On the way to somewhere between tipsy and incapacitated, the sounds of forty flat screens blanketing us, I asked a well-traveled friend to list his top cities to visit in the US. His top three cities: New York, New York, and New York. Not surprising if you know my friend or spent more than one night in the super city. But when Pittsburgh was included among the remaining cities I was stunned. Like, Elmer Fudd when cross-dressed Bugs Bunny passes double take stunned. This being a not uncommon response, my friend was ready to adamantly defend his opinion. Spirited nightlife, friendly people, and plenty of activities were among its reasons for inclusion. Since then I’ve waited for an excuse to check it out for myself. That excuse finally came last weekend.
I tag along with a pair of friends, who happen to be brothers, heading to Pittsburgh to visit one of their girlfriends and go to the Steelers game. The trip begins with a trip to the East End Brewery, a small microbrewery I assume is on the east side of the city (I’m terrible with geography). On the way I’m introduced to the Pittsburgh left turn. From what I can tell, there are no turn lanes or green turn arrows in the whole city. This is likely the reason cars turning left gun it when the light changes to beat oncoming traffic. I don’t know how I feel about that, but thought it good to know for any non-natives navigating the area by motor conveyance.
We make a turn you wouldn’t see unless you know it’s there into an alley I’m more likely to visit to get coke or stabbed than beer. We go up to a door that has a piece of paper reading “We’re Open” in about 16 point font taped to it. Inside there is a counter with 8 taps behind it and a man ready to hand out as many free samples as you ask for. I don’t know his name, so I’ll call him Santa. We each have between 3 and 16 samples (who can keep track of this stuff) on our non linear path to deciding which to buy. A few other people come in to the hallway sized room and it is now crammed. We fill several growlers for later which we sling over our backs, singing “Hi ho, hi ho, off to drink we go” on our walk to the car.
I was expecting Pittsburgh to have food for people with strong backs. Not low quality, just designed to fill you up at a decent price after a long days’ work. That’s exactly what the famous Primanti Bros. sandwich is. There’s nothing special about it. It’s just a damn good sandwich with fries in it. Aside from the coleslaw, I could make one myself if I wanted to, which I do, and probably will when I get home because sandwiches are flippin’ awesome!
What I hadn’t anticipated was an abundance of high end culinary treats. I had heard Pittsburgh is cheap. A limo to drive you back and forth between clubs is something like $5 a person for the night. The truth is going out in Pittsburgh can be cheap. When Kobe beef filet and Bison Rib-eye are on the menu, perogies no longer seem like the best option. This was the dilemma I encountered at the second microbrewery on the trip (Does Pittsburgh have more breweries than DC?).
Church Brew Works is actually in an old church. Behind the bar fermentation tanks sit below stain glass windows. 2 rows of columns strung together by arches hold up the stories high paneled ceiling. The cascading echoes bestow a German beer hall atmosphere. On a related note, I found my new religion. In the name of Pumpkin Stout, we pray. That’s right, they had a pumpkin stout. I tasted it, and I now know that God is good.
When I order dinner I ask the waitress if she can bring a beer when the food is ready instead of right away. She said she might not remember since they are so busy, which I completely understand as they are packed. But when my steak arrives (I went with the Kobe beef) she had my beer! The same thing happens with the check: we ask if she can split it and she tells us she hasn’t had time to do any splitting, which we take to mean we have to do it ourselves. But a few minutes later she returns with everything split correctly. It would have been perfectly fine had she not done either, which makes the fact she did more noticeable. We head to a pizza place/tap room to meet up with more friends, but from here on out mental documentation of events is spotty, at best.
I believe DC is a football town. Washingtonians band themselves to the Redskins more closely than anything else. But when you walk down the street on Sunday every single person isn’t wearing a Redskin jersey or shirt. That’s how it is in Pittsburgh. Men, women, and children all decked out in black and yellow. It would be very hard to grow up here and be a fan of another team.
