Welcome to Pittsburgh's G-20-free zone. I am possibly the only columnist in the city to walk past the elephant in the living room, go into the kitchen and make a sandwich.

No speculation last week, and no wrap-up this week. This is my promise to you.

I don't get wound up about stuff like that, for a couple of reasons. First, I live in the suburbs and don't work Downtown anymore. You can saw the Golden Triangle off at Grant Street and tow the whole thing down the Ohio without disrupting my day.

I also figured that, like any highly anticipated blockbuster, it couldn't possibly live up to the hype. True, the media had us convinced the city would be sacked and burned by bearded barbarians in horned helmets screaming "WHAT'S IN YOUR WALLET?", but I suspected that unruly out-of-towners who got too violent in some of the neighborhoods risked being summarily dealt with by territorial locals before the nice riot police could rescue them.

You wanna break a window, tough guy? You should see what we do to our own furniture when the Steelers get another Super Bowl ring. I'm no fan of mortgage scams, but bust up my branch with the cute teller and you win a seat on the next flaming couch.

I still don't understand, by the way, how spreading $50,000 worth of property damage out among several huge corporations is going to make a more just society, but some of us lack the instinct for compassionate vandalism.

If I had that instinct, I'd go after the Snuggie pushers. These hucksters are making money -- obscene pots of money; more money than you lost last year -- by selling a fleece bathrobe and convincing folks it's different because you wear it backward.

And it doesn't tie, because you can't get up and walk around in it anyway. You have to be chronically sedentary to think this is even a remotely good idea. Hey, I'll put this staticky fleece robe on my front; it doesn't cover my butt, but that won't get cold because it's embedded in the sofa.

The Snuggie is so successful, you can now buy one for your dog. It doesn't look that silly on little dogs, because nothing you put on a little dog makes it look much sillier than it does already, but you could probably get a sweet, elderly golden retriever to maul you if you made it wear one of these things.

Envious? You bet. It's one thing to be annoyed that somebody marketed something you thought might be a good idea. It's a new kind of torture to realize somebody is lounging in a swimming pool of champagne because of an idea you wouldn't even think was good after four beers and a blow to the head.

If they're smart, the Hollywood-on-the-Mon movie people got permits to fan out through the city while it was locked down to shoot B-roll of eerily deserted streets and bridges, columns of armored and helmeted cops, Humvees and boarded-up buildings. Why go to the trouble and expense six months or a year from now to block off a chunk of town on a Sunday afternoon to make it look deserted for a zombie or plague movie?

My favorite picture to come out of all the brouhaha last week was one that really captured the enduring spirit of Pittsburgh. In the foreground, a crowd is milling. One guy has an official G-20 credential around his neck; another guy has a bandanna tied around his face. In the background is a building with a boarded-up window. Hanging from it is a banner with a huge spray-painted message:

LET'S GO PENS!

So much for the elephant in our living room. That trunk looks more like a beak to me.

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