Crikey, and there's more on the way.

This past weekend we had the mother of all snow storms. Some say we had about 3 foot of snow. In less than 12 hours. Yes, it's pretty but it's also a pain in the butt! People's cars were totally covered and it took a while for the roads to be cleared.

And the fun part is we're expecting about eight more inches this evening. Woohoo!

Pittsburgh has come to a stand-still

Yup, the whole city has come to a stand-still. Last night we received 24 inches of snow. In one night. It just fell. BAM! Just like that. Cars are covered, sidewalks are unwalkable, it's chaos out there.

So this morning I trotted downstairs to my building's entrance because I had to carry my skinny carcass to work. And this is the scene that greeted me. I couldn't even get the door open. And those big blocks of white ... are snow-covered cars!

I went onto the Port Authotity website to see if I could hop on a bus to get to work. It seems even they aren't running. This was the message on their website:

Bus service remains shut down Saturday morning due to weather. Only one EBA is running on the East Busway between Swissvale and Penn Station - but not beyond the end of the busway into Downtown. UPDATED 12:30 PM AM, SATURDAY

Port Authority has shut down all T service until weather conditions improve. UPDATED 12:30 PM, SATURDAY


Customer Service phone lines are not available today due to weather-related issues. We apologize for any inconvenience.


The Mon Incline is out of service due to weather conditions. UPDATED 12:30 PM, SATURDAY.


Oh dear, what now?!

Oops!

Pulling up your fly too quickly after taking a tinkle is a painful "oops". Locking your keys in your car is a silly "oops". Screwing up an order at a restaurant is also an "oops". But putting someone else's name one on an employment cover letter is tantamount to calling out someone else's name in bed. Major oops!

And that's precisely the oops I made this week. I sent off another letter to a different architectural firm in Pittsburgh. I did my best to make a good impression. I used recycled silk paper, chose a good typeface, the whole shabang. But when you put the person's name, title and company address at the top left of the page and then type, "Dear wrong name," that's not good.

Luckily, the guy I sent it to had a sense of humor and emailed me a scanned version of my mistake and said maybe I'd like to take a look at this.

I quickly replied and told him that in my haste to make a good first impression, I had made a major oops. He replied to say we're all human and that if I was interested in doing some freelance for his firm, then we should talk.

Wow, talk about lucky. Lesson learned. Write it once. Check it twice.

Check please!

If you take a closer look at this pic, you'll notice that the lovely, volumputous lady is sweating. I doubt she was sweating because she had just eaten a hot curry - because this is an Italian restaurant, not an Indian curry house - but rather she had just received her bill for dinner.

Tonight I went out to Lucca's Ristorante in Oakland - the academic neighborhood of Pittsburgh. Now Lucca's is a nice little place. A little pretentious, a little swanky, and a little big on their prices.

Take for example my Altantic Salmon dish:

Salmon. Rice. Grapes. And almonds. For $27. It wasn't the bone in the salmon I was choking over. And it wasn't that phenomenal either. No, this is a not a food review, but I have a question: Since when did going out to eat cost an arm, a leg, and the GDP of a small Italian village?

All moaning and groaning aside, the ristorante was nice. Quaint. That's why I took pics, because I doubt I'll be going back to see it again.

2.3 kids and a white picket fence

This delightful photo was snapped almost 30 years ago. That's right, three decades ago. There's my Dad, my Mom, my younger sister and myself. I was five when this photo was taken and so much has happened in the past 30 years.

My parents divorced about six years later, my Mom remarried, had another kid, got divorced, again, was then involved in a 6-year relationship that produced my younger half-brother. Most recently, my Mom had a battle with breast cancer. Thankfully, she won.

My Dad, well, my Dad is a different kind. He never remarried and continued to work every single day. Occasionally, he found time for a round of golf.

My sister grew up, became rebellious, grew out of that, married, and now has 2.3 kids of her own. Her white picket fence is a 6-foot high concrete wall with barbed wire. But they have a swimming pool, which is nice.

Me, well, I grew up - sort of - moved to the Middle East, emigrated to the United States, went to college, moved around the U.S., and am now plonked down in Pittsburgh, ready to settle down and put down some roots.

In these past 30 years, we have seen many advances and changes. We now have flatscreen TVs, microwave dinners, cell phones, the internet, global leaders have risen and fallen, terrorist attacks have increased and various epidemics of AIDS, N1H1, Bird Flu and all sorts of wonderful things have plagued the earth.

Life growing up as a kid in the 'good ol' days' was wonderful. Your biggest concern was whether or not your parents would let you stay up past 9pm to watch the next episode of "V". You were good the whole week so you could use that as ammunition when you launched your pleading campaign with all sorts of nonsensical reasons why they should let you stay up and watch it. But if they said, "No.", then that was that. No amount of pleading would change their minds.

Or you beg and plead with your Dad to drive faster on the way from Friday night shopping at Pick 'N Pay so you'd be in time to watch MacGyver.

We were still young enough to find it gross when couples kissed on TV.

Those were the days when my Mom wore her hair flipped back, when my Dad drove a Triumph, and we were content to watch a black and white tube TV.

Where have the past three decades gone?

I wait. And I wait.

I'm not the most patient person I know. I'm patient with kids, that's all. When I was waiting at my psychotherapist's office, he was running about four minutes late. So I had a conversation with myself while I waited:

"So, self, should you leave? I mean seriously, therapist dude is late. Not a good sign."

"Maybe I should leave. I could always reschedule."

"I say go."

"Ok fine, that's it, I'm going to pack up my th... too late, there he is. Damn!"

I hate waiting. So when I went on my third interview last Tuesday with the friendly architect and his partner from New York, they mentioned that they would get back to me by the "end of next week". Today is Friday, the very end of next week. The tail end of next week. And no call. No email. Again, the voices spoke to me:

"Hey, self, should you call him?"

"Nah, maybe I should email him."

"I think you should call. At the end of the day."

I didn't call. It wouldn't be right. I shall wait until Monday, if I can last that long.

*sniff*

Not to sound like a selfish douche bag, but I have a cold, and when one has a nose that runs faster than a barefoot Kenyan sprinter, one blows one's nose. Usually with Kllenex. So I don't care how many ancielt boreal forests they have to cut down, I refuse to walk around with a dripping nose! Not cool.