tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91289994448408742862024-03-13T04:29:49.850-04:00I VortextAutobiography, Psychogeography, Essays/Excerpts/etc.Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-25595717005752257082017-06-17T18:16:00.001-04:002023-12-06T01:09:40.869-05:00Last Daze at Trump University: Confessions of a Donald Trump Ghostwriter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">I was known as the "Voice of Trump”—writing a <a href="https://web.archive.org/web/20060507021846/http:/donaldtrump.trumpuniversity.com/default.asp?item=93590" target="_blank">blog under his name</a>. It was the Donald’s first online presence, in 2005—at the dawn of social
media, before Twitter and the smart phone; before “birtherism” and the
financial crisis, when <i>The Apprentice</i>
was at peak popularity (a more innocent time, to say the least). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">To <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2005/09/03/technology/for-the-trumpdeprived.html" target="_blank">become the Voice of Trump</a> I
had to summon the spirit of the man; I had to <i>channel </i>the Donald…</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">I made my office a shrine to my job as mouthpiece for this
titan of kitsch, this mogul of tawdry rhetorical baubles.</span><br />
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<b><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large;">Read the article on Vox:</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://www.vox.com/2016/1/29/10862134/donald-trump-university" style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;" target="_blank">I was a Donald Trump Ghostwriter</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.vox.com/2016/1/29/10862134/donald-trump-university" target="_blank"><span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif" style="font-size: medium;">(Here's what I learned about the Donald — and his fans)</span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">Watch for the upcoming book—a monumental memoir/exposé cum h</span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">istory
of political media…</span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" style="mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;">in the tradition of <i>All the President’s Tweets</i></span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"" style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">.</span></span></div>
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</span></span> <span style="font-size: large; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Straddling the buildings</span> </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-size: large;">that bear his name...</span></span><br />
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</span> <span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">His signature branded upon the cityscape.</span><br />
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</span> <span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">Last daze at Trump (it was all a blur)</span><br />
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</span> <span face=""arial" , sans-serif" style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">Leaving Trump (marble lobby)</span><br />
<br />Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-77881294617393021812017-02-08T01:18:00.001-05:002017-02-11T13:25:35.785-05:00Braddock (Slideshow) <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">An old steel town of ragged charms</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<a data-flickr-embed="true" href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/126972252@N06/albums/72157677934047342" nbsp="" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Braddock"><img alt="Braddock" height="383" src="https://c1.staticflickr.com/1/454/32385770350_b9e6484cd7.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Full Screen – Click on: Picture > 2-way arrows (top right)</span></b><span style="color: red; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">For more slideshows visit:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/126972252@N06/albums" target="_blank">Images of Pittsburgh on Flickr</a></span></span></b><br />
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-18803880874469909052014-10-11T18:24:00.000-04:002017-06-22T18:35:09.320-04:00Urban Greenways: Stalking the Ruins of Pittsburgh<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkdlYNB6cY5eg2hQFicECw10wdQXwIoaJ2gcvNv2KRFjg9kZimc8kdfsn6iuQTfVqCOnqn9xcyAPzVkLDuqnnGQ_y8M2gFnAPApJJF4JytKZmr0J1RBgMxBgbUg02FEbpCER-cmXE5CIw/s1600/No_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="606" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkdlYNB6cY5eg2hQFicECw10wdQXwIoaJ2gcvNv2KRFjg9kZimc8kdfsn6iuQTfVqCOnqn9xcyAPzVkLDuqnnGQ_y8M2gFnAPApJJF4JytKZmr0J1RBgMxBgbUg02FEbpCER-cmXE5CIw/s400/No_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Nestled within some of Pittsburgh’s many wooded hillsides, or “greenways,” are dark corners that harbor vestiges of long demolished houses, city blocks, and even whole neighborhoods. </span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2TOHmFnvaWLvHQAjyUJGXOeMuXzKYCZfURN4TqYnqlPn6BpeB09faQ2ZVoGA-ZS1lOqMFnyuIf9MiYHaeLmJmkraLfyLs196Evp6BRE0XAwuEDSj_-7SRek2RSmbdz5hFYwEsaKfJ9mr/s1600/No_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="800" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2TOHmFnvaWLvHQAjyUJGXOeMuXzKYCZfURN4TqYnqlPn6BpeB09faQ2ZVoGA-ZS1lOqMFnyuIf9MiYHaeLmJmkraLfyLs196Evp6BRE0XAwuEDSj_-7SRek2RSmbdz5hFYwEsaKfJ9mr/s400/No_2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">See my photo essay on Belt: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"><a href="http://beltmag.com/urban-greenways-stalking-ruins-pittsburgh/" target="_blank">Urban Greenways: Stalking the Ruins of Pittsburgh</a></span><br />
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-83196192711755966982014-09-11T09:53:00.000-04:002017-02-04T21:36:51.645-05:00Forgotten Pittsburgh: Ghosts of Neighborhoods Past<br />
<em>Verner was a small factory community below the McKees Rocks Bridge that developed around the long-gone Pittsburgh Forge and Iron Co. . . . All that remains is Verner Ave., which dead ends at a set of jersey barriers.</em> (<a href="http://goo.gl/vFpViK" target="_blank">Time Unkind to Some Pittsburgh City Neighborhoods</a>, by Bob Bauder, Pittsburgh Tribune-Review) <br />
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Sun sets behind the sewage plantAdam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-64945504657032125092014-07-11T01:29:00.000-04:002017-02-11T13:25:49.594-05:00South Side Slopes (Slideshow) <div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-73800519973646484352014-05-30T00:20:00.000-04:002017-06-22T17:09:29.096-04:00East Busway Article Wins Golden Quill Award<br />
My article, <a href="http://www.adameisenstat.com/system/attachments/files/44263/original/EastBusway_Pgh.Qtly._.pdf?1454054893" target="_blank">Voyaging through the Hollow: The East Busway’s Singular Lens on Pittsburgh</a>, just won a Golden Quill Award (Press Club of Western Pennsylvania).<br />
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To see the article, click the link above; and click here to see a <a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-east-busways-singular-lens-on.html" target="_blank">related blog post </a>on this mass transit curiosity.<br />
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-89342604310656745832013-12-30T16:27:00.000-05:002017-06-22T17:15:57.329-04:00The East Busway’s Singular Lens on Pittsburgh<br />
Pittsburgh’s Martin Luther King Jr. East Busway is a distinctly local specimen of infrastructure, and a true urban curiosity. The 9.1 mile stretch lies in a hollow, next to the railroad. <br />
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The East Busway, now 30 years old, was the first buses only roadway in the U.S., and a pioneer in the Bus Rapid Transit movement. To travel the whole route—downtown to Swissvale—takes a mere 20 minutes; at rush hour buses run every two minutes. The sights go by fast for commuters, as they’re whisked home at night and to work in the morning. <br />
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But the hollow is a singular place, where nature and industry converge dramatically; to walk the hollow, on the tracks beside the busway, is to get a rare look at the city’s unique topography. (For more on this, see my article in the winter 2014 issue of <i>Pittsburgh Quarterly</i>, <a href="http://www.adameisenstat.com/system/attachments/files/44263/original/EastBusway_Pgh.Qtly._.pdf?1454054893" target="_blank">Voyaging through the Hollow: The East Busway’s Singular Lens on Pittsburgh</a>.)<br />
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Houses next to busway (Shadyside)<br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/k6xx0r" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery & Map data ©2013 Google -) . . . <b><a href="http://goo.gl/24R1rk" target="_blank">Street View</a></b> (© 2013 Google)<br />
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The route (map courtesy of Port Authority of Allegheny County) [Click to enlarge]<br />
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Classic Pittsburgh: Houses layered in the hillside <br />
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Satellite image of busway (from Baum & Morewood to Herron & Liberty) [Click to enlarge]<br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/svfFA" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery © 2013 DigitalGlobe, Sanborn, U.S. Geol. Survey, USDA Farm Svc. Agency; Map Data © 2013 Google.)<br />
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Zooming through the hollow at rush hour, the hills draped in a pall of greenery (vestiges of the woodlands it once was)<br />
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The path is diverse—encompassing nature & office buildings, historic landmarks, parking garages, assorted detritus, and more. <br />
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Out of the shadows, turning the curve . . . a kinetic corridor (Baum Blvd., Centre Ave. bridges) <br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/DDHWPh" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery ©2013 DigitalGlobe, Sanborn, U.S. Geol. Survey, USDA Farm Svc. Agency; Map data ©2013 Google)<br />
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Houses in Bloomfield—end of the road, almost under Millvale Ave. Bridge<br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/W4ePhR" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery & Map data ©2013 Google) . . . <b><a href="http://goo.gl/j8UsTS" target="_blank">Street View</a></b> (© 2013 Google)<br />
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The busway passes under spans of all types, from modest little footbridges to the monolithic Bloomfield Bridge.</div>
