PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

Now that the hot dogs have been devoured, the crisp beer has been quaffed and the sunburn is beginning to wane, let us reflect on that most stupid of Independence Day rituals.

No, I’m not talking about the hot dog eating contest. That’s an American treasure.

I’m talking about backyard fireworks — or front yard, or streetside, or abandoned train tracks. Anywhere, in short, that people other than trained professionals are engaging in the pyrotechnic arts.

The purchase and use of such limp explosives is legal … I think. There’s been a long and scattershot decriminalization of home fireworks over the past few decades, but as far as I can tell, no one is going to lock you up for sending a disappointing trail of chartreuse sparks into a hazy summer sky.

The legality of an activity, however, does not speak to whether or not that endeavor is a good idea. And the use of backyard fireworks is now and always has been phenomenally stupid, even if you manage to do so without misaligning the artillery and burning off your nephew’s eyebrows.

Before anyone makes the following point on Reddit, yes, this is another one of those columns in which I grumble about people having fun. It’s kind of my brand.

The exception this time, however, is that I refuse to believe that the lighting of amateur fireworks is actually fun for anyone. I can go so far as to admit that sparklers are marginally fun — it’s like you have a magic wand, kinda — but setting off single rockets of mediocre fireworks is not actually fun. It’s boring, disappointing and generally unimpressive. If, at some point in the past, you believe that you had fun setting off backyard fireworks, I would ask one question: Were you drunk?

And if the answer is yes: Isn’t everything fun when you’re drunk? We turned bowling into a whole sport based on the concept that doing things when drunk is fun, even if those things are objectively not that fun.

We live in the dazzling shadow of the Zambelli company, the New Castle-based firework dynasty that lights up Downtown’s skies on holidays and five-to-eight Pirates games per year. They put on very good, legitimately entertaining fireworks shows. We’ve seen them; we have more than enough opportunity to see more. And with that embarrassment of pyrotechnic riches, why would we bother with weak, spasmodic replicas fired off the back porch?

It’s like going to see Metallica, then coming home and hitting one off-key chord on an out-of-tune guitar. You’re technically using the same tool, but it ain’t “Enter Sandman.”

More importantly, you’re engaging in an activity that’s dangerous and, to many, harmful. According to the U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission, fireworks were responsible for eight deaths and 9,700 trips to the emergency room in 2023. It’s a pointless reason to go to the hospital, and a downright ridiculous reason to die.

Fireworks are also dangerous to combat veterans, for whom the sudden explosions may trigger post-traumatic stress symptoms. And the July 4th holiday represents a spike in activity at animal shelters, as terrified dogs panic and run, unable to understand the loud noises in the sky.

To recap: We have an activity that is unimpressive and dull that’s harmful to veterans and dogs … and it might kill you.

This is a good idea? This is something that’s worth doing?

Let’s leave this stupid activity in the past. Go to a professional fireworks show if you’d like; there are plenty to choose from. But don’t actively risk injury and make your neighborhood a worse place to be for an activity that isn’t worth doing in the first place.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

The story after this year’s Four Chord Music Festival should’ve been a tale of triumph: A locally made music festival celebrates its 10th anniversary with a weekend full of power chords and fun.

Instead, the story was about venue woes.

For the last few years, the festival was held at Wild Things Park in Washington — through last year’s event, pictured above. This year, though, the festival relocated to the Carrie Blast Furnaces, opting for a visually striking venue much closer to town.

The Furnaces site is no stranger to larger events; the Pittsburgh Irish Festival has happened there several times, it has hosted a number of theatrical events, and it even became a drive-in movie theater during the depths of the pandemic. But none of those events saw thousands of fans standing all day in the hot sun — nor did they see that many people trying to get in and out via the one road leading to the site at the same time.

Getting out was particularly nettlesome; the Post-Gazette reported that rideshare drivers were spreading the word among colleagues to not even try to pick up riders, lest they be stuck for hours.

This problem is by no means limited to the historic site in Swissvale. Star Lake has also seen traffic and transportation complaints throughout the years, including fans missing shows altogether due to an inability to muddle through the traffic and parking.

Two of the region’s prominent mid-sized venues, Mr. Smalls Theatre and the Roxian Theatre, do lie on convenient public-transportation lines — but have no parking to speak of. Stage AE is probably the most convenient, located in an area with an abundance of transit and parking options … but they’re notorious for having admission lines that stretch endlessly, the result of too few entrances and too stringent security policies.

Related: 7 Hot Music Venues Around Pittsburgh

Why the hell can’t we figure out how to get people in and out of concerts?

This is not a problem unique to Pittsburgh; a story in Forbes detailed a worse mess last week at a New Jersey festival. But we may be unique in that we don’t have one major concert venue that isn’t viewed as something of a hassle, from the traffic nightmare of Star Lake to the lines at Stage AE.

Actually, that’s a slight exaggeration; I was chatting with one person over the weekend who raved at the ease of getting in and out of concerts held at Hollywood Casino at the Meadows in Washington. Food, transportation (admittedly via car), parking, on-site hotels — everything, she said, was a breeze.

I concur; I’ve been to shows there, and they’re remarkably low stress. Here’s what that means: It’s possible.

Venues need to prioritize the entire experience of the concertgoer, not just the part where they’re spending money at the concession stand. Larger venues such as Star Lake and, if it wants the trouble, the Carrie Furnaces, can find in-and-out transportation solutions or at least hire more well-trained staff to direct traffic; smaller venues can open more doors, add more security personnel and speed up the process.

The alternative, as many venues are seeing, is people staying home. Several high-profile concert tours have been canceled this year as fans decide high prices and the hassle aren’t worth it. I’ve had tickets in hand for concerts at Star Lake, then decided on the day of the show that I’d rather spend my energy elsewhere.

I also remember another time, when I did make it to the show. I had a good time. And when it ended, rather than try to fight traffic, I took a long nap in my car.

I woke up 90 minutes later. There was still a line of people trying to get out.

There’s no way that’s the best possible solution.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

Baseball is supposed to be an accessible pastime, a way to spend a few summer hours anytime you’re free. It should be affordable and low-stress; while preparing for a football game can seem like getting ready for a camping trip on the tundra, heading out to a ballgame should be a leisurely activity.

And things get a lot less leisurely if you wake up with a gaping hole in your wallet.

Major League Baseball, like most other organizations that sell tickets, has spent the past two decades trying to figure out just how much money they can wring out of every fan. As a result, it’s easy to head to PNC Park (or any big-league yard) and experience sticker shock at the price of tickets, food and drinks.

Fortunately, you’re no fool — and you remember the days when you could roll into a Pirates game for about five bucks.

There’s probably no way to see the Bucs for a buck, as a promotion once offered, but you can still keep things pretty cheap if you follow these simple rules.

Park at the Casino (or Take Public Transportation)

You can park within a stone’s throw of PNC Park for about $15, but you know what’s a better price? Nothing. That’s what you’ll pay if you pull into Rivers Casino, about a 15-minute walk from PNC Park along the North Shore. Aside from a handful of days each year, self parking at the casino is free; you can leave your car, walk through the casino floor and head on to the game. (If you’d like to be a good citizen, you can always grab a drink or put a few dollars in a slot machine to justify the parking spot, but no one will stop you if you don’t.)

You can also use a park and ride location to hop on the T and take it to the North Shore if you’d like to wind up even closer to home plate. There’s also plenty of bus service near PNC Park, so you can get where you’re going for no more than bus fare.

Assuming you want to drive, though, and don’t mind the walk, Rivers Casino offers the cheapest option at a grand total of nothing.

Cost So Far: $0

Sit Upstairs Behind Home Plate for a Great View and a Low Price

Novice baseball fans think that lower seats are better. Unless you’re right on the dugout, though, this generally isn’t true; low seats have poor sightlines and more frequent obstructions, such as railings and the protective netting, interfering with your view of the game.

Most diehards will tell you that the best seats in the house are way upstairs, right behind home plate; there’s a reason that’s where they put the press box and broadcast booths. Opt for Section 316 or one of its neighbors; tickets generally cost $15-20 before fees (they do change with dynamic pricing). Even after fees, you should be able to get into the park, with a golden view, for about $22.

You can also try your luck at last-minute tickets through secondary market sites and apps such as StubHub, GameTime and SeatGeek; an hour before Sunday’s game, there were multiple last-minute seats listed at about $30, even with Paul Skenes on the mound. On a weeknight (or with a weak pitcher), even cheaper options are available.

Even going through the team directly, though, you can get into the building on most nights for $22 or less.

Cost So Far: $22

Opt for a Classic Meal

Bypass the new offerings, branded food stands and flashier choices. If you’re looking to fill up at the ballpark without emptying your pockets, go for the favorites. At the park’s generic concession stands — they’re usually labeled “North Shore Refreshment Company” or “Federal Street Grille” — you can get classic fare for less outrageous prices.

A chicken-fingers-and-fries platter is available for $14.29. A standard hot dog is $5.09; nachos are $9.85. A few stands offer two jumbo hot dogs and pretzel bites in a combo for $19.25 — that one could even feed two modest appetites.

None of these are exactly feast-sized portions, but on a hot day, do you need to fill up that much anyway?

Let’s say you opt for the hot dog and the nachos — a classic gametime marriage — and you’ll eat for a reasonable $14.90.

Cost So Far: $36.90

Stay Sober — or At Least Stick to Domestics

There’s no way around it: Beer prices at the ballpark are ridiculous, with some large cans topping $20, or more than a dollar per ounce. The best option is not imbibing, but suggesting that to some baseball fans is blasphemy.

Get bang for your buck — if not exactly a fancy brew — by going back to those generic concession stands, where 24-ounce cans of Coors Light and Miller Lite go for $14.59. That’s still a pretty penny for a domestic beer, but it’s a much better value than plenty of the alcohol in the park, especially considering you’ll get a can the size of two draft beers.

While we’re on the subject of beverages: If you walk toward PNC Park, you’ll likely pass street vendors offering bottled water for a dollar. Buy one; as long as you leave it sealed, you can carry it into the ballpark with you and hydrate for cheap.

Let’s add a one-dollar water and a massive light beer to our total.

Cost So Far: $52.49

Never Buy Souvenirs or Merch at the Park

There are some great t-shirts, hats and assorted toys available inside PNC Park. They’re all overpriced. If you’re looking to stay frugal, skip the souvenirs; you can get much better prices at local retailers, or look at thrift shops and eBay to find great vintage gear. We all want to come back from the game with a memento, but here, it’s just not worth it.

Cost So Far: $52.49

In the end, we’ve managed to get a ticket to the game, parking, nachos, a hot dog, 24 ounces of beer and a bottle of water for about $52. If you can resist the siren call of food and beer, of course, you’ll drop way back down to just that $22 ticket price.

Is $52 still a good bit of money to spend on an intentionally frugal night out? Yes, sure.

But good luck seeing the Penguins or Steelers for that much. Let’s take what we can get.

PHOTO BY DAVE DICELLO

As you may have noticed: It’s hot aht.

Summer has arrived with fury, as the temperature is reaching digits typically only touched by a Paul Skenes fastball. This week, only a handful of thunderstorms will interrupt the oppressive heat.

And the city of Pittsburgh, by and large, is unprepared.

Last week, KDKA’s Andy Sheehan reported that the city’s 200-plus water fountains are not currently operational — because the city has only been able to employ one plumber, who has not yet had time to turn them on. Two budgeted positions for plumbers remain unfilled.

A full reckoning of the absurdities in that situation would take hours, but here are a few: It’s ridiculous that there is precisely one plumber employed for a major metropolitan area; It is silly that red tape can’t be waived to allow anyone with a suitable wrench to do this job; There’s no excusing the fact that this problem was not anticipated and dealt with before the Real Feel temperature reached triple-digits.

