Pittsburgh Dish

Sis Boom Bra

Given Pitt's hugely successful debut at Heinz Field on Saturday, the team's perky pom-pom platoon might have a bit of free time this season. Perhaps they should consider, say, a cheesier alternative?

A recent job posting from craigslist.org:

Professional sports magazine is looking to feature 3-4 different college cheerleaders in its publication monthly. Looking for the girl-next-door type in cheerleader gard [sic]. No nudity or provacative [sic] poses. A short profile will be included with a blurb about what you like most about football. Pay $50 upon publication.

So perfessional they don't kneed no proofreeders.

Photo: Professional sports magazine editor poses as mascot to recruit tail.

Hola Beechview!

A friend of Dish who moved to Pittsburgh back in the late '90s -- the fellow was a native of the Real Midwest: Iowa -- once remarked, "I never knew there were so many different kinds of white people."

Apparently in this guy's experience, Hungarian surnames were quite exotic. Really, though, for a very, very long time, he's been quite right. The sum total of Pittsburgh diversity: loads of different kinds of white people. Such was the immigrant stock when this area was ramping up toward becoming an industrial powerhouse (R.I.P).

Things seem to be changing. Slowly. For example, an apartment complex in Scott Township (forgive Dish, it forgets the place's name) is a mini New Dehli. And, the Post-Gazette reported today, Beechview has taken on the look of Chihuahua (the Mexican state, not the pocket dog).

Our Caucasian chums seem chuffed.

Reporter Diana Nelson Jones writes:

In just a few years, Latinos -- mostly Mexicans -- moving into Beechview have created the most concentrated Latino population in the city, according to several sources.

This is a watershed moment for Pittsburgh, where the Latino presence, small by any U.S. large-city standards, has grown steadily but never established an enclave. Jim Bryce estimates the population to be "several hundred, at least, just in Beechview," based on the names he recognizes as Latino on mail he delivers for the U.S. Postal Service. ...

Here, Nelson Jones does a good job of drawing out at least some idea of how many Hispanics have alighted in Beechview. No census since 2000, no really reliable info regarding ethnicity in 2005. Not only does the postman ring more than once but less than thrice, he (or she) usually has a pretty good grip on what's happening along the route.

However, Bryce should be made aware of Dish chum Christina Rios. She gets Spanish language mail and is solicited by various and sundry Latino groups and causes. She's of Scottish descent, 6'2" and red-headed. Not a drop of Latin blood. It's a long story but one that concludes with the old saw about books and covers and judgment.

Nevertheless, Bryce provides some insight. Don Bell provided another sort of insight, that being that there are more than a few -- Um, what's the word here? Ignorant? Misguided? Racist? That's it, racist -- racist people in Beechview. Nelson Jones continues:

Some longtime residents are far from excited about the new immigrants.

Don Bell, president of the Beechview Merchants Association, said residents at a recent Weed and Seed meeting "expressed concern about the rapid influx of Mexicans, of the illegals who have no rights and can be easily exploited, and issues such as over-occupancy and health code violations."

"Someone asked, 'How do we know there aren't ads in grocery stores in Mexico that say 'Move to Beechview,' " he said. ...

Yep, Weed & Seeders, you're dead on there. Filthy with a tendency to overcrowd. You've pretty much encapsulated the nature of an entire population. And in so few words. Be proud. Be proud.

Furthermore, the paraphrased Weed & Seed attendee underestimates the impetus that compelled Mexicans to move to Beechview. It wasn't because of a posted ad; rather a cover story in the March issue of Illegal Immigrant Monthly. Dish subscribes. It is considering infiltrating a small Tyrolean village and destroying it by being loud, overweight and myopic Americans. That and opening a McDonald's franchise.

What follows, however, is most disturbing. Back to Nelson Jones:

Samantha Franco has heard derogatory references to Mexicans in the store she owns with her husband, Saul Jimenez, and some in Beechview say they haven't dined at Maya because they see too many Mexicans inside.