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/svfFA" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery ©2013 DigitalGlobe, Sanborn, U.S. Geol. Survey, USDA Farm Svc. Agency; Map data ©2013 Google) . . . <b><a href="http://goo.gl/OP4dN" target="_blank">Street View</a></b> (©2013 Google)</div>
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A row of old, camouflaged houses sits above the Neville Ramp—a living relic from before the busway came through (all but consuming their front yards & fencing off the horizon).<br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/twnxEV" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery & Map Data ©2013 Google)<br />
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The Neville Ramp—implanted in the hillside (under Baum Blvd.)<br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/DcTDkc" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery & Map Data © 2013 Google)<br />
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Where topography and infrastructure meet, the essence of the city is revealed. <br />
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The ramp exits onto Centre Ave. in Oakland, demonstrating the busway’s versatility—using aspects of both rail & bus transit.<br />
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The Neville Ramp is 1,800 feet long. Its foundation includes 12 “hammerhead” piers, which sit atop either steel piles or caissons—24” to 30” diameter holes which are drilled down to solid rock and filled with reinforced concrete—depending on the geologic condition found at each footing location. The foundation is composed of about 24 million pounds of concrete; while the deck contains 9.2 million pounds. The ramp’s deck and foundation together contain more than three million pounds of steel. <br />
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This information comes from Norman Voigt, a retired civil engineer who spent 25 years with the Port Authority of Allegheny County (PAT) and was instrumental in developing the ramp.<br />
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The preliminary work required for the project included “core boring,” as part of an extensive geotechnical study. For core boring 2.5” diameter holes were drilled in multiple spots along the ramp’s footprint, then geologists analyzed the rock samples found on the drill bit at various depths, to determine the kind of material present there. This allowed them to draw a profile of the whole area—re-creating unseen layers where necessary; then they could determine where exactly to lay the foundation. <br />
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"Ten to 20 feet below the surface you get to hard, shale-like rock formations; then you run into coal seams, then sea bottom—with seashells and the like; then you hit limestone and sandstone,” said Voigt. “There are many problems with building on shale, mostly in that it’s not as hard as limestone or sandstone, which is why large foundations are usually dug down deeper.”<br />
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Telltale scraps, in the weeds around the tracks . . . Passing through the industrial corridor<br />
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Paw of industry (scooping up the light)<br />
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Herron Ave. Station (nr. Liberty Ave. & 33rd St.) . . . Next stop: Downtown<br />
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<b><a href="http://goo.gl/6TW53W" target="_blank">Satellite Map</a></b> (Imagery ©2013 DigitalGlobe, Sanborn, U.S. Geol. Survey, USDA Farm Svc. Agency; Map data ©2013 Google) . . . <b><a href="http://goo.gl/TzUR77" target="_blank">Street View</a></b> (©2013 Google)Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-50619969449725794492013-12-26T06:50:00.000-05:002017-02-05T06:43:37.951-05:00A Shrine in South Oakland (Slideshow)<i>Shrine of the Blessed Mother on Wakefield Street</i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;"><b>For more slideshows visit:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;"> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/126972252@N06/albums" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Images of Pittsburgh on Flickr</a></span><u><span style="color: blue; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></u></div>
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-34589355466868670662013-12-23T05:44:00.000-05:002017-02-05T06:42:48.908-05:00Hidden Lawrenceville (FREE EVENT, 1/16/14)<b>The Lawrenceville Historical Society Presents:</b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Hidden Lawrenceville: </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">An Exhilarating Sphere of Living History</span></b><br />
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<i>Free Multimedia Presentation</i><br />
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January 16 at 7pm<br />
310 Fisk St.<br />
McVey Auditorium (Canterbury Pl. bldg., 1st fl.)<br />
Pittsburgh, PA (directions from <a href="http://goo.gl/SP8J1y" target="_blank">Google Maps</a>) <br />
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<b>About the Event</b>:<br />
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"Hidden Lawrenceville" presents a folk history, combining autobiography & psychogeography; where industrial archeology & candid photography meet on the street, down by the waterfront, and wherever the thrall of enigma beckons.<br />
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The presentation grew out of a series on this blog entitled <a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Exile%20in%20America" target="_blank">Exile in America</a>; about my rediscovery of Pittsburgh, where I was born and raised and to which I returned after being away for 25 years. (My name by the way, <i>Eisenstat</i>, means “iron city” in German.)<br />
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To learn more about the Lawrenceville Historical Society, visit <a href="http://www.lhs15201.org/" target="_blank">Lhs15201.org</a>.<br />
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<b>My Recently Published Work</b>: <br />
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<a href="http://www.mediabistro.com/portfolios/samples_files/145630_EmPIxwIcByKYd7j9mD1dMM3L7.pdf" target="_blank">Stairway to Pittsburgh: Lawrenceville & Bloomfield Steps</a> (photo essay, <i>The Bulletin</i>) <br />
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<a href="https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/10511703/EastBusway%20(Pgh.Qtly.).pdf" target="_blank">Voyaging Through the Hollow: The East Busway’s Singular Lens on Pittsburgh </a>(article, <i>Pittsburgh Quarterly</i> . . . <a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-east-busways-singular-lens-on.html">Related blog post</a>)<br />
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<i>Please share this post with anyone you think might be interested in the event or the topics covered. (Click the envelope mail icon bel.)</i><br />
<br />Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-89716881133810298562013-08-08T05:42:00.000-04:002017-02-08T01:41:30.750-05:00Hill District (Slideshow)<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-91773612643610730692013-07-28T16:21:00.000-04:002016-02-26T07:17:34.155-05:00Winebiddle Street (& Vicinity): An Alluring Mix of StylesAll things considered, Winebiddle St. may be the most interesting street in Pittsburgh. Running through a series of diverse neighborhoods, it’s a collision of styles, a serene co-existence of the mundane and the magnificent <span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">–</span> a microcosm of the city itself. (For more on this captivating stretch, see my photo essay in the August 2013 issue of <i><a href="http://bloomfield-garfield.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/11/Bulletin-August-2013.pdf" target="_blank">The Bulletin</a></i>, pg. 16.)<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">In the Vicinity</span></b> <br />
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-22085810675854752202012-09-14T02:22:00.003-04:002014-05-11T05:54:16.735-04:00Exile in America (Part 1): Carnegie/West End<P><i>After 25 years in New York, the author moves back to his hometown and discovers a new world lodged in the old one . . . Sometimes the strangest destination is home.</i><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: 130%;"></span></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqzd3faZbfFBwl1yWj8F7vkUWgj6_B7PU75vHGh2GYHVPrxZAz9hyphenhyphen_4a1_ZnPNqvhrN-kfQ5eFPPJiLe1jY0hFd3B9STQk9oj9lpBcqEMgdQVIqlkIaSFhcpia-jZxnzo78P-DDhNdrfU/s1600/1_No.+1.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqzd3faZbfFBwl1yWj8F7vkUWgj6_B7PU75vHGh2GYHVPrxZAz9hyphenhyphen_4a1_ZnPNqvhrN-kfQ5eFPPJiLe1jY0hFd3B9STQk9oj9lpBcqEMgdQVIqlkIaSFhcpia-jZxnzo78P-DDhNdrfU/s400/1_No.+1.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784205746369744402" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 304px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLAz8CPU26eoSobszczmSNCfTJTmKl0W1IpE777iiAlqFMLsCKMevNUr59kriA6lMtq93X1Y56_aJtLSvuslHFfLf0nGW0Ieoyy8SX9GfnkfSZdmQ5Rdvuu4X0MmHd-gIahbMTbqPvE4k/s1600/1_No.+2.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLAz8CPU26eoSobszczmSNCfTJTmKl0W1IpE777iiAlqFMLsCKMevNUr59kriA6lMtq93X1Y56_aJtLSvuslHFfLf0nGW0Ieoyy8SX9GfnkfSZdmQ5Rdvuu4X0MmHd-gIahbMTbqPvE4k/s400/1_No.+2.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784205741393873666" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 260px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Local wheels<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIYMaMVYxSS760omPI4cxpU_fSIL-b2WwAXJ5jA5F489iED_zbnjw0CNj7JcGxwuWV6nCj2aj62VL4jBXf49mKxozMAFI27KYL59WqBCZM6H5EzP7eeW1mWwhDLviUNeYrKJvaOiOuCmy/s1600/1_No.+4.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbIYMaMVYxSS760omPI4cxpU_fSIL-b2WwAXJ5jA5F489iED_zbnjw0CNj7JcGxwuWV6nCj2aj62VL4jBXf49mKxozMAFI27KYL59WqBCZM6H5EzP7eeW1mWwhDLviUNeYrKJvaOiOuCmy/s400/1_No.+4.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784205721073050962" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 319px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Oh deer<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fIl4zriYueFeebrMtJvXi8ANseu0X9Z3yQMOqzMGznkX95r01XbxbWwcuEJf_W3vbEU9dDLHX284kBCNRCX0neruuFsAHnYtakT6Ggi63eZAHuylb1Gv8PLwKuZeWXhmuq34VgdpYPmO/s1600/1_No.+5.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fIl4zriYueFeebrMtJvXi8ANseu0X9Z3yQMOqzMGznkX95r01XbxbWwcuEJf_W3vbEU9dDLHX284kBCNRCX0neruuFsAHnYtakT6Ggi63eZAHuylb1Gv8PLwKuZeWXhmuq34VgdpYPmO/s400/1_No.+5.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784205708238362978" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 301px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Shopping/Work/Death, a cyclical path (Chartiers Cemetery, Carnegie, PA)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUWPvwlDOahjUq54jjMV9HZhL0YVYIW6dSNPoDg7v5zEpWEawREG8bsOOIOkBAkbhgzVwj_NkctF_iCENa2AsANIcURdyUX2uFnxjnq66ICihG1T-gUJPJf9LInmyXAjDIFj1T6D7jJYp/s1600/1_No.+6a.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibUWPvwlDOahjUq54jjMV9HZhL0YVYIW6dSNPoDg7v5zEpWEawREG8bsOOIOkBAkbhgzVwj_NkctF_iCENa2AsANIcURdyUX2uFnxjnq66ICihG1T-gUJPJf9LInmyXAjDIFj1T6D7jJYp/s400/1_No.+6a.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784206450174736994" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Office park at sundown, highway below gleams up at the empty lot<br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"><strong>Exile in America: Introduction </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 130%;"></span>Pressed by circumstances, I returned to Pittsburgh, where I was born and raised. Initially I decamped to the West End, far from where I had grown up. It was like being in a whole new city (except for the Iron City beer everywhere and the bus signs flashing “Let’s Go Bucs!”).<br />
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Then I moved closer to the heart of town, which was utterly familiar. Still, there were areas I barely knew, like neighborhoods I had only passed through a few times before. I was compelled to explore these places, camera in hand (which would have never occurred to me before).<br />
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Talking with someone in a McKees Rocks bar, I told him I had returned to Pittsburgh after 25 years. “This city’s better than you remember it,” he said assuredly. I won’t dispute it. As to whether “you can’t go home again” (Thomas Wolfe), I still can’t say, but in the meantime there is no shortage of places to walk through and pictures to take, of things new and familiar (or a hybrid of both).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj982NhSPrEeeb_Uog53j-OTIzqHWyTOnALDj6OwwyyLm5tT1HWCP-P7pgTfQdm70PPECaEfT4iijW2AvR90-WkFGInBkqnaxouLYzYcNsslEEccYIMCS3UKsir_5H4fUwiRRFlx8R3xrSd/s1600/1_No.+7.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj982NhSPrEeeb_Uog53j-OTIzqHWyTOnALDj6OwwyyLm5tT1HWCP-P7pgTfQdm70PPECaEfT4iijW2AvR90-WkFGInBkqnaxouLYzYcNsslEEccYIMCS3UKsir_5H4fUwiRRFlx8R3xrSd/s400/1_No.+7.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784206442959021410" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 249px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Fracking country! (chemical silos beside tracks)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHl7c7nrgr3M-HyDkruzUjx-Q9kZgTu89VGcRqwFPBCqhqNlGJYINT6p1MCu8qo4Th3E74DYhxK7e-tWeyd0SENCTD2S_dX18O9Rm76kjCk6gsYYrOEDn_rcTi_YHLXlOD_YYaGa-7qQz/s1600/1_No.+8.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvHl7c7nrgr3M-HyDkruzUjx-Q9kZgTu89VGcRqwFPBCqhqNlGJYINT6p1MCu8qo4Th3E74DYhxK7e-tWeyd0SENCTD2S_dX18O9Rm76kjCk6gsYYrOEDn_rcTi_YHLXlOD_YYaGa-7qQz/s400/1_No.+8.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784206435652909170" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 298px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Meterized hillside<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICfvjctflRl7KqJlxp6sceKDQPpVx4XrRJkuqiyhvL75ZczQcEuN50Y-kfRF-n21wsd3GVWcGMK6rMML_RHbMTJLAy6fZz-YnYgKS6wNYezu5fQ36HtOl6YaqPbnZA6syMICGb1Ohn3-Y/s1600/1_No.+9.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiICfvjctflRl7KqJlxp6sceKDQPpVx4XrRJkuqiyhvL75ZczQcEuN50Y-kfRF-n21wsd3GVWcGMK6rMML_RHbMTJLAy6fZz-YnYgKS6wNYezu5fQ36HtOl6YaqPbnZA6syMICGb1Ohn3-Y/s400/1_No.+9.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784206426665933042" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 297px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Under the overpass (Noblestown Rd. & Penn Lincoln Parkway)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJFWqXccThCu6BTUSMwD82VKjRTSC1L4TDKWVAP-QgV9B09wrV28iE6atLJ-07WrUbMfh6hXz7OrTEEnSwN9aW1zdAtVUQ3XDPBkjQ-SSNujTPCDf7zV-J2eXi0_JnWtYzA0LrvxUhWf_/s1600/1_No.+z10.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzJFWqXccThCu6BTUSMwD82VKjRTSC1L4TDKWVAP-QgV9B09wrV28iE6atLJ-07WrUbMfh6hXz7OrTEEnSwN9aW1zdAtVUQ3XDPBkjQ-SSNujTPCDf7zV-J2eXi0_JnWtYzA0LrvxUhWf_/s400/1_No.+z10.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784207174183997202" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 342px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDFdKFhHGM2ZKc8op4O7DQjVawaf-ZXfp3aY2hzpqjG_aLIu-bUJXvdGVAak_uO8nRAkxZBsUHihg4M3ZeBeq2OdIBTKDh-Nwmzn9RP6sfGvElj0a6pujXvempGWBNXDrOjGV_-_ZBJVW/s1600/1_No.+z10a+%2528Noblestown+%2526+Creek_Google+Sat.%2529.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjDFdKFhHGM2ZKc8op4O7DQjVawaf-ZXfp3aY2hzpqjG_aLIu-bUJXvdGVAak_uO8nRAkxZBsUHihg4M3ZeBeq2OdIBTKDh-Nwmzn9RP6sfGvElj0a6pujXvempGWBNXDrOjGV_-_ZBJVW/s400/1_No.+z10a+%2528Noblestown+%2526+Creek_Google+Sat.%2529.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784207166482498226" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><a href="http://goo.gl/TxJJK" target="_blank">Satellite image</a> <span style="font-size: 85%;">© 2012 Google</span><br />
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A prime juncture for exploring Chartiers Creek, a serpentine swath (52 miles long) that runs through Washington and Allegheny Counties, and discharges into the <a href="http://goo.gl/4GU8J" target="_blank">Ohio River</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVN3xeSn1HwVa3X7cju-vSL_-QM5paNhZtS2ik7-NaYV6BqCwXdkdeHMABolMHGFUadM9S7PUpQOYFScXI8YeBQz47mUhEWmB4hZgS_jVC_MTmioRhdq36s8DFzCCoVLNBOhVUa9uWi2cB/s1600/1_No.+z11.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVN3xeSn1HwVa3X7cju-vSL_-QM5paNhZtS2ik7-NaYV6BqCwXdkdeHMABolMHGFUadM9S7PUpQOYFScXI8YeBQz47mUhEWmB4hZgS_jVC_MTmioRhdq36s8DFzCCoVLNBOhVUa9uWi2cB/s400/1_No.+z11.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784207156238512658" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 303px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Once steel country always steel country<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ztl6W3ah3l32BEtUMCWwCnwsdydmL3YeqiZrDJJbu7PIlPLHkvEUJheCCKbZjnnSajw87YadTAkEhEl6QN6HOmiv3Oy-2kz2lMPxNCbBxRj7Q5U3VdEdQGmvDWOYpzUKvZ1niPxlL_01/s1600/1_No.+z12.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Ztl6W3ah3l32BEtUMCWwCnwsdydmL3YeqiZrDJJbu7PIlPLHkvEUJheCCKbZjnnSajw87YadTAkEhEl6QN6HOmiv3Oy-2kz2lMPxNCbBxRj7Q5U3VdEdQGmvDWOYpzUKvZ1niPxlL_01/s400/1_No.+z12.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784207153226563986" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 306px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE1aAetrcpeCfv0RCpEHcnqMqQzM4kiw9bjr-bKE573uDNIhLyKiLwFHYY69qoevdTt8kwRQeAhzyLNFaaFvqpt5ITqXtm2jgCMCC4HUPH_IM3hpIzjNdQRRMNgSpgMY09KpQIDO8vzNl/s1600/1_No.+z13.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE1aAetrcpeCfv0RCpEHcnqMqQzM4kiw9bjr-bKE573uDNIhLyKiLwFHYY69qoevdTt8kwRQeAhzyLNFaaFvqpt5ITqXtm2jgCMCC4HUPH_IM3hpIzjNdQRRMNgSpgMY09KpQIDO8vzNl/s400/1_No.+z13.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784207148094379266" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 303px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>A steep city, a city of hills <br />
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Man, these hills! On some, it's like walking through water . . . The flatlands of NYC spoiled me for walking (and where I grew up was hardly the hilliest part of town). <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgX3AHEnM4BEL7dVhmJTfSylMzlPcqLLKlT84KnsjUiI3PRtqOa7xz-0G9Kdud2XRlXFJ_tqy0Z447oJmnqY4c5SQh6oAlhsfKHMMwzELM4zzd7gLABdWlZn8Sk91kI1YktLUnWsOSiown/s1600/1_No.+z14.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgX3AHEnM4BEL7dVhmJTfSylMzlPcqLLKlT84KnsjUiI3PRtqOa7xz-0G9Kdud2XRlXFJ_tqy0Z447oJmnqY4c5SQh6oAlhsfKHMMwzELM4zzd7gLABdWlZn8Sk91kI1YktLUnWsOSiown/s400/1_No.+z14.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208103013460754" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 296px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>A city inclined (to steep declines)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4rU4Gt59rg0ncJigMD8k3Guu4hNQLeEe5b1FzlOFDHrPDj5o-hSEwHNmD1itqZkQeoHSABOlgiyQEtCy5Jwp4jU8JN93P4wNj3He4BHJ7OmaGViC0DnP4gC2w664Clhc38yp8CoheihZ/s1600/1_No.+z15.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4rU4Gt59rg0ncJigMD8k3Guu4hNQLeEe5b1FzlOFDHrPDj5o-hSEwHNmD1itqZkQeoHSABOlgiyQEtCy5Jwp4jU8JN93P4wNj3He4BHJ7OmaGViC0DnP4gC2w664Clhc38yp8CoheihZ/s400/1_No.+z15.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208094405250306" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 333px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOm96P1NNvy0ZZWcUzKWLRAgjQJ4QVNd-srQRrkUlfnno4IOwbIljMj2mXCKVECIU6en-KaHYgKkv5a6FJ5ndKXtCXQiy1zd1GpJJueokWQnQ0QNmb2Onu5DkY6Cdz-JU5oEeuM95E9nf1/s1600/1_No.+z16.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOm96P1NNvy0ZZWcUzKWLRAgjQJ4QVNd-srQRrkUlfnno4IOwbIljMj2mXCKVECIU6en-KaHYgKkv5a6FJ5ndKXtCXQiy1zd1GpJJueokWQnQ0QNmb2Onu5DkY6Cdz-JU5oEeuM95E9nf1/s400/1_No.+z16.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208083191547442" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 315px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>The view from Overlook Park<br />
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Ahh, the classic shot (sort of): Pittsburgh skyline/The Point — where the Allegheny, Monongahela, and Ohio rivers meet; at the confluence, with the bridges like butterfly bandages holding the city together . . . This image is long familiar to me, but mostly from ads and news photos. In person, though, from the heights, it <i>dazzles</i>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq8JS-0ecyO36N_UsXQky5sI9T0SEX5Y319fkOkQROXkPGPQ0WnBCNgeNt4ip_QFC07yBxIxZm9rAt84fzXMU_lD1gk6boJTNohQAfR1TFfyNeWCBu84qEbLK33Y2wo3dLl5O12XUj3Uj/s1600/1_No.+z17.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq8JS-0ecyO36N_UsXQky5sI9T0SEX5Y319fkOkQROXkPGPQ0WnBCNgeNt4ip_QFC07yBxIxZm9rAt84fzXMU_lD1gk6boJTNohQAfR1TFfyNeWCBu84qEbLK33Y2wo3dLl5O12XUj3Uj/s400/1_No.+z17.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208075557525506" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 264px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiri1W_TgMCg84yMO16xJNNVtA9VhmLEGmfUaRI9_YtgP-kNAUDLTSk1-3mz-H7OPH6hmHfxnty8snUqypIIIM2cxk9Hakhob3vOaIL9AVrv8zC-nF-r9s4QVv1GV2YyVdXddOk9nrdl7r0/s1600/1_No.+z18.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiri1W_TgMCg84yMO16xJNNVtA9VhmLEGmfUaRI9_YtgP-kNAUDLTSk1-3mz-H7OPH6hmHfxnty8snUqypIIIM2cxk9Hakhob3vOaIL9AVrv8zC-nF-r9s4QVv1GV2YyVdXddOk9nrdl7r0/s400/1_No.+z18.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208071143314706" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 310px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Train through trees from edge of park<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnr51UHMFwVwrNH6F7Ri8Cdr6tInLvtYj0dILjvc8oox7VVyDuV5G5xkR8-F8yvdDjP6Lunj5a8Z8pddKRRdyW3InQxyJmTmDkOTkSKvAcbXxK8P5kIOgSMNl3eQGOcS4Z8A85wkSWZfhC/s1600/1_No.+z19.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnr51UHMFwVwrNH6F7Ri8Cdr6tInLvtYj0dILjvc8oox7VVyDuV5G5xkR8-F8yvdDjP6Lunj5a8Z8pddKRRdyW3InQxyJmTmDkOTkSKvAcbXxK8P5kIOgSMNl3eQGOcS4Z8A85wkSWZfhC/s400/1_No.+z19.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208896245673346" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>A steep city, a city of stairs, etched in hillsides enshrouded by green<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvK-VwJWo635EYLSI6avY33jk9jJgCiyfNI1qjGe5yND4R1XOKB4ti4Sv9sDy8m9vUfbnTC9mCHE4001Dtl9HhbU4Uk8sOpENcP3ku971zUcourZJN-uhFdT57zTBw5FC1JJ2zpCRGPnz/s1600/1_No.+z20.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvK-VwJWo635EYLSI6avY33jk9jJgCiyfNI1qjGe5yND4R1XOKB4ti4Sv9sDy8m9vUfbnTC9mCHE4001Dtl9HhbU4Uk8sOpENcP3ku971zUcourZJN-uhFdT57zTBw5FC1JJ2zpCRGPnz/s400/1_No.+z20.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208890631558930" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfyT3OUNQ070ftHFIPUH0qzIiTD-62IiNtz6pbw16sPxMi6qXVlwS0WHkt0oN8yQbKu52fOJybvsMpbx_N5Pwm3PHiiMKa3B61ufR3iUnG6eGVb3fLFG-hWhVjDlMq4EufhgrLbqY84MM6/s1600/1_No.+z21.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfyT3OUNQ070ftHFIPUH0qzIiTD-62IiNtz6pbw16sPxMi6qXVlwS0WHkt0oN8yQbKu52fOJybvsMpbx_N5Pwm3PHiiMKa3B61ufR3iUnG6eGVb3fLFG-hWhVjDlMq4EufhgrLbqY84MM6/s400/1_No.+z21.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208885007512882" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTB2xG_5gVncOWmpn9HjB_wK5jIfpjPSSHxgYm8YVDi41Ju6jv8INaD9WOt_izsO02YA4vy5WgQsN2wt2jQ6T8k7b7OiuLWEHkuobrrb438zsmf4baAsnQ53Vh5uJvpdks81bRa1TYghwX/s1600/1_No.+z22.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTB2xG_5gVncOWmpn9HjB_wK5jIfpjPSSHxgYm8YVDi41Ju6jv8INaD9WOt_izsO02YA4vy5WgQsN2wt2jQ6T8k7b7OiuLWEHkuobrrb438zsmf4baAsnQ53Vh5uJvpdks81bRa1TYghwX/s400/1_No.+z22.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784208881258586242" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Overgrown stairs in the woods off the highway <br />
