Kramer shares his hope that his show is giving locals a much-needed sense of pride. “You go down to a Chargers game,” he says, “and the crowd is all cheering for the other team. You ask them why and they say, ‘Because I’m from Pittsburgh; I’ve only been here for 23 years.’”
At times, I’ve felt as if my tenure at CityBeat has played out like low-budg version of The Devil Wears Prada (“a million girls would kill for your job” is one of my many mantras). So, with my love not just for alt-media, but journalism in general, still intact, I decided to kill the baby, so to speak.
If you’re a regular reader, you know that The Eagle holds
a special place in my pervy heart; some of my best nights there have
turned into columns, while the really good ones I’ve kept between me and Layla, the friendly woman at the free clinic.
Slevcove became familiar with the whimsical, kitschy
statuette during high-school church-group trips to the TJ slums and
vividly recalls that first encounter.
“Come over to the back shed—I’ll show you where the magic
happens,” Moats instructs. I’m led to a space the size of a single-car
garage filled floor to ceiling with his collection of prototype masks,
some 200 strong, as well as tools used to make them
Standing well over 6 feet tall in heels (closer to 7
with the right hair), his presence is imposing, and halfway through his
transformation, the similarities between him and his idol are uncanny.
On a mission, he crossed Vermont Street. I waited for the
walk sign, and as I joined him, a cop shone his patrol lights and
ordered me to stop. The officer, sans badge or ID tag, instructed me to
surrender my identification, proceeded with what I believe was an
illegal search and wrote me a jaywalking ticket.