Home-town Events

Monday, August 3, 2009

So this weekend in LALA town has been insanely busy, and it is surprising that I am still functioning at this late hour. I guess if I started talking about the weekend, it would be necessary to start a brief recount on Thursday night.

I went out to Pittsburgh to celebrate the birthday of my friend, Jenn. She has been my best friend since high school, but we have known one another since the age of five where we attended a community program called “Safety Town.” Our teacher, Miss Heinkel looks the same to this day with a melodic breathy voice and fire-truck red lipstick. My only recollections include learning about Mr. Yuck stickers, the kiddy-size parking lot outside where we could drive around toy cars and pretend to obey miniature traffic laws (which now seems like an absurd activity for 5-year olds), and of course, Jennifer. She had long wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and she defended me when I was crying one day. It is funny how that has always stuck in my mind. I was painfully shy when I was young, and I am sure that my emotional spells weren’t rare occasions. Anyways, we were best friends in high school and in college at Penn State--minus Jenn’s “crazy freshman year” when she decided to dye her hair dark brown and get piercings.

Jenn is a wonderful friend, and she has a nice-paying supply-chain job working for a Steel Company outside of Pittsburgh. You could probably describe our friendship as oil and vinegar; we are complete opposites. Jenn is a discerning, practical, small-detail, spicy firecracker with big taste and personality—she drives a white hummer, and she loves going to Vegas. I on the other hand am the creative loopy artist, no attention to pertinent detail, at times too stimulated to be rational, pacifistic, water-flowing, wind-blown type of girl—I prefer a bike, and I would choose much more soulful vacation spots. To put it very simply, I will say that in order to reach solutions, Jenn goes straight and I make circles. She and I do share characteristics in common, but our differences definitely compliment one other more than they conflict. It is necessary to introduce her, and you will learn more I’m sure as I tell stories—she is hysterical. I love her like a sister.

Anyways, Thursday night. Being that all of us were reuniting after some time of living in different major cities, we went out for a Pittsburgh celebration of her birthday at the Haufbrahaus, a famous restaurant/beer garden chain, originating in Munich. It recently made its debut in Pittsburgh, and it is a blast with its large wooden tables, lively Bavarian chants, and liter-sized beer mugs! These Pittsburghers are branching away from the classic Iron City beer—woopie. Jenn already celebrated her birthday that week in Vegas with a few other girlfriends of ours, but it was necessary to celebrate together on the burgh turf. Needless to say, it was a fabulous night and I drank too much due to the prodding of my friends—of course I can place blame, my tolerance is at an all-time low! It felt good to be home with all of them, speaking English, goofing around, singing songs, and dancing on the tables—gleeful is appropriate to describe Thrusday night.

Friday: We all woke up late at Jenn’s apartment in the city, went to breakfast where I ate a delightfully greasy breakfast sandwich at Tom’s Diner on the Southside, and we all headed out for a day at Kennywood. For those of you who don’t know, Kennywood is the amusement park near Pittsburgh, and anyone from this city worth their salt has ridden the Thunderbolt and eaten funnel cake every summer. It is a very traditional old park that was originally built before the turn of the 20th century, and the mascot is a weird looking kangaroo—named, (duhhh!) Kenny. I might have only skipped one or two summers in my entire life going to Kennywood, and I have so many memories there with my family, at school picnics, of Potato Patch fries, and holding hands with my crush, Anthony, on a roller coaster back in 9th grade. The rides are classic mixed with some new techno-hydraulic beasts thrown in the bunch. I once dumped a boyfriend in college when I found out that he lived five minutes away from Kennywood’s gates and had never been there. In my opinion, there was a tragic mis-step in his upbringing, and I couldn’t rationalize this omission. “Do you hate fun?”

Anyways, we all went there feeling like little kids, reunited together from our various new and non-converging lifestyles, new jobs, new boys. I felt a rush of carefree thrill as I raised my arms and coasted down the first rollercoaster hill on the Jackrabbit. I was literally giddy—it was as if all my tension and current “life decisions” didn’t matter anymore.

