Tag: West View (page 1 of 2)

State of my fellow Asians address

There are at least two new Asian families in the neighborhood.  It brings great cheer to my heart to see fellow Asians swimming in the local sea of whiteness.  The one family is championship material.  Their kindergarten son wears impossibly perfect layered clothing and appears to be loved and revered by his peers.  Grandpa walks him home.  Grandpa wears fine threads as well, and always wears a Pittsburgh Pirates hat.  Nothing says local like a “P” hat.

It’s the other family I worry about.  Every morning Mom and son wait for the school bus across the street from my house.  Mom has sonny wearing a mask, as is the custom in smoggy Asian cities:

Downright fashionable!

This may not be child abuse in the strictest sense, but it’s a heartbreaking sight nonetheless.  Poor kid!  It’s a magnitude of obliviousness that is difficult for the local observer to process.  It reminds me of a time in high school when I was in much the same situation.

During homecoming spirit week, one particular day was college spirit day.  Or something like that.  Basically we were supposed to wear a University of Illinois, Notre Dame, Northwestern, Depaul, etc. shirt.  Sure a few kids wore Northern Illinois, or God forbid an Iowa Hawkeyes shirt, but they probably had good reason for their actions.  What did I wear?  The one college t-shirt I owned: The University of Western Ontario.  It was a shirt that did more than just confuse my friends.  It was simply not possible for them to process such a shirt or the existence of such an institution, or why anyone would knowingly or unknowingly wear such a shirt.

So, my fellow Asian friend, I wish you the best of luck with that smog filter.  May you find a place in this world.  If you stick around the hood, may you learn the unwritten rules of American culture.  I pray that one day you will heal, as I have, from the wounds caused by those unappreciative of your blissful ignorance.

The latest from West View

Every day I walk the Katt.  As long as I jam a constant supply of ice cubes in her mouth she is oblivious to the great mysteries of West View.  So it is up to me to report what is happening on the streets of my beloved borough.

Two days ago a van carrying four tweekers, sporting an I heart SCRAP bumper sticker sped past the Katt and I.  At each stop sign the driver slammed on his brakes, screeching to a halt.  In response, the passengers shouted in unison “THIS WAY!”.  The driver would then peel out, zooming toward the next stop sign.  So there’s that.

Yesterday, down by Bronx field, I witnessed a lone octogenarian smoking a cigarette.  In his possession were three plastic grocery bags filled with 12″ softballs.  One by one, he pulled out each ball and threw it as far as he could (which was not far at all).  Then he retrieved the balls and started over.  So there’s that too.

Interrupted musings on a perfect day.

Yesterday I took the Katt for a walk.  It was a perfect fall day, probably the last nice day of the year.  It made me think…how many idyllic days are left in my life?  1000? 100?  My body was pain-free, stress-free, and I was doing something I love, with someone I love.

Yeah, so while I was thinking about all that, Katt fell asleep.  No easy task, considering how jacked up the sidewalks are in my neighborhood.  Just then a young Yinzer woman stopped me and asked if I was pushing a real baby.  Uh-huh.  Because grown men everywhere are known to push dolls in strollers.

I bought that “jogging stroller” on Craigslist.  And in doing so, I inadvertently became a Craigslist character.  Perhaps I will tell you about that tomorrow.

Diet orange Faygo gives me the bad man blues

 Orange bins full of empty, bad beverages

Orange bins full of empty, bad beverages

Every day, amid the splendor of fall’s magnificent colors, my fancy dog and I stroll the rolling hills of West View, Pennsylvania.  My favorite day of the walk-week is Monday, because Monday is recycling day.  That is, I get to see what my fellow citizens have been drinking.  While I strive to live a life free of judgment toward my brethren, recycle bins overflowing with empty cans of Diet Orange Faygo and Natty Ice expose the supercilious wickedness hidden deep within my soul.

Asia "don't call me Amélie" Neill and her new doo

Asia "don't call me Amélie" Neill and her new doo

In other “news”, Asia has a new doo, and has taken up the trumpet.  Her venerable songwriting skills have been on display of late, as she recently penned several future hits: “We’re the gangstas, the preppy gangstas” and “I got the bad man blues”.

Asia "Don't call me Louis Armstrong" Neill playing her trumpet

Asia "Don't call me Louis Armstrong" Neill playing her trumpet