Related: Extreme Heat Poses a High Risk to Children — Here’s How to Keep Them Safe

Meanwhile, the city’s pools are open … mostly. 15 of the 18 city pools opened over the weekend, including the Instagram favorite Bloomfield Pool, which had originally been slated to remain closed this year. The other three, however, are undergoing renovations — including two, Homewood and Sheraden, in underserved neighborhoods.

I am certainly no expert on pool maintenance, but it would’ve been a good idea to fast-track those renovations during the nine months when the pools are closed.

Dealing with summer heat and rising temperatures is a complicated issue, particularly in urban centers. The most important aspect of this challenge lies with landlords and builders, who have an ongoing and as-yet unmet moral obligation to provide air conditioning as an essential service. Heat is every bit as deadly as cold, yet we require homes to be heated but not cooled. If every home had effective cooling, the need for city cooling centers would be far less urgent.

By the way, that’s six cooling centers for 90 neighborhoods, but who’s counting.

All of this reminds me of a conversation I had with a city employee about another issue. (You’ll forgive me for being a bit vague; I don’t want to call anyone out by name, as it was an entirely cordial conversation.) I had written a column about an unrelated issue, and the city employee in charge of that matter had reached out to talk. We discussed ongoing efforts and plans, attempts to consolidate resources and the bureaucratic challenges inherent in any large city government.

Then I asked when Pittsburghers could expect the situation to actually improve.

They had no idea. It seemed they hadn’t even considered the question.

Governance on any scale is complex, and red tape is often burdensome. But, in Pittsburgh, there seems to be an unwillingness or an inability to pull the necessary strings to solve — or even prioritize — immediate problems. It should not be difficult to shuffle money and bypass bureaucracy to turn on water fountains on a hot day. It should not be impossible to streamline renovation projects so that kids in the city’s hottest neighborhoods can go to the pool.

On these and hundreds of other matters, the city seems paralyzed by its own rules and regulations.

It’s not an uncommon problem in local government. But it can be solved — the city just needs to decide to change business as usual.

Until then, I guess we’ll all stay sweaty.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

Years ago, I was taking part in a charity event on the North Shore — an easy 5K fundraising walk.

As we passed through the North Shore, an acquaintance at the organization pointed out a group of people who appeared to be living under a bridge. This person scoffed. “Why don’t they just get rid of them,” they asked.

I quickly changed the subject. Perhaps I missed an opportunity for a more meaningful dialogue, but I didn’t want to start an argument during a charity walk.

Had I responded, I might’ve asked: “What exactly do you mean?” I’ll give this person the benefit of the doubt and assume they understand that folks living under bridges likely do not have anywhere else to go. So, then: What do we mean when we demand that homeless encampments and tents should be dealt with?

Did my acquaintance mean that they should be arrested? If that’s the case, we become a society where merely not having money becomes a crime — a cruel and untenable policy. And it’s worth noting that housing an individual in jail is more expensive than housing them in … a house. Arresting people for being without a home, in addition to its cruelty, is financially foolish.

Did this person perhaps mean that unhoused individuals should be rounded up and taken somewhere else? It’s difficult to fathom where. Should they merely be dropped off outside the city limits? I’d imagine the neighboring municipality would have some questions. Should they be taken over the state line? Dumped in the river?

How, then, did this person imagine we can “just get rid of them,” exactly?

Last week, County Executive Sara Innamorato detailed the new 500 in 500 initiative, which aims to find 500 affordable housing units in the next 500 days. While homelessness is only marginally up in Allegheny County — a bit more than 1,000 individuals are currently homeless versus 900 or so last year, according to the Post-Gazette — the issue has become more visible in Downtown streets and a frequent subject of debate in both traditional and social media.

The 500 in 500 program would meaningfully reduce those numbers and hopefully provide a bridge to financial stability for people who have fallen on hard times. As the Post-Gazette also noted, the vast majority — 75 percent — of shelter beds in Allegheny County are being used by “low needs” individuals, those who are not chronically homeless or suffering from severe mental-health or addiction problems. These individuals are merely out of options and struggling financially; nearly half, in fact, have some source of income.

This is an important point, because it removes easy narratives about unhoused individuals. While some may remain on the streets for years, many have simply found themselves in difficult circumstances and struggling to make ends meet. That is not a crime and should not be treated as such.

What also struck me about the 500 in 500 program is its complexity. The intricate network of agencies, nonprofits and social service organizations required to maintain even a small number of beds or affordable housing units is vast and difficult to navigate. There are no quick fixes or sweeping changes possible; there is only incremental and difficult progress. (This was quickly demonstrated when immediate objections arose to some details of the 500 in 500 plan, though those complaints seem to have concerned communication breakdowns more than anything else.)

It takes real work and ample time to address housing issues, and the 500 in 500 initiative is one of the most clear proposals in recent memory. While hurdles will undoubtedly arise, it’s the kind of targeted effort that should provide a rallying point for a difficult issue.

And, most importantly: It’s an actual effort. Complaints like the one my acquaintance made long ago, frequently parroted by snarky social-media commenters (and certain radio hosts), turn a complicated issue into a tired complaint. Yes, we all know there are more tents visible Downtown than there once were. But you know what’s more useful than griping? Action. There are numerous organizations, from rescue missions to county-run programs, that work every day to address these problems.

Perhaps those unhappy with the current state of affairs could put their time, or even (perish the thought) their money, where their mouths so frequently are.

STREET CORN AT KENNYWOOD’S BITES & PINTS | PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

Wisely taking a page from the globally renowned Food & Wine Festival at Disney World’s EPCOT Center, Kennywood has some food to offer you.

In the third year of the annual Bites & Pints festival, which runs every Friday-Sunday in June, the park has beefed up the serving size — they call ’em bites, but they’re more like dishes — and spread the love across eight country-themed stations. Is it enough to forego traditional Kennywood treats such as Potato Patch fries or a tempting funnel cake?

Your mileage may vary on that one. For many people, the idea of going to Kennywood without lathering cheese and gravy over a helping of fries is sacrilege. We’ll say this, though: Recent trips to the Potato Patch have indicated that serving sizes of the starch have dipped, while the Bites & Pints offerings are more hardy than in years past.

You can buy the items a la carte or opt for an 8- or 12-bite pass starting at $54.99. (Buying online nets you a significant discount, and annual passholders can get a supersized 15-bite pass.) There are many more treats in store than you’ll be able to afford — or, likely, consume — so here’s a pick for each country represented.

Related: Kennywood Caters to Thrill-Seeking Foodies with New Rides and Restaurants

Italy — Panini Alla Mortadella

Start strong with half a sandwich on delicious focaccia. The pistachio pesto is pleasantly tangy. You can pair your sandwich with a pair of Italian beers here, but be forewarned: You get half as much beer with your bite card as you do buying a la carte.

Greece — Gyro

Who doesn’t love a good gyro? This version is overflowing with lettuce and tomato, and it’s a full sandwich. It makes for a fine main course, particularly if you only have the 8-bite card (or are going a la carte) and want to get more bang for your buck.

Mexico — Elote

One of the hits of the festival (expect to wait in line), this generous helping of street corn delivers a full cob’s worth topped with a perfect lime creme sauce and cojita cheese. It’ll take you back to backyard-grilled corn on the cob but with infinitely more flavor.

Ireland — Corned Beef Slider

“Slider” is the wrong word. This is a full half-sandwich on rye, with a distinctly homemade taste — only you won’t be likely to find corned beef this good in the deli case, and the Guinness reduction pulls it all together. Speaking of Guinness, don’t be afraid of the dark stuff; even on a hot day, it refreshes.

Jamaica — Doubles

This remarkably fresh-tasting creation brings a chickpea curry together with mango chutney and a coriander cucumber dressing. It’s one of the best options for vegetarians or vegans looking for a solid main course. Wing fans will likely be pleased with the generous helping of jerk chicken available here.

THE DOUBLES: BARRA, CHICKPEA CURRY, MANGO CHUTNEY AND CORIANDER CUCUMBER DRESSING | PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

Brazil — Picanha Steak

The delicious steak is a beautiful cut of meat, freshly carved when you order. You’re also getting serious value with this order, as it’s one of the rare Bites & Pints options that comes with a side in the form of a flavorful artichoke and white-bean salad. If you are going a la carte, it’s a must for a relatively cheap $7.99.

South Korea — Yaki Mandu

These tender pork dumplings (a generous portion) arrive swimming in chili oil to make a satisfying dish. You could make a great meal at South Korea, with chicken bao and Samgyupsal (pork belly) also available — and crisp, refreshing Asahi Extra Dry beer to wash it down.

Poland — Nalesniki

My personal favorite of every dish I tried, this delectable dessert stuffs melt-in-your-mouth pancakes with sweet cheese then buries them beneath whipped cream and raspberries. Along with the elote, it’s an absolute must — whatever you choose for the rest of your Bites & Pints journey, cap off the meal with Nalesniki.

PHOTO COURTESY PITTSBURGH PIRATES

The Pittsburgh Pirates last week announced the latest round of inductees into their fledgling Hall of Fame. On Aug. 24, an on-field ceremony will welcome three new members into the two-year-old Hall: ’70s favorite Manny Sanguillen, lauded manager Jim Leyland … and Barry Bonds.

Unsurprisingly, it’s that last name that has received some attention. It always has.

I’ve seen passionate defense of Bonds’ induction and equally vociferous outrage. The slugger’s supporters point to his supreme ability as a hitter and his role as the center of a fondly remembered Pirates offense; his detractors point not only to the numerous drug scandals that plagued his career but also to his oft-reported bad attitude and frequent clashes with Leyland and members of the media.

So: Should Barry Bonds be in the Pittsburgh Pirates Hall of Fame?

Yeah, sure.

It’s hard to muster much more than a shrug at this honor, as an individual team’s Hall of Fame is not exactly the Nobel Prize (or enshrinement in Cooperstown, for that matter). If the Pittsburgh Pirates continue to induct a few members every year, this Hall is going to eventually become an exhaustive catalog of every somewhat memorable player who picked up a bat near the confluence. In the fullness of time, this will be seen less as an elite-level honor and more as a de rigueur acknowledgment.

The Pirates’ nascent honor also has once again failed to induct more Pittsburgh-area Negro League players, after declaring it would do so regularly, something I objected to last year and probably will complain about again in the future.

Since the Pirates’ Hall of Fame’s only entry requirements are “former players and managers who made a significant impact on the franchise and community for which they represented” — a perfectly vague and fungible rubric — then sure, Bonds qualifies.

That’s not, however, why I’m in favor of this induction. I might still be opposed to it, if only because I don’t like Bonds and don’t like thinking about him. But, on consideration, I do want his name on that list — because it’s the only Hall of Fame he deserves.

The Barry Bonds who played with the Pittsburgh Pirates predates the Bonds who launched a lonely, 10-year campaign to diminish the rest of the league in the name of his own personal glorification. Yes, Bonds was already a contentious, often cantankerous presence when he suited up for the Pirates. But, while he certainly may have dabbled, he was still years away from a deliberate effort to modify his physiology in order to get his name into the record books as frequently as possible.

There are those who say that Bonds deserves no special condemnation in an era when most sluggers enhanced themselves via one substance or another. There are even those who scoff at the notion that cheating is worth quibbling over in a sport as corporately controlled and vainglorious as baseball.

While I may not agree with those arguments, I understand them. But neither forgives Bonds. Even if you’re inclined to hand-wave his substance use, that leaves the reality that he was a poor teammate who did nothing for his squad. The San Francisco Giants won no championships and only one pennant during Bonds’ 14 seasons with the club — a testament to how much payroll and attention he sucked up without rallying the players around him.

While the Bonds of the Pirates did not lead his team to a championship either, they came closer than they had in more than a decade (and closer than they’ve been since). Bonds played amid a group of great players, at least some of whom — like his fellow “Killer B,” Bobby Bonilla — actually seemed to like him.

