Mean Gene
Mean Gene
Pittsburgh's most decorated poker blogger, which I admit is like being the best shortstop in Greenland

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My Articles

Presto, the Arlo, & the Hammer
An Online Code of Conduct
The Ethics of Ratholing
"The Professor, the Banker..."
"Ace on the River"

My Columns

Lose the Shades
If You Can't Say Something Nice
Whither the Kicker
The Lady is a Champ?
Covering the WSOP (or not)
Statistics, Luck, and Poker
Poker and New Orleans
Managing a Bankroll
How To Tell A Bad Beat Story
Telling Lies
The Power of Poker Tracker
Advanced Card-Handling

My Greatest Hits

5 Things To Do Before I Die
Cafeteria Nostalgia
Mean Gene's Dubious Dating Tips
Poker and Business?
There's No Such Thing As Luck?
Isabelle, Je t'adore
No Shirt No Shoes No Service
Well, The Food Was Good
Good Morning, Mr. Matusow!
The Weekend of our Discontent, I
The Weekend of our Discontent, II
Books That Left Their Mark
Ode to a Fish Sandwich
Bill Simmons Ain't the Poker Guy
The Sports Guy Still Ain't the Poker Guy
Again, The Media Tackles Poker
Five Years After 9/11
Hitting Pretty Girls in the Face
Sixth-Graders Suck

Fellow Poker Bloggers

Guinness and Poker
Cards Speak
Tao of Poker
Up for Poker
Boy Genius
Chris Halverson
Poker Grub
The Fat Guy
Todd Commish
Poker Works
Bill Rini
Bad Blood
Love and Casino War
Double As
Lion Tales
Paul Phillips
Daniel Negreanu
Poker Nerd
Poker Nation
Poker in Arrears
Human Head
Sound of a Suckout
Chicks With Chips
TP's Table Talk
Royal Poker
This is Not A Poker Blog
Chick and a Chair
Go Be Rude
Poker Cheapskate
Poker & Other Stuff
Seven Two
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WPBT Online
Isabelle Mercier
Cardschat Blog
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Annie's Blog

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    Tuesday, June 13, 2006

    Were You Taller Than Mr. Jeeters?

    That's one question I forgot to ask Iggy after he mentioned in his latest uberpost that he'd visited Kennywood Park. When you go on rides there you have to be taller than various wooden cutouts of various park mascots, and Mr. Jeeters is the one that always stymies the kids who think they're all done with growing up.

    Because I'm lazy I'm gonna repost most of the email I sent, at Iggy's request. I'm assuming you've read his post; if not, I'll just do a point-counterpoint thing.

    My wife's family had a family reunion this past weekend in Pittsburgh. Because of all the kids, we ended up spending an afternoon at an amusement park called Kennywood. A more appropriate name would have been CrackerWood. I'm not sure where all these one-toothed troglodytes came from. West Virginia? Can ya tell me, MeneGene?

    Of course I can:

    Haven't been to Kennywood in a few years, have to go back for a stroll and a few runs on the Thunderbolt. So far as the quality of humanity walking around there...they do have lots of ethnic days there, maybe it was "Appalachia Day". Pittsburgh is home to many sleek, witty, cosmopolitan people (pointing at myself) and then you have women who walk around wearing bright red T-shirts with 'HULKAMANIA!" written in blazing yellow letters across the front. Like the woman who came to see my house a few weeks ago. Sheesh.

    I'm also reminded here of something I read from change100 the other day, where she mentioned that a friend of hers from my fair city is a "Pittsburgh fashionista". I'd never heard those two words paired together. I was mystified. But then I walked to the Point last week to saunter through the Arts Festival and found myself walking behind three gorgeous, elegant women. What I know about women's clothing wouldn't fill a thimble, but even I could appreciate the clean, smooth lines of a skirt that breaks just above the knee, a chemise that reveals tan shoulders yet doesn't devolve into a tank top, and fabrics of such creamy richness that it must be hard to hold back the tears when undressing.

    And one of the women was eating a corn dog on a stick. This is Pittsburgh, after all.

    And what the hell is going on in Pittsburgh with making beer nearly impossible to freaking purchase? Are the Shakers still in control over there? The damn amusement park didn't even sell any, much less any store I could find. Only "authorized beer distributors" can sell beer? For a supposed blue-collar town, I was extremely disappointed.

    In reply:

    I did an unscientific survey to see if folks I work with think beer should be sold at Kennywood. I asked 7 people, and they all said..."You CAN'T sell beer at Kennywood!" No outrage. Just a universal truth, and to question it is madness. And most of the people I asked like to drink, too. Heck, I can't even get my mind around the concept of Kennywood. What's next, unicorn rides in Kiddieland?

    Beer in does not compute. It's like not having beer in a strip club.

    The beer situation in Pittsburgh is practically Soviet. Only beer distributors can sell beer...and they AREN'T ALLOWED TO COMPETE WITH EACH OTHER. They can't advertise specials other than signs attached to the building. One company actually got in serious trouble a few years back by flaunting the law and discounting beer to increase volume. Yes, they had a sale on beer, advertised the fact, and got in big trouble.

    Here's how bad it is--last year they passed a law allowing certain distributors to OPEN ON SUNDAY. Before, if you showed up for a Steeler game and all you had were 3 Rolling Rocks left, you were SOL. This news was treated like the resurrection of Christ. Seriously, if it was a really hot day on a Sunday, you might as well be living in Saudi Arabia.

    Pittsburghers who spend time living in civilization (where you can, like, buy beer in a supermarket) come back and tell the tale in hushed, reverent tones, as if they'd just returned from the summit of Everest.

    "I needed Q-tips...and I walked into the grocery store...and there was a whole aisle of nothing but beer."

    "Beer," says the chorus.

    "It was 8 at night. It was dark out. And I bought a case of beer. Along with my Q-tips. And a box of Frosted Flakes."

    "Beer. Flakes."

    "That's bull," says a doubter. There's always one. "You didn't buy beer in a grocery store."

    The Wanderer pulls out a slip of paper and smiles. "I brought the receipt." He points. "Q-Tips." Everyone nods.

    "Frosted Flakes." Nods.


    Heads bow, understanding the Truth of it.

    Seriously, hearing that folks in other part of the country can buy beer at the supermarket is like hearing that everyone uses jetpacks to get to work. It's another world.

    Shame on you, Pittsburgh. I wore my Carson Palmer jersey with pride, damnit.
    I'm glad Big Ben didn't wreck his motorcycle face until after I left town.

    Looks like Roethlisberger is gonna be OK. The PG is even reporting that he's expected to be good to go for the opener and maybe even the start of training camp. That's good news. What isn't quite so good is this:

    Here's something bizarre--quite a few people showed up at Mercy Hospital, where Roethlisberger was taken. OK, that happens in these circumstances. But the paper said people came with folding chairs and charcoal grills. They were tailgating OUTSIDE THE HOSPITAL? That ain't right.

    People are effed up. And as I drove down River Road this morning headed to work (passing where Big Ben lives, by the way) a guy on a Harley sped by. No helmet. He did look pretty cool. I wonder how cool Roethlisberger will look when next we see him. Not very. I remember how messed up Kevin Stevens was when he got knocked cold and hit the ice face-first in that cursed Game 7 against the Islanders. Yuck.

    Anyone else suddenly in the mood for a corn dog and a beer? get this widget Please visit Pokernews site for more poker news, poker strategy articles or poker rules.

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