It’s not overstating things to say that Jamie was a connector in Pittsburgh’s LGBTQ community and the entire community felt her loss.
The Psychedelic Club of Pittsburgh is an open-to-all monthly discussion group geared as a free-form way for anyone with an interest in psychedelic substances to trade experiences, tips and tricks.
That observation made me wonder if there might not be something particularly “Shakespearean” about the Rust Belt, the arc of success and devastation, the clashing of all of those villainous characters during the Gilded Age and the nobility of those who resisted them, and the narrative culmination of the post-industrial landscape as blasted as Lear’s heath.
Clashes around censorship have pitted parents against educators, and against each other, while outside funding raises the stakes.
“Like homing pigeons,” a man in a New York bar once told me about Pittsburghers. “You leave. You go back. You’re lucky. There aren’t many places like that.”
The Beehive’s early clientele were Pittsburgh’s “neo-beatniks”: artists and art students, those studying at nearby colleges and universities, musicians, writers, filmmakers, out-of-work ne’er-do-wells and those still trying to find their way.
To walk through Frick Park – at least for me – is a pilgrimage into Milton's Paradise Lost, read not in words, lines, and stanzas, but rather rocks, trees, and water.
If a focus on workers tied Vanka with New Deal artists, he diverged by drawing on Catholic spirituality and forcefully critiquing capitalism.
She made a choice in life, and I respect her right to choose to practice (or not practice) a religion that best suits her beliefs. That doesn’t mean I think a pastor should be speaking from a synagogue pulpit on Shabbat.
And so, it dawned on me - Pittsburgh is a city of very hard stops.
"I do appreciate titles that use the terrain instead of making their characters sit inside. I also enjoy titles that reveal the parts of our region that outsiders are unlikely to see, like Homewood, Butler, or old school, residential Oakland. Yinzers don't gaze down from Grandview Avenue all day like the movies would have you believe."
A poem by Jason Irwin.