fade into nature like Aztec ruins<br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Exile%20in%20America" target="_blank">Exile in America (Parts 1-4)</a><br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Pittsburgh%20Slideshow" target="_blank">More Images of Pittsburgh (Slideshows)</a>Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-11822897066446772702012-09-12T03:25:00.000-04:002014-05-11T05:55:58.902-04:00Exile in America (Part 2): McKees Rocks<P><i>After 25 years in New York, the author moves back to his hometown and discovers a new world lodged in the old one . . . Sometimes the strangest destination is home.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDhyphenhyphen-U7bb9bVdBG9p89ezHZXamWLZKSSt8fiafKEppTC-TKXlYfRYhnlIgqQ2OIVqfvHXp49zOyrPu-LMOtrPqFzabUH2h5iMPaL-ZpTp3BwaSfeSV_lb17oioXOFtjAq8kni2q0hfNxa/s1600/2_No.+1.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDhyphenhyphen-U7bb9bVdBG9p89ezHZXamWLZKSSt8fiafKEppTC-TKXlYfRYhnlIgqQ2OIVqfvHXp49zOyrPu-LMOtrPqFzabUH2h5iMPaL-ZpTp3BwaSfeSV_lb17oioXOFtjAq8kni2q0hfNxa/s400/2_No.+1.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220325295251890" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5130d5i4mgiC5nKwxMwOwf7rkLTqAe6dN4StYXN3pea9tqCb4nHSAdfoN04y5W6i507ryZxyk9qjoPENdQjGGXg4FrqAxGvbdIT5yucOBG31vCkl3-uNh09iVhc8383QMPbhMiHamW9H/s1600/2_No.+2.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5130d5i4mgiC5nKwxMwOwf7rkLTqAe6dN4StYXN3pea9tqCb4nHSAdfoN04y5W6i507ryZxyk9qjoPENdQjGGXg4FrqAxGvbdIT5yucOBG31vCkl3-uNh09iVhc8383QMPbhMiHamW9H/s400/2_No.+2.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220316592195074" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 341px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJRTkbDn3lbrnyEY_97zYaSWsl2ALuh9wmMYHokUd6DHPeH7W6JuHBA_yZejQh2_Qlo1WtbOfGdwHNKDb6tfdMlCuzA4_lEaGBqeFFetW-Si02xO5O3rggqPh7oWnFssp0mMz0hP60MaU/s1600/2_No.+3.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfJRTkbDn3lbrnyEY_97zYaSWsl2ALuh9wmMYHokUd6DHPeH7W6JuHBA_yZejQh2_Qlo1WtbOfGdwHNKDb6tfdMlCuzA4_lEaGBqeFFetW-Si02xO5O3rggqPh7oWnFssp0mMz0hP60MaU/s400/2_No.+3.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220314255394370" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 301px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGMV_KJke5gJfClnHXh8NC4cf6Tk1y-2YiC6LF42w_G4Ay7_ZSoT1UCqwW6dNQZsrJSeLaROnRQlV1QeTNHfItJeVIgBLQ-xDfgQ5l0PKq7UweZF4lvRrqGoDrMr4FY7NwOVoztE17n8b/s1600/2_No.+4.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGMV_KJke5gJfClnHXh8NC4cf6Tk1y-2YiC6LF42w_G4Ay7_ZSoT1UCqwW6dNQZsrJSeLaROnRQlV1QeTNHfItJeVIgBLQ-xDfgQ5l0PKq7UweZF4lvRrqGoDrMr4FY7NwOVoztE17n8b/s400/2_No.+4.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220302744112306" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 301px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXh2e99Qr0uSj0D2FKsjniJUZDOJOxQiomWSQgphjs47voXhsgA-0F_E11DjPtR9K4lbB8UL0nBcH9f_Xale37uBpAMB1stXY4o63E1fv9cH1b_AdgfuHbfC6YMKKQ875rzLiM53i5IsvF/s1600/2_No.+5.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXh2e99Qr0uSj0D2FKsjniJUZDOJOxQiomWSQgphjs47voXhsgA-0F_E11DjPtR9K4lbB8UL0nBcH9f_Xale37uBpAMB1stXY4o63E1fv9cH1b_AdgfuHbfC6YMKKQ875rzLiM53i5IsvF/s400/2_No.+5.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220295809218082" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 352px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Creek Road along Chartiers Creek, under the Wind Gap Bridge<br />
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“Road’s End,” as the locals call it, is a leafy patch of light industry, abandoned cars, and (probably) a few misanthropes who want to “get away from it all” while remaining in earshot of the highway above.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5GWv1ZbmG4muHHT0wusJ0lEYZYhJJMzwSKY2jWHHkt9TNK_xgZ-OPlg6RmVu3ZSdAHOXmlxulbbbh2ahH_NIFCV-o-GnsjXAh5Pe8cmkh1Hu-7O_aw9a4UuboCSOPX2mVKsSpFuILhW3/s1600/2_No.+5a.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5GWv1ZbmG4muHHT0wusJ0lEYZYhJJMzwSKY2jWHHkt9TNK_xgZ-OPlg6RmVu3ZSdAHOXmlxulbbbh2ahH_NIFCV-o-GnsjXAh5Pe8cmkh1Hu-7O_aw9a4UuboCSOPX2mVKsSpFuILhW3/s400/2_No.+5a.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784222598586192802" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 327px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><a href="http://goo.gl/xy22r" target="_blank">Satellite image</a> <span style="font-size: 85%;">© 2012 Google</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFw9LQqfgAlDm_qEVmgrGoahLrspa1fDTX8R-0W1_Ptx8QZTLyzIJdsKZZYCdcfO4Q3kt4eAg6KrhkNOypUpeeXVIP0Z7gB0bmvg2iI-a8Yk13TByFc4OFsbtJtpr8czFXWQUgF7TmLBVK/s1600/2_No.+6.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFw9LQqfgAlDm_qEVmgrGoahLrspa1fDTX8R-0W1_Ptx8QZTLyzIJdsKZZYCdcfO4Q3kt4eAg6KrhkNOypUpeeXVIP0Z7gB0bmvg2iI-a8Yk13TByFc4OFsbtJtpr8czFXWQUgF7TmLBVK/s400/2_No.+6.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220697707691714" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia53Peg2gzByU3d4lO0J5wqoW2vceD3L0ZEVtn6sIcUw8NuQrd_fLVWlXe3S2OEpOF2b6k5Kg3gf2ivvVSYYRPSkzLExlw0pg9Z2e1g_4nPSceCtGz26PyI6dEkN1BY3H65_F8toX79h_B/s1600/2_No.+7.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia53Peg2gzByU3d4lO0J5wqoW2vceD3L0ZEVtn6sIcUw8NuQrd_fLVWlXe3S2OEpOF2b6k5Kg3gf2ivvVSYYRPSkzLExlw0pg9Z2e1g_4nPSceCtGz26PyI6dEkN1BY3H65_F8toX79h_B/s400/2_No.+7.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220690484948050" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 291px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Showing some leg, showing some skull<br />
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Road’s End is an intimate nowhere; a woman there will gladly oblige a stranger with a camera who asks her to roll up her short shorts and pose against the bridge.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2N4i8CaFGTq_rTAn55eIeZo8yo9z0RM3BP1TdyWcS-QaCCpeJs-xK9uwhZBH1Uy0o_71ET5A6gDagtRyGnjxy8PTfBJB22TUEaH4V8vChhdU-k0sO9ACrH2dSzZKAlC-j94-xv_z0Ct5/s1600/2_No.+8.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw2N4i8CaFGTq_rTAn55eIeZo8yo9z0RM3BP1TdyWcS-QaCCpeJs-xK9uwhZBH1Uy0o_71ET5A6gDagtRyGnjxy8PTfBJB22TUEaH4V8vChhdU-k0sO9ACrH2dSzZKAlC-j94-xv_z0Ct5/s400/2_No.+8.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220682470678754" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Vestige: Old brick road peeking up through new one<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Kbl1zyErgoCfkLIXeNq01vbZLQv-oOaE7N0mKcKuqWIxdfRw1yyeupuNUswPO3SoTD__3I5Q0FQtZkS1UaasaHWWWPeNVuSWnSzLPNXfJnvQNgpdZLaFZixIYAmgPXcN0h9F3FinJ5vd/s1600/2_No.+9.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Kbl1zyErgoCfkLIXeNq01vbZLQv-oOaE7N0mKcKuqWIxdfRw1yyeupuNUswPO3SoTD__3I5Q0FQtZkS1UaasaHWWWPeNVuSWnSzLPNXfJnvQNgpdZLaFZixIYAmgPXcN0h9F3FinJ5vd/s400/2_No.+9.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220672371948690" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 316px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxnTHc0cutf4Ak3M47-0JJUHM7bRdaQ4r8YFzcv1xdqKaMOizsQAzRGCIsRETIrlKPjVtMpk6-XCmMFLlwpEkEnsBH3PdfdbpczLPz6JX_Vm7-jCg-fEWD0gGXMQIHvgN81VYSS-R-4Iz/s1600/2_No.+z10.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRxnTHc0cutf4Ak3M47-0JJUHM7bRdaQ4r8YFzcv1xdqKaMOizsQAzRGCIsRETIrlKPjVtMpk6-XCmMFLlwpEkEnsBH3PdfdbpczLPz6JX_Vm7-jCg-fEWD0gGXMQIHvgN81VYSS-R-4Iz/s400/2_No.+z10.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784220671254730354" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 302px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Slim passage (where Creek Rd. meets Singer Ave., near the tracks)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8M8KZUtjFO5PUFNjNHg7VNv5095nfYMYPR1i6FCgGvnJv8vcDJDI0ndLTlGvbGcsZPQImzGLYD4Uh_A3cYjaAi9UzsySQG5jT7gbQ1fCCPTmokxCWQ-QFVrxDyHljoRJrv0PYDGfYtCb/s1600/2_No.+z11.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8M8KZUtjFO5PUFNjNHg7VNv5095nfYMYPR1i6FCgGvnJv8vcDJDI0ndLTlGvbGcsZPQImzGLYD4Uh_A3cYjaAi9UzsySQG5jT7gbQ1fCCPTmokxCWQ-QFVrxDyHljoRJrv0PYDGfYtCb/s400/2_No.+z11.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221134137510594" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdkl0GNazY4WTgaP7Cw7REuLHbd9k82KbHFmv3G_rL4Fs7vKa79jO8YVgoObwnhVG5I_6huuhyBpe6H4kuSqXHTxrJahBeZ-lrHI7UZa7nZDNihRoHdAxH0jS80OpfutM0ofcA9pqUoyW/s1600/2_No.+z12.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdkl0GNazY4WTgaP7Cw7REuLHbd9k82KbHFmv3G_rL4Fs7vKa79jO8YVgoObwnhVG5I_6huuhyBpe6H4kuSqXHTxrJahBeZ-lrHI7UZa7nZDNihRoHdAxH0jS80OpfutM0ofcA9pqUoyW/s400/2_No.+z12.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221124747947650" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>A sacred aura pervades<br />
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McKees Rocks is a lush and rusted jewel on the Ohio, faded but still glimmering, with beautiful churches, streets and vistas that are beyond quaint . . . Through its trove of architecture, local sages, and industrial archeology the history/aura of an old city will survive.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOAajuzjI4cUBBviE-Ll45dHZHMPYHxFIuXJaR1dKXAV67CrzjdYLnUr_90Wd_TpyO4HkEl2UwPrRtEsB-1WXv_op-NGO7LOtY1_hHroYAM9R6clDR7kTnOrl9GQEXsIIt2qW5Uz2fSNP/s1600/2_No.+z13.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOAajuzjI4cUBBviE-Ll45dHZHMPYHxFIuXJaR1dKXAV67CrzjdYLnUr_90Wd_TpyO4HkEl2UwPrRtEsB-1WXv_op-NGO7LOtY1_hHroYAM9R6clDR7kTnOrl9GQEXsIIt2qW5Uz2fSNP/s400/2_No.+z13.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221114662460034" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 342px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Volume drinking<br />