Of course, aside from the rides, we also spent the day spotting out different shaped mullets and pointing out other very particular park folk. I have a question to pose to all people sporting mullets—why do you do it? Are you completely ignorant or defiant against the idea of hair? The winner of the day was a father son pair with matching mullet ponytails that rose half way up their scalps.

At one point we chose to ride all of the spinning, dizzy, stomach-blender rides at once because they were all in the same area. Yeahhh, bad idea--We felt like the little kids in “Sandlot” when they go to the carnival, throwing up on the rides. In fact, I started singing, “Tequila,” by the Champs to remind us all of that particularly pleasant moment in the movie. Apparently hangovers, greasy food, and back-to-back fast circular rotations and stomach-acrobatics leave you feeling pretty self-hating. We recovered thankfully, learning a sore lesson, and us kids found more mellow rides in order to recover—like the “Turtle”. I chuckle about the image of us all holding our stomachs in self-inflicted theme park pain. I ended my day in Kennywood watching the sunset up-side-down from the “Arrow 360” ride, and I was exhausted.

I drove back to my home town with my friends Emily and Nate, a couple of college friends that now live in New York with big jobs in the finance sector. We stopped at my church to pick up food from the “Festa Italiana.” This is a yearly church festival that celebrates the Italian heritage of the church while raising money for its various initiatives. I have always loved this event, and I really look forward to it in August every summer. All of the elderly parishioners of the church start preparing the unbelievable quantities of sauce, pasta, lasagna, pizza, biscotti, fried dough etc two weeks in advance—there are games, kids stands, bingo, gambling, raffling, music bands, and a great community that comes together to participate, eat, and socialize. I was determined to attend—it is a another “summer must.”

As the car climbed the big hill up to the church, I could see the yellow lights glowing over the white tents above, music in the air. We parked and as I walked through the crowds, the aroma of pizza and Italian cookies filled the air; as I walked along trying to find my sisters, I saw all of the familiar faces—donned in red, green and white hats and aprons—serving up food, selling traditional sweets, joking with neighbors and friends, calling out names and laughing—just like in years past. I used to work at different booths when I was at home—serving up gelato, working a game station, or painting faces. A buzz of familiar smells, sights, and sounds greeted me, and I was happy to be back among this community. Along the way, many friends of the family stopped me in my tracks to give me a big hug and start up conversation as this was my first appearance since my arrival. I eventually found my sister, Christa, and I talked to high school guy friends for a while. I looked pretty dirty from my whole day spent at the theme park, probably smelling of corndogs (which are gross) and sweat, but I could have cared less. I was able to practice Italian with Benedetta, an Italian girl from Parma visiting friends of the family, I ate fried dough, and I was a happy girl.

My life seem so separated—that of New Ken and that of Milan. Of course the places are worlds apart and drastically different; however you would think that they wouldn’t seem so drastically detached from one another. People asked me if it was difficult and disorienting to come back: Honestly, there was no transition; it felt like I literally stepped out of one life into a completely different one, as if I were slipping on an old pair of my most comfortable worn slippers. Not much changes with my home routine or my town, and upon my return I jumped from one reality to the next. I just have to remember to keep them both in check because responsibility lies in both.

Saturday: My brother’s graduation party. Of course, another extremely full day. I feel the need to describe the events of these few days because they are so reminiscent of everything that is important to me at home, in my hometown, in a highly concentrated dose. It makes for interesting reflections and comparisons I guess. I really am blessed with an incredible family, we are very close, and I attribute all that I have from their love, support, and hard work. I may sound like I’m delivering a graduation speech, but they always deserve their due—even if I am writing this stupid blog for nobody. I really don’t deserve their love, and I guess I feel the need to acknowledge them because I know how lucky I am.

Back to the party: