This is a Really Random Blog

01. PPG Paints Arena Gets Shrek'd

I can now say I have been greeted at the arena doors by a juggler. that was the first surprise of many that night. the whole joint was honestly really impressively decorated. the event took place entirely on the first floor concourse, and even the bars were decorated to look vaguely new-orleans-y.

special lanterns and decorations were strung across the ceilings; there were enormous french-quarter-esque pillars erected in the halls; there was a fortune teller house with actors inside waving their arms very mysteriously over illuminated crystal balls; there was a woman gliding through the crowd with a skirt made out of servable and drinkable champagne flutes; there were people made out of disco balls wandering around; they flew a band in from new orleans to provide live music; mood lighting GALORE [more on this later].

I was super impressed. you can only do so much with an arena, and especially an arena concourse. they sunk serious time, effort, and undoubtedly money into transforming the arena into a gorgeous louisiana swampland. it was just so cool to see and worth gawking at.

02. Held Captive in the F.N.B Club

@ehghtyseven and I arrived almost-promptly a few minutes after 7. we were between a rock and a hard place: we wanted to take advantage of all the time we could, but also didn't want to be the first ones in. clearly there was nothing to worry about, though, because crowds were already moving through the gates. that was a balm to both of us, as we were kind of worried it'd be an intimate evening and I'd be forced to make smalltalk with penguins right and left.

("So, uh, what do you do?" sid would ask. I would stare at him, unsure how to explain the banalities of corporate life. I would walk away. He would be offput.)

we walked inside and immediately I got effusive compliments on both my shoes and my earrings. ah, I thought to myself, even the arena employees are in on it. they know how to butter up prospective donors to spend more money at charity events. but, in their defense: my shoes and earrings were both great, haha. we were handed some complimentary penguins-branded casino chips and sent on our merry way.

it was then that we went rogue. semi-accidentally. they weren't really herding us one way or another, you see, and as the night had only just begun, it wasn't too crowded yet. I looked at wendy. wendy looked at me. we mutually agreed that we should get a lay of the land. off we set.

we wandered around the concourse and looked at all the stations, abandoned and with signs saying play would begin at 8. we then ducked into the captain morgan club (which is one of the two clubs at the arena that normally are limited to ticketholders for those seats) to take a peek. it was made even more pirate-y than usual, I can only assume, and we got in line for drinks. the line did not move. (the poor folks staffing the bar needed reinforcements). we decided to keep moving and looped around the other half of the concourse to try our luck at the F.N.B. club. somehow that line was worse? penguins, please give more of your bartenders overtime to work charity events?

eh, we thought, we'll just keep walking around.

nope. no can do. they were herding us into the clubs like heifers in a cow chute. and, in fact, something dire was about to befall us:

03. The Penguin Parade

have you ever had a bunch of famous/famous-ish people trotted out in front of you like kindergarteners being shepherded across a suburban street? no? let me illustrate it.

iceburgh emerges with a bejeweled new orleans parasol above his head. out come colby and dan. I think colby is, like, roughly four drinks deep. maybe five. he and dan get through a very awkwardly scripted "thank you for giving us money:) please give us more:)" speech and then the processional of penguins begins.

they're announced in ascending numerical order, which of course leaves sid for last (no three years superleague will win geno that honor here). they all wander out and stare up into the stands, where we donors look down upon them like emperors at bloodied gladiators in the coliseum. I hold out my thumb and point down, signaling my displeasure. sid is immediately taken out back and s—

no no I'm joking. we all clap and woooo at them. geno spins in circles as he enters so he can wave at everyone, but he does it in a way that feels DISTINCTLY put-upon and tired. you know how some pets absolutely know they're being made fun of when you put stupid outfits on them? how they'll give you that deadpan look that says "I know what you are doing to me, it is cruel, but I have no choice but to weather it" ?

geno was that pet. long-suffering, exhausted, wants to go aggressively smack a card table instead of wander about in his special special jersey.

one of the new owners (from FSG) gets up to say some words. he's a horrendous speaker, so I retain none of it, but I suppose if you're a billionaire you don't need to be eloquent or engaging. #eattherich. he tells everyone what some of the various players will be doing tonight around the concourse, and he throws in a very weak joke when he gets to explaining how geno will be manning one of the blackjack tables.

"and geno," this offensively wealthy man says, "try to keep it PG tonight."

I desperately, painfully wish I had a photo of the expression geno made. with the jumbotron camera trained on him, geno gives this man the most DISDAINFUL FROWN I have seen on his face. ever. he was NOT IMPRESSED. this man was NOT FUNNY. geno is a WORKING CLASS, BLUE COLLAR MAN and will not stand for billionaires saying he has to keep it family-friendly at a 21-and-up event! viva la revolución, baby.

sid, meanwhile, is making goo-goo eyes at jeff and giggling all over the place. also a few drinks deep, methinks. after a bit, the players are mercifully released from the grasp of the arena lights and flee back into the locker room, likely to take a few more shots to get ready to mingle for two hours straight.

we, the unmerciful coliseum audience, are freed from our club.

it's time to party.

04. Dan the Man

wendy and I made a break for it, finally let loose from our enclosure. we darted away and moved past some evil looking betting game being set up [more on that later], through a section of food that we couldn't eat [more on THAT later], and finally took up our posts at a cocktail table to get our bearings.

this was when we realized we'd put ourselves right by the elevators.

there were VIPs in attendance; they were schmoozing in the actual club seats a level above us for an hour before we plebeians were let inside. they began spilling out of the elevators in their evening gowns and suits, and wendy realized there were penguins among them.

we watched jason run off, and then drew, and then others. they scattered to the wind to their assigned games for the night. we tittered and surreptitiously watched. I complimented two different women's outfits (#girlpower #girlsgirl). we turned and realized dan and colby were posted up at the bar behind us.

dan caught us looking. wendy waved; dan waved back. thus our interaction blossomed.

when we went over to talk to him, he was incredibly nice and NOT very trickster godlike. he's miles-less confusing when he's not asking interview questions. and he's incredibly personable! he tried to get us excited to see connor mcdavid, though, which is something an evil trickster god would attempt at an event with sidney crosby in attendance. so perhaps I can be convinced after all.

05. FRENEMIES: Craps Edition

that evil betting game? yeah, that's craps. shitty name for a game, if you ask me. the last time I was in a casino, I was 16 (don't ask) so I had no idea what was going on. nonetheless, when we heard loud voices, we were drawn close like moths to a flame.

that flame was the not-so-dulcet tones of one mr. jason zucker and one mr. bryan rust. these two goofballs were "running" the craps table, by which I mean jason had been armed with the dice stick and they were being heavily coached by who I could only assume was an employee from rivers casino, lol.

it made me feel a little better that said employee was gently cajoling some people on the other side of the table. "you ready to play yet? got it figured out?" he asked. no, man. no one gets this without a 15-step breakdown. stop making me do math. why does this board say COME in huge red letters? what the fuck is a COME bet? what the fuck is a DON'T COME bet? is this a sex game? why are jason and rusty hosting a sex game?

here's jason catching me sneaking a photo of him hosting a sex game. my middle name is subtlety.

06. A Crisis of Sexuality and Chutzpah

I'm a seasoned penguins-watcher, okay? I've lived here for years, I've been to more games and practices than I can count, I've held doors for them in restaurants and walked past them in bars, and I like to pretend I have a scrap or two of composure about interacting with the players.

ha ha. hoo. wa ha ha.

so, that sid guy, right? crazy. he's, like, just some guy. just a dude. just a funky little guy.

he's also the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on.

I can't quite articulate what my brain did when we came upon sid's Wheel O' Fun, which he was manning alone the first time we swung by (the second time jake had joined him after being freed from his shift at the milkshake factory making jake shakes [like for real]).

he was all smiles and was working the crowd (and there WAS a huge crowd around him) effortlessly. he'd lean in across his Protective Barrier of Folding Tables and take photos with folks between spins. as the night went on he'd even place people's bets for them as the crowd grew deeper. he was furiously chomping on a piece of gum the entire time (his masseter muscles have to be unbelievable).

what really threw me is that he isn't a big guy. he doesn't come off as large at all. objectively I know he's sturdy, but... those hockey pads and oversized jerseys really help you overestimate their size.

he was a crowd favorite for good reason. funny, was a good sport the whole evening, engaging and friendly, has a well-deserved air of confidence about him. he's got chutzpah. I, uh, didn't talk to him though. if he looked in my direction I immediately became preoccupied with something very important elsewhere, like a nearby woman's hat or which chips I was placing on the table. I couldn't handle it, I'm so sorry. he's really beautiful. ugh. who am I. is this what I'm reduced to. what siren song does he sing that enraptures me so. what's wrong with me. what's wrong with him.

weirdo. ugh. <3

07. PPG Paints is for Carnivorous Beasts Only

listen I don't know what I expected when the theme of the night was mardi gras. like, what about new orleans cuisine screams "vegetarian"? nothing! so I was not surprised when the food selections were everything from shrimp gumbo to jambalaya (chicken) to ALLIGATOR (!!!!) and nary a vegetarian option in sight.

disappointed but not surprised! I did have a few tiny beignets (good) and a slice of king cake (meh) but I was mostly running on the poptart I'd eaten before the event, lmao.

this is not new with the arena; ever since The Yard's arena location closed, vegetarian dining has been dire there for games. their pizza is bad, don't get it. in fact, next time you come to a game, don't get arena food. do yourself the service of eating beforehand. emporio never fails and if you need to be closer, go to moonlit burgers. up your game, ppg paints!

also since I had, like, one RC cola all night and not a drop of alcohol, I probably didn't recoup the cost of my ticket lol. dear pens offer me a discount next time I'M A CHEAP DATE I PROMISE

08. Evgeni Malkin's Blackjack Table

I had quietly made a rule for myself.

if I was committing financially to this event, if I was going to the trouble and stretching my budget and going all in, I had to go all in.

I had to play at evgeni malkin's blackjack table. I just had to. there was no way I couldn't. we came upon his table for the second time that night and posted up at a corner to watch, just like we had the first time we passed him. I eyed the players and waited for someone to give up a seat as I tried to remember the details of the "How to Play Blackjack" youtube tutorial I'd watched an hour earlier.

(I remembered, like, two rules. memory bad + star struck = bad combo).

the thing about geno, you see, is that he's a performer at heart. the drama? that's just him, doll. that's his personality. he was a dramatic dealer. he pretended to steal chips. he was LIGHTNING QUICK at mental math. he'd slap down a card and immediately move through with confidence. probably a solid 30% of it was unfounded, but it came off as both professional and intense... and still approachable, because he was being a little intentionally goofy.

he was also directly under one of the colored light beams they had set up in mardi gras colors around the arena. listen, learn some color theory with me: yellow light is SHIT for seeing colors. poor geno couldn't tell one chip from the next and kept having to squint at them to figure out what was up. it played into the goofiness very well. he rolled with it.

he kept a very good energy at the table. all the attendees were getting a kick out of him and the game, and geno ran it as a proper game. he'd reward you if you won, but he'd take your chips if you lost. his huge hands moved the cards clumsily. he sometimes threw them at people. y'know. Just Geno Things.

a chair freed up. I hesitated. someone else sat down. fuck. I continued my vigilant watch. I needed to do this, I reminded myself. I'd never forgive myself if I went to NoA and didn't play at geno's table. WHO DOES THAT? not me. no way.

a second chair freed up. I pounced.

I was in.

and, fuck, now I had to remember how to play blackjack.

he dealt me my first card. I looked at it with a healthy mixture of fear and curiosity. he dealt me my second card. I added them together. I tried to figure out if I should ask for more cards. sure, why not?

wrong. I went over 21. bust. I lose. I've just lost in front of evgeni malkin. that is the correct way of the world, I SHOULD in fact lose in front of (and to) evgeni malkin, but I couldn't go out like that. no way. I stayed put in my seat. deal me more cards, dealer. I have something to prove.

he was also kind of sweet, because I was absolutely the only person under 30, if not under 40, at this table, and I think they could smell my inexperience lol. he sort of nodded at me to make a move the next round and keep adding cards. I heeded it. people at the table started making noise. something was happening. I didn't really know what, but there was excitement in the air. I "held" instead of "hit" when it felt right. geno continued on. the man next to me had a bust. geno did something with his own cards, and WOW!

I won the round!

people literally congratulated me. it was deeply undeserved. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. even in retrospect I don't know what I did. but whatever it was was good, and I earned my first chip. hallelu!

I'm not a betting gal, but I know that you cash out when you're up. on that high note, I got up and took my leave. I'd done it. I'd played at geno's table. I'd WON at geno's table. the world was my oyster etc.

so, here is me [just out of frame] getting a smile out of geno as he nudges me along at blackjack <3

[photo credit to wendy <3]

09. America's Sweetheart, Brian Dumoulin

the night was winding down, and wendy had been very conservative with her chips, whereas I'd blown through mine [this is why I don't gamble, kids]. we need to find a table, I told her. we had bets to make!

and, serendipitously, dumo was hanging out at a somewhat poorly-attended table at that very moment.

dumo was so great. he lacked any of the confidence geno had at blackjack but more than made up for it with his sweet easygoing conversation and a truly great smile. he was CHARMING. like, I genuinely felt he was interested in talking to attendees and having a good time. the vibes were fabulous. I know I've been a little harsh on him hockey-wise this season, but wow, the babygirl truthers got me with this one. he's a goddamn sweetheart. long live dumo, who winced every time he beat you at blackjack.

10. Kris Letang's School for Beautiful Women

after exhausting our chips, saying farewell to dumo, and watching geno get dragged by security with a firm grip on his arm away from fans wanting photos as soon as the clock struck 10 [the official end of the event, because geno is a union man who doesn't work overtime], we wandered the slowly-deserting halls.

geno may have been dragged away, and sid may have been gone from his post, but kris? oh, buddy, you were NOT dragging him from his blackjack table. no sir. he had games to win, you see, and judgemental faces to make at his players, and women to charm.

so, so many women.

his table had a higher ratio of women to men than I'd seen at any other, lol. and they were all having a BALL as he was holding court. he raked one high better over the coals with pleasure as he took her chips. you can be the most beautiful woman in the arena, but kris letang will be more beautiful and will beat you at blackjack.

he was clearly great entertainment, as both kappy and POJ came to watch him work. (and to fetch him drinks). he, as all the boys, honestly, was an excellent schmoozer. they're very good at this. I think they know they work in professional entertainment. I didn't have a bad or sideways interaction all night.

it was a fabulous night. I had so much fun. the penguins did a wonderful job, the players were all lovely, and I also won a signed jersey, so hey, everyone was a winner.