That Bonds, theoretically unenhanced and at least nominally in pursuit of team achievement, is a player worthy of remembering.

The latter one is better forgotten. And what an appropriate legacy it will be if Barry Bonds’ name appears in the Pirates’ Hall of Fame — but never in baseball’s.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

One of the regular walking routes for Peanut, our agreeable chihuahua mix, includes strolls through a pair of small cemeteries.

Both are relatively humble graveyards, the type of neighborhood burial places that pop up throughout Pittsburgh’s older neighborhoods. To Peanut, though, they’re massive — sprawling networks of clear, paved pathways.

I make a point of forbidding Peanut to sniff, climb or (ahem) defile any headstones or actual grave sites. I’ve explained to him, repeatedly, that doing so is impolite, and he should limit his exploration and (ahem) deposits to neutral grassy areas far from any proper plots.

Related: Pittsburgh Curiosities: Great White Shark Monument

He usually listens to these explanations attentively, then goes on his way. I’m not sure they’re getting through, but he is yet to commit any offenses, so I assume he gets the gist.

Cemeteries make for excellent dog-walking locations. The winding paths add considerable distance without traveling farther from home; the relative (or complete, in some cases) lack of cars puts dogs and owners at ease. Most are cleaned at least semi-regularly, freeing them of the litter and dangerous broken glass that can pile up on many Pittsburgh streets. They’re often superior even to hiking trails, where dirt or gravel paths can cause discomfort on some dogs’ paws and cyclists whiz by at pooch-frightening speed.

That’s why I was surprised and a bit dismayed to hear that some larger area cemeteries enforce a no-dogs policy. A colleague told me he had actually been ejected from one such graveyard for having a dog.

The next time I walked Peanut among the tombstones, I paused to check the signs at our nearby cemeteries. One said nothing about dogs, but the other did have a “no pets allowed” placard. At this one, at least, it doesn’t seem to be enforced; we’ve walked by maintenance folks and other staff dozens of times without comment (although I am sure to prominently wave Peanut’s waste bag, as if to display that we are responsible visitors).

Indeed, most cemeteries are at least nominally off-limits to dogs. And, insomuch as most are private property, it is within their purview to set their own rules.

This rule, however, is a bad one.

If the aim is to keep waste away from gravesites, that’s a fool’s errand. I’d like to point out that graveyards are frequently home to deer and geese, two species that generate far more waste than dogs — and, unlike dogs, no one is tailing deer or geese to clean up after them. If a dog owner were spotted leaving the evidence, I’d support asking them to clean up or leave, but if the contention is that cemeteries are sacred spaces unworthy of being exposed to animal leavings, that’s an impossible goal.

If the spirit of the rule is rather to keep cemeteries as places of peaceful reflection and not exercise spots for canines, that’s a misuse of land. Look at a map of a neighborhood; if it has even a decent-sized graveyard, it’s probably the biggest footprint for several blocks. Pretending that an outdoor, well-maintained area shouldn’t be incorporated into its neighborhood is wasteful. Cemeteries shouldn’t sit empty most of the time; they should be used as de facto parks, as long as visitors are respectful and clean.

I understand that it’s easier to make all-encompassing rules than to deal with nuances and complications, but we can’t give acres of local real estate over to be nothing but a final resting place. Cemeteries, at least in residential areas, need to be for both the living and the dead — and their animal companions.

I, for one, wouldn’t want to be buried in a no-dogs-allowed cemetery. I don’t want to be anywhere where dogs aren’t allowed, regardless of whether or not I happen to be dead. In fact, I may amend my will to add a dog bowl to any headstone designs.

If my gravesite happens to catch some stray waste from a passing pooch, it’ll be a small price to pay for posthumous canine companionship — and the assurance that I’m offering a living dog and owner safe space to stroll.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

The other day, I was having breakfast outside of Ka-Fair Coffee in Morningside, and I was talking to a stranger about their corgi.

The corgi was happily in the middle of a walk, smiling with a lolling tongue as I chatted with its owner about how dogs respond to hot days. I was happily in the middle of the Ka-Fair Toast plate — one piece of bread layered in grilled chicken and tangy sauce like an open-faced panini, the other coated in butter and jam, served with a side salad — and pleased to be on a corner in an active neighborhood, chatting with whoever cared to stop.

I didn’t even mind the one guy who surveyed my plate and joked, “Looks like someone’s hungry!” That’s a statement without a ready response; in a worse mood, I might’ve bristled at it. But it was too nice of a day — and too positive an environment.

Ka-Fair is a lovely place, and Morningside is a lovely neighborhood. But as I watched the corgi continue on its journey, I thought about how this chance meeting was made possible by layout.

The outdoor seating at Ka-Fair isn’t in a courtyard to the side of the business or in a fenced-off area behind it, the way many beer gardens are arranged. (Nor does it feature those odd, vinyl mini-tents that popped up during the pandemic and are yet to vanish fully.) The seating is simply on the street — an active, neighborhood street — with just enough room for a few people to dine while others stroll by.

Even more important, here, is the fact that this coffee shop is nestled within a mostly residential neighborhood. Contrary to some opinions, this is very good for urban neighborhoods; while some grumble at any business existing within sight of their front door, the non-hermited among us know that it’s nice to have places to go very close to where we live.

In some Pittsburgh neighborhoods, you’ll still find corner bars or neighborhood convenience stores. That’s a good thing — and it should become easier, as the city works to modernize and update often antiquated zoning rules.

But there’s also a personal element needed to develop these sorts of neighborhoods and the spontaneous interactions they can facilitate: We need to start hanging out in front of our houses.

I’m always confused when I see people who treat their backyard as the sole outdoor space of their home, with the front of the house seemingly built for display only. I have a small backyard, and I like it; my tiny dog, Peanut, likes it quite a bit. But I’m much more fond of the small front porch on my house, which allows me to be outside while feeling connected to the street at large. I understand the desire for space; I don’t understand the desire to hide behind one’s house, never saying hello to the neighbors or greeting the mail carrier.

I’m reminded of a piece that Jennie Dorris and Patrick Doyle wrote for Pittsburgh Magazine a decade ago. Having just relocated to Pittsburgh for Boston, they were surprised to find that when they sat on their front porch, neighbors stopped by to chat; they made connections simply by existing in front of their house. Pittsburgh’s dense urban layout should make for friendly neighbors; that can only happen if we’re not hiding from them.

If this is the city of “Won’t You Be My Neighbor,” we should be present and neighborly whenever the mood — and, admittedly, the weather — allows. These are the neighborhoods we should create: interactive, lively and varied.

If you do it right, you can eat toast while meeting a corgi. That’s not likely to happen in the backyard.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

It is, frankly, a little weird how many people will show up to watch the NFL draft.

Granted, we’re a football-obsessed culture; the NFL remains the most popular sports league in the nation, and fans are starved for content between the Super Bowl and the opening of training camp (another thing that attracts far more fans than it has any right to). Still, though, try explaining the concept to someone who doesn’t know about America’s love of the gridiron: tens of thousands of people turn up and stand outside to watch various officials announce the names of players who may or may not matter at some point in the future.

That’s weird.

But it’s undoubtedly popular. The draft began as a meeting of owners; even as it morphed into a televised event, it was held at a variety of New York venues with little public fanfare for much of the 20th century. Then, in 2015, the league began turning the draft into a road show, allowing host cities to erect great big soundstages where young players can wave appreciatively to the crowd and hoist jerseys.

Related: Steelers Should Get What They Need, But Not Get Greedy

Detroit just hosted its first draft, welcoming a staggering 775,000-plus fans over the course of the weekend. Tiny Green Bay — a town that, to my knowledge, is a football stadium and a handful of football-adjacent revenue sources — will host next year.

Green Bay? Detroit? Even Cleveland, who hosted in 2021? C’mon, yinz guys: We can do that.

Rumblings have begun that Pittsburgh is due a draft, reflecting our status as a positively pigskin-mad metro area (that, due to the icky nature of our early Februarys, is unlikely to ever host a Super Bowl).

There’s an issue, though: We don’t have anywhere to put hundreds of thousands of people. As you may have noticed, we’re a fairly compact city; we get a lot of use out of relatively little space. At least in the immediate Downtown area, I can’t think of a patch of land big enough to host a draft the way that Detroit did.

We’ll have to get creative. Here are five pitches that absolutely would work (albeit at astronomical expense).

Sandcastle

First, you drain the wave pool — it’s 20,000 square feet, so that’s at least 20,000 people, by my very rough estimate of the general size of a human being. If you fill in the rest of the park with people, I’m sure you can get some handsome numbers. Here’s the kicker, though: You have all the potential draft picks float around the lazy river until they get called. The relaxing float will help calm their nerves!

Brunot Island

The forgotten island in the Ohio may be home to a power plant, but we can put a power plant any old place. Let’s turn the whole thing into a riverbound selection center. After the draft, we can convert it into an amphitheater so we don’t have to drive out to Burgettstown anymore! Admittedly, the fact that there are no roads to Brunot Island will make it a bit tricky, but I have that figured out, too: Several thousand new water taxis.

The Empty Footprint of Century III Mall

It’s not like we have any better ideas for it.

Outside the Giant Eagle at Parkway Center

Nowhere — and I mean nowhere — in town is this close to Downtown with this much parking and a dedicated highway exit. Will it disrupt shopping habits for those in the immediate area? Yes — but think of how many cheese trays and cases of beer they’ll sell to the fans!

The Entirety of Downtown Pittsburgh

Okay, bear with me. First, we convert one of the Mount Washington overlooks into the draft stage — but we make it MUCH bigger. (Yes, this will require billions of dollars of near-impossible engineering, but we’re dreaming big, here.) We replace the weird billboard with a jumbotron. Then, we distribute the fans throughout the city. Thousands in Point State Park, more on every conceivable rooftop — we close down the bridges spanning the Mon and put fans there. Everyone gazes up at the giant draft on the mountain. Would this make the whole thing feel even more like the beginning of “The Hunger Games” than it already does? Yes. But think of the television ratings!

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

The first thing that struck me at Death Comes Lifting was the natural sense of community.

Okay, that’s not true: The first thing that struck me was the kettlebells shaped like zombie heads. Soon after that, though: The community.

Death Comes Lifting, a fitness center in Allentown, is dubbed “Fitness For the Misfits.” Posters depicting weightlifting-themed tarot cards and fitness-focused horror parodies — “Evil Shred,” “The Flexorcist” — adorn the walls. A soundtrack of metal and goth rock fills the air; in a small lounge, VHS copies of iconic slashers play while you unwind.

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

Death Comes Lifting, which opened its physical location on East Warrington Avenue back in February, is the creation of master yoga instructor and all-around cool guy Zak Bellante. I popped in for the grand opening, then returned for a group training course and a bright-and-early Monday yoga class (called “Anti-Rigor Mortis Yoga Flow,” naturally). Zak is a natural and empathetic teacher, so even my deep-set yoga aversion was no match for his positivity.

On the surface, Death Comes Lifting demonstrates that gyms and fitness centers greatly benefit from an identity — not merely a theme, but a sense of personality. I’m a former member of several gym chains where the closest thing to character or community was a color scheme. (I joined the purple one, but then got sick of them and joined the blue one.)

There’s something to be said for the ample space and cheap admission to places like these; any fitness is better than none. But I could easily go to one of those warehouse-sized gyms every day and not say a word to another person, drifting in and out like a cardio-minded ghost.

PHOTO BY KRISTY GRAVER

At Death Comes Lifting, however, the spooky spirit is infectious — and just spirited (forgive the pun) enough to foster friendly communication and encouragement with those around you. It’s a relatively small space, so you can’t hop onto a machine and disappear; you’re going to be sharing real estate, and hopefully support, with whoever else is there for a workout.

