It has been too long since I've gone cross-state from Ohio to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (with a minor dip into the panhandle of West Virginia). The familiar interstates that winds along the Appalachian hillsides, infiltrated with picturesque forestry, made visual love to the bright blue skies - a true depiction of landscape porn, in my opinion. Aside from the occasional wiff of roadside carcasses and animal dung, my nostrils did not once flare in a way they did on the streets of Brooklyn. Oh do I love fresh air.
Branka and I drove up I-77 to whatever interstate shot us through Fort Pitt Tunnel - a major pleasure of visiting Pittsburgh - and into the city. We made a quick stop in Parkersburg, West Virginia for my overdue trip to Gabriel Brothers, at which I bought a pair of Betsey Johnson stockings for $3.00. Afterward, a Taco Bell billboard in Marietta, Ohio had us frantically scoping out for the fast food chain's closest location. Ten McDonalds and three Arbys later, we found one located just 20 minutes from our destination. Let's just say my stomach later cowered over my entrée choice of a KFC biscuit, a baja chalupa, and a crunchy taco. I'm good with Taco Bell for another seven months.
The Gaga concert was apparently the perfect venue for everyone to let their freak flag fly. Pittsburgh's translation of being a "free bitch" composed of tutus, replicas of Gaga's most infamous outfits and accessories - which after a while was a bore to look at, towering heels adorned by those who couldn't handle them in the first place, and DIY costumes made with supplies from the kids' crafts department of Jo-Ann Fabrics. Granted, a small handful took extreme to a more tasteful level. I took a sneak shot of an attendee who dressed to the nines in her Gaga outfit, even having a countenance eerily similar to hers.
Gaga took the stage after a string of peculiar incidents challenged how much "wtf moments" I could handle in the given hour. Photographer Terry Richardson burst out of the doors of the Consol Stadium with two teenage photographers. Gaga's longtime friend and rock and roll DJ Lady Starlight played Pantera's "Walk" (lol) and "Breaking the Law" by Judas Priest, during which Branka and I couldn't help but burst out in a sing-along. A dance-off erupted between two people located on OPPOSITE SIDES of the gargantuan stadium, and the wave circulated at least six times through the balcony crowd.
I would go into depths about Gaga's set in general, but it's an experience best felt in person. For some, it was a religious experience in the context that Gaga was surprisingly zealous over the subject of Jesus and his unbiased love for the children of the world - regardless of size, shape, ethnicity, sexual preference, etc.
Personally, I was baptized in the house-heavy interludes that made me jive like there was no tomorrow.
Couldn't help myself: obligatory "dat ass" moment.
Sheetz is the oasis of Midwest road travels. Not only do I admire the gas station's clean, cinnamon-scented bathrooms, but I also enjoy the fact that their selection gives me the option of avoiding unsavory bowel movements. After the near-fatal Taco Bell incident, that was the last thing I wanted. I was able to get my daily fix of coconut water here, though Foco brand surpasses in quality and taste over Naked.
Branka's GPS took us through I-70 into Zanesville, in which we were forced to take the back roads to get to Athens. The Sisters of Mercy provided the perfect soundtrack to the silenced countryside.
