Who's on first?

"Floating in this cosmic Jacuzzi,
We are like frogs oblivious."

-- Warning, Incubus



All-Star fever hit Pittsburgh!


Fever is a strong word, unless one is referring to an illness. It ain't like we're hosting the World Series.

They (whoever that is) did clean up the city a bit though. I noticed on my way home from work yesterday, most of the potholes that I normally speed around were filled in over the weekend. And not just the big ones, the little ones too.

Along Route 51 (pronounced "Raht Fittywan"), garbage bags lined the guardrails. Whoever adopted that section of the road had gone all out to "redd up," as this big campaign to fool tourists into thinking our city is clean has been called.

Today I left work a little early thinking the traffic would be a nightmare. Our office is between PNC Park and Heinz Field, but there were fewer people on the roads and in parking lots than there were on Pirate game days. (And I don't have to say here how bad the Pirates sucked this season.) I actually made it to Zoe's preschool faster than I normally do.

And today on the way home it was fun to observe all the locals still swerving around phantom potholes. But the garbage bags along Route 51 had mostly been blown about and ripped open, the contents strewn along the shoulder and the bags waving from tree branches.

Luckily it seems mostly West Virginians and Ohioans were in town, judging by the evening news. The reporters couldn't even find someone from as far away as Indiana or Philadelphia to interview.



Dad is off this week. Again. How on earth do government employees get so much time off? What do their unions even bitch about nowadays? That three months of vacation a year isn't enough?

Anyway, he's been painting. I don't know what he does while I'm at work all day, but for two days, as I get home from work, he's gearing up to paint.

Today it was threatening rain, so he moved his painting operation to the basement -- that place beneath the house with no ventilation except the unusually large laundry chute that leads to the rest of the house. I was outside for much of the evening, and when I came in, I thought he MUST be painting the staircase or something, it was so strong. I mentioned sheepishly (sheepishly because the last time I complained about his cigar smoke setting off the carbon monoxide detector he told me to move out) that it was a wee bit overpowering.

He said he couldn't paint in the garage because his Explorer was in there. And he couldn't paint on the porch because... well, it might rain... on the porch. "I can't drag this out for a month," he told me.

Those cabinet doors have needed painted for 20 years. But he had to wait until I was back in Pittsburgh, pregnant, and coming in the door from work to paint them.

Then my potential landlord called and told me my credit was just fabulous, but he decided he didn't want to rent to someone with dogs.

I tried to bait Joe into inviting me over, but he didn't bite. So, I stuck me and Zoe in our bedrooms with towels under the doors and fans running at high speed. So far, so good.

Time to restart the rental search.