From a business perspective, clever and playful t-shirts and stickers, memorable music and neighborhood tie-in events are wise ways to build a following. But those same efforts are ways to build a community, to make a gym more than just a place to lift weights. If you create a sense of belonging, people are much more likely to stick around and make something part of their lives.

Gyms, it turns out, should have personalities, not just branding and the occasional pizza night. And it goes beyond just gyms; there are a million poorly conceived shops, restaurants, bars and coffee houses around, hoping that location and convenience will overcome a lack of creativity. While some will scoff at theming such as this — what, are you some kinda weirdo who doesn’t want to listen to Slayer while you stretch? — I suspect that Death Comes Lifting will inspire a much more dedicated clientele than a hundred squeaky-clean fitness centers.

I’m even thinking of going back for more yoga, despite the fact that my joints have absolutely no interest in it. Seriously — a gym teacher once told me I was the most inflexible person in the history of the class. I was kind of impressed. Maybe if I spend some more time at Death Comes Lifting, I can stretch my way from complete rigidity to mere clumsiness.

PHOTO BY MURPHY LEE MOSCHETTA

Before my first night working as a ring announcer for Enjoy Wrestling, I had a recurring nightmare. In the dream, Meg Fair, the longtime host of Enjoy’s shows, introduced me to the crowd — and they reacted with indifference. I tried to get in the ring only for my feet to fail me. The canvas felt like a trampoline. I couldn’t stand up.

It was odd to realize that the dream spoke to a kind of stage fright; I’ve been in front of crowds from the receptive to the aggressive since I was 13. But here’s the thing: I really love pro wrestling. And becoming a ring announcer, thus becoming a tiny part of pro-wrestling shows, has been a very big deal to me.

After encouragement from a pair of talented Pittsburgh-based veteran wrestlers — grappling lawyer “The Gavel” David Lawless, Esq., and former Enjoy Wrestling champ MV Young, two veterans and top-tier examples of how talented and professional Pittsburgh’s crop of wrestlers can be — I first announced a show at 880 Wrestling in New Kensington on Thanksgiving Eve 2022. 880 Wrestling, run by Young and featuring stand-outs from Pittsburgh and beyond as well as his own trainees, hosts shows in a converted storefront space on Fifth Avenue in the heart of New Ken; they draw a diehard crew of devoted fans, with matches frequently spilling into the crowd and even onto the street.

Before that night, I felt nerves at a level I hadn’t experienced in years. Succeeding (debatably) at stand-up comedy, one of my other public ventures, is arguably more difficult than introducing wrestlers and announcing the results of matches. But I’m used to comedy. Everything else I do, I’m used to. Wrestling, on the other hand, is where I’ve always been simply a fan; I’ve watched for more than 30 years and never crossed the threshold that separates the customers and the competitors.

I lost my voice that night, straining so hard that I was barely able to vocalize the final results. I also forgot to ring the bell on more than one occasion. (They have since given that job to the production team — a wise move.) But I also figured out what the ring announcer is supposed to be. I wasn’t actually crossing a threshold, even if I was backstage; my new job was just to be the best fan in the building. Before each match, I got to go into the ring and say, in essence, “Hey, guess what’s going to happen next? Let me tell you about these wrestlers that are coming out. They’re great. And they’re about to tear the roof off the place.”

There’s a great video of WWE’s ring announcer, Samantha Irvin, reacting to the main event of Wrestlemania 40. At the end of that two-night affair, held two weeks ago at Philadelphia’s Lincoln Financial Field, beloved second-generation wrestler Cody Rhodes finally defeated the seemingly invincible Roman Reigns, who had held the championship for more than three years. Overcome with happiness for her friend and colleague, who had just been anointed the standard-bearer for pro wrestling, Irvin became choked up, struggling to complete the announcement through tears.

Irvin’s an excellent ring announcer, because she understands what I realized that first night: The job is simply to be the best fan.

I also announced in Philadelphia that weekend. Wrestlemania week has become something of an informal convention for wrestlers and fans; while the week includes a handful of big-ticket WWE events, each year’s Wrestlemania week features dozens of independent shows showcasing hundreds of wrestlers. This year, 880 Wrestling hosted an afternoon show at a social hall in downtown Philadelphia.

The show was such a whirlwind that I barely had the chance to pause and consider the circumstances: For the first 37 years of my life, I had been a wrestling fan, never having set foot in the ring. Now, suddenly, it was Wrestlemania week, and I was introducing wrestlers to a crowd of fans from around the world.

On the one hand, I can’t believe it. On the other, I can: Because, after 37 years, I was very prepared to be the best fan.

As for that recurring nightmare: When I made my debut with Enjoy Wrestling, the fans were appreciative and welcoming. And I was able to stand upright in the ring.

I did, however, trip while walking up the ring steps. The fans kept cheering anyway.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

Around this time each year, I lace up a pair of overworn running shoes and get back outside. Over the course of a few early spring runs, I’ll usually visit the Riverfront Trail in the South Side, the winding paths in Frick and the looping path around Pittsburgh Magazine’s offices on Washington’s Landing.

And at some point, I’ll think about “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.”

The Netflix comedy begins with a group of women freed from an underground bunker, in which they have been imprisoned and convinced the rest of the world is a wasteland. (It’s a dark subject matter, but it works.) When the title character climbs above ground and peers at the intact world around her, she exclaims: “It’s here! It’s all still here!”

Through the colder months, it’s easy to forget how many opportunities we have to walk, run or bike around the city. There are those of us who don’t even blink in the face of cold-weather cardio — I live in constant fear of digging my fiancée out of a snowbank because she insisted on another 10 frosty miles — but for most of us, we let our physical goals take a back seat when the temperature dips.

That’s natural, and it’s always possible to get back in shape when the world thaws. But I get another reminder whenever I take that first spring run: Exercise is not merely a physical necessity, it’s a mental one.

I’m never more calm and clear-headed than I am after a decent run. Friends have commented on the marked change, able to determine that I’ve been running just by the shift in my mood. And while some mental and physiological reactions vary from person to person — the runner’s high is an elusive beast — it is a matter of fact that physical activity improves mental health, often with reductions in anxiety and depression, improved cognitive function and better sleep.

The inverse is also true. Those who don’t get regular physical activity are more likely to suffer from anxiety and depression — and can struggle to regulate their emotions.

There’s a meme about this: “taking a stupid walk for my stupid mental health.” As anyone who has tried it can tell you, though, it works. There is rarely a time when the correct course of action is to remain sedentary; if you think you’re in a bad mood and the recipe is to stay on the couch all day, you’re wrong (barring illness — or a really good streaming binge). There is no mood so foul that it will not be improved by a bit of movement.

And a bit is often all it takes. There’s no barrier to entry, here; it’s not as though these benefits are only conferred on those who can run three miles. Just a little bit of movement can have positive effects.

In Pittsburgh, there are innumerable good places to get that short walk — riverfront trails, sprawling parks and fascinating neighborhood streets. I find joy too in discovering hidden city steps, long-forgotten ballfields and fascinating corners within a few blocks of my home. No matter how long the winter has been, it’s all still here — and we’ll all feel better if we go find it.

CHUCK COOPER | PHOTO COURTESY DUQUESNE UNIVERSITY ATHLETICS

For a week, the eyes of the city were fixed on the Duquesne Dukes — for the first time in a while.

When the men’s basketball team suited up for their opening-round contest with Brigham Young last Thursday, it was the first March Madness appearance for the Dukes since 1977. When they won that game, it was Duquesne’s first tournament victory since 1969. The women’s team has a similarly sparse postseason resume, with only one appearance logged since their 1974 founding.

The Dukes, for the most part, have been the afterthought of an afterthought over the past half-century — at least in the minds of Pittsburgh sports fans, who have little time for basketball. Pittsburgh, we are told, is not a basketball town; that’s one of those truisms that holds on more strongly because people keep repeating it rather than for any other reason, but there are certainly a great number of sports diehards around here with little interest in hardwood.

The fish, it seems, did not actually save Pittsburgh.

In any case, when hoops enter the Pittsburgh mindset, it’s usually thanks to the University of Pittsburgh, where both the men’s and women’s teams have extensive tournament histories.

Yet the most important moment in local basketball history involves the Dukes, not the Panthers.

That would be the day in the late 1940s when Chuck Cooper, an All-American with Duquesne, suited up for a road game below the Mason-Dixon line — the first time in history that a Black player had played in a college game in the South. This came after the University of Tennessee traveled to Pittsburgh then refused to compete against a team with Cooper on the roster.

And it came before Cooper became the first Black player drafted by the National Basketball Association, breaking the game’s color line just three years after Jackie Robinson did the same in baseball.

Related: New Line of Converse Sneakers Honors Chuck Cooper’s Legacy

While Cooper was not the first African American to play in the league — he opted instead for a stint with the Harlem Globetrotters before eventually joining the Celtics — his fearless journey to play the game in what was certainly a hostile environment opened the door for Black players to compete at the game’s highest level.

Cooper has been rightly, if belatedly, honored in recent years, with an induction into the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in 2019 — a year before Duquesne’s home court was renovated and renamed the UPMC Cooper Fieldhouse.

As our brief spell of Dukes Fever clears up, however, we risk once again forgetting or underappreciating Cooper’s place in the Pittsburgh sports firmament. He’s someone who should be mentioned alongside Roberto Clemente, the Steel Curtain and Josh Gibson — a figure as worthy of honor as any who has competed in this part of the world.

The Hall of Fame was overdue; the renaming of the fieldhouse was obvious. What should happen, whenever possible, is keeping Cooper front of mind; his name should be on t-shirts in the Strip District and placards throughout his former stomping grounds.

Pittsburgh may not be a basketball town (depending on who you ask), but it’s a town that loves its history — and Cooper is our history.

PHOTO COURTESY PITTSBURGH PENGUINS

A sensational crime struck Pittsburgh last week, as precious cargo was pilfered en route to the Steel City. Somewhere in California, thousands of tiny, be-mulleted heads bobbed in concern as their journey was diverted to an unknown destination.

The news of the Great Jagr Bobblehead Caper, while absolutely a serious case of cargo theft, is also, unquestionably, hilarious. Just consider the fate of the memorabilia thieves: Either they thought they were getting objects of actual value and instead ended up with 18,000 tiny Czechs intended for a PPG Paints Arena giveaway, or they actually intended to steal the Lilliputian wingers and are now realizing they have absolutely no way to profit off of them.

Either option is tremendously silly.

That is, of course, if we take the story as presented. Perhaps this was an ill-fated or ill-advised act of traditional cargo thievery, yes. Or perhaps it’s part of a greater mystery — a tale of jealousy and Zambonis, a story of goals and greed.

Perhaps another party is to blame.

Let us all grow mustaches so that we may twirl them while considering the suspects.

Mario Lemieux. Sure, “Le Magnifique” has the points and the prestige; while the Penguins’ all-time hero is in the conversation for GOAT status, Jaromir Jagr is not. But Jagr has one thing Mario doesn’t: Meme status. Jagr is endlessly entertaining, a charismatic partier more at home on East Carson Street than in a fancy restaurant. Perhaps, after the outpouring of love directed at his old teammate, Mario finally decided to do something a little zany. Maybe Mario wanted to be the devilish one for a change. His wine cellar can probably hold 18,000 bottles, so it can certainly fit 18,000 bobbleheads.

Evgeni Malkin. The Jagr to Sid’s Mario, Malkin knows a thing or two about being one of the best players in the world yet still No. 2 on his own team. Wouldn’t that breed kinship with his heavily accented forebearer? Hardly. Every day, Malkin has to lurch in the shadow of the rapidly aging Kid; now he has to deal with his ’90s self hanging around all the time? Geno may be the quiet type, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of a big heist. He could’ve even called in his old Olympic teammate Alexander Ovechkin for backup! It’s a global incident (almost exclusively involving players from the same general part of the globe)!

