Some Notes From 61C

Squirrel Hill is probably the best neighborhood in the world. Somerville is nice, sure, and Woodlands in Glasgow and even Balham, but none hold a candle to your bonfire of pleasantness.

Have seen this tall guy with the slick hair and dark brown leather jacket every day this week, with his chrome Dell laptop. He favors long-sleeved white T-shirts and dark designer denims. Looks Greek, because he looks like someone I knew who was Greek. My age, wears a ring. Have not ascertained what he is working on. A lot of computer science types in here, generally.

I find it hard to refer to people my age as "men" and "women", preferring the more youthful "guys" and "girls". My Grandma says "fellas" and "gals".

Yesterday or two days ago a pair of scientists, old men, one with an accent that may have been Irish or muted English. The other carried a Keystone Symposium bag. I have a bag like that. The one with the accent ordered an "expresso" but I was well disposed towards him nonetheless.

Teenage girl with the pretty wavy hair, here with her sister and their father. He is explaining Parliamentary votes of no confidence. She has a sweatshirt from a camp I went to a very long time ago. It was a Presbyterian camp, but the father knows a lot about the Labour government, and now they are talking about seeing Hitchcock films in the arty theatre so I like them, too.

A woman with a golder retriever in an oversized Pittsburgh sweatshirt. People are proud to live here. There is only so snobbish one can be if one is from here.

I think I maybe knew that girl who just popped in and then went out.

I didn't used to have a class consciousness; not in the sense that my British family do. Wearing "generic" or K-Mart clothes, obviously, was uncool. Well, and I knew that Harley shirts and stonewashed jeans were not my demographic fairly early on and in defiance of older relatives' influence. Starter jackets, too, I knew were not for me. But everyone has some of those relatives, no? No one here is so far removed from the hick-prole moon-shine mill-hunk accent, no matter what accent they have now. I was confounded when my friend in high school did not fill out the FAFSA form.

People are proud to deny class, even though we have it. It means somewhat less here, where even the aristocracy eat pickles and pitchers are only three dollars on Tuesdays.

I mean, when the man in the coffee shop says "cray-sahnts", you know? Sure, I can feel culturally superior, but we're all sitting here in the same place, so ...

Brick means something different here than it does in England. That is important to understand. Siding means something different here than it does in Boston. That took years to get used to (to not find repellant, I mean).

It is interesting to see how trends trickle over the mountains from the east, creeping against the prevailing winds. The average trickle time from New York to Pittsburgh is about 2.5 years.

We get pretty much everything here, though, in due course. Apparently, a TJ's has opened somewhere in the East End. I know, you hate it when I call it TJ's. But it's a joke of a joke, one of those jokes that became real. Like the word "disorientated", which definitely didn't used to be a legitimate word.

Girl behind the counter has her jeans tucked into her brown boots. I refuse to do this if it's not snowing. You should have seen the girls in Oxford. Quite possibly they were all one girl whose wave function had not yet collapsed.

Man with black and tan leather coat has a bottle of Robitussin Cough & Cold on his table, and a take-out cup of coffee, and the same laptop as me, and a letter from Carnegie Mellon University. His cell phone has The Entertainer as its ring tone.

Saddam was executed today, for some historical perspective.

I don't want to say this place is as "safe" (politically) as Cambridgeport (it's not, there are facists living across from my mom). But at least right here it's fairly safe. Whatever else happens, there's still football and snow days and tenure to think about.

Cost me $28 to fill the tank of my mom's Dodge Neon. That was 9.78 gallons. The British gasp is audible from 5,000 miles away. Things are really cheap here.

I saw a great quote about Libertarianism on a science blog. It said that the reason Libertarian swill only ever be a political minority is because most people outgrow their adolescence. Or at least most people who vote. Fingers crossed.

I will write about something else later: conservatism as failure of imagination. Remind me.

The sun has surmounted the Giant Eagle across the road and is warming my leg. Blue sky today, unusually. No headache. Someone was hit by a car on this corner yesterday morning. I heard the manager (owner?) tell some lady.

Pastel turtlenecks make me feel cold inside, no matter the temperature.

I think I know the woman who just came in. If not, she looks like this one English teacher at my high school. We called her Sliffy. In fact I don't think it's her, but it's hard to be sure; it's been ten years now since high school.

Maybe-Greek guy (does he look familiar or just like my old labmate?) gets some more coffee. Black-and-tan guy is on the phone. Sensible winbreakers and pleated, relaxed-fit trousers predominate. Pitt, CMU, even Ohio State insignia.

The guy with the plastic bag full of receipts is twitching and leafing through his receipts. Not terribly different from the 1369 coffee shop, only this one is named after a bus, not a street address.

The art on the walls is comfortably the same as it's been for many years. The color scheme is nicely nineties. I forget what the font of the oughts is. But it won't be as good.

Old lady with the orange lipstick,
Steelers babushka and kindly grin-
Are you Russian, quaint, or crazy?
It's hard to tell.