Archive for the ‘pittsburgh’ Tag

09/20/2021 Pennsylvania Loyalist   4 comments

Years ago my favorite blogger, the late, great, Acid Man, wrote a few hundred words on swearing, cussing, and the differences between the two. I am nowhere near as eloquent as he but here goes anyway.

I come from an area in the country known for its blue-collar roots, coal miners, mill workers, and some downright bad ass cusser’s. Western Pennsylvania is arrogant in its pride of self and I find myself guilty of that at times. At age four I was sitting on a street corner in Natrona, Pennsylvania with my grandfather and swearing for nickels and pennies from his buddies. If by chance I yelled the ultimate motherfucker, I got a quarter and some ice cream. So you have to admit I come by swearing honestly.

Of course we were all raised as avid Steeler fans and if you didn’t curse loudly and often enough while watching their games then you were a horse’s ass. Any bastard who called some other son-of-a-bitch a rotten prick was a no good shithead or so I’ve been told. You always had to be ready to voice your support for the Steelers as they kicked the shit out of those pussies from Cleveland and those bastards from Houston (hopefully).

We lived in a diverse area with Irish, Poles, Slavs, Blacks, Italians, and the occasional Hispanic. To be a professional cusser in our neighborhood you had to know cuss words in at least six different languages to be properly understood. We were the UN of fucking, half-assed, dirty rotten language and damn proud of it.

I’ve now lived in New England for more than 37 years and I have to admit that the swearing here is a little more laid back than I’m used to. A little too polite and prissy for a boy from fucking Pennsylvania. I actually look forward to trips back home where I can walk into a bar after 37 years of living in New England and have someone say, “Hey, who let that motherfucker in here and is he buying the next goddamn round?”. It’s just not the same here in New England. Two F-bombs in one sentence seems to be too much for New England sensibilities. Well hell, if they don’t fucking like it they can kiss my fucking ass.

I LOVE CUSSING AND “GO STEELERS”

RIGHT JB?

09-25-2013   Leave a comment

There are a number of people both in my family and not who wonder why I live in Maine.  Coming from the Pittsburgh area is a long, long way from Maine not just in distance but in the style of life. Pittsburgh was and remains a sort of blue collar community proud of it’s roots in the mines and mills that surrounded and supported the area.  Second and third generations continue to be those hardworking, nose-to-the-grindstone individuals who made the area what it is.  They play hard as well and raise their families with their good solid family values.  It sounds great so why leave?

Even as a child I was drawn to places near water.  I spent a lot of my childhood with friends hanging around the Allegheny River.  We swam in it, we rode on things that floated on it, we jumped from bridges that crossed over it and it was all good.  I just loved the three rivers but felt drawn to the ocean for some unknown reason.

Over the years we made quite a few family trips to Erie, Pennsylvania.  I was fascinated by Lake Erie.  It looked like an ocean to me but later after checking a world map I discovered it was only a mud puddle compared to the oceans.  I attended college very near to Lake Erie and made dozens of trips to the lake to party and relax.  It was about then I decided that being landlocked in Pittsburgh held no future for me.

Jump ahead six years and I’m still working in Pittsburgh at a job with a national company.  I was offered a promotion which required a move to Boston and I jumped at it.  The mere thought of living in Massachusetts and being near Cape Cod and the ocean made the decision for me.

Jump ahead ten more years and I found myself newly divorced and looking for a new place to live.  I purchased a small cottage no more than fifty yards from the ocean in Kingston, Massachusetts and I was in heaven.  For three years I was in the water every day except for winter of course and life was good.  I’d swim far out into the ocean at night, float on my back for an hour, staring up at the stars.  It was unbelievable.

Jump ahead three more years, my company declares bankruptcy and I’m again forced to move to find work.  Looking at my choices Maine was my only answer.  I loved the style of life there, the lower population, and the anticipation of no traffic jams.  I also would be within minutes of the ocean.  I made the move, bought a new home and settled in.  I was twenty minutes from the ocean but still was able to go there as often as I needed.  Standing on the shore, listening to the water, had a calming effect on me like nothing else.

Jump ahead nine more years, I’ve met the love of my life, I sold my house, and we settled in to make a life together.  Also, we now lived directly adjacent to the Nonesuch River, ten minutes from the Atlantic Ocean, and fifteen minutes from Sebago Lake and a number of local beaches.  These days I’m able to walk the beach in the summer and winter to relax and take photographs.  I can visit a nearby cove and watch the lobsterman loading up and going to work.  I can then return later to watch them bringing in their catch and mooring their boats.

I think I was meant to be here.  Many years ago my late grandmother suffering from dementia sent me many letters when I lived in Massachusetts that were always addressed to ME instead of MA. I kept telling her I lived in Massachusetts but she continued to send me letters until she passed away addressed to Maine with a Massachusetts Zip code. Maybe she knew something I didn’t.

You hear the term used here often and it still remains true.  Maine is "the way life ought to be."

01-21-2013   Leave a comment

In the past I’ve complained about certain things in New England that bother me and I’m going to do it all over again today. There are times when I’m just plain embarrassed to be living in Maine.  I was born and raised in the mill towns and bars of western Pennsylvania where the people take great pride in themselves in almost everything they do.  They love their Steelers, their Pirates, and their down-to-earth common sense approach to all things.  I’m most proud of a dying “art form” superbly represented by the people there, world class cussing.  It’s learned at an early age but takes many years of practice to really do it justice.

At age three I was sitting on a street corner in Natrona, Pa. with my grandfather and his buddies who paid me nickels and pennies to repeat cuss words.  I don’t specifically remember those days but I’ve been told by numerous people over the years who remember them all too well.  If by chance I uttered the occasional F-Bomb, I’d get a quarter and possibly an ice  cream cone.  So you have to admit I come by cussing honestly, it’s a family tradition.

Off course we all were raised as Steelers fans and if you didn’t curse loudly and often enough while watching their games then you were a goddamn traitor. You’d better be ready to voice your support for those Steelers loud and long as they kicked the shit out of those pussies from Cleveland and those cocksuckers from Texas. It takes a special knack to string numerous cuss words together for maximum effect and we have it.

Western Pennsylvania isn’t known for ethnic diversity but it should be. We lived in menagerie of Irish, Polish, Slovaks, Blacks, Italians, Asians, and the occasional Hispanic.  To be a professional cusser in our neighborhood you had to learn cuss words from at least six languages just to be properly understood.  We were all well on our way to being linguists of a sort in grade-school.  We were the fucking UN of goddamn cusswords and proud of it. 

I’ve lived in Maine now for more than ten years and I have to say that the cussing here is a little more laid back than I’m used to.  A little too polite and prissy for a boy from fucking Pennsylvania.  I actually look forward to trips back home where I can walk into a bar after twenty-five years in New England and have someone say, “Hey who let that motherfucker with the weird accent in here and is he buying the next goddamn round?”.  It’s just not the same here in Maine.  Two F-bombs in one sentence seems to be too much for Maine sensibilities. I think it’s the wrong headed French influences emanating from our neighbor to the north.  Well hell, if they don’t fucking like my style of cussing they can kiss my big fucking ass.

Just saying. 

Posted January 22, 2013 by Every Useless Thing in Humor, Just Saying

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