The Unabridged Story of How I Came To Live In Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (Abridged Version)

[illusionofjoy]

Last Friday

I had recently purchased a copy of Apoptygma Berzerk's 2000 release Welcome To Earth. It was the song "Kathy's Song (Come Lie Next To Me)" that had pushed me to buy the album, however, another song from the disc seemed to speak to me more as I reflected on my current situation and relationship with Potsdam, New York.

The song, entitled "Starsign" has a chorus that goes something like this, "I'm waiting for a sign to leave this place behind, where no one knows my name." Appropriate, I thought, given what I was about to do.

By this time, my college career had been moved from the intensive care unit to the morgue. Far be it from me to complain about not being in SUNY Potsdam at this point, but I suspect that more could have been done on the part of all persons involved while the concept of the ICU remained in the subject header.

Still, at this point, my dealings with SUNY Potsdam or anything associated with it were insignificant at best. I had been called into WAIH one final time over the past week to basically show people how to do everything I did while I was the music director. The last I heard, the executive board of that station was reviving the tired and irrational idea of doing a logo contest, the core idea being that this was an effective scheme to attract new listeners. Far be it from me to complain that the majority of WAIH's board is short-sighted with it comes to attracting new listeners, eschewing the implementation of consistent quality programming for frivolous promotional gimmicks. WAIH was satisfactorily limping along when I joined up and no doubt will continue to do so now that I am gone. It is no longer my problem.

In fact, Potsdam as a whole would no longer be my problem. In particular, I would no longer be privy to my mother's ludicrous rules and mood swings. Last Thursday, since I wasn't able to walk to the campus, Darkling came over with four packs of Sobe. She came a bit late, as I had called her up later than I would have liked to, telling her that I wouldn't be able to walk to the campus - that I was far too busy packing my life into boxes, etc.

Darkling came over to the house, gently knocking on the door. She had arrived with the Sobe, which I put in the fridge. My mother was in an accusational state of mind, annoyed with me for my desire to leave Potsdam as soon as I could and in no mood to shield the world from her opinions towards my decisions. I had barely a chance to speak with Darkling, someone I care very much for and whom I will likely not see again for quite a while, before my mother asked her to leave. Nary half an hour had passed before the request was made. In that time, my mother had called my name over five times, allowing Darkling to see me as a frazzled wreck of a human being, nerves completely frayed, wishing only for, "that fucking bitch to shut the fuck up and leave me the fuck alone!"

After Darkling left, my mother made a beeline for the fridge, to inspect the packages that I had placed within its hallowed interior. She came back to the living room, where I was trying my best to compose myself in such a way that I would not fly into a maniacal rage and strangle her with a roll of packaging tape. Her eyes flashed with accusation, as if I were fifteen and she had just discovered a stack of Hustlers, a six-pack of Budweiser and a bag of weed under my bed.

"You are a liar," she said at me with an icy firmness only a mother in full-parental mode could conjure. She was absolutely certain that I was one hundred percent guilty of the crime she had just concocted and there was no way for me to prove my innocence. Mentally, I took up a defensively indignant stance, the kind that usually ends with the phrase, "go fuck yourself."

My lips began to form words, exhausted and battle-scarred, "What the hell are you on about now?" My question was really more of a statement; I wanted her to just go to bed like she had said she had been so desperate to do not long before. I wanted to be left alone, so I could spend one night in her house in Potsdam anywhere but completely under her thumb.

"Those packages in the fridge...those aren't Sobe!" I looked at her like she had finally lost her mind completely.

"What do you mean, 'they're not Sobe'" I asked her, walking to the fridge and pulling out one of the packages.

"Look at that," she said, pointing to the package I had in my hand. "It says, 'Lizard Elixir,' not 'Sobe!'"

"Yes, it's an orange-mango flavoured drink." I pointed to the corporate logo and brand name. "See there? It says 'Sobe' - it's a flavoured tea drink, much like Snapple."

"Oh," my mother said, shocked that she had been defeated. As she walked off she muttered, "I'm sorry for calling you a liar." I opted against trying to drag her into a humiliating match of wills by demanding a more audible apology.