Jake Guentzel. Oh, I suppose it’s merely a coincidence that the bobbleheads disappeared mere days after Guentzel was traded? The former Penguin may have the clearest motive of all: Money. No longer able to rely on his sugary side hustle slingin’ milkshakes, Guentzel decided to make up the lost earnings by selling collectibles on the black market. And if the shipment of his stuff leaving PPG Paints Arena were a few thousand bobbleheads too heavy, who’s gonna talk? An equipment manager? Those guys keep secrets.

Sidney Crosby. Never mind, he’s too nice. Not a suspect.

Iceburgh. Thirty years ago, Iceburgh tried to go one-on-one with Jean-Claude Van Damme (who, we must admit, should also be considered a suspect). This went very, very poorly for Iceburgh. Since then, the affable mascot has tossed t-shirts and engaged in mild hijinks, biding their time and waiting for an opportunity to prove they’re more than merely a felt-domed action-movie victim. Iceburgh was determined to climb the local mascot rankings — and what better way than to save the day? Yes: We’re suggesting Iceburgh stole the bobbleheads in order to find them and be hailed a hero. This is like that dog that kicked kids into the lake for treats, only significantly more ridiculous!

Kenny Pickett. Self-explanatory — embittered, the former Pitt star decided on a Grinchian path on the way out of town, stealing Jagr day from the poor yinzers. What’s that smell wafting from the east? It’s 18,000 tiny hockey players being melted down and turned into cheesesteak.

Likely suspects all. (I mean, “likely” is relative here, but nevertheless.) Still, I think that one seems far more likely than the others. It couldn’t be Lemieux; as an owner, he stands to benefit from renewed interest at the end of a sleepy season. The recently traded crop is out; you try to handle the logistics of stealing a shipment in California then getting it to Philadelphia (or the Carolinas) unnoticed. And Geno is just looking for decent borscht, not clandestine capers.

It can only be one man.

Actually, it can only be one bird.

Iceburgh: J’accuse.

PHOTO BY ANNA FAILLA

About 40 stairs separate my front door from the street. At the bottom, my house looms overhead; at the top, I can peer down onto the roof of each passing car.

I never thought much of it. This is Pittsburgh; it’s perfectly natural that more than two stories of elevation would separate a mailbox from a doorbell.

Such terrain has, however, made Pittsburgh the hot subject in one online space: The Facebook group “Death Stairs,” a forum for sharing photos of particularly vertiginous sets of steps from the world over. The group has no home base; both moderators and members hail from around the globe. Yet the main subject in the group, which claims more than 250,000 members, has for weeks been the shocking quantity and frequent decrepitude of Pittsburgh’s stairs.

Several recent posts depict Rising Main Way in Fineview, a lung-busting stretch of 371 public stairs. A collection of “vintage Pittsburgh death stairs” photos shows steelworkers scaling Mount Washington. Landmarks — the Mattress Factory, Lawrenceville bar Remedy (with its pitch-black stairs in low lighting), Canton Avenue — have been recognized. Some members even post the ankle-testing steps leading to their own basements or cellars.

Just wait until the group hears about Pittsburgh toilets. Sometimes there are even stairs to those.

I reached out to group moderator Duffy Toler, who says the proliferation of Pittsburgh posts is the latest geographic fascination for group members.

“It was popular with San Francisco a few years ago, and the Netherlands … Also for a while people were finding abandoned stairs in the woods, so that was a thing.” Pittsburgh, however, has a particular confluence of factors that make it just right for the Death Stairs community. “Pittsburgh has a good balance of too-many-steps, stairs crumbling apart and ones that are just covered in weeds.”

I asked Toler if he’s observed an explanation for Pittsburgh’s apparent indifference to potentially deadly climbs. “My theory [is that] putting french fries in the sandwich leaves you one hand free to hold onto the railing,” he posits.

Efficient lunches aside, however, I see Pittsburgh’s many stairs as a testament to both our remarkable geography and our blue-collar history. We are a region of hills and valleys, and at no point — from the earliest settlements through the most modern developments — have we been hesitant about placing a home or business atop a nearby mountain (or at the bottom of what our Mountaineer neighbors would call a “holler”).

It’s a curious place to deposit a city — and landslides are a concern. Then again, this elevation makes for our ubiquitous breathtaking views. All those stairs between my front door and the street below let me see for miles when a clear day rolls around.

And many of those city steps are a testament to our hardworking past. After a day in the mill, a grizzled steelworker would think nothing of climbing a few dozen steps to his house — or a few hundred to his neighborhood. We’re tough — and, judging by the number of people in the Death Stairs group who report these terrifying climbs as part of their daily routine, we’re inclined to stay that way.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

I spent Saturday afternoon at Horror Realm Con, the annual gathering of spooky folks held at the Crowne Plaza hotel in Bethel Park.

It’s a very well-organized and welcoming event, typical of many fan conventions. I met actress Dee Wallace, seizing the chance to tell her that her brokenhearted performance in “E.T.” embodied the suburban melancholy that makes Spielberg’s classic a perfect film. (Yes, I used the phrase “suburban melancholy.”) I listened to a brief presentation from director/producer Charles Band, whose innovative shlock studio Full Moon Pictures has endured as a low-budget success story. I ran into a dozen fellow horror fans, from contemporary colleagues — I wasn’t the only member of the Pittsburgh Magazine staff in attendance — to friends I hadn’t seen in years.

What struck me most, however, was not the silver-screen heroes or the programming. Not long after we arrived, my fiancée bought a coffee mug emblazoned with the poster from an obscure ’80s slasher, “Phantom of the Mall: Eric’s Revenge.” I have a similar mug — mine adorned with “The Slumber Party Massacre” — that I picked up from the same vendors at last year’s Drive-In Super Monster Rama.

The folks who made the mugs (I failed to get their names but will gladly amend this piece if I learn their names) were one of a great many vendors offering horror-themed wares. Some were reselling niche products but many were presenting their own creations — works of art, apparel and decor inspired by favorite movies and characters.

If you attend fan conventions regularly, you’re familiar with vendors like these. They almost never have brick-and-mortar stores, instead popping up at events such as Horror Realm Con and selling some items online. Maybe these creations are a side hustle and maybe they’re a whole career, but either way, artists are making money off this work; this isn’t a hobby, it’s a job.

If the crowds around most booths at Horror Realm Con were any indication, business was good. Most people walk out of events like these overloaded with shopping bags; the frequent refrain near the exit is, “I need to go home before I’m broke.” (For my part, I intended to buy very little … and left with a “Sleepaway Camp” T-shirt, a “Twin Peaks” magnet, a “Twilight Zone” air freshener and a rare Blu-Ray double-feature of William Castle pictures.)

While events like these may seem like a trifle to those not in a given fandom, to the creators and small businesses who attend, they’re a lifeline. They represent thousands of dollars of earnings in a few days — often a significant percentage of annual income. And there’s no alternative; while goods such as these can be sold online, it’s often too difficult for small businesses to overcome the marketing budgets and larger presence of big internet retailers. These businesses make their money at in-person events.

There’s an ongoing controversy about the current and future home of Steel City Con, the region’s largest regular fan convention; traditionally held at the Monroeville Convention Center. There are many elements to that story — and I’m keeping up with them for a future piece — but my visit to Horror Realm Con this weekend underlined that these events mean more than hotel stays and business at local restaurants.

For many folks, they’re absolutely essential. That’s an economic reality that’s more important than real-estate considerations or the location of big-box retailers.

I will continue to buy novelty coffee mugs until I run out of space, at which point I will painstakingly decide which mugs to retire and then buy more. And I’ll do it at events like Horror Realm Con — where I know that every purchase has an impact.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

It shocks me that this column is necessary.

I figured out about a decade ago that you cannot actually throw away a television — certainly not in the city of Pittsburgh, where the curbside disposal of items such as television, computers and most other electronic devices has been banned since 2010. I would’ve figured that 14-plus years was enough time for most city residents to catch on.

Yet I regularly walk by a television on the curb, placed there in the hopes that the sanitation folks will make an exception and break the law just because they like the looks of someone’s curb. Any futilely discarded TV I pass inevitably suffers one of two fates: Either the owner sheepishly takes it back inside, or it sits to gather rainwater and dirt for weeks on end.

Leaving TVs out was banned for a pretty good reason: Televisions contain harmful substances including lead, mercury — even small quantities of arsenic, in some cases. All of these are harmless if contained inside a television. You do not, however, want them leaking out underfoot and into your yard. Or, for that matter, thousands of devices leaking into a landfill — with the potential to poison soil or water supplies, which is why the law was passed in the first place.

No, if you absolutely must get rid of a television, you need to take it to an electronics recycling place. The city contracts this work to the Pennsylvania Resources Council; you register for a drop-off, bring them your stuff and they’ll take it for about 35 cents per pound. (Private companies will do the same thing without pre-registration; they just might cost a bit more. I’ve taken televisions to Evolution E-Cycling in the South Side, and it’s an easy process.)

Yes. You need to pay to get rid of a television. That’s frequently the sticking point for many people, who cannot conceive of paying to no longer own something. It can be frustrating if this is your first time confronting this cost. But here’s the thing: Televisions have become very, very cheap. Even higher-end televisions now cost a tiny fraction of what they used to — and the farther back you go, the more TVs used to cost (adjusted for inflation, obviously). Today, it’s not unusual to get a gigantic, mid-range TV for around $500, especially if you wait around for sales.

We’re getting TVs for cheap. There’s no reason to grumble about another $20 on the back end to get rid of it.

If you need no other motivation to keep your TVs off the curb, look: It’s not going to work. Sanitation workers won’t take them. (And they’ll notice if you do something stupid like trying to wrap a TV in garbage bags.) So you’re probably going to just drag it back into the house, put it in a closet and figure it out later.

Which brings up another good point: Just do that in the first place. Surely there’s some closet, crawl space or attic in your house where you can shove a completely flat appliance. Don’t want to pay to get rid of it? Just hide it somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind.

And renters: While I’m not telling you to conveniently “forget” that you left a TV tucked into a corner of the attic when you move out, thus making it the landlord’s problem … well, I’m not telling you not to do that, either.

I’m kidding. But if I weren’t, it would be pretty easy to pull off.

PHOTO: LINCOLN PARK PERFORMING ARTS CENTER

Western Pennsylvania has, by my estimation, several million main streets.

From individual neighborhoods of Pittsburgh to the central thoroughfare in every village and town between Morgantown and Lake Erie, this part of the country has been built around nexuses of local activity. This isn’t the case everywhere. If you drive through much of the country, you’ll find ranches or farm land broken up not by small towns but decentralized sprawl — cookie-cutter housing developments within a stone’s throw of a Wal-Mart or hospital, with nary a historic main street in sight.

Here, though, we have tiny “downtowns,” as they’re called, even if the area could never be accurately described as a town.

And I’ve noticed something lately: The good ones all have a theater. A proper theater, where local folks perform proper plays and musicals. I wish I could say they all have a cinema, but the era of the neighborhood movie house is all but gone; some have coffee shops while others have surrendered to the sugary spell of gas-station coffee.

But in every vibrant small town I visit, there’s a theater. Just this weekend, I drove to Butler to see the excellent production of “Constellations” at the Butler Little Theater, a civic treasure coming up on its 85th season. A week earlier, I was in Midland to visit the Lincoln Park Performing Arts Center, a charter school by day that stages vibrant, popular productions of comedies and musicals by night. And a week before that, I spent the night in Franklin — the subject of an upcoming travel piece — and kept hearing about the Barrow-Civic Theater, a local institution that everyone in town seems to be involved with in one way or another.

On the other hand, I could name plenty of small towns without a place like these, and most of them aren’t quite so vibrant. In many cases, a historic theater sits empty.