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A 22-ounce beer (~ 2 beers) for $2.50 is not uncommon in Pittsburgh bars (almost like giving it away).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElEtP52iteY2PA4eNOakIk4ksgzt80_tuIq035nn6sr1n4lAWCsLawir3h_6KTDEAL2oWvureZxUlBBFLAmoISUVDJolbTEJPqwJ1skRaQ73KuMp4Dm8_2DDjmdKE6ikxj8o7Z1cTJwkM/s1600/2_No.+z14.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgElEtP52iteY2PA4eNOakIk4ksgzt80_tuIq035nn6sr1n4lAWCsLawir3h_6KTDEAL2oWvureZxUlBBFLAmoISUVDJolbTEJPqwJ1skRaQ73KuMp4Dm8_2DDjmdKE6ikxj8o7Z1cTJwkM/s400/2_No.+z14.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221106806478562" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 333px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>On this day: Grand Opening of Bottom Dollar in McKees Rocks<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4aFFNBNNOb4ZPcxg_SMkXmLONlz3Xxl6am_BdIA4fpV55gFBz08NZIBwdlZRzRROxCnISdLdWTajuAXtkH8isMfM6cZminNnAAKHEH2dyMtQWpeAMaRsdXQmz_f-6Aw-JGZTeBgjSiIr/s1600/2_No.+z15.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4aFFNBNNOb4ZPcxg_SMkXmLONlz3Xxl6am_BdIA4fpV55gFBz08NZIBwdlZRzRROxCnISdLdWTajuAXtkH8isMfM6cZminNnAAKHEH2dyMtQWpeAMaRsdXQmz_f-6Aw-JGZTeBgjSiIr/s400/2_No.+z15.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221102583943650" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 298px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyrGVqoZ5RG8pB3Ah3MHksllsxRoDU5UO7y4Yck-OZIsUOOINgiT4jNV7lDITT6GDC_CFocmdeBXqXZgPbDux0QwkO2LYEagG23sF5CoU2sYj67Kwzr4B7NPxV951F2ACmD0stsj0YJjX/s1600/2_No.+z16.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNyrGVqoZ5RG8pB3Ah3MHksllsxRoDU5UO7y4Yck-OZIsUOOINgiT4jNV7lDITT6GDC_CFocmdeBXqXZgPbDux0QwkO2LYEagG23sF5CoU2sYj67Kwzr4B7NPxV951F2ACmD0stsj0YJjX/s400/2_No.+z16.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221718944882690" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 310px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgatQ9yBG2g_YihXA62Y8b1OvoBNy_8fNs4q4ICzTuFWRC0W2T7Dzli03duJz6vPTQ-_YjR1dU3PBRtLsL9xx0EmEJVHj31lig8i3YlFiZNLbNqKtwll6mIJBvj52yfJXmsNWyX6HlQlX-Y/s1600/2_No.+z18.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgatQ9yBG2g_YihXA62Y8b1OvoBNy_8fNs4q4ICzTuFWRC0W2T7Dzli03duJz6vPTQ-_YjR1dU3PBRtLsL9xx0EmEJVHj31lig8i3YlFiZNLbNqKtwll6mIJBvj52yfJXmsNWyX6HlQlX-Y/s400/2_No.+z18.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221699715317570" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 294px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Pittsburgh takes a good picture<br />
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Brooklyn, where I used live, takes a good picture as <a href="http://www.bigskybrooklyn.com/" target="_blank">I’ve often said</a>, but so does Pittsburgh. The hills make for a constant layering effect, plus you can always go higher and get a new perspective.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QOR1Gyfp5zOWICrSo0o_cL5TRBzW0ixIY7VTPgE4dIjA9LwuX3oUCBBjLcbrS_mwXLacD_mlvFmXrM4xXL4PPMI4247WF0tp2Q3OfOeKAlXzo10Mg_JTCvxRS4qOGB0gb_b0ZDLNE4Sq/s1600/2_No.+z19.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9QOR1Gyfp5zOWICrSo0o_cL5TRBzW0ixIY7VTPgE4dIjA9LwuX3oUCBBjLcbrS_mwXLacD_mlvFmXrM4xXL4PPMI4247WF0tp2Q3OfOeKAlXzo10Mg_JTCvxRS4qOGB0gb_b0ZDLNE4Sq/s400/2_No.+z19.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221694169842210" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>A trio of churches at twilight seen through the <a href="http://goo.gl/488yP" target="_blank">McKees Rocks Bridge</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUiGi0KxICYpJjjQGI9aggQYW-wceoycFqib_n-Pk1yDu4NUlc3FWJ6u2ym4Vv6JB1dCxddfPzgD4h8ofNQV0BbB1lTFP60GC4Jfmqp68X9PVajgBfR8wur4786AuiWrA_3-nmHtex6vJ7/s1600/2_No.+z20.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUiGi0KxICYpJjjQGI9aggQYW-wceoycFqib_n-Pk1yDu4NUlc3FWJ6u2ym4Vv6JB1dCxddfPzgD4h8ofNQV0BbB1lTFP60GC4Jfmqp68X9PVajgBfR8wur4786AuiWrA_3-nmHtex6vJ7/s400/2_No.+z20.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5784221690499473858" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> House swallowed by vegetation<br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Exile%20in%20America" target="_blank">Exile in America (Parts 1-4)</a><br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Pittsburgh%20Slideshow" target="_blank">More Images of Pittsburgh (Slideshows)</a><br />
Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-89755429661909562442012-09-10T19:46:00.000-04:002014-05-11T05:52:11.947-04:00Exile in America (Part 3): Lawrenceville/Strip District<P><i>After 25 years in New York, the author moves back to his hometown and discovers a new world lodged in the old one . . . Sometimes the strangest destination is home.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQiHKENQZAfhQ7Fnq-LhyphenhyphenHY427-fMyMkqXO0R4S4Z-qinxN6p64tX7GT-qRKF5w0KSEtHGMgDz38Y3O4zA-sUZMQyLle92cd2RPE8f_YKNCLTooNzfvs-PwSXJ57bWSnwNuEkSExg5Spo/s1600/3_No.+1.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidQiHKENQZAfhQ7Fnq-LhyphenhyphenHY427-fMyMkqXO0R4S4Z-qinxN6p64tX7GT-qRKF5w0KSEtHGMgDz38Y3O4zA-sUZMQyLle92cd2RPE8f_YKNCLTooNzfvs-PwSXJ57bWSnwNuEkSExg5Spo/s400/3_No.+1.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311630721155442" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 303px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZoiHwC7z6ffowepWgfiOvfslpHwGYFDyYBLbinhG2tzNzzUzyKFVkySfrEngj1QNi4Ea6au1AfOqN2l0tLkyneDyZtyC3RP1c9kqUfH30gA1YkrSbUhiBIObVr9Nsq5ez5rqa3NNPGGQs/s1600/3_No.+2.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZoiHwC7z6ffowepWgfiOvfslpHwGYFDyYBLbinhG2tzNzzUzyKFVkySfrEngj1QNi4Ea6au1AfOqN2l0tLkyneDyZtyC3RP1c9kqUfH30gA1YkrSbUhiBIObVr9Nsq5ez5rqa3NNPGGQs/s400/3_No.+2.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311623183010754" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 318px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Stephen Foster’s tombstone, Allegheny Cemetery <br />
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A most nondescript monument for such an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Foster" target="_blank">iconic figure</a> (and native son). But it may be fitting, for even though Foster wrote some of the most popular songs ever — songs I sang in grade school music classes, that are still lodged in my head — he died on the Bowery, drunk and destitute. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_9hOzLmYebmwBBjPuXruwvvHLSRFFPhpYUzNiIALTn5frV3dhFLOWWV0toexQW8h4e7lxIOVS_E-4oKN9hyphenhyphenNj2ahpYL8USPRDtKmCQZxdZBBUHwTXWlYGo6w38C2eJKr8y1U5Y4AxGAf/s1600/3_No.+3.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_9hOzLmYebmwBBjPuXruwvvHLSRFFPhpYUzNiIALTn5frV3dhFLOWWV0toexQW8h4e7lxIOVS_E-4oKN9hyphenhyphenNj2ahpYL8USPRDtKmCQZxdZBBUHwTXWlYGo6w38C2eJKr8y1U5Y4AxGAf/s400/3_No.+3.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311612568016754" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAozPBZHzDV-AupDFOhrJq4m_jkNthPk_tfzcS691e6d9kHk9-_Z2xzirCFAqnt9E17Tf-gki9uggJx75Iti6O6yRfba59gVgvS74iGHgwZCT0yFvKHj7A7AEg-aJYjLFCXNwJhsF9Fslg/s1600/3_No.+4.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAozPBZHzDV-AupDFOhrJq4m_jkNthPk_tfzcS691e6d9kHk9-_Z2xzirCFAqnt9E17Tf-gki9uggJx75Iti6O6yRfba59gVgvS74iGHgwZCT0yFvKHj7A7AEg-aJYjLFCXNwJhsF9Fslg/s400/3_No.+4.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311602884699986" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Down to the waterfront (<a href="http://goo.gl/3229Q" target="_blank">satellite image</a>)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHviEfenvNn381NfOTUhHDkWZryuJMNHyk9zINlNM_gdT6YIPRQTnX5qBArXaNwz5qHqg-pg-bK6Rv0hwRCfAq9TUp7yqgxuYUvsYDUW0DFqEfsArzVZUNYX4FnU071DZcib4mdqANuEHP/s1600/3_No.+6.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHviEfenvNn381NfOTUhHDkWZryuJMNHyk9zINlNM_gdT6YIPRQTnX5qBArXaNwz5qHqg-pg-bK6Rv0hwRCfAq9TUp7yqgxuYUvsYDUW0DFqEfsArzVZUNYX4FnU071DZcib4mdqANuEHP/s400/3_No.+6.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311930685096146" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 319px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T4p6G2Idv7g9CP6RP0YfIx_mZMEmADe8S9U5mBAPXLkvei1znD4_tfbqtVYFW9GFIVJLPIeDrCEpB85MWv0KuNkxOnaNmAHNKlN8TFYTza1Cni8QbCr17POfj-jTn2DS85V3CiF24iai/s1600/3_No.+7.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7T4p6G2Idv7g9CP6RP0YfIx_mZMEmADe8S9U5mBAPXLkvei1znD4_tfbqtVYFW9GFIVJLPIeDrCEpB85MWv0KuNkxOnaNmAHNKlN8TFYTza1Cni8QbCr17POfj-jTn2DS85V3CiF24iai/s400/3_No.+7.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311921032189554" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
Gingerly I walked the narrow shoreline, hearing explosions up ahead. I encountered a group of shirtless urchins, setting off fireworks, doing what urchins do. “Just passing through,” I declared. <i>Lord of the Flies</i> occurred to me then — primal regression, at society’s edge; a vision of being swarmed, having my throat cut and left for dead. (I don’t think they were the type, though, and surely I didn’t deserve it, for my harmless intrusion on their obscure hideaway.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HtF5RReJtL8ek6zh8mIXqDH_Opk9gUnNB_EetyRctinFFLZ8IYT9fMLS14kZvFi9R5r0h6NzHJFdYfqXBMKLbh17ZnOWgEiYV9kH_JvIxQNiwjxKVI3MNMjoAgqRHHvXyNCDE8bP316d/s1600/3_No.+8.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HtF5RReJtL8ek6zh8mIXqDH_Opk9gUnNB_EetyRctinFFLZ8IYT9fMLS14kZvFi9R5r0h6NzHJFdYfqXBMKLbh17ZnOWgEiYV9kH_JvIxQNiwjxKVI3MNMjoAgqRHHvXyNCDE8bP316d/s400/3_No.+8.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311916611669442" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>“Bad Kids . . . Spunk”<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUGhEb5FN1HlvOr_0NtV-3JHIoGArvwLc5C4_U_k_mzCzVWxC9_WiAydEU3Yca4QAaqzq9wvx312hHjeHNFFqOwrv5Th2kOjLwL4oxXR15YUKyilfpSGPVm22XLIwccJixAvh4dD5ruJn/s1600/3_No.+9.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqUGhEb5FN1HlvOr_0NtV-3JHIoGArvwLc5C4_U_k_mzCzVWxC9_WiAydEU3Yca4QAaqzq9wvx312hHjeHNFFqOwrv5Th2kOjLwL4oxXR15YUKyilfpSGPVm22XLIwccJixAvh4dD5ruJn/s400/3_No.+9.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311913880622162" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXV9REiVNclYUgRy-QElWDI72cTeezyPI6sXZ787l6O6Xj8Ac5XpJc3s-4j2wA_I3Pus7FqdbAbW4gpT3RrkLAPW1zkseCliT0sMGVn-Q0K_oRJLu4WaAUfBM33aRoraAzBX_bNgN_dCI/s1600/3_No.+z10.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlXV9REiVNclYUgRy-QElWDI72cTeezyPI6sXZ787l6O6Xj8Ac5XpJc3s-4j2wA_I3Pus7FqdbAbW4gpT3RrkLAPW1zkseCliT0sMGVn-Q0K_oRJLu4WaAUfBM33aRoraAzBX_bNgN_dCI/s400/3_No.+z10.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788311907026438114" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 337px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEpcRKBxMtgd7aZxAp-fS4Km9KySRoxJgeyoNjDiZcuT6xwrFo-fiEPxiqxT6ls1piFIOm8TCQzJx3nEfoPvO15SQ4fbaQVH2e0aipCrpGpP7DvgCZsbBGeKUUBg6_o1myUcadfzuF9rF/s1600/3_No.+z11.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEpcRKBxMtgd7aZxAp-fS4Km9KySRoxJgeyoNjDiZcuT6xwrFo-fiEPxiqxT6ls1piFIOm8TCQzJx3nEfoPvO15SQ4fbaQVH2e0aipCrpGpP7DvgCZsbBGeKUUBg6_o1myUcadfzuF9rF/s400/3_No.+z11.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788312484572430642" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Houses in Lawrenceville<br />