I had woken up the morning of last Friday to finish packing and moving all my boxes and furniture into the U-Haul truck that had been rented the morning prior. In driving this vehicle home, I had been witness to its particular quirks and my own stupidity. Regarding the former, I found out that my truck had a steering column that pointed diagonally while the truck itself was pointed straight. I also found out that the brakes would not start catching until after I had pushed the pedal down about an inch. I made mental notes of both of these things in the hope that this knowledge would aid me in preventing an accident.

It was the latter that I didn't expect, being a child raised on warning alarms should something be forgotten when shutting down a vehicle. To be succinct: I left the headlights on in the U-Haul when I parked it in the driveway. This was discovered the same day, when I tried to start it to drive out for an errand. Luckily, a friend of mine came over and jump-started the vehicle back into the world of the mechanical living.

It was late Friday morning that I finally loaded all of my stuff that I was taking to Pittsburgh into the truck. I closed the door to the cargo bay, and secured it with a padlock. After one final once-over of what would no longer my "my room," I loaded some paper bags containing snack food and Sobe into the cab, called masochistmonkey to say that I was leaving Potsdam and started my journey.

My actual departure time was around 1:00 in the afternoon. It was cold outside, the bitter single-digit temperatures that had been plaguing Northern New York for weeks at this point, however it was sunny as well. I would have appreciated this more had it been warming the terrain, rather than blinding me as I drove.

From U.S. route 11 to I-81 to I-90 until Rochester, peels of rural familiarity flashed by my windows. I had roughly divided my trip into thirds, being that an entire drive to Pittsburgh from Potsdam took nine hours. I had decided that taking a break about every three hours would be advantageous. Thus, my first break would be outside of Syracuse, New York (on I-90, where I knew of a service centre), and the second would be somewhere near Buffalo, New York or just after I crossed the Pennsylvania border.

If I had learned nothing else from the first third of my drive, it was that a fully loaded U-Haul consumes gasoline in the same manner that a tippler guzzles alcohol. My habit was to fill the tank whenever the gauge hit the quarter-full mark. Just outside of Syracuse it was there, and it took over $15.00 to point the needle back to "F."

The drive resumed and I found myself staring straight into the sunset for most of the way to Buffalo. It was a great relief whenever the orb of flaming hydrogen was obscured by a cloud and I welcomed nightfall even more so than I usually did.

When one is driving for a great length of time and the radio sucks, one has a lot of time to think. After deciding upon hearing three A-sides that a classic rock station's "B-side Weekend" where they "played songs you never hear on the radio" was bullocks, I switched it off and began probing my inner sanctum. It was then that I had my existential crises. It happened like this: a wave of dread washed over me, I sat bolt upright, eyes wide and exclaimed aloud, "am I doing the right thing?"

It wasn't that I was having second thoughts about what I was doing - certainly not. I was about ready to cross the border between New York and Pennsylvania, nearly the halfway point of my journey. Now was not the time to start thinking that I should perhaps tuck my tail between my legs and shamefully crawl back to the comfortably numb place known as Potsdam, New York.

I was having a plethora of "what if" moments, however. I had left Potsdam with all of my possessions and enough money to pay for an apartment for two months along with a few expenses. Frugality would be key, once I got to my destination, however once employed I could loosen the purse strings a bit. I started to wonder what would happen if I couldn't get employed, if somehow I was denied the apartment I was to move into when I came into town. I began to wonder if failure was even an option and if that failure would be the cause of me being dragged kicking and screaming back to Potsdam if it would even be worth it to allow myself to even continue living.

I tried to brush these thoughts aside. "One thing at a time," I reminded myself. The real estate company had my deposit and I could pay the first month's rent. There was no reason for me to be denied a place to live. My current task was to drive to Pittsburgh and get there alive. I could face any other challenges as they came.

It was dark out by the time I exited the Empire State and entered the Keystone State. To my surprise, the roads become smoother when I crossed the border into Pennsylvania. Usually once you enter Pennsylvania, the roads become complete crap. I attributed this odd occurrence to the fact that I had entered The Twilight Zone.