This could be a bit of a chicken-and-egg situation; do theaters make good main streets, or do healthy towns tend to produce and support theaters? It can, I think, be both; while the ability to support the arts is an indicator of a good community, theaters like these do build the communities around them.

That goes far beyond putting on shows for locals to see. Local theaters keep creative, talented neighbors engaged and involved — thus giving people more reason to stay in town. They boost nearby businesses, both with traffic on show nights and with jobs the rest of the time. And they turn a sleepy town from a place where nothing ever happens to a place where there are things to do.

Places where nothing ever happens tend to fade away; places where there are things to do tend to grow, or at least hang on.

If you live in a town with an institution like the Butler Little Theater or the Barrow-Civic Theater nearby, support it — even if you’re not typically a theatergoer. The task of keeping a town vibrant goes beyond jobs and services. It often takes institutions that a town can call its own, those places and people that add vibrancy and activity beyond the day-to-day.

These are things that make a town more than merely a place.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

Last week, I stopped at a restaurant I hadn’t visited since childhood. As the server led me to my table, she asked if I had been there before.

“Yes,” I replied, “although it’s been 20 years.”

Then I thought for a minute.

“Oh. It’s, uhh, been 30 years.”

I spent the meal feeling hopelessly old. (A later calculation that it was, in fact, a mere 27 years did little to help.)

This week, I’ll turn 39. That may come as a surprise to many, who often and understandably assume I’m a bit older than I actually am. (I blame my shockingly white hair, as well as the fact that some people still haven’t realized my father and I are two different people.) To me, though, this birthday feels like the full and formal arrival of middle age — that phase of life that has been encroaching for a few years.

As soon as I hit 35, I noticed there’s a lot of ambiguity to middle age (early middle age, if we want to get pedantic). If you’re past your mid-30s, young people begin to look at you as a slightly different species. While you can still have a shot at blending in with college students at 28 or 31, once the first lines show up on your face, you are no longer able to hide among the young.

The desire, though, to remain youthful remains — making for some cognitive dissonance. I’m around actual young people with some regularity through comedy or theater. When they talk about college life, I still nod knowingly; a moment later, I realize that when I was in college, they weren’t yet able to form complete sentences.

I’m pretty sure some of them think my college days pre-date the internet. Of course I took online classes! (I took the first online classes Penn State ever offered, but still!)

Meanwhile, those on the far side of middle age look at those of us in our 30s as if we’re still babes in the woods. If anything, this is more frustrating than the inverse; I know that I must look positively retro to a 21-year-old, but when treated like a whippersnapper, I get upset.

I have unexplained back pain. I have credit-card debt that’s old enough to vote. The majority of my favorite bands are partially or wholly dead. I assure you: I am not one of the young people.

Yet these reactions also give me what I’m looking for: A feeling that there’s still a lot of tread left on the tires. While a 20-year-old might wonder what long-past decade I was born in, a 60-year-old treats me as if I’m barely getting started. To anyone approaching retirement, my grumblings about increasing age must seem like a millionaire griping about a parking ticket.

Both directions are frustrating. Young folks deny the amount of years I presumably have ahead, while older folks deny the amount of life I’ve lived. No one does so maliciously, yet both feel like slights at 39.

The solution, I suppose, is to slow down and be more aware of each passing year. If I want to stop mistaking a restaurant from 20 years ago with a restaurant from 30 years ago, it’d help if I were more acutely aware of everything that happened in that time — if there weren’t long stretches of my 20s and 30s that now seem like vague and unremarkable blurs. I know that living each day with mindfulness can be exhausting, but I’m beginning to think that it’s also essential.

I used to get depressed whenever I said the phrase, “Have a good weekend.” It felt like mere minutes were passing between weekends — like weeks were speeding by unnoticed. I need to make sure that each Tuesday is as interesting as a good Saturday; insofar as I have the energy, I shouldn’t let these rapidly accelerating years pass without notice.

How do I do that? I have no idea. But 39 seems like a good time to figure it out.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

As I debated which shirt to buy at the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, a thought occurred to me: I may be a Disney adult.

The term is a colloquial and often derogatory phrase for folks whose interest in the big mouse’s parks and media has nothing to do with the presence of children — those grown-ups who enjoy afternoons in Adventureland and viewings of either “Little Mermaid” flick on their own terms. While the phrase is not new, it has gained prominence in recent years as non-devotees have complained about the cutesy behavior exhibited by many Disney adults.

I do not think about Disney and its cornucopia of films, series and branded products every day. In fact, the on-screen side of the empire is no more interesting to me than any other subgenre; there are plenty of Disney movies I like, and plenty I don’t. (Fun fact: My dissenting opinion on “Encanto” is quoted on the film’s Wikipedia page, as I was one of the only critics to grumble about the widely beloved feature.)

Though I did watch “The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad” last week, and it’s a winner. That “Headless Horseman” tune is timeless.

While I may not have a shrine to Chip and Dale in my house, I do harbor a genuine love of Disney World — and the Orlando theme park ecosystem in general. I go about once a year, dropping often shocking sums for the privilege of escaping into highly curated, immersive environments.

At Disney’s parks as well as those of rival Universal, there are undoubtedly great rides, from perfect classics such as the Haunted Mansion and the E.T. Adventure (a canonically accepted sequel to the film, by the way) to cutting-edge coasters such as Universal’s “Jurassic Park”-themed Veloicoaster and Disney’s new “Tron” ride, a dazzling motorcycle race.

But even more than I love the rides, I love the places. When I was at the Magic Kingdom last week, I found myself having a hard time leaving Frontierland, even after I had ridden its sole proper ride, Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. (The Country Bears are undergoing a re-imagining.) I love the old-west theming of this area, especially the way Disney brings such concepts down to the last detail; it’s not just that the fast-casual dining hall is called the Pecos Bills Tall Tale Inn, it’s that everything from the color scheme of the cast members’ shirts to the umbrellas over the table are part of the concept.

These parks, to me, are some of the only places where that’s true — where every inch of the place is considered, curated and crafted. Even if I could visit as much as I’d like, however, I don’t want to spend my life waiting for my next drink at Trader Sam’s Grog Grotto. (Highly recommended, by the way.)

While I have no plans to stop making my annual Floridian journeys, I’m trying to bring some of that spirit to bear on life at home. There may not be a place in Pittsburgh where Mickey and Minnie sing in front of a castle six times a day, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate environments and activities here in the same way.

Institutions such as Phipps Conservatory, The Frick Pittsburgh and (especially) the Bayernhof Museum are as carefully crafted and curated as any in the Magic Kingdom. The coasters at Kennywood are as thrilling as those in Orlando — and a trip to Idlewild contains just as many well-preserved points of nostalgia. There are a hundred charming bed and breakfasts in this state that have as much service as, and more history than, a Disney resort.

And food? We’ve got food. I too enjoy the global smorgasbord that is Epcot Center, but around here, we just have to see which food festival is coming up next for an experience to rival Disney’s Food & Wine. Fish Fry season, Cinco de Mayo celebrations, the wave of Greek Food Festivals and more — just today, I received a press release about the inaugural “Big Nosh,” a Jewish Food Festival debuting this April at Congregation Beth Shalom. All are fun, festive and authentic.

And you’ll save hundreds.

I’m happy to accept my Disney adult label, and I’m scheming for a return in the fall. But I think the line between the type of Mickey-obsessed grown-ups that get roasted online and the healthy variety of theme park fan is the ability to enjoy everyday life with the same verve we have while queuing up for the Tower of Terror. Pittsburgh isn’t quite the happiest place on Earth, but there’s magic to be found here, too.

I did end up getting a tie-dyed Pirates of the Caribbean shirt featuring the ride’s classic logo — but only because they didn’t have any Big Thunder shirts for sale. No Country Bears shirts, either! Disney: Step up the t-shirt game, you could’ve had slightly more of my money!

PHOTO BY RICHARD COOK

The new year arrived in Pittsburgh with something we haven’t seen in a while: Snow.

While it seemed we were buried under 18 inches throughout the whole 1990s (anyone who’s still holding onto an “I Survived the Blizzard of ’93” T-shirt, you really oughta wear it more) a series of mild winters, heavily influenced by a changing climate, have left us relatively unglazed in recent years. Five of the last eight years have seen snow totals below the historic average; the ’22-’23 slush season was the second-driest in history, with a mere 17.6 inches dusting the city.

The only particularly snowy session in recent memory was the winter of ’20-’21, during which a significant percentage of us were inside anyway. Those of us fortunate enough to have jobs that can be performed remotely had become pretty good at WFH by then; we had learned how to deftly complete our daily tasks, respond to email and be available to our teams, all without ever putting on pants.

High on the list of lessons imparted by those years: If you have a job where you can work from home, you should be capable of doing so pretty much any time.

Yet last Friday, I saw two things that suggested otherwise: First, drivers on the roads, even from early in the frosty morning, second, a slate of comments on every conceivable social network, all along the lines of: “How are the roads?”

“They say that snow is coming and that we got two inches already but my cousin just called from Irwin and said that he got around fine, although his car does well in the snow, I’m just trying to figure out if I should call the office or …”

You should call the office. In fact, the office should’ve told you sometime earlier this week not to bother coming in.

There are, of course, many of us who don’t have the privilege of a job that can be handled with a computer and a cell phone. Medical workers, folks in the service industry, delivery drivers and plenty besides do not have the luxury of rolling out of bed, throwing on a bathrobe and logging on.

And to keep such workers safe, those of us who can work from home during winter weather should stay the hell off the roads.

Icy and otherwise low-visibility conditions are, to state the obvious, hazardous. They’re less so if the roads aren’t crowded. And that poor overnight nurse on the way to the E.R. shouldn’t be swerving around your 2014 Hyundai Elantra to get to the hospital because you (or your boss) decided it’s essential that you answer emails from an office building rather than your dining room.

There are plenty of philosophical arguments in favor of doing more work in a hybrid manner (at home when it’s just us typing away, together when it’s time for collaboration) but snow isn’t a philosophical issue. It’s one of public safety. There is simply no reason why anyone should travel to do a job that requires no movement if conditions are poor.

If you are able to work from home, don’t ask what the roads are like or wait to see how conditions change; tell your supervisor that your driveway is covered and you’re not coming in today. Even if you could theoretically make it: What, are they gonna drive out and check? Grab your laptop and get to work without leaving your bed.

And if you work in an office where your employer insists that you come in under hazardous conditions: Begin looking for another job. We worked from home for years; we can certainly do it when things get icy. If your boss doesn’t get that, they don’t deserve the privilege of your service.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

I was waiting for a friend Downtown last week when I got a text that she’d be a few minutes late. She was within the Golden Triangle but had just pulled a U-turn to escape a certain centrally located garage; when she had pulled up to the ticket booth, she discovered that the flat rate for evening parking was $30.

No, this was not during a Steelers game. During a Steelers game, we all accept that the cost of parking will rise to “back in my day you could get four tickets for that.” This was a fairly normal Tuesday night.

Fortunately for her, anyone who frequently visits Downtown knows that certain garages will charge you much less than others; she ended up paying $8. In other words, there are good garages, and then there are those that exist to exploit suckers who don’t know any better.

Won’t you be my neighbor? Apparently not, if we can squeeze more money out of you when you come in from the ’burbs.

The lack of parking in and around town remains a problem, from the happy-to-gouge North Shore lots to the utterly untenable situation on East Carson Street. Many comparable cities have more garages and more street parking options; I hate to use fighting words, but it is way easier to figure out where to put your car in Cleveland than it is in Downtown Pittsburgh. (And they have geographical challenges there, too. The whole city is slowly sinking into a lake — which occasionally catches on fire.)