But they’re not dicks about it. In some other Pennsylvania cities, wearing a different team’s colors has a similar result to wearing red in a Crypt neighborhood (Note: being willing to punch a stranger in the face because he likes another team which isn’t even a division rival does not make you a better fan than them. It makes you a jerk). In Pittsburgh they’ll probably make a joke about it and cheers your drink. I saw a couple of guys in Raiders attire getting heckled. But instead of shit eating grins, the hecklers had light hearted, drunkenly warm smiles. There was no cruel intent, and the Raiders fans could see that and answered with similar expressions and taunts. Pittsburgh even makes Raiders fans nicer!
At Jerome Bettis Grille 36 I go to the bar to start a tab. The bartender makes a point to tell me not to leave because he’ll give my credit card right back (CC holding policy varies state to state and even bar to bar). I appreciate he doesn’t assume I know because most of the time I’m left standing awkwardly trying to decipher the policy based on the bartender’s proceeding actions. (By the way, the beer I purchased on that tab: Atwater Vanilla Java Porter. This beer was so good half way through it I took a sip and was re-surprised by how good it was. I had some good beers in Pittsburgh, but the best was from Michigan. ) At dinner, my friend ends a sentence with “No worries” which the waitress responds to with a Lion King reference. We both find this hilarious and take a liking to our server. She wasn’t friendly in a “I’m going to go along with your antics to get a tip” way. She was just being herself.
Everyone in my group comments on multiple sports bars’ uncanny ability to perpetually play songs which incite joy. Aside from standard Eighties classics like “Thunderstruck”, “Beat It”, and “Jump”, there were early Nineties gems like “Return of the Mac” and “Motownphilly” (Yes, Boyz II Men had songs before stupid “I’ll Make Love to You” and, no, they weren’t all laughable baby making music). I will say Pittsburgh may not be aware of music released in the last 10 years, but I’m ok with that.
I’m ok with Pittsburgh in general. People mistakenly believe it is an ugly city. It is simply a city not trying to be pretty. Everything is as it needs to be and nothing else. There is no superficial ornamentation. Even the sculptures have an understated elegance. Concrete steps climb up to boxy, pointed houses of stacked brick or stone, mimicking the mountains they’re built upon. Medieval looking Churches watch over every street corner. Century old buildings and factories are interspersed throughout, evoking the industrial era that once made this city one of the most important in the country. The financial towers inheriting their place of commercial import overlook the river, forming an unexpected skyline. This all blends under a sky implying the impending harsh winter to cast a modern gothic tint over the city.
But the light grey haze from the mixture of crisp mountain air and the dust of generations of austere architecture belies the disposition of the people. Pittsburgh is known as the steel city, but these are not steel workers. They are the children or even grandchildren of steel workers. They carry that blue collar mentality but aren’t necessarily blue collar. Like the utilitarian beauty of the city, people are naturally friendly but don’t go out of their way to prove it.
Can one learn the essence of a city from one weekend? Probably not. These are merely reactions to pre existing opinions. I thought I could hit all the vital points in one shot, but apparently there’s more in Western Pennsylvania than Yuengling and Iron City. Another journey is clearly in order…but I think I’ll wait ‘til spring.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
It Burns So Good: Destruction and Shenanigans in Atlantic City
In the past year three of my friends decided to end their lives. Only instead of painting the wall with cherry pie or prolonged exposure to a Fran Drescher sitcom, they’ve chosen to slowly grind down their souls over the course of several decades like rain weathering mountains. For women reading this: 1) Why are you reading this? 2) They got engaged. This cubed suicide led to the debauched conclusion that a bachelor party must take place in Atlantic City: catering to the lowest common denominator since 1976. And I was there, too.
My brother, Mark, has been married for almost 10 years. When I asked him at his eldest daughter’s 6th birthday why he was going to AC by himself he replied, (with bloodshot eyes) “I haven’t had a day off since Christmas. I think I’ve earned it.” I meet up with him at the Borgata around 11 Thursday night. If there were a race between casinos in AC, the Borgata would be Darren Sproles and the rest would be the down syndrome all-stars. Rewards at the Borgata are accumulated much faster, dining options are plentiful and higher in quality, the décor isn’t as obnoxious as a Jersey Shore/Laguna Beach crossover, and the employees don’t act like you’re insulting them as you tip them for shitty service (e.g. Somehow a drink spills as a server hands it to bachelor #1: El Matador. She yells “Jesus Christ” and walks away). My brother's downing red bulls despite saying drinking red bulls all night falls in the not good category. At some point I’m up $200, but by 5:30 I’m down $100 and its time for bed.