As night had fallen and headlights started showing in my direction, the dirt on the windshield of my vehicle became painfully noticeable. In fact, it was getting difficult to see clearly out of the front of the truck. It was here that I discovered another one of my rental vehicle's adorable little quirks. I decided that a quick spray of windshield wash along with a sweep of the wipers would clear things up to a satisfactory level. Instead, I got a smeared mess that was even harder to see out of. Frustrated and fearful that I'd end up rear-ending someone, I pulled off at the next exit and found a gas station with squeegees. I exited the truck, ready to do some window-washing.

It turned out to be a full service stop, and an attendant was out in record time. He was about my age, and obviously dying for something to do that night. I told him that I just needed the windshield cleared off and he said that he'd do it free of charge, making a comment that only confirmed my prior assumption.

He looked at the U-Haul, a huge banner ad, saying, "person relocating here," and asked, "so, where are you headed to, from?"

"Pittsburgh from Potsdam, New York," I said.

"Aww...turn back now," he told me, "this whole state sucks - there's no work, the cops are assholes...there is nothing of interest here; turn back now, man."

I smiled and shook my head, "they'd be saying the same thing to you in Potsdam," I said. He shrugged, finished with the window and wished me luck as I got back into the truck and returned to the road.

Driving only became more difficult the closer I got to Pittsburgh. All throughout the trip I had trouble keeping truck going more than 50MPH. This, I discovered, is because they put an RPM-limiter in the engine. I found this to be a great inconvenience on more than one occasion. Generally, I prefer to drive at least 70MPH on interstates. This thing would barely let me maintain 60MPH, without putting the pedal to the metal. I was passed more on this trip than I had ever been passed in my life.

Not only was in the slow lane of highway driving, but somewhere in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania, I hit a snowstorm. This gave me cause to start running the windshield wipers, which smeared up what had been crystal clear about an hour prior. To add whipped cream to the shit sundae I was now consuming, a glance at the gas gauge indicated that I was nearing a quarter of a tank. I would have to refuel soon. I began setting my sites on finding a gas station.

It was in my quest for fossil fuel that I discovered that the middle of Pennsylvania is much like the northern part of New York: it is completely filled with nothing! Time and time again I would see a blue sign alongside the highway promising gas at the next exit, only to take the exit, drive several miles out of the way to the sort of town that one finds in the Adirondack mountains to discover that the promised gas station was either closed or appeared like it hadn't seen use since 1988. Each time this happened, I would drive back to the interstate, frustrated that I had wasted gas looking for gas and hoping that I found an open station before the engine sputtered dead from lack of fuel.

Based on some rough calculations I made using the ratio of gas I had left in the tank to the miles-per-gallon of my vehicle, cross-referenced with a sign telling me how many miles I had left until I reached Pittsburgh, I determined that I would run out of gas about 10-20 miles outside of the city. It was my fondest wish at this point, that the likelihood of finding a twenty-four hour station would increase the closer I got to a major urban centre.

I had another problem to deal with at this point as well. I was beginning to get tired. Nine hours had long since elapsed in this drive and I had yet to find myself at my destination. Furthermore, unlike New York, there were no rest areas in Pennsylvania where I could just pull off and nap for an hour if I so choose. Something had to be done. Thus, while my search for gasoline continued to be fruitless, I was able to find a McDonald's where I purchased a cup of black coffee.

The place was staffed by bored local teenagers, the type of kids who probably saw a lot of weary travellers, but who didn't really care because no breeze through their one-horse town could ever make their lives interesting. It was a messy fast food joint; one of the sections had been closed off to be cleaned, and in the open section, there was ketchup smeared all over one of the booths. Compounding my desire to drink my coffee and get moving again was a family with three small, screaming children not ten feet from where I sat. I sipped my beverage, trying to not burn myself and pondering why it was illegal to slip depressants into your child's beverage.