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Lawrenceville has undergone a renaissance in recent years, through the same "mixed use" formula that's driving the revival of neighborhoods across the Rust Belt. It’s the antithesis of suburbia: instead of houses in one place, the shopping mall in another, and industry segregated in some no-go hellscape, it's all intermixed. When it works, as it does here, it’s a vivid, concrete expression of vitality.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixNhGE8DNszvnogupDeXaMcd1ljDiF2R6_4F8BIcfkHoqK-R5GitPUAvjJaQ7RREITPogctPYzY2SvxWpaEcvFNqtkovwLEa1ux4fVITWUjcFDnPsMVBOBVRKfkNrhJvr3aaApjfoKD3Zz/s1600/3_No.+z12.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixNhGE8DNszvnogupDeXaMcd1ljDiF2R6_4F8BIcfkHoqK-R5GitPUAvjJaQ7RREITPogctPYzY2SvxWpaEcvFNqtkovwLEa1ux4fVITWUjcFDnPsMVBOBVRKfkNrhJvr3aaApjfoKD3Zz/s400/3_No.+z12.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788312475221640514" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 308px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Pgh. Casing Co., Strip District (next to <a href="http://goo.gl/D4kht" target="_blank">33rd Street Bridge</a>) <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIf8rws7s1GLvNOXBGaLVLOoojmACN_gDLQMKvsehQ6GRxGsZkoir4wUyHPb71Te_It6XbMcH_pVyq47-GcR2_IqN7WxzNAkF5eYQa6ynVfl6bh7gLVR4lzJQY_2aNsAfPxLLj3UxXni7B/s1600/3_No.+z12a.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIf8rws7s1GLvNOXBGaLVLOoojmACN_gDLQMKvsehQ6GRxGsZkoir4wUyHPb71Te_It6XbMcH_pVyq47-GcR2_IqN7WxzNAkF5eYQa6ynVfl6bh7gLVR4lzJQY_2aNsAfPxLLj3UxXni7B/s400/3_No.+z12a.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788312471961820210" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 306px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
My band used to rehearse here; the guitarist’s father owned the company, which made natural sausage casings. I most remember the drying room upstairs, a large space filled with racks where pig intestines were stretched out on slats, and that <i>smell</i> — like walking into the belly of a pig. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbz5rOhS-iU1ediaCkK57mkduCnVQX2_trxL5kgek3S1hPxOt1qUHbfgb8exbGFD0vhQtUvpvawtPr4Buxoy2h6O3RUHCTEZgHKa8vmJ053kczkxRFjbS9fB9S1nz7pCvFqa6Svjaawys/s1600/3_No.+z15.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbz5rOhS-iU1ediaCkK57mkduCnVQX2_trxL5kgek3S1hPxOt1qUHbfgb8exbGFD0vhQtUvpvawtPr4Buxoy2h6O3RUHCTEZgHKa8vmJ053kczkxRFjbS9fB9S1nz7pCvFqa6Svjaawys/s400/3_No.+z15.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788312459289653202" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 293px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20XC4ZhMDFARAPW0aYPpdtFfKFHUGRQis4PMmrmMbqyfccmTyY_EPaw817XNhhNVVM59tMrhPZFIHUPFpifLObakci5I8LckQ7PAEEi8caz3dun7DWw3yOdD_KTK8VPxynX96jFTTDqKJ/s1600/3_No.+z16.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg20XC4ZhMDFARAPW0aYPpdtFfKFHUGRQis4PMmrmMbqyfccmTyY_EPaw817XNhhNVVM59tMrhPZFIHUPFpifLObakci5I8LckQ7PAEEi8caz3dun7DWw3yOdD_KTK8VPxynX96jFTTDqKJ/s400/3_No.+z16.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788313788714684322" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_opnFG4sAmKAMgbVJ5nAuPcLsXrWX3TzMNyj192ZoH4VfQRsu3DSR_2Id7zHgAiS0s-sYF-nOBP-kjxjiUbaQtHfr4UAnOhOwKo3cppdbaMsZqV8HCquHbptpFxhger-e4Yb2yMI2k7B/s1600/3_No.+z16a.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_opnFG4sAmKAMgbVJ5nAuPcLsXrWX3TzMNyj192ZoH4VfQRsu3DSR_2Id7zHgAiS0s-sYF-nOBP-kjxjiUbaQtHfr4UAnOhOwKo3cppdbaMsZqV8HCquHbptpFxhger-e4Yb2yMI2k7B/s400/3_No.+z16a.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788313785077208370" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 319px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSnELNOilWfCvVRKjMPdiG734edc6GFmIKyz8QSyfovIW-3BYDL7urLVT5saL2GAcn2Tz2DZlQmdZHbGURoT7q2Ctv_7hMah4oIku-6yGOKnrSCry6cl2F9C983s4jzOrZPo00njim77l/s1600/IMG_9521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSnELNOilWfCvVRKjMPdiG734edc6GFmIKyz8QSyfovIW-3BYDL7urLVT5saL2GAcn2Tz2DZlQmdZHbGURoT7q2Ctv_7hMah4oIku-6yGOKnrSCry6cl2F9C983s4jzOrZPo00njim77l/s400/IMG_9521.JPG" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTHei3D0fP11vuEC89QbcBSv4m6vqU4orRCaoCZ4SiXlTvMkB653YHcSr_iz02IWsEcVmo0-zfbqZ6CK7bVHemLrP1Gq0miBz8T2P5D3v4UVJoo801j4pTfWOXV8xJJoJOWhc9aFdkf3S9/s1600/NEW_EIA.3_b+(lot).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTHei3D0fP11vuEC89QbcBSv4m6vqU4orRCaoCZ4SiXlTvMkB653YHcSr_iz02IWsEcVmo0-zfbqZ6CK7bVHemLrP1Gq0miBz8T2P5D3v4UVJoo801j4pTfWOXV8xJJoJOWhc9aFdkf3S9/s400/NEW_EIA.3_b+(lot).JPG" /></a><br />
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Former site of 27 Bar, a dive my grandmother owned for 20 years(then sold to the city, which cleared the property a long time ago)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52EU5p5DrS6x5CxS0wDqBzS3owPqPTvk7bfcPD37Fcjmd0AF3_BurL-suNq4HgF8U2m5mVr6x9FnnhgH02luusPARjroaQN_2QgEvX6ZRfAjg0bcQPxKYNlDu5uw4BCSie9qqgbvfahLx/s1600/3_No.+z23.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj52EU5p5DrS6x5CxS0wDqBzS3owPqPTvk7bfcPD37Fcjmd0AF3_BurL-suNq4HgF8U2m5mVr6x9FnnhgH02luusPARjroaQN_2QgEvX6ZRfAjg0bcQPxKYNlDu5uw4BCSie9qqgbvfahLx/s400/3_No.+z23.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5788314705020227762" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 305px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> <br />
One of the wholesale candy stores my uncles owned (17th St. & Penn Ave.) . . . My cousin took over the business (this store and <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bigskybrooklyn/8238789130/in/set-72157631754664997)" target="_blank">the main one in Mt. Oliver</a> are still operating).<br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Exile%20in%20America" target="_blank">Exile in America (Parts 1-4)</a> <br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Pittsburgh%20Slideshow" target="_blank">More Images of Pittsburgh (Slideshows)</a><br />
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-53756749671548937722012-09-09T06:18:00.000-04:002014-05-11T05:58:49.706-04:00Exile in America (Part 4): Troy Hill/Spring Garden/North Side<P><i>After 25 years in New York, the author moves back to his hometown and discovers a new world lodged in the old one . . . Sometimes the strangest destination is home.</i><br />
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Real Pittsburghers don’t cross bridges, they say, meaning people stay in their own self-contained enclaves.* That was true for me growing up. Those cross-river neighborhoods might as well have been two or three states away. The North Side, for example, was alien territory surrounding Three Rivers Stadium, where I ventured occasionally to see my beloved Pirates play, retreating back to familiar ground immediately after the game. <br />
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Some months after moving back to Pittsburgh, I got a temp job that took me north, to Spring Garden/Troy Hill, writing copy for a flight simulator company. Something about the area, which I had never even been near, fascinated me. Every smoky vista and perilous concrete staircase illustrated the convergence of location and destiny, and how a different neighborhood in the same city is really another world.<br />
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*That’s also true for <a href="http://www.bigskybrooklyn.com/" target="_blank">Brooklyn</a>, as well as other cities pocked with diverse and far-flung neighborhoods.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegu4YkQO3eI9mMDljuebtJE2sL2eWArVDqt_RV5yIJprPUiu4h6Mxtm7YfkOU33VtjlXmAExN94l-pMAIuulZvtJ-EHIHwr59rQhGfBCKpZCvsH-PoA77xEpZCMyahRoJnVRGe87Y7teM/s1600/No.+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiegu4YkQO3eI9mMDljuebtJE2sL2eWArVDqt_RV5yIJprPUiu4h6Mxtm7YfkOU33VtjlXmAExN94l-pMAIuulZvtJ-EHIHwr59rQhGfBCKpZCvsH-PoA77xEpZCMyahRoJnVRGe87Y7teM/s400/No.+1.JPG" height="338" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">Parking lot of the flight simulator company where I worked</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyqHhtR580NJVOv6VUBL462jEzla0U8fJDwCyA3PXl55XrZ5nW7Gs6pwjb7VuE5lonChK-yaUr9M5iSPRJLwqP46qtmSoADGCKuL35bDsGfISAJEL8gpNdUEbDvA0vlWsAEPhvsXUkjyc/s1600/No.+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifyqHhtR580NJVOv6VUBL462jEzla0U8fJDwCyA3PXl55XrZ5nW7Gs6pwjb7VuE5lonChK-yaUr9M5iSPRJLwqP46qtmSoADGCKuL35bDsGfISAJEL8gpNdUEbDvA0vlWsAEPhvsXUkjyc/s400/No.+2.JPG" height="301" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">The staircase I used during my job – down in the AM, up at night (photo taken winter 2013)<o:p></o:p></span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hoBwfxTbqkcy7BEYA3Kzc2M3AmfKNXr9zdUA501tmCFC8CuEHR_Pc8N3q2uTfsRLSl-w2cFN9_0IrITcuZI2ve4ZFatWPa-27urVOSy_p22SH6Ms7Es10DReEwoEkR4MHu-VmB7FrviR/s1600/No.+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6hoBwfxTbqkcy7BEYA3Kzc2M3AmfKNXr9zdUA501tmCFC8CuEHR_Pc8N3q2uTfsRLSl-w2cFN9_0IrITcuZI2ve4ZFatWPa-27urVOSy_p22SH6Ms7Es10DReEwoEkR4MHu-VmB7FrviR/s400/No.+3.JPG" height="267" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">Another look at the same staircase (summer 2013) <o:p></o:p></span></div> <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">Troy Hill, probably more than anyplace in the city, is hostage to the hills – separated from the surrounding neighborhoods (and even from itself) by elevation, and the inaccessibilites that come with building/destroying/rebuilding all over such difficult terrain. Also, it doesn’t help that the neighborhood’s only direct link to the waterfront, arterial roads, and the other side of town – Rialto St./31<sup>st</sup> Street Bridge – is under construction and will remain unusable for at least another 18 months. Such isolation gives the neighborhood an intimate feel, and makes those familiar staircases truly essential for basic navigation.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5CD2TpEA42tjID9ZMEmx6DH4_6wVUaMimwgXf0JoHNRSKDzf_V99NDDqg4LEPLJiNS-ELXfWNv4KLWWQXDmnptdwhhcoWkqne-eOBFXe8o0_vVDmOG0VrbN5tQakGsQ1V3z_b93nfP_n/s1600/No.+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC5CD2TpEA42tjID9ZMEmx6DH4_6wVUaMimwgXf0JoHNRSKDzf_V99NDDqg4LEPLJiNS-ELXfWNv4KLWWQXDmnptdwhhcoWkqne-eOBFXe8o0_vVDmOG0VrbN5tQakGsQ1V3z_b93nfP_n/s400/No.+4.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">Houses through tree cover, the neighborhood glows</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0BcFMdhRUrAmSagzRQ57o6SHPNziTFj6R4wpDJQLA3am6FqBENjLAX2ZesC9gOoC-akwW0UUgIMmKLRsOLFHvCCPZPwV765shExnn1S_o952EUcd2NrNvccckTK3_0yn3qurL8gZOvDE/s1600/No.+7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn0BcFMdhRUrAmSagzRQ57o6SHPNziTFj6R4wpDJQLA3am6FqBENjLAX2ZesC9gOoC-akwW0UUgIMmKLRsOLFHvCCPZPwV765shExnn1S_o952EUcd2NrNvccckTK3_0yn3qurL8gZOvDE/s400/No.+7.JPG" height="301" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">Terminus for an epic staircase – the aptly named Basin St. (nr. Spring Garden Rd.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKfQHOacOFuRDvcMC5mLw6trwBIktNYyTMPl2NegrUEohBKqqXR7de2ey7VhqYxTdVpd0zPvradgy5QAasvSKddjgD21yOVOHDFdUubC170deyNQUYTdwyWVohQTpa57OsE7gTdUntRx7/s1600/No.+z10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img bba="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEKfQHOacOFuRDvcMC5mLw6trwBIktNYyTMPl2NegrUEohBKqqXR7de2ey7VhqYxTdVpd0zPvradgy5QAasvSKddjgD21yOVOHDFdUubC170deyNQUYTdwyWVohQTpa57OsE7gTdUntRx7/s400/No.+z10.JPG" height="391" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: 'Arial','sans-serif';">Where the locals gather (to elevate the mood)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Exile%20in%20America" target="_blank">Exile in America (Parts 1-4)</a><br />
