Monday morning reading!

Good Monday morning.

As a solar-powered human being (yes, they make those, ’cause I’m one) this weekend was heaven. Now back to the daily grind, here’s two things for you to go read while I work on a few other posts (Morton! Maholm! Random n’at! Steelers house in Texas! JIM LOKAY IN SLOW MOTION! HERMIONE!).



My June column is up over at, this one about my misguided ten-minute notion that living in Paris would be a dream come true. A snippet:

My impression is that all French women are model-thin with long hair that smells of hazelnut and angel wings. Their lips are perfectly pouty. They exit the womb with a tiny French manicure. And they apparently receive lifetime couture wardrobes from the priciest fashion houses—simply because they were born in France.

It’s kind of like how we’re given a Social Security card. Here’s a little blue card with a 10-digit number we made up just for you, Mary. Custom-made, insanely expensive wardrobe for you, Sabine.

Go read about how in France, you’re supposed to go grocery shopping EVERY DAY or the French people will give you snotty, haughty, poopy looks. Also, they’ll bitchslap a soda can right outta yo hands.

Hat tip to the great Brian O’Neill for coining the phrase “Paris of Appalachia.”

Next month … my letter to Roberto Clemente. It gets real.


I also have a new post up, this one about a flash mob dance that took place at the CASA Rally for Children on the steps of the City County Building last week. You remember CASA because Bruce Arians’ wife is one of the advocates that works with the children and it was their event that I met Mike Wallace.

Like I say in the post, the lone male in the dance group makes me happy. He dances like no one’s watching. I have never danced like no one is watching, not even when I’m dancing and no one is watching.

Also, I have had “Firework” stuck in my head since then. Ridiculously catchy chorus that kicked “King of Wishful Thinking” to the ear curb.

Click here to read and see the video I took. As you watch it, remember, they’re dancing for forgotten children. That makes it so much more powerful.

More soon!


  1. bucdaddy
    May 23, 2011 10:24 am

    “My impression is that all French women are model-thin with long hair that smells of hazelnut and angel wings. Their lips are perfectly pouty.”

    See, this is why you can take any average girl who wouldn’t merit a second look on the streets of Pittsburgh and if you simply say “She’s French!” (or “Brazilian!” or “Israeli!”) she’ll be on the cover of Sports Illustrated tomorrow. Because we hear “French!” and our (mostly male, I’ll admit) tiny brains immediately add on a lot of traits we think we see but aren’t really there.

    That’s the only rational reason I can come up with for the alleged hotness of Gisele (who husband is prettier than she is) and Bar and the ilk.

  2. Ex-Pat Pittsburgh Girl
    May 23, 2011 11:33 am

    My experience in high school with French exchange students fully shaped my desire (or lack thereof) to ever go to France. As my uncle, who was in France with the US Army during the liberation of France in WWII always said (and I’ve heard others say it, too), “the problem with France is that the French live there.” For seven years, I had a free place to stay in Paris and I was the only one in my family (sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles) that repeatedly turned down the invitation to go and visit my aunt who worked in Paris. As soon as she moved to Vienna, I was the first one to take her up on her invitation.

  3. aunt_chilada
    May 23, 2011 1:28 pm

    I Loved my stay in Paris, I prefered it over my stay in London. Grated it is a different lifestyle but the people were wonderfully kind to me. But then again they had just won the Soccer World Cup and the entire Nation had a party in Paris. They loved everybody that month.

    Personally Spain was the easiest culture to adapt to. I have never been fed as much as I was fed in a spanish home. I was introduced to Nutella in Spain. I will always love Spain for that.

    My favorite evaluation of tourists was from an elderly Spanish lady.
    The Germans -they dress sloppy
    The English- they overdress
    The italians – they are always talking
    The Americans- they walk like they know where the road is going.(or something like that)