9:30 – back to blackjack. I get back to even before 2 ladies sit down at our table and I win $300 in 1 shoe. When it’s done they leave and we decide it’s a good time for lunch, which is paid for by our playing blackjack for 7 hours (score!). The first gaggle of idiots isn’t getting in until 10, so I take the scenic route to the Tropicana. Along the way I learn a few things. Did you know: there is nothing on this earth sexier, believe me gentlemen, then 2 Asian women yelling “Why you do that?!” after one of them doesn’t pay you on a win in Paigow and you don’t point out she messed up fast enough. So confusing and arousing at the same time. Not really, it was actually annoying and angering, but that story isn’t as good.
Have you ever played a video game for several straight hours, days, or weeks and suddenly realized it’s not fun anymore; you’re just going through the motions? That’s what 2-4 limit hold ‘em is like, only you’re losing money to a whole menagerie of social rejects, including the always crowd pleasing female mullet and the guy next to me who might have been from New Jersey and tells me what hand he had and how close he would have been to winning had he not folded every single hand. By 8 I’ve lost most of my winnings and am sitting at a bar by myself.
The first of many bachelorette parties I see over the weekend comes in. They’re all around 40 and it's the bachelorette's second marriage (Side note: The bachelorette tells me the best age to get married is around 43: Right on track). They’re a pretty lively bunch, and since my friends still aren’t here and they start buying me drinks I accompany them to another bar and then the craps table until 10.
In the 20 minutes I wander trying to connect with the first set of fucktards, which includes bachelor #2: Goose, I see:
• A guy peeing on a plant in full view of the gambling public
• A guy at a slot machine bent over puking
• A guy I saw a half hour before on the verge of vomiting/falling over/staggering into anything with his friends trying to keep him standing. He’s in the same condition only without his friends
I don’t remember much about the next 6 hours. One dealer, Tao, must have just finished his doctorate in rapeology because the whole table is pummeled like woo girls at a club on ladies night with special guest Ben Roethlisberger. Finally some $15 blackjack tables open up and Sluegar and I settle in for the grind. Things are looking good…and it’s gone. By 7 I’m down $150 and the only person up besides us is Fart Factory who stays up until 10 playing poker.
We wake up around 11 and dial it in before lunch. It’s established everyone is down at least a $100. I find out bachelor El Matador isn’t coming because he has to work Saturday and Sunday. I call him and explain he will be dead in 2 months and this is his last chance to do anything fun ever. A barrage of texts from the rest of our contingent ensues and he finally concedes. At PF Changs, which was lovely, we have a group of about 10. Half of us are served appetizers before the other half’s orders are taken. I’m not sure if I can overemphasize how low the average IQ level of AC Casino employees is, but Simple Jack would be in the running for Valedictorian. (If any casino employees read this, let me just say thank you for all your hard work. Yours is the back the Atlantic City economy is built on. Without you it wouldn’t be possible to…wait, reading this would require knowledge of the Internet…and literacy. I think I’m in the clear.)
We head to the bar to watch soccer, which I don’t care about but I am firmly in Gamblor’s neon claw, and begin betting on everything from arcade games to over under on flops in the soccer game. You see, gambling makes things better. Its what I like to call an awesomeness enhancer. Other awesomeness enhancers include bacon, alcohol, and possibly girls in bikinis. I can’t think of any service or industry that couldn’t be improved by some girls in bikinis.
After some craps with Dr. Thundah, Fro and Goose, I find Sluegar at a blackjack table with some of our group behind him. I ask him how he’s doing which he answers by pulling 4 or 5 black chips from his pocket. I realize he’s lost the ability to stop talking or make sense – my favorite drunk Sluegar stage (followed by eyes closed mumbling incoherently). The table loves him. I watch as he and the Spanish gentleman next to him are showered with winnings, including the Spaniard calling a 4 followed by a 10 to get 21, which my mind can’t fathom because it is blown. While there I receive reports Fro and the Doctah are up big at craps and have gained the admiration of their table as well. I tell Sluegar everyone’s going to dinner, but he’s staying there because if he leaves that seat I will stab him.
At dinner our party of 11 is surpassed by one of about 20 behind us who’s soulful rendition of Happy Birthday is on par with Marvin Gaye’s rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Our BullDike-ish waitress arrives and immediately starts wrestling Viktor for the spoon he’s using to launch mints into a cup. I’m worried she’ll remove him via headlock so I distract her from the retardery by ordering wine. Family style dinning begins and Fro dominates 3 on 3 mint launch.
One more session of blackjack, which is just enough to win back all the money I've lost. With a plan so simple, nothing could possiblye go wrong. I am quickly down money and ask the dealer, Tien, if she knows Tao. She does! Viktor and I tell her their playing styles are similar, and we want to be her friend but she’s not playing fair. She does not like us, or our light-hearted antics. Bachelor #3: The Wolf shows up and things turn slightly positive. I’ve stopped drinking and decide to try counting cards again. The count gets up to 20 and I press my bets big. I win $200 in 4-6 hands but forget to keep counting and lose it in the next shoe and ½. I decide to call it an early night and go to bed at 3:30.
In a way we all won this weekend. But in another, more correct way, some of us lost such that we now require a second job because some asshole decided to have his wedding in Hawaii. So, who won the weekend? I’ve put together my pertinent stats and I think I’ve got a shot. I encourage fellow bumblers to post theirs as well so pointless debate can commence, a champion can be crowned and maximum heckling can be achieved.
Stat line for the weekend (Total, daily average):
Player Name: Divac
Hours gambling: 30, 10
Hours sleeping: 12, 4
Drinks consumed (approx.) 45, 15
Winnings -$550, -$183
*Bonus stat: 696 PSI on punching game, compared to 949 by random large man at the bar
My brother, Mark, has been married for almost 10 years. When I asked him at his eldest daughter’s 6th birthday why he was going to AC by himself he replied, (with bloodshot eyes) “I haven’t had a day off since Christmas. I think I’ve earned it.” I meet up with him at the Borgata around 11 Thursday night. If there were a race between casinos in AC, the Borgata would be Darren Sproles and the rest would be the down syndrome all-stars. Rewards at the Borgata are accumulated much faster, dining options are plentiful and higher in quality, the décor isn’t as obnoxious as a Jersey Shore/Laguna Beach crossover, and the employees don’t act like you’re insulting them as you tip them for shitty service (e.g. Somehow a drink spills as a server hands it to bachelor #1: El Matador. She yells “Jesus Christ” and walks away). My brother's downing red bulls despite saying drinking red bulls all night falls in the not good category. At some point I’m up $200, but by 5:30 I’m down $100 and its time for bed.
9:30 – back to blackjack. I get back to even before 2 ladies sit down at our table and I win $300 in 1 shoe. When it’s done they leave and we decide it’s a good time for lunch, which is paid for by our playing blackjack for 7 hours (score!). The first gaggle of idiots isn’t getting in until 10, so I take the scenic route to the Tropicana. Along the way I learn a few things. Did you know: there is nothing on this earth sexier, believe me gentlemen, then 2 Asian women yelling “Why you do that?!” after one of them doesn’t pay you on a win in Paigow and you don’t point out she messed up fast enough. So confusing and arousing at the same time. Not really, it was actually annoying and angering, but that story isn’t as good.
Have you ever played a video game for several straight hours, days, or weeks and suddenly realized it’s not fun anymore; you’re just going through the motions? That’s what 2-4 limit hold ‘em is like, only you’re losing money to a whole menagerie of social rejects, including the always crowd pleasing female mullet and the guy next to me who might have been from New Jersey and tells me what hand he had and how close he would have been to winning had he not folded every single hand. By 8 I’ve lost most of my winnings and am sitting at a bar by myself.
The first of many bachelorette parties I see over the weekend comes in. They’re all around 40 and it's the bachelorette's second marriage (Side note: The bachelorette tells me the best age to get married is around 43: Right on track). They’re a pretty lively bunch, and since my friends still aren’t here and they start buying me drinks I accompany them to another bar and then the craps table until 10.