Back on the highway, I noticed that Pittsburgh was closer than I had originally thought. This, however, still did not put gas in the tank. I tried yet another exit promising fuel, and found myself in a municipality that seemed to be significantly larger than the ones I had already visited. Salvation came in the form of a Phillips 76. I pulled into the station, got out of the truck, removed the gas cap, took the nozzle out of its holster and began pumping. Less than an eighth of a gallon later, it kicked back to say, "the tank is full."

"Curious," I thought to myself, and began pumping again. After another eighth of a gallon, I got the same kick. I ran to the attendant booth to explain the situation, that there seemed to be a problem with the pump. I was allowed to use a different pump, this time being able to fill the tank. I paid for the gas and used the restroom at the station before pressing on. It was bitterly cold outside and very windy, and I was very happy to be back inside of a warm vehicle. By the time I reached Pittsburgh, it was past midnight.

I was relieved to actually be in the city finally. My next goal was to find masochistmonkey's apartment. I thought that this task would be simple, given that I knew the relative position of his neighbourhood. I found a payphone and called his boyfriend's cell, telling him that I had made it to the city and now I needed directions to their place. He provided directions, but apparently something was lost in the translation from his mouth to my brain. I spent more time than I would like to discuss driving around downtown Pittsburgh, looking for the entrance to the Liberty Bridge. Getting under it was easy, as was getting to either side of it, however making it to the actual bridge deck proved problematic.

After much time driving in circles (and the aid of a Pittsburgh police officer), I finally made my way onto the bridge. This lead me through the tunnels into Southside, which got me to masochistmonkey's neighbourhood. I parked the U-Haul along the street, rang the doorbell of his apartment, and crashed on the sofa not five minutes later.

Last Saturday & The Following Week

I woke up Saturday morning on the sofa in the living room of masochistmonkey's and his boyfriend's apartment. I glanced over to the end table, where my little analogue travel alarm clock sat, set to start chirping at 9:00AM. The current time was 8:53AM. I climbed off of the sofa, walked over to the end table and shut off the alarm.

It didn't take very long for my friend to wake up, despite being slightly hung over from a party he had been at the previous night. We drove over to my building and met with my new landlord, where I signed all my lease papers and had my first actual viewing of where I would now be living. Upon seeing the apartment, I knew that I had made the correct decision.

After my lease papers had been signed, masochistmonkey and I set upon moving my stuff from the cargo bay of the U-Haul into my new residence. Between the two of us, it really didn't take long to get my stuff into the building. Not even the large pieces of furniture (such as my computer desk and chest of drawers) were all that troublesome.

Once all of my stuff was safely inside the apartment, my friend and I decided to go shopping for some items I would need. At a local hardware store I got a shower curtain and rings, along with a power strip (the latter not to be used near water, lest you all were thinking that I had finally lost my mind). My friend also showed me where the nearest grocery store was, where I bought some foodstuffs, under the assumption that I would eventually want to eat in this apartment. Once this was done, we returned to my place, where I put everything away and then walked over to his place, where we hung out for a while.

For the next week, I felt like I had an incredible amount of momentum going. Sunday morning I returned the U-Haul truck to the local rental centre in Pittsburgh (actually located in the quasi-suburban locale of Pleasant Hills). It was on this day that I discovered what Pittsburgh's mass transit system is really like. Once I had dropped off the truck, it was necessary for me to take a bus back to my borough. Among the other things I had purchased on Saturday, an unlimited mass transit pass was amongst them, since it's less expensive than paying for each trip and I absolutely despise change.

There was a bus stop right outside of the U-Haul centre, and I decided that I would catch the first bus that came by, and work out returning to where I lived from there. After half an hour of freezing my arse off in the wind chills of the high elevation of not-so Pleasant Hills, a chariot of municipal transportation finally showed itself.

I boarded the bus, showed my pass to the driver and took a seat. Given the amount that the city of Pittsburgh charges for mass transit passes, one would think that they would be able to install a magnetic swiping system in their vehicles akin to Albany or New York City, rather than this primitive system of showing one's card to the driver, however this just isn't the case. I think I'll blame the state of Pennsylvania for this lapse in technological advancement. This state has two Republican senators, whereas New York has two Democratic senators. For the sake of humour and to stroke my own political viewpoints, I'm going to blame the Republicans for the lack of state of the art mass transit in Pittsburgh.

Riding on the bus allowed me to thaw out my frozen extremities and to take in the scenery of Pittsburgh. If nothing else, watching the scenery go by allowed me to get my bearings. It also didn't hurt when the bus stopped at a trolley station. If I knew nothing else able Pittsburgh's mass transit at this point, I knew that boarding a trolley (or "T," as the locals refer to it) would take me anywhere I wanted to go in Southside, where my apartment was located. Thus, I exited the bus and boarded an electric train to ride all the way home.

Most of my week up to this point has been spent doing all the little things and not so little things that need to be done in order to facilitate my continued stay in Pittsburgh. In the beginning of the past week, I ordered a cellular phone. I had discovered that for my purposes, this would be less expensive than a land line for me, as my main use for it would be keeping in touch with temp agencies (and buzzing people into my apartment). For a flat monthly rate, I would have 300 "free" minutes to anywhere with unlimited evenings and weekends. I wouldn't even have to pay for the phone and they would mail the package to me. I'm still waiting for my phone to be mailed to me. At this point, I expect it sometime in the beginning of March.

I'm hoping that other thing I wish to procure will happen sooner than that. The tangible intangible I refer to is employment. I had my first interview with a temp agency on Thursday, the day after I visited a local mall and expired two and seven-eighths of the JC Penny Gift Cards I had on appropriate business attire. The interview went quite well in my opinion, and I have high hopes that this agency should not only be able to get me the employment I desire, but at a wage higher than I expected. Even so, I still have two more appointments with other places in the coming week. In any event, I will breathe a great sign of relief once that first paycheque comes in.

Just yesterday I gave myself the Valentine's Day gift of a checking/debit account at a local bank. I like to think of this as a sign that I will be staying here for a while. If nothing else, an account is a better way to store funds than sticking them between the mattresses of one's bed.

Overall, despite the latent uncertainly of being in a new locale, I feel much better than I have in months, nay years, if I really think about it. Potsdam was slowly killing me - both the town and the school. It has been said that the goals of the individual in Northern New York are as follows: get a job, stay off welfare and get drunk on the weekends. You don't see many with lofty life goals in Northern New York, nor the desire to expand beyond the limited sphere they were born in. Potsdam calls itself "the cultural and educational centre of Northern New York." If one were to quantify that statement with the actual culture that is inherit to Potsdam, one would find that a sad statement indeed.

I remember that when I was young the Chamber of Commerce used to run what was called "Music Theatre North," which was a collection of plays and musicals put on each summer by the locals. This was cancelled due to budget cuts. Potsdam's two festivals: the Summer Festival in July and the Diversity Festival in September are little more than excuses for every store downtown to have sales while Market Street is closed to traffic. The only sign of diversity in Potsdam is an Asian grocery store within walking distance of downtown that xeyli brought to my attention. I wonder how long that is going to last, as Potsdam's Asian population is negligible and most of the Caucasians in Potsdam are "meat and potatoes" people.

The major economy of Potsdam seems to be universities and bars (which go quite well together, if one thinks about it for a moment). The locals have all but told Wal-Mart to "go fuck themselves" upon the prospect that they may build a store in their precious "unique Victorian village." Time and time again people whine in the local weekly paper that "the young people are leaving." Have these people ever stopped to consider why the young people are leaving? Potsdam, New York isn't exactly a very inviting place to anyone who is less than forty years old. It always seemed to me like a place that people go to die, rather than to live. I, for one, wish to live.

I'm not saying that Pittsburgh is perfect by a long shot. This city has plenty of flaws of its own (rabid Steelers fans being among them). No municipality is perfect - such a place is referred to as "utopia," the translation of which is "nowhere." Still, Pittsburgh is shades better than Potsdam. At the temp agency in Potsdam I was being told that there was basically no employment to be had (please piss off and apply at a gas station, young man). Compare that to what I was told at the temp agency here, and you start to see why I like this city better.

To sum up my feelings regarding Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: so far, so good.