Casual racial epithets are one thing, honky. However, when someone refuses to dine in a Mexican restaurant because the place is overpopulated with Mexicans, that not only belies a deep-seated racism but a really lousy point of view when it comes to choosing where to grab some ethnic food.

Taco Bell and Chi-Chi's await your business.

Photo: The encroaching menace. Illustration: Which way to Beechview, Hombre?

Yale: The Banana Hammock of Higher Education

Consumer evolution? As always, Yale's got it all figured out.

From Peter Leo's "Morning File" in the Post-Gazette: 

[New Haven, Conn.] Yale University has added to our storehouse of knowledge: Monkeys have the same buying behavior as human beings. ...

They were asked to choose between spending a token on one visible piece of food that half the time gave a return of two pieces, or two pieces of visible food that half the time gave a return of only one piece. ...

The capuchins, for the most part, went for the first gamble, which is essentially a half chance at a bonus, over the second gamble, which is essentially a half chance at a loss. (Really, we're sorry we brought this up at all.)

The study's relevance: The Yale brainiacs think it points to evolutionary hard-wiring (at this point, intelligent designers may wish to leave the File) that helps explain why Americans, because of these monkey-like loss aversion instincts, do not put enough of their savings into the stock market, which offers a better rate of return than safer stuff, such as bonds. Bottomline: If you know a tufted capuchin monkey, urge it to get a good financial adviser.

Well stated, Mr. Leo.

The Dish's bottomline: These Yale brainiacs were our neighbors. Wonder why we left New Haven?

Dish sends birthday wishes to Mike Morand, Yale University's Associate Vice President for New Haven and State Affairs. We so loved to trade barbs. xxoo

The Big Move

A former vice presidential candidate in the throes of dementia once asked, "Who am I and what am I doing here?" Let's, for a moment, pretend that Colleen and I, Joe, are Admiral Stockdale as that question, in our case, is answered.

We come from Connecticut. New Haven, to be precise. After having our fill of the Elm City as Presented by Yale University as well as the alternative newsweekly world as presented by a massive corporation, we chose to move to Pittsburgh, where I'm from and where we was wed. We did so without jobs, prospects for jobs or, really, any good reason at all.

The move was unadulterated hell.

Let's recap the awfulness: March 18: Drive Nissan to Pittsburgh with cat.

March 19: Go to University of Pittsburgh hiring fair. Fly back to New Haven.

March 20: Fetch UHaul in Waterbury (they claimed to not have the right size in New Haven). Load truck with help of many friends. Drink.

March 21: Dad flies to New Haven. Finish loading odds and ends into UHaul.

March 22: Colleen goes to closing. I drive UHaul. Dad drives Colleen's Subaru. Colleen flies. She beats us to Pittsburgh by four hours.

March 23: Closing in Pittsburgh. To the house. It is cold and rainy (outside. No weather patterns have been detected indoors). Self, crippled wife (she is palsyed, cerebrally), arthritic dad and small mom along with robust college friend Fred unload UHaul in two hours. UHaul is returned. We drink.

March 24 - present: Meet with various contractors, unload boxes. Get suff hooked up. Assemble things. Find out new fridge is on the fritz. Meet neighbor Chris, who is a peach. Chris helps me knock out a few bricks in order to vent the dryer.

April 4: To the Pirates' opener.

From then on and evermore: Home Depot, IKEA, etc. Lather, rinse and repeat.

On the whole we're rather pleased with our abode in the decidedly non-Resacaesque portion of the Mexican War Streets. The seller took some shortcuts (not providing a space to vent the dryer and failing to drop a gas line to the laundry area being among them), but the place is swell. Two days after we got here we were sitting on the deck around 5:30 talking with Chris and we hear "pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop." Yep, someone unloaded an entire clip on some fella sitting on the stoop the next block over. On a street where people are paying $300k-plus for houses. Only two shots hit the intended target.

And so here we are, both in the physical and electronic sense. I shall now remove several hundred bricks from our back yard.  --J.M.