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<a href="http://i-vortext.blogspot.com/search/label/Pittsburgh%20Slideshow" target="_blank">More Images of Pittsburgh (Slideshows)</a><br />
Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-83439070062254225422012-09-07T07:05:00.000-04:002017-02-04T21:55:43.555-05:00Aviary (Slideshow)<i>National Aviary (North Side)</i><br />
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Full Screen: ► . . . 4-way arrows (lower rt.)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">For more slideshows visit:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/126972252@N06/albums" target="_blank">Images of Pittsburgh on Flickr</a></span></span></b><br />
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-67784400103057336212012-09-06T11:10:00.000-04:002013-11-30T15:29:58.581-05:00Georgie K: The Kingmaker I Lost<p>One time I ran into an odd character in an elevator, at a community college where I was taking singing lessons. He was a little gnome of a would-be kingmaker who called himself Georgie K. Georgie was about 42, balding on top with long hair on the sides. He looked sort of like Ben Franklin without the dignity.<br />
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Georgie saw the music book under my arm and figured I was an aspiring superstar so he started dripping names like turds in a two-bit taco hut shithouse. He was just <i>oozing</i> showbiz cadences as he told me that he was no stranger to big time circles. He also claimed to be a masterful lyricist and performer, and he spewed some doggerel verse on the spot to show his massive talent.<br />
<br />
When we got to the lobby he reached into his briefcase and pulled out a big naugahyde ledger with typeset names and addresses. He pointed some out to me. “She sings backup with Phil Collins. That’s Ornette Coleman’s address. I stay with him when I don’t have any money. Do you know Ornette’s stuff? This guy does lights for the Moody Blues and Willie Nelson. Cleavon Little, see? I’ve collaborated with him on some projects.”<br />
<br />
In between name dripping he told me he was looking for talent and knew lots of key people. “Look kid, I like you and I think we can work together. I got some projects in development that could use your touch. But right now let me tell you something, maybe the only thing you’ll ever need to know. When you’re onstage you gotta get an audience where you want ‘em, right in the palm of your hand and then . . . you blow them away.” As he said this he slowly unclenched his balled up fist and blew on his hand dramatically.<br />
<br />
I was an entertainment world virgin at the time, so this was some heavy chutzpah Georgie K was laying down. Although he came on like a blustering hack, he had the presence of a self-styled showbiz guru, a backstage griot who could tell endless tales about “the business” and its inner workings. I was fascinated and listened with reverence. <br />
<br />
“But you gotta watch yourself kid. This business’ll chew you up like dog meat and spit you in the gutter. Paul Butterfield see,” he pointed to the ledger. “He stays at the Grammarcy. Real strung out these days. A while back, ‘68 maybe, he saw me at a gig—I think it was the Fillmore—and he drops some snide shit like, `Don’t I know you? Aren’t you a roadie or somethin’?’ So a couple years ago I saw the cat again and he grabs me, he’s like hangin’ on, beggin’ me: `Georgie man, Georgie <i>please</i>, clean me up, put me back on track. You’re my last hope; only you can make me big again.’<br />
<br />
“Now I didn’t forget what happened 20 years before. Georgie K <i>never</i> forgets a slag. Got ‘em all catalogued right here,” he pointed to his head. “So I looked him right in his bloodshot eyes and I said `Only if you get me in to see Dylan.’”<br />
<br />
“Bob Dylan? Why him?” I asked.<br />
<br />
“We do the same thing, y’know. I write five novels and 50 poems a day. No one since Poe or Shakespeare is near me, man. But when they put a suitcase full of money on the table and said `We own you,’ I said `Nah uh, later man, that’s not my trip. <i>No</i> one owns Georgie K.’”<br />
<br />
“Five novels a day? I don’t know,” said I.<br />
<br />
“Hey, you heard me before,” he said, referring to his earlier attempt to impress me with his bad poetry.<br />
<br />
“You think that was good or something?” I let slip an honest reaction to such overwhelming buffoonery.<br />
<br />
“What?!!” he exclaimed with pseudo-big shot indignation. “I’m tryin’ to help you out and you’re runnin’ me down. You just cut your own throat, man. I was gonna turn you on to a free record contract, and you just <i>cut your own throat</i>.”<br />
<br />
Then he stalked away with a wicked scowl on his face. “Hey wait,” I called, “I’m sorry.” And I really was, because I wanted to have coffee with him at least, and wade deeper into such fantastic delusion. <br />
<br />
“No way man, forget it. You got the same attitude as <i>everyone</i> around here.”<br />
<br />
Oh well. “Say `hi’ to Ornette for me,” I hollered.Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-76118865339584502612012-09-06T07:23:00.000-04:002017-02-04T21:55:19.802-05:00Greenfield (Slideshow)<i>Greenfield Ave. & Vicinity (inc. The Run)</i><br />
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Full Screen: ► . . . 4-way arrows (lower rt.)<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">For more slideshows visit:<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/126972252@N06/albums" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Images of Pittsburgh on Flickr</span></a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-58131538686642274152012-09-05T10:11:00.003-04:002013-10-22T11:19:05.044-04:00New D-com* Acronyms: Glossary of UTN** Slang<br />
Check out the latest slang making the rounds online/in text messages . . . Don’t be a CO (clueless one) . . . You don’t wanna miss out when she finally lights up your phone with: “TMC...HAK” (Text me cutie...hearts and kisses).<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">* Digital communications<br />
** Up to the nanny [nanosecond] (“iPhone cases at Target tot UTN!”)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The Glossary is Here:</strong></span><br />
<br />
DSBY <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span>Don’t stop being you (“Wicked fun yest. J. All i cn say is DSBY!”)<br />
<br />
DIA <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Does it again (“John Stamos DIA!!!”)<br />
<br />
DOTI <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span>Don’t overthink it (“DOTI Jill, pls.”)<br />
<br />
TMC <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Text me cutie<br />
<br />
HAK <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Hearts and kisses<br />
<br />
OTC <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> On the corner<br />
<br />
HTF <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Hold the fort<br />
<br />
HTP <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Hold the phone (“OMG HTP <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> the mayor’s pissing OTC nr. the F train on 23rd!!!”)<br />
<br />
M2W <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Mark my words<br />
<br />
SS <span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">– </span> Some slammin’ (“SS totes at Walmart M2W”)<br />
<br />
LMT/K <span style="font-family: Arial;">– </span>Lots more to come . . . Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-15805511026038557182012-09-02T16:02:00.000-04:002016-02-26T08:18:55.011-05:00YouTube Haiku (No. 1): Lightspeed Medieval<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/LDP23HfKo0s" width="420"></iframe><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">▲ </span><i>Rebel Brutality in Syria Posing Dilemma in West . . . Video Shows Assad Foes Executing 7 Soldiers After Capture.</i><em></em><br />
— New York Times (Sept. 2013)<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Follow me on Twitter<br />
<br />
and then follow me to hell<br />
<br />
@DevilsInDetails</span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">▼ </span><em>Somali Rebels Turn to Twitter. Militants waging a guerilla war in Somalia are using social media networks for propaganda purposes.</em><br />
— New York Times (Dec. 2011)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNDIIvnk8Yjo9n0cLmsUBVSsCU-pVX_r5cKtUkteMExI5t_5ooujiDpxfncj720AprZGi-EOhe1SrS_GcqqQwkcRh6nd518OcEQLK5EDvy8h2a-4YAebCiQP6Bbxr7uNs8bNKHZpqePUZ/s1600/Shabab+Sc.+Shot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieNDIIvnk8Yjo9n0cLmsUBVSsCU-pVX_r5cKtUkteMExI5t_5ooujiDpxfncj720AprZGi-EOhe1SrS_GcqqQwkcRh6nd518OcEQLK5EDvy8h2a-4YAebCiQP6Bbxr7uNs8bNKHZpqePUZ/s400/Shabab+Sc.+Shot.jpg" /></a></div>
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<em>Click to enlarge</em>Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-41622716271076962342012-09-01T02:34:00.000-04:002013-10-21T01:38:11.098-04:00Aphorisms<p>All the world's a stage — but real life is what happens <i>backstage</i>.<br />
<br />
Some bowel movements can be life-affirming.<br />
<br />
Masturbation is satisfying but uninteresting, like oatmeal.<br />
<br />
The road to utopia stops at the Gulag.<br />
<br />
There's nothing like doing nothing.<br />
<br />
Don’t advertise your insignificance.<br />
<br />
In order there is possibility.<br />
<br />
Nothing focuses you better than a paycheck.<br />
<br />
This sky’s the limit (but the gutter always beckons).<br />
<br />
Writing is an affliction.<br />
<p>Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-24221078682267221432011-12-01T12:34:00.000-05:002013-10-19T15:49:29.882-04:00The Freelancer’s Journal: Tales from the Writing Trade (No. 1) <p><b>In a message dated 5/22/2003 ______ writes:<br />
</b>I have to apologize about canceling this Saturday in Brooklyn. I still have the flu, and I thought I would be over it by now. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Subject: Re: My book [Editing job]<br />
</b>Received: Thu, 22 May 2003<br />
From: Adam E.<br />
To: ___________<br />
<br />
Please get well soon, and let me know when you can meet at the appointed place. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Subject: Re: My book <br />
</b>Date: 5/23/2003<br />
From: _________<br />
To: Adam E.<br />
<br />
Dear Adam,<br />
<br />
I'm sorry I lied to you about being sick. The truth is as follows: Five years ago I was renting a room in a house out on _____. My landlady never checked or had her oil burner inspected for six years, and I spent a whole winter breathing in carbon monoxide. Finally, I went berserk and assaulted a man in the subway, thinking he was from outer space. I was sentenced to two years in jail. I'm out now but still on parole, and my parole officer told me yesterday I'm not allowed to go to New York City at all. I'm confined to ____ and ____ counties, so I can't meet you in Brooklyn—much as I would like to.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to alarm you with this story, so I just said I was sick. Actually, I'm a very nice guy, an Ivy League graduate. This was my only act of violence ever. And I generally tell the truth (sorry). <br />