In the 20 minutes I wander trying to connect with the first set of fucktards, which includes bachelor #2: Goose, I see:
• A guy peeing on a plant in full view of the gambling public
• A guy at a slot machine bent over puking
• A guy I saw a half hour before on the verge of vomiting/falling over/staggering into anything with his friends trying to keep him standing. He’s in the same condition only without his friends
I don’t remember much about the next 6 hours. One dealer, Tao, must have just finished his doctorate in rapeology because the whole table is pummeled like woo girls at a club on ladies night with special guest Ben Roethlisberger. Finally some $15 blackjack tables open up and Sluegar and I settle in for the grind. Things are looking good…and it’s gone. By 7 I’m down $150 and the only person up besides us is Fart Factory who stays up until 10 playing poker.
We wake up around 11 and dial it in before lunch. It’s established everyone is down at least a $100. I find out bachelor El Matador isn’t coming because he has to work Saturday and Sunday. I call him and explain he will be dead in 2 months and this is his last chance to do anything fun ever. A barrage of texts from the rest of our contingent ensues and he finally concedes. At PF Changs, which was lovely, we have a group of about 10. Half of us are served appetizers before the other half’s orders are taken. I’m not sure if I can overemphasize how low the average IQ level of AC Casino employees is, but Simple Jack would be in the running for Valedictorian. (If any casino employees read this, let me just say thank you for all your hard work. Yours is the back the Atlantic City economy is built on. Without you it wouldn’t be possible to…wait, reading this would require knowledge of the Internet…and literacy. I think I’m in the clear.)
We head to the bar to watch soccer, which I don’t care about but I am firmly in Gamblor’s neon claw, and begin betting on everything from arcade games to over under on flops in the soccer game. You see, gambling makes things better. Its what I like to call an awesomeness enhancer. Other awesomeness enhancers include bacon, alcohol, and possibly girls in bikinis. I can’t think of any service or industry that couldn’t be improved by some girls in bikinis.
After some craps with Dr. Thundah, Fro and Goose, I find Sluegar at a blackjack table with some of our group behind him. I ask him how he’s doing which he answers by pulling 4 or 5 black chips from his pocket. I realize he’s lost the ability to stop talking or make sense – my favorite drunk Sluegar stage (followed by eyes closed mumbling incoherently). The table loves him. I watch as he and the Spanish gentleman next to him are showered with winnings, including the Spaniard calling a 4 followed by a 10 to get 21, which my mind can’t fathom because it is blown. While there I receive reports Fro and the Doctah are up big at craps and have gained the admiration of their table as well. I tell Sluegar everyone’s going to dinner, but he’s staying there because if he leaves that seat I will stab him.
At dinner our party of 11 is surpassed by one of about 20 behind us who’s soulful rendition of Happy Birthday is on par with Marvin Gaye’s rendition of the Star Spangled Banner. Our BullDike-ish waitress arrives and immediately starts wrestling Viktor for the spoon he’s using to launch mints into a cup. I’m worried she’ll remove him via headlock so I distract her from the retardery by ordering wine. Family style dinning begins and Fro dominates 3 on 3 mint launch.
One more session of blackjack, which is just enough to win back all the money I've lost. With a plan so simple, nothing could possiblye go wrong. I am quickly down money and ask the dealer, Tien, if she knows Tao. She does! Viktor and I tell her their playing styles are similar, and we want to be her friend but she’s not playing fair. She does not like us, or our light-hearted antics. Bachelor #3: The Wolf shows up and things turn slightly positive. I’ve stopped drinking and decide to try counting cards again. The count gets up to 20 and I press my bets big. I win $200 in 4-6 hands but forget to keep counting and lose it in the next shoe and ½. I decide to call it an early night and go to bed at 3:30.
In a way we all won this weekend. But in another, more correct way, some of us lost such that we now require a second job because some asshole decided to have his wedding in Hawaii. So, who won the weekend? I’ve put together my pertinent stats and I think I’ve got a shot. I encourage fellow bumblers to post theirs as well so pointless debate can commence, a champion can be crowned and maximum heckling can be achieved.
Stat line for the weekend (Total, daily average):
Player Name: Divac
Hours gambling: 30, 10
Hours sleeping: 12, 4
Drinks consumed (approx.) 45, 15
Winnings -$550, -$183
*Bonus stat: 696 PSI on punching game, compared to 949 by random large man at the bar
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