orientation last night, which pretty much blew my mind. There’s nothing of the baby left about him, nothing at all.
My in-laws are surprisingly pleasant to live with. Wait, that came out wrong. What I mean is, I am surprised that living with one’s in-laws can be so pleasant. I knew they were nice people, but you know how it is when you move in with someone, anyone: you wait for the other shoe to drop. So far it has not.
I just read a collection of essays by Sarah Vowell which made me very sad that I do not live in Chicago and can’t write essays.
Owen, despite a solid nine months of pirate mania, is staunchly informing me that he would like to be a firefighter for Halloween. This does not detract from the ongoing pirate mania, but rather makes it more confusing for his mother.
I was awakened at 6:50 a.m. by, of all things, a tornado siren, which made the possibility of falling back asleep a joke. Furthermore, there was no tornado.
Pittsburgh’s North Hills appear to be able to reroute geography like an alien in a Douglas Adams book. No matter which way you turn or which direction your compass takes you, there is Route 19.
I will never understand hills. Nor will I ever understand roads that are not laid out in an even grid format. This is what growing up in the Northwest Territory will do to a person.
I have, and have had for a week, a hangnail on my left thumb.
It’s a special treat for my kids to play in the dirty-clothes basket.
I’m in the mood for vodka sauce.
When Mac isn’t playing in the dog’s dish, he’s unraveling my yarn. I wish he’d decide what animal he wants to be.
From the Unfair Files: I’ve encountered two roofing crews in the last two days. One was a pack of very strong-looking Amish guys in straw hats and blue pants putting the roof on a barn at a farmer’s market. The other is a pack of fat, belching, U-shirt wearing men putting the roof on the neighbor’s house. The fact that I didn’t have sunglasses at the farmers market, much less dark mirrored ones behind which I could gaze at length at the hot Amish roofers with nary a qualm, hurts my heart. And the fact that I can hear the boorish burps of the men next door from within the house hurts my heart also. Life is so very unfair.

August 26, 2008 | Filed Under daily grind, pittsburgh

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Comments

4 Responses to “Further dispatches from beyond the Alleghenies”

christinamccarthyooohthelastnameisrevealed on August 26th, 2008 4:40 pm

oh my god to it all times a million to the max, but i’ll be back to comment about everything later
Dani on August 27th, 2008 11:38 pm

Understanding our conversation yesterday a bit more, now.
Christina on August 28th, 2008 6:09 pm

Why are they tearing down the old Jr. High? That town is turning in to nothing like what I remember…
Matt on August 29th, 2008 8:48 am

hey, maybe they’re ripping down commodore perry to make way for a hot amish revue…