I Talk to Strangers

Despite my evolving appreciation for talking to strangers, the quiet rhythm I had been experiencing at the archery range quickly became my ideal baseline experience. It was easy to slide in and out of a row of archers, each just enough aware of the other to be safe and respectful, but mostly concentrating on their own business. The SLAP. SLAP. SLAP. of an afternoon bow & arrow session could be going before you arrive and continuing after you leave. There was something poetic about it.   The absolute worst case scenario was being one of only two archers. Whether rolling up to find a sole companion already in action, or having your peaceful range time disrupted by an arriving stranger - both were helplessly awkward. Either small talk had to commence or chilly silence would prevail, and neither lent itself to the tranquil state I was after.  One afternoon, I was the dreaded second to arrive. I felt particularly self-conscious because I was definitely interrupting something. T...

For most of my life I considered myself an introvert. I'm sure the introvert/extrovert binary was taught to me in some middle school health class where I chose a side and stuck with it. I didn't see myself as an outgoing kid. I definitely had friends to laugh and play with, but because I liked to read and draw and never felt bold enough to play sports or ask a girl to a dance, I assumed that meant I was the quiet kind. It surely had to be one or the other.  Before the introduction of Hogwarts houses, this divide must have been the first pop psychology personality crisis most kids experienced. A conclusion like this could inform a person's thoughts about themselves forever, as it did for me until a few years ago.  Before the pandemic, the office building I worked in had a little convenience store in the downstairs lobby. It was the perfect location for a quick coffee or a mid-day snack. Almost every day, a couple of coworkers and I would take the elevator down there just to ...

I love a local hardware store. This slowly disappearing breed of retail shop should be the heart of any functioning neighborhood. Nothing says "I'm interested in sustaining this" more than a place where regular people can walk in and get the advice and tools they need to maintain and repair their homes. Selection will generally be limited in size compared to a big-box home improvement store, but you won't need most of that extra stuff on an average day anyway. You don't need to buy a twelve-foot-tall Halloween skeleton as often as you need to replace a 1/8" drill bit. Not if you're living right.  I'm at my local shop often enough that the staff have come to know me - at least by sight if not name. Greetings range from friendly nods to boisterous "hellos" depending on who's on duty. Occasionally I'll march in with purpose, a recent hire will try to help me, and one of the familiar women behind the counter will shout "don't b...

See Tales from the Range: Chapter Zero for context.  Among the most common type of person I'd encounter on an average visit to the public archery range were old men. These were hefty white guys with gray beards that I'd put between the ages of 60 and 75, if I had to guess. Most wore nondescript outdoor gear and baseball caps and sipped from thermoses of hot coffee or cocoa as they sat on overturned plastic buckets and calibrated their bow sights.  I'm not casting aspersions. God willing, someday I will be a hefty old white man, and it's likely I'll have a beard and a plain jacket and even a hot cocoa in certain situations. I already own several plastic buckets and can attest to their utility.  But the thing about America in the 21st century is that the more you superficially resemble someone the more likely it is that they'll lob a truly unhinged take your way, expecting you to volley back. The number of times in my life I've been groused to about bike lanes...

For most of my 20's I lived in a quiet, leafy borough a few miles outside of the city. It wasn't a cool part of town. Other young people would always raise an eyebrow and ask "Why, though?" or give me a dry "I don't even know where that is" when I told them where my apartment was. But for me it was perfect. I spent enough time among the hubbub of downtown for school and work that most nights I was happy to bus back to my neighborhood and retire to my boring apartment.  This was part of my transition from suburban kid to city dweller. As a teenager I began to think living in my home town the rest of my life would be bad for me. It was serene and safe, but it also felt too easy. Too designed to appease. I could feel myself becoming softer, literally and figuratively.  My first year of college, I lived in student housing in the North Side of Pittsburgh, which at the time had a very sketchy reputation. The change of pace was exciting during the day, but as n...

When my wife Megan and I got married we decided to go to Orlando for our honeymoon. Not because we are particularly into theme parks, but because it's something neither of us had really done, and we are both notoriously bad at taking vacations. I still use most of my paid time off to run errands and do chores around the house. After getting married, we figured, we should probably celebrate somewhere where they FORCE you to relax and have fun.  One thing Meg kept playfully needling me about was who my favorite Disney Princess was. "I don't really have one" wasn't good enough of an answer.  "Well, then, Ariel I guess. The little mermaid" "Oh really, why?" "I don't know. She's spunky. I always like mermaids in art and we watched that one a lot when I was a kid. Her I guess."  When we finally got to Disney World we realized we had done the bare minimum of preparation for such a trip. Apparently this sort of thing requires a lot of...

One good thing about Pittsburgh is that you're not likely to ever run into celebrities. Yeah, touring artists will come through town for shows or conventions, and one time I saw Joe Manganiello strut down the sidewalk while I was eating at a hot dog restaurant. But it's not like I'm ever going to get on a random elevator and have to make small talk with Anne Hathaway or something.  Why is this good? Because any contact I've ever had with any public or-semi-public figure has been absolutely mortifying.  I'm not a person who worships or even has an outsize respect for celebrity. I'd be way more excited to run into an old friend than a favorite actor. As much as I enjoy talking to friends and regular people, I have nothing of value to say to anyone I recognize solely through their public work- especially if I particularly admire it. I don't take time to formulate thoughtful, concise words of appreciation and I always say something clumsy and inelegant instead. ...

A few years back I got really into archery. Well, back into archery.  I was always enamored with the Robin Hood stories as a kid, and both the Errol Flynn and Kevin Costner movies made it seem like a dashing, dynamic skill that a even a decidedly un-athletic kid could conceivably master. My parents bought me a red fiberglass youth bow one Christmas and for a couple summers I practiced with a cardboard target in the back yard. Eventually a new set of subdivision bylaws were released and explicitly banned this kind of "dangerous" sport from our suburban enclave. A more stubborn version of myself would have asked my parents to push back or at least find a range where I could practice, but I had probably moved on to some other micro-obsession by then anyway.  Then in the mid 2000s, seeking an outdoor activity in my recently adopted city, I bought a handsome wooden recurve bow off the internet. I was making some money at my first real job and had recently seen The Weatherman on ...

For a lot of reasons I never really visit the big corporate coffee shops anymore. Aside from any of the moral or economic concerns that I've developed, Pittsburgh has an embarrassment of riches when it comes to cozy, independent coffee shops. It's easy enough to find them, and they often smell of chai and are full of cool stuff like local art and Lesbian Pride flags. Why would one bother with a chain? That said, I do have fond memories of the interactions with the folks I used to meet at "the big place." One afternoon I popped in to a nearby location, and as is often the case, noticed an older gentleman meeting with a young couple at a table across the room. He was showing them his laptop screen, full of colorful charts and graphs. Nothing unusual about this. One of the primary benefits of a place like this is a neutral ground to meet a realtor, advisor or freelance client. I've done it myself.  Something seemed off here, though, and I wanted someone else to confi...

I had just finished running some errands when my bad snacking habits got the best of me, so I stopped into Sheetz to grab a lil' treat.  On my way towards the back wall of cold drinks I passed a 60-ish man happily operating the self-serve coffee machine. I paused and doubled back. "Hey- is that actually any good?" I asked, genuinely curious.  The guy beamed like I just asked him to show me pictures of his new grandchild. "You know - it REALLY is. It's great!" "Here's the best part" he continued, enthusiastically- "In the old days, I used to pour half from the regular carafe and half from the decaf carafe. now I just push this button the screen that says "Half-Caf" and it dispenses a 50/50 mix right into my cup." "Oh, that is clever" I had to admit.  He held up his now-full YETI tumbler. "AND, if you bring your own cup, it's like a dollar sixty. They want to charge almost three bucks to use one of their cup...

A couple evenings ago I visited my local grocery store to grab a few things for dinner. It's December so naturally Christmas/Holiday music is pervasive.  I don't dislike Christmas music, but of course it's everywhere and impossible to not encounter. My idea of an ideal Holiday playlist at this point would be Jazz instrumentals of old world holiday standards like "Good King Wenceslas" or "The Holly and the Ivy." It's the ear-wormy nature of the novelty Christmas songs from the 1950's and 1960's that really wear me down. So after only a few bars into Burl Ives' "Holly Jolly Christmas" I already had enough. I thought back to Pittsburgh's Patron Saint, Mr. Rogers, who used to say it was better to talk about your feelings than to keep them inside.  The first people in my immediate vicinity were two employees: a young woman and an older gentleman clearing out the self-serve soup station for the day.  "Sorry to interrupt,...