Simultaneously, right-minded planners have pointed out that the future of urban centers involves more walkable and car-free areas. While the curmudgeonly love to grumble about any actual improvement to urban spaces, the most safe and thriving cities in the world have figured out that spaces for recreation and easy walkability make downtown areas thrive. Pittsburgh is always inching in that direction, temporarily closing areas for events such as the Three Rivers Arts Festival and improving riverfront trails so that you can actually get around using them — a pipe dream just a few decades ago.

There has been a recent push to make the Roberto Clemente Bridge a permanent pedestrian bridge. It’s a good idea; there are clearly enough bridges nearby to handle the needs of automotive traffic, as there were no meaningful snarls during the extended period when each of the Sister Bridges closed for construction. It would also more effectively integrate the Golden Triangle and North Shore destinations.

And if you want anyone to use it for walking to and from places, you need to give them places to park on either side.

Unless you’re in a very specific band of territory to the South of the city, public transportation in Pittsburgh remains limited at best. It’s not just that people prefer trains to getting on the bus; it’s that it isn’t easy or pleasant to get around Pittsburgh without driving somewhere, especially if you live more than a couple of miles from Downtown.

That means that anyone coming into the city for a game, a show or a festival is probably going to be bringing at least one car with them. And when they get here, they should be able to park that car somewhere reasonably close to Downtown for about $10.

Not $25, not $30 and definitely not $50. About 10 bucks. Yes, I know that inflation exists. I also know that parking lots and garages have almost no overhead. Don’t confuse a desire for giant profits with inflation; every lot and garage in the city could charge a couple of bucks per hour and still turn a tidy profit.

Part of that process is going to be admitting that we need parking more than we need upscale condos, in many areas. Part of it is going to be better marking and maintaining of street parking areas (and giving up on this asinine purple-zone plan). And part of it is going to be advertising where people can go to park for cheap and how they can get where they’re going once they do so.

I would love to walk to a Pirates game. Unfortunately, I live on the side of a very large hill that I do not particularly want to walk up after nine innings. I want to put my car somewhere closer to the ballpark and then walk over; I’m more than happy to walk 20 or 30 minutes between the parking space and home plate, but I gotta get a little closer before I begin.

And I’m not gonna pay $30 to do it. If that’s the only option, I’m just gonna stay home.

PHOTO: SHUTTERSTOCK

Last week, the Post-Gazette reported that the city’s Office of Equal Protection would begin “Strict Enforcement” of a paid sick leave law, which requires that city businesses allow workers to accrue and use paid time off when they’re ill.

I was happy to see the update; the law is, to me, a no-brainer, an obvious need that too often falls through the legal cracks. No one should fear financial hardship because they become ill; no one should risk the health of others by forcing themselves to work sick.

After I read the story, however, I made the mistake of reading the comments.

A separate column — if not a book — could be devoted to the counter-productive futility of the comment section, a digital place of ire and inanity that has never once been a positive addition to the discourse. In this case, there was a smattering of, “As a business owner, this is bad news” — a perspective that is probably misguided, if still rooted in some legitimate concern — and, “Just another government handout,” a complaint so bereft of context and meaning that it’s not worth discussing.

The phrase that jumped out at me, though, was one of the most inane complaints of the post-pandemic era: “No one wants to work anymore.”

Most people do want to work as evidenced by a historically low 3.7% unemployment rate — the latest in a two-year stretch where at least 96% of the working population found a job. While the “no one wants to work” complaint is certainly incorrect, it also misses the point of a sick leave law.

None of us want sick people working.

Let’s set aside the idea that folks should not be financially impacted when they get sick (a surprisingly controversial statement, at least in this country). Let’s instead look at it from the perspective of the public. Why the hell would you want anyone, in any job, to be completing that job while ill?

The largest single sector of employment in the United States is retail salespersons. I, for one, would prefer that any cashier I encounter not be spreading a communicable disease. The next job on the list is home health and personal-care aides — an area where it is very important that the worker be hearty and healthy.

Let’s keep going. The vague “general and operations managers” doesn’t tell us a lot, but I assume it’s people who are in charge of other people; I don’t want them working sick. “Fast Food and Counter Workers” is fourth; again, anyone dealing with food should be free of known illness.

So again: Which workers, exactly, are we OK with sending to work while sick?

I suppose, to give a stupid comment more credit than it deserves, some in the “nobody wants to work” camp are of the opinion that paid sick leave will incentivize people to take sick time not only when they’re actually ill, but also just when they don’t feel like working.

Yeah — I don’t want those people working either.

There is, I think, a group of cynical folks whose general opinion of the world around them is that people are inherently trying to take advantage of others; that unless people are kept in line with draconian and harsh rules and regulations, society will immediately descend into chaos. It must be bleak living in such a mind — what a shame to be so mired in mistrust.

Fortunately, we can prove such people wrong. Because every competent study on the subject has found that companies with guaranteed, paid sick leave see increased productivity — in part because of lower rates of turnover, but also because when sick people come to work, they get other people sick and more work is missed.

It seems that paid sick-leave policies actually decrease unemployment, both due to decreased turnover and because such regulations give folks leave to get healthy — and thus stay in the workforce.

Who would’ve thought? Oh, right: Everyone who thought about it for more than a second. (That’s a category that frequently does not include the folks in the comment section.)

If we want to stay on top of a rapidly changing economy and evolving workforce, we need to keep an eye on factors such as this one, which makes workplaces strong, regardless of whatever 20th-century grousing may occur. The city’s policy is precisely correct; in fact, it may not go far enough.

No one should work sick — and no one wants the workers they encounter to be ill. That shouldn’t be controversial.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

There’s been a shift in nightlife — or, perhaps, simply “going out” — in recent years. In Pittsburgh and nationwide, there has been a change away from the constant parade of new sports bars and breweries toward actual experiences: escape rooms, fancy miniature golf, virtual reality and so much duckpin bowling. These are, undoubtedly, a more encouraging use of the landscape than yet another place to eat buffalo-flavored whatever and watch the game.

Don’t worry: There are still plenty of places to eat buffalo-flavored whatever and watch the game.

There are also places such as the Museum of Illusions Pittsburgh, the latest branch of a nationwide chain of experience-forward destinations designed to dizzy your senses and liven up your Instagram feed. Found on the North Shore between Stage AE and PNC Park, the all-ages (yet very fun for grown-ups) museum opened last month to sold-out crowds.

Undoubtedly, you’ll leave with some photos for your socials; unlike some unabashedly selfie-forward locations in other cities, however, there’s more to this place than a series of photo ops. You’ll find a feast for the eyes inside the Museum of Illusions — and one that will thoroughly scramble the part of your brain tasked with making sense of things.

If, that is, you approach it right.

The more time you take and the more deliberately you plan, the more you’ll get out of the Museum of Illusions — and, while it’s far from the most expensive activity in town, with tickets costing up to $25, you definitely want to get your money’s worth. Here are four tips for best enjoying the attraction.

• Avoid the crowds — and the kids. Going with a group of friends or on a date? Try to time it after the kids are in bed, and when the crowds might be on the smaller side. Tickets are available for entry as late as 9 p.m. on weekends; you’ll probably get more out of your trip if you pick a prime-time arrival than if you’ve got a flock of little ones congregating around you. Alternately, if your schedule allows it, pick an afternoon trip on a weekday, then head to dinner afterward. Going with the kids? Warn them that they might occasionally have to wait their turn at certain exhibits.

• Stop and read the plaques; you might learn something. The most dazzling (and Instagrammable) exhibits at the Museum of Illusions sell themselves — optical illusions that will make you look like you’re hanging off the side of a building or are unexpectedly separated from your own head. The most informative and fascinating, however, line the walls. A series of optical illusions that will overload the perception centers of your brain fill nearly every wall; what’s more, careful descriptions get into the science of these deceptions, adding some education to your trip. Make sure you don’t skip these items, and allow time to read.

• Make sure everyone knows how to work their phone in advance. At some key points, Museum of Illusions staff will gladly take your phone and snap the perfect picture for you; at plenty of others, though, you’ll be expected to serve as your own cinematographer. With folks waiting and very specific angles necessary for the best photos, this is not the time to have your confused in-laws go into the “I don’t know how to work your phone” routine. Keep the queue moving, please.

• Don’t be afraid to be silly. This is not the place for dignified posing; save it for Olan Mills. You’re going to be doing some silly stuff in some silly ways, from strolling through a spinning tunnel that puts Kennywood’s to shame to considering infinity in a fully mirrored room straight out of a lesser ’80s sci-fi flick. Have fun. Act up. Pose outlandishly. You’re here for a good time, right? Embrace it.

The adage holds that experiences are better than things. We have enough junk lying around; what we really want is to create a memory, right?

While that bit of wisdom may seem at odds with a shopping-focused season, you can always give someone a future experience in the form of a gift card or certificate for a local outing. Play your cards right, and you’re giving yourself a night out, too; buy a couple passes for four and toss out a well-timed “And we’ll all go together!” when they open the envelope. (Or just wait for them to invite you, if you’re the polite type.)

Presentation matters — don’t just awkwardly pull a certificate out of your wallet, dress it up a bit — but we’re pretty sure these five gift certificates will impress more than an air fryer or novelty socks.

PHOTO COURTESY SANDBOX VR

Sandbox VR

A trip to Sandbox VR, the virtual-reality parlor in the Strip District’s Terminal Building, is one that will leave you sweating and laughing in equal measure. It’ll also make you feel as though you’ve been on a quest in a fantasy realm — or maybe tasked with fighting off hordes of zombies. The experience is so real, from the detailed vistas around you to the physical feedback you receive from the vest and helmet, that you’ll remember it like you actually traveled through space and time. Gift cards are available in any amount, but you’ll get a $30 bonus if you spend $100. Sessions start at $50 per person.

Pittsburgh Children’s Museum

Know a family in need of some outings? Gift a membership to the Children’s Museum of Pittsburgh and they can come back all year long. Gift memberships start at just $150 for a family of three, and can be scaled up for more kiddos or to also include admission to the nearby National Aviary. You can also buy single-use gift certificates in any amount; perhaps suggest a visit to the Museum’s “Countdown to Noon” celebration, ringing in the New Year with music and fun for kids who aren’t likely to make it ’til midnight. 

Bold Escape Rooms

Why listen to yet another murder podcast when you can escape a madman yourself? At the “Stalked By a Killer” Escape Room from Bold Escape Rooms in the Strip District, you’ll foil a fiendish plot — if you can uncover the clues in time. Prefer your fun in neon? Opt for the “Bring Back the ’80s” game. You can buy gift certificates in any amount; a private game for two people generally costs between $70 and $80, and the per-person price decreases as more people are added to the party. (Your odds of figuring out the puzzle, however, increase with more brains in the room.)

Pittsburgh Public Theater

There’s a bonus to this one, if your gift recipients are the types to plan ahead. You can buy a $100 gift voucher for an upcoming show at Pittsburgh Public Theater — good for “Dragon Lady,” “The Importance of Being Earnest” or “The Coffin Maker” — that your friends can exchange at their leisure. When they do, they’ll get the best available seats, regardless of price; if they act fast and pick a night with good availability, in other words, your gift can turn into a front-row ticket. You can also gift mini or flex subscriptions, for those friends who want to see everything.

PHOTO BY SEAN COLLIER

Manor Theatre

One of the oldest and best cinemas in Pittsburgh, the Manor Theatre is the perfect anchor for a night in Squirrel Hill. Grab dinner beforehand and see a new favorite; the theater, a fixture of Murray Avenue for more than a century, specializes in acclaimed features and a smattering of mainstream hits (current and upcoming titles include “Wonka,” “Maestro,” “The Boy and the Heron,” “Ferrari” and “The Color Purple.”) You can grab an e-gift card online, but stop by the theater to get a physical gift — and, while you’re there, you might as well see a movie.

As you may have noticed, the Pittsburgh Steelers tend to do pretty well.