<br />
If you still want to meet, please let me know. But it would have to be in _____. My parole officer has approved that. I will pay you for your time. This weekend is fine.<br />
<br />
What do you think? And feel free to ask any questions you like.<br />
<br />
# # #<br />
<br />
<b>Need writer, editor, lawyer or. . . <br />
</b>Date: 2003-06-16 <br />
Reply to: _____@craigslist.org<br />
<br />
anyone in the book biz who can link me to a literary agent who is interested in adventure. My novel is based on a true story, about a group of quasi Marines who are tracking murderous poachers in East Africa. You must like high adventure and not be bothered by a little cursing and some violence. Very good pay. But I will NOT pay up front. Once I sign on with an agent, you will be paid. If you like good, realistic fiction, with a strong feel for Africa, get back with me. <br />
<br />
# # #<br />
<br />
<b>Need ghostwriter to write my Autobiography<br />
</b>Date: 2003-06-25<br />
Reply to: _____@craigslist.org<br />
<br />
Need ghostwriter to write my Autobiography. Required: 1) Watch "Little Big Man", starring Dustin Hoffman; 2) Read "No One Here Gets Out Alive: The Biography of Jim Morrison", by Jerry Hopkins; 3) Respond to this ad with your quoted price for a 500 page manuscript. <br />
<br />
The manuscript will turn into a book and movie. Experience with publishing, screenwriting, and the movie business is a big plus!<br />
<br />
# # #<br />
<br />
<b>Blog Ghost Writer<br />
</b>Date: 2003-07-11<br />
Reply to: _____@craigslist.org<br />
<br />
High-end children's furniture website has a job opening for a ghost writer for their blog and other copy. Please send samples of your work: 300-400 words describing baby's room for a boy and 40 words describing a changing table.<br />
<br />
<i>Click label below for complete Freelancer’s Journal.</i><p>Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-58517810661468987852011-11-01T12:28:00.000-04:002013-08-29T12:36:39.006-04:00The Freelancer’s Journal: Tales from the Writing Trade (No. 2)<p>
<i>Versatile Writer for Hire:<br />
Never at a Loss for Words<br />
</i><br />
August 19 <br />
<br />
Business has been slow lately. My last job was a best man’s speech for a guy from Long Island whose brother was getting married. His only instructions to me were: “I wanna see tears.” . . . <i>You don’t have to dig too deep to find the gold in this man—it’s all right there on the surface . . . Let me tell you something about Dave: He doesn’t believe in half measures, or taking the middle ground. Whatever he does, he does it full throttle or not at all.</i><br />
<br />
Four straight days over 95. Worst heat wave all summer. It’s miserable—especially in this place, with no windows in the living room. It must be ten degrees hotter inside. I live right above two restaurants, soul food and Chinese. Sometimes the bathroom smells like roast pork. It’s like living in the belly of a pig . . . Roaches everywhere—on the soap, under the sink. I took down a shelf in the bathroom and unscrewed the brackets; beneath one there were two dead roaches frozen in copulation, one mounted on top of the other. <br />
<br />
<br />
August 22<br />
<br />
I get a lot of inquiries from people who think they have a story to tell, but don’t have the words to tell it. Some of these people have genuinely moving stories, full of sadness and loss. But after hearing so many of these tales, it’s hard not to be cynical. These people never have any money, yet they’re all passionately convinced that their story is so amazing it will make a big splash, and then we can split the profits that will surely roll in. I get so many calls like that. <br />
<br />
I politely explain that I operate, without exception, on a straight fee basis—cash paid for time worked. Still, I see the pathos in their stories, and I appreciate that they’re coming to me with a degree of urgency, if not desperation. They’re at the point where all they have left is their own story; all their hopes are riding on it. Before we ever meet, they’ve decided the written word is their best shot at redemption, yet it’s beyond their grasp. They need my words—or <i>some</i> writer’s words—to realize their dreams.<br />
<br />
<i>Click label below for complete Freelancer’s Journal.</i><p>
Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-63230129507008024772011-10-01T12:36:00.000-04:002013-08-29T12:43:37.477-04:00The Freelancer’s Journal: Tales from the Writing Trade (No. 3)<p>August 24<br />
<br />
I got a call last week from a woman in Rochester with an extreme tale of woe. She raised a son born with muscular dystrophy, and he died at 15. She has another son, an Army officer, who developed a neurological disorder following a tour of duty in the Gulf War. He continues to undergo treatment, although his doctors are still baffled by the condition. It has left him severely debilitated.<br />
<br />
The book, as she envisions it, would also include flashbacks to experiences she had as a young Holocaust survivor. And there’s more: her older sister, also a Holocaust survivor, suffered a stroke 10 years ago and has since moved nothing but her lips, right index finger, and eyelids. Supposedly she has all her feeling and comprehension but is “locked in.” When discussing her sister, the woman perked up.<br />
<br />
“She’s the primary motivation behind my wanting to write this book. I want it to give hope to others suffering from incurable illnesses. I also want to create a page-turning story that makes the reader feel like he’s reading a novel. Ultimately, my concept is for a book that weaves together tragedy, self-help, and humor.”<br />
<br />
“Humor, really?” I said, failing to detect any in what she had just told me.<br />
<br />
“Life can be humorous under many strange circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?”<br />
<br />
“Yes, absolutely. I know what you mean. I think the book you’re proposing sounds extraordinary.” <br />
<br />
She got the idea in the middle of one of her typical days—taking her son to the hospital, visiting her sister in the nursing home, waiting at the pharmacy to get a prescription filled. <br />
<br />
“It just hit me, a voice inside that said, ‘Is this it? What’s the point of it anyway?’ It made me so depressed, but then I realized all of this would make a great book.” <br />
<br />
It still surprises me how wildly different these stories are in their details but basically the same in their motivation. They’re part of the endless quest for alchemy and redemption, the urge to make something out of nothing. In this case, transform an obscure, miserable life into a compelling tale, available to the public. <br />
<br />
I’ve been led astray and disappointed so often by these people, so I don’t get my hopes up when I hear from them. Still, it’s impossible to remain blasé. There’s a gravity to their schemes, no matter how ridiculous. Any writer who got involved would bear an immense responsibility—giving value to someone’s pain, even facilitating their catharsis.<br />
<br />
“Every life needs a mission,” I said to her. “It seems to me this book is yours. Do you have a budget in mind for the writing?”<br />
<br />
Not surprisingly, she didn’t have any cash. When I gave her my terms, knowing it was hopeless, I felt something more than pity. I felt remorse, which was unusual. Here’s a woman, I thought, who has more pain than she (or anyone) has room for. Without a book, an absorbing diversion, where’s it all gonna go?<br />
<br />
<i>Click label below for complete</i> Freelancer’s Journal<p>Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9128999444840874286.post-28013527648596605372011-09-01T12:43:00.000-04:002013-10-19T15:49:53.056-04:00The Freelancer’s Journal: Tales from the Writing Trade (No. 4)<p>August 26<br />
<br />
I had an interview for a job writing an infomercial for a “naturopath” named Dr. Sharp, peddling something called the Total Health Matrix (THM). He got my card from a bulletin board at the Soho Wellness Center. THM, I learned, is “a complete system, a new approach to optimizing health, nutrition, and life.” <br />
<br />
I visited Dr. Sharp in his modest West Village apartment, where he greeted me almost as if I were a close friend returning after years abroad. He shook my hand robustly while holding half an unlit joint in his other hand, then put his arm around me and led me into the living room. <br />
<br />
The place smelled like pot and incense, with an underlying odor of a vitamin store. Rows of blond-wood shelves, filled with potions and pills in bottles of all colors and sizes, occupied the otherwise sparse apartment. It felt less homey than functional.<br />
<br />
Two people were already there—an attractive woman, about 30, with black hair and black clothes, including a miniskirt and lace-up boots that went past her thighs; and a big rustic guy with a beard, wearing blue jeans and dirty beige hiking boots.<br />
<br />
We sat on a blue leather couch that clashed with the spartan digs. Dr. Sharp sat in a straight-back chair in the middle of the room. He was big, about 50, maybe older, with straight blond hair down to the middle of his back. His feet were bare and he was dressed in faded blue jeans and a loose white cotton shirt. He was sprawled in the chair, legs spread, holding the joint loosely between his thumb and fore finger. <br />
<br />
“Thanks for coming. This is Sandi and Roger.” We all nodded hello. “Sandi’s going to produce the infomercial and Roger’s doing the tech. We’ve been building up to this project for a while. It’s a synthesis of everything I’ve been doing for the last five years or so. Let me tell you, the Total Health Matrix is about to ERUPT—it’s ready to explode, man. It’s just the start, too. We’ve got plans in the works, lots of stuff happening.” He smiled conspiratorially at Sandi. I noticed his hands were always moving, but in a relaxed, loose-wristed manner. He was at ease; he had held forth like this before.<br />
<br />
“Eventually we’re gonna have resorts, Sharpville resorts, where people are gonna pay a <i>lot</i> of money to stay. Right now I’m working on a few video projects, and of course there’s my private practice. It’s about calculated steps up this plateau of a unified vision. There’s no doubt it’s gonna happen. This is just one step, a big one, but there’s a lot ahead and I’m gonna need people I can work with in different capacities, like you for example, as a writer. I’m gonna need PR, packaging copy, speeches, other scripts. It’s gonna soar, man, and my people are the wings.” <br />
<br />
“Cool,” I said.<br />
<br />
<i>Click label below for complete</i> Freelancer’s Journal<p>Adam Ehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11371089508758943942noreply@blogger.com0