Alien

A quick follow-up to my last entry:

I'm in Pittsburgh for a week, relaxing, enjoying being with all the people I've missed over the past year. Last night, James and I went out for dinner with two of his good friends. I ordered the "Light Steak Salad," that is, a green salad with strips of steak on top. A normal steak salad around here comes with cheese and french fries in it.

The waitress, who was acting pretty flustered, came back about five minutes later looking concerned. "What kind of cheese did you want in your salad?" she asked me.

"Oh, I didn't want cheese, thanks."

The lightbulb went on. "Oh right, you ordered the Light."

After she left the table, James turned to me and said, "And that's why you're not allowed to 'Stand Up and Tell 'Em You're From Pittsburgh.' A steak salad comes with cheese and fries. That's what makes it a steak salad."

"I can't get my salad the way I want it?"

"Oh, you can," he says, "it just makes you not From Pittsburgh."