The last time the Steelers ended the year in the red was 2003; every campaign since has resulted in a .500-or-better record. During the same time span, the Pittsburgh Pirates have found 16 opportunities to post a losing record. Furthermore, that 2003 scuffle was one of only four losing seasons for the Steelers since 1990 — a remarkable run of winning.

Someone who has been on this planet for 30 years has witnessed only three losing seasons for the black and gold. A college sophomore has never lived through even one.

They’re a good team, generally. That does not, however, mean they will never be bad.

The power of history and high expectations have given Steelers fans the impression that winning no fewer than 10 games per season is the natural order of business and any aberration from that standard (which, as Mike Tomlin is inclined to remind us, is the standard) is a major problem. Struggles — even natural ones, such as rebuilding after the departure of a storied quarterback — are unacceptable to a certain breed of fan; the moment the loss column threatens to rise, heads must roll.

Forgive a controversial statement (that shouldn’t be a controversial statement), but: That’s a bad way of thinking.

I remember standing in a Squirrel Hill bar moments after the Steelers won Super Bowl XLIII, vanquishing the Arizona Cardinals in a thrilling contest. The mood was celebratory and joyous; “Renegade” was playing on repeat. I struck up a conversation with a stranger, recapping the highlights and marveling at the joy that filled the city.

After a few minutes, though, he took a sip of his beer, looked off into the distance and said: “They gotta get the secondary together, though.”

Again: The Steelers had just won a Super Bowl. Even that wasn’t quite enough.

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This year, the Steelers are a mediocre team that has done a few things well and a few things poorly. They have lost some games they should’ve won and won some games they should’ve lost. There are questions in some areas and impressive performances in others. In short, they’re having a season that looks a lot like most seasons for most teams in the NFL.

But to talk to many fans, you’d think the sky is falling.

I’m not enough of an analyst to speculate who should be relieved of their duties, which starters should be nervous, and which areas of concern merit attention in next year’s draft. I do, however, know that facing the prospect of one losing season in two decades of play does not merit recrimination and revolt.

It’s a tough league. There are a bunch of good teams. You can’t expect 10 wins every season.

At the risk of getting a bit philosophical, the joy of winning lies in knowing you might’ve lost. There’s no achievement in dominance; when victory becomes de rigueur, it loses its thrill. If the expectation is victory, then a win is pedestrian and a loss is tragic. If the expectation, rather, is a struggle, each victory feels like a triumph.

We Steelers fans are passionate and dedicated, but we can also be selfish. Remember that in the 25 seasons before the Immaculate Reception, these same Steelers — same old Steelers, they were called — only managed six winning records.

Back then, few fans would’ve sneered at a 7-6 record.

Oh yeah: This season’s record is still in positive territory, by the way. We’re bemoaning a lost campaign that hasn’t yet been lost. Perhaps it’s time to settle down?

PHOTOS BY KGTUNNEY PHOTOGRAPHY

For longer than any of us can remember, Pittsburghers have been going Downtown each December for a holiday outing.

Gifts are purchased, seasonal treats are devoured and festive entertainment fills even the most Humbug-infested minds — mine is a prime example — with visions of sugarplums. And while the towering Downtown department stores may be a thing of the past, the tradition is in full swing in the Golden Triangle.

If you’re willing to arm yourself with a credit card and several overstuffed bags (reusable, please) and head to the quaint Peoples Gas Holiday Market, you’ll likely cross a few names off of your list. This is not the place to grab the specific toy or video game that a particular niece or nephew requested; you’ll be easily able to handle that task at any well-stocked Target location. Rather, this is where you go to get gifts that will actually impress: Bespoke crafts and holiday trinkets that will become tradition.

And if you run out of steam there, there’s the Downtown location of love, Pittsburgh, the always overflowing Amazing Books and Records location and plenty besides.

For your post-shopping entertainment, the live version of the Hollywood classic “A Christmas Story” is about to open at the O’Reilly Theater. “A Musical Christmas Carol,” Pittsburgh CLO’s annual retelling of the Scrooge saga, will follow next week — and, for those willing to skip over to the West End, Pittsburgh Musical Theater’s “A Lyrical Christmas Carol” offers an alternative take. The granddaddy of all Downtown yuletide fetes, Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre’s “The Nutcracker,” also opens this weekend.

For my own red-and-green revels, I opted for “Who’s Holiday,” a decidedly adult entertainment option at the new Greer Cabaret Theater. The show, which for many will serve as an introduction to the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust’s luxuriously rehabilitated venue, is already open and playing to packed houses; only a handful of tickets remain for most performances (which continue through New Year’s Eve).

It was, to me, the perfect kind of Christmas show, perfectly striking the tone between too cynical or too earnest, too adult or too all-ages; despite the absolute glut of Hallmark-style holiday messages we get each year, few get it quite right. “Who’s Holiday” nails it: There are a lot of emotions, good and bad, that come up around the tree. The thing is to celebrate all of them.

Lara Hayhurst stars as an embattled but never embittered Cindy-Lou Who, offering a rhyming postscript to her youthful encounter with the Grinch. Love, lust, anger and violence shake off the Whovian calm; Cindy-Lou Who is fresh out of jail and living in a tinsel-soaked trailer, hoping that some Seussian friends will drop by on Christmas Eve.

The unflinchingly uproarious show is a madcap, R-rated sledgehammer. As audiences and Cindy pound drinks (opt for one of the signature cocktails but be forewarned — they pack a wallop), the disappointments and compromises of a holiday at home are explored, with the help of some brave audience volunteers.

Hayhurst is an absolute master; I can’t imagine anyone else commanding the audience as well as she does. (In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve known her for 25 years and performed alongside her in my youth — but I defy anyone to disagree with my assessment. She’s a powerhouse.) And the venue is perfectly suited for a slightly naughty night out.

In an era where skeptics and Scrooges scoff at the idea of a fun, carefree outing in the heart of Pittsburgh, a trip that includes stops at the Holiday Market and “Who’s Holiday” is a defiant statement of protest: We’re here, and we’re having more fun than your parents ever did. Get off the couch and cross a tunnel; there’s a party going on.

PHOTOS BY SEAN COLLIER

I have, of course, seen “It’s a Wonderful Life” a number of times. It’s practically unavoidable, after all; countless television and repertory showings over the past seven-plus decades have made the film not just a holiday standard, but an indelible part of American culture.

It never affected me before, however, like it did last Wednesday.

On Thanksgiving Eve, I drove to Indiana, Pennsylvania, for a long-overdue trip to the Jimmy Stewart Museum. The museum, which takes up a floor of the Indiana Borough Community Building, is a hometown history of the legendary actor’s life and times — as well as an overview of his family’s history in Indiana, including the story of his father’s hardware store, where Stewart’s Oscar was once displayed.

In addition to rooms of memorabilia, movie posters and artifacts from Stewart’s life (look for his booth from legendary Hollywood restaurant Chasen’s), the museum houses a small screening room. At 1 p.m. each afternoon, one of Stewart’s films is shown — the screening is included with your admission to the museum. In a warm, inviting room (with a jolly, stuffed version of the rabbit “Harvey” sitting in the back row) classics such as “Vertigo” and “Bend in the River” play, perennially.

That’s where I had my annual viewing of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” surrounded by its star’s memories and treasures.

I found myself getting choked up when the angel Clarence says, “No man is a failure who has friends.” The movie is, after all, a story about friendship; while it is certainly a Christmas movie, it’s fundamentally a tale of social worth, of the invaluable role we play in one another’s lives regardless of how much money we have in the bank. Stewart’s many friends and companions seemed to surround me — letters from luminaries such as Frank Capra and Alfred Hitchcock, the door of his Hollywood home with a list of the well-wishers who passed through it, relics of how much his hometown loved him.

Call it the magic of a very good movie in a very good place, but Clarence’s message landed with a bit more weight than it ever has before.

And the Jimmy Stewart Museum is indeed a very good place. It is, in fact, a model for the way a museum can honor a favorite son. There is nothing dry or textbook about the displays and information here; Stewart’s life and accomplishments are vivid and moving.

That shines through the most, though, in the screening room. Here, every day, Stewart’s work is on display — publicly and communally, as it should be. No amount of artifacts or historical detail can match that; it is not only the actor’s memory that is kept alive here, it is his spirit and career.

If I lived a bit closer, I would become a museum member just for the ability to pop in and enjoy a classic any afternoon I wanted. I’ll certainly be back when I notice a favorite flick on the schedule. It’s a moving place — a tribute not just to a celebrity or a good actor, but to a person whose life and times are worth remembering in perpetuity.

No man is a failure who has friends — and if you have enough of them, apparently, your legacy can last forever.

STEPHEN ZAPPALA AT HIS VICTORY PARTY. | PHOTO BY JAMES PAUL | PITTSBURGH MEDIA PARTNERSHIP

Sometimes — OK, most of the time — I can go a few days without remembering to check my mail. One day in late October, I found a pile of cardboard political ads arguing about Stephen Zappala.

Zappala, the Allegheny County District Attorney in these parts for two decades and counting, was elected as a Democrat for most of his political career. Facing a primary defeat from Matt Dugan, Zappala campaigned for write-in votes as a Republican, winning that party’s nomination; last week, he won the rematch with Dugan and was elected to another term.

Those cardboard advertisements I pulled out of the mail said little about substantive issues or (heaven forfend) political philosophy. Instead, they simply argued about whether or not Zappala was a Democrat. Zappala’s ads called him “Democrat Stephen Zappala,” eager to cast the party-swapping as a political maneuver only; Dugan’s ads called the incumbent “Republican Stephen Zappala,” seeking to make lifelong blue voters wary of the suddenly red prosecutor.

In the end, the labeling didn’t matter. Republican voters opted for Zappala, correctly seeing him as the more right-leaning of the two candidates. Democratic voters were split; while most supported Dugan, enough repeated their votes from the primary and continued to back Zappala.

It didn’t come down to whether Zappala is a Democrat or a Republican; it came down to basic electoral math.

SARA INNAMORATO GIVES HER VICTORY SPEECH TUESDAY NIGHT AFTER CLINCHING THE ALLEGHENY COUNTY EXECUTIVE RACE. | PHOTO BY SHANE DUNLAP, TRIBLIVE

Meanwhile, in the race for County Executive, supporters of Joe Rockey — and a seemingly endless network of PACs — frantically tried to sink Sara Innamorato by crying “socialist” from the mountaintops. No other word is wielded as a weapon, blunt though it certainly is, as frequently by the American right wing; it’s invoked in tones so dire, you can replace it with “boogeyman” in most usages without altering the sentence.

Ads and talking points attempting to discredit Innamorato were almost singularly focused on the socialist label, at the expense of ever telling us much about what Joe Rockey’s vision for Allegheny County looked like. And for that focus, Rockey and his supporters managed only to lose by slightly less than expected.

While the name-calling undoubtedly swayed some voters — Rockey overperformed for a Republican in Allegheny County — it was plainly an insufficient tactic. Voters did not care what label was hurled at Innamorato, just as they did not care whether a tiny R or a tiny D appeared next to Zappala’s name.

This should be a reminder that political races, even with a neatly divided electorate, come down to more than mere name-calling. You cannot win an election simply by trying to other your opponent; it’s a tactic that didn’t work for Matt Dugan or Joe Rockey, two ideologically opposed candidates united by their misguided campaigns.

Much to the chagrin of the loudest partisans, the majority of American voters tend to be closer to the center than they do to the extremes of the political spectrum. Many others have a blend of opinions, biases and concerns that do not neatly fit with either party. Seeking to reduce politics to my-team-versus-the-bad-guys is a reductive and tired tendency and, in many cases, electorally ineffective.

We don’t care what our leaders are called. We care about who they are.

Even if that doesn’t fit on a cardboard flier in an overstuffed mailbox.