Irreversible, actually

Spotted by my friend the Music Lover at Macy's Waterfront over the holiday weekend.

Despite the some marketeer's best efforts, you can't undo the gay.

Just ask Robert L. Spitzer.

Spot the typo

When you think of Columbine . . .

. . . you really should think of this instead.

In the contemporary American mind, the word "columbine" is by necessity associated with a very unfortunate event from 1999, the Columbine High School massacre. Maybe not so much for Americans who were young or not yet born when it took place--there have been, I'm sure, hundreds of similar incidents since then, across this great, gun-loving, mass-murdering, suicide pact-vowing land of ours.

Nonetheless, the columbine is also a quite beautiful flower, something I did not know until a few years ago, well after the massacre. And even if a gun were held to my head (if you'll pardon the expression), I couldn't have identified the flower.

So pleasant happenstance: The other day I was walking past an urban farm lot in Homewood on my way to work when I spied these beautiful flowers. Have camera phone, will shoot to still, so I popped off a few and posted for friends on Twitter and Facebook. And then the magic of technology and the global community who knows a heck of a lot more about plant life than I do, I learned that these are indeed columbine.

Sad to think that such a gorgeous, delicate creation can be associated with such a tragic event. I might make a plea to say that this doesn't have to be the way if only we'd get beyond serious about gun violence and gun control in this country--but I'm sure no one could hear me above all the target practice and police stand-offs.

So instead, I'll just shut my mouth and let us all enjoy the view.

Greek to me

A subdued scene from my second belly-to-the-bar moment at the St. Nicholas Greek Food Festival in Oakland this week.

And quite literally, I do mean "belly" and "bar": Please note the juxtaposition of the "pastries" area with the full-service bar. In a church fellowship hall no less.

'Cause that's how we roll in Pennsylvania.

After lunch, I did a lot of groaning and shifting in my chair, as well as mispronouncing the dishes that I ate for my Greek-heritage boss. Not one to let any mistake go unchallenged (bless his spanokopita-filled heart), he spent a portion of the day correcting me in front of my office mates.

"It's not 'mous-SAK-a' and it's not 'MOUS-sak-a' either. It's 'mous-sa-KAH!'"

"OK . . ."

"So what else did you have besides moussaka?"

"Well, I had a 'sa-la-DAH!' and a 'so-DAH!'"

Please let it be known that you may be able to employ me, correct me, humiliate me, fill me full of Greek food and send me scurrying down the hall with relief on my mind (or wherever), but, oh yes, I will prevail.

Think it over . . .

. . . life ain't a four-leaf clover.

A delicate flower for all you delicate flowers and followers out there.

Happy Wednesday. Now get back to work!

Bon jour!

This is how I get ready for work every morning.

Commence countdown to Paris . . .

* * *
A couple of possible translations of the lyrics. Not for the easily offended!

Here's Take 1. And now here's Take 2.

Apparently, the Cuizinier referred to in the lyrics is a French rapper not admired for being a nice guy.

Nevertheless, it's got a good beat and is easy to dance to. The only criteria you need to enjoy.

Ah men

Are you there, god? It's me, Margo Channing.

Please grant me the serenity to stop fantasizing about another long-distance relationship with a semi- mostly completely maybe unavailable man and the courage to shtup become enamored with crush on someone in my own area code for a change.

Ah men.

Pittsburgh and me, keeping it classy

We made Gawker! For all the wrong reasons!