Baseball Enters the Dog Days of Summer and Makes Them Their Bitch

America's favorite past time is baseball. Well maybe the sport is slightly behind "American Idol" and NASCAR in the nation's collective psyche, but we are a nation of dumb asses so let's stick to those few nationals with functioning brain waves and neurons that fire in the right direction on occasion. Regardless of how you feel about my editorializing via the nation's IQ, one fact remains unchallengeable - baseball season has just passed the unofficial halfway point, its annual All-Star game. After yet another AL beatdown of the the NL we are ready for the stretch run and I am here to make some predictions for those last measly eighty or so contests. Let's break it down, division by division.
Note: The writer is a professional journalist and his dedication to the Cubbies in no way affects his opinions concerning other ML franchises or the beauty of the man love pictured above.

AL East
New York Yankees - I hate the fucking Yankees. In fact I wrote a chant called Fuck the Yankees. Ask me if you would like to hear it sometime or just surmise on your own how it goes as you already know all the lyrics if you just refer back to the last three words of the last sentence.
Boston Red Sox - I used to like them/feel sorry for them when they always lost to the Yankees, but they won a couple World Series and now their fans are now just as insufferable as the those bastards in NY.
Toronto Blue Jays - Canada is not allowed to win an American sport, even if none of their players are even Canadian.
Tampa Rays - No one goes to their games except for that braying mule Vitale, so who cares? My buddy Mark once went to a game there and ended up bringing home like 12 fly balls since there was no one else sitting in his section. I have gone to well over twenty games in my lifetime and have never gotten one if that tells you anything.
Baltimore Orioles - They have a team?

Prediction: no one wins this division, which after all five teams are swallowed up by five craters spontaneously opening up under their team planes as they sit on the tarmac.

AL Central

Detroit Tigers - Tough town, lots of death and destruction and they have a pretty good squad.
Minnesota Twins - Always bring a solid fundamental team, led by the M&M brothers, Joe Mauer and Justin Morneau. Fried twinkies are considered a delicacy in the state, where personal trainers are shot on site and no relevant funny info on this team was available.
Chicago White Sox - There is only one team in Chicago, just ignore these impostors and they will go away.
Cleveland Indians - They will burn in hell for all eternity for trading De Rosa back into the Cubs division. Kerry Wood will earn his third team MVP for the Cubs despite not playing for them.
KC Royals - In European soccer the worst teams are sent down to a lower league, whose best teams are promoted to replace them. Such should be the fate of the Royals, who have well-earned their demotion during the last twenty years.

AL West

Prediction: Detroit wins the division as Robocop comes along and cleans up the villainry and scum that have plagued the city for too long. Minnesota is given the AL East title since their teams no longer exist.

Anaheim Angels of Los Angeles California United States Planet Earth Milky Way Galaxy- Saying their name has tired me out and I no longer have the strength to comment on their prospects aside from the fact that their pitching is good.
Texas Rangers - they will hit 7000 homers and win 80 games. Fans will wonder when the Cowboys' season starts.
Seattle Mariners - they will hit 10 homers and win 80 games. Fans will wonder when Starbucks opens.
Oakland A's - "Moneyball" starring Brad Pitt will open in 2014, telling the story of the brilliant Oakland GM Billy Beane. Nothing interesting will happen to this borderline triple A franchise until then.

The AAofLACUSPEMWG will win the division easily due to not being utterly terrible.
The Wild Card will be donated to charity.
The Tigers will go to the World Series thanks to the heroic actions of Sergeant Murphy in Robocop II.

The National League

NL East

Philadelphia Phillies - Strong squad, but lacking the tobacco-chewing prowess of the 1993 pennant winners. Former star/complete retard Lenny Dykstra will be proclaimed a financial genius and then succumb to bankruptcy. Oops that already happened.
Florida Marlins - Madonna concerts between innings promotion will lead to a doubling of the team's attendance in the second half as the town's large gay community discovers baseball.
NY Mets - Will call it a season after 120 games when all their players have finished committing 100 errors and spending 100 days on the DL apiece.
Atlanta Braves - The Cubs are done playing there for the year so they won't be having any more attendance til next year. If a baseball game is played and no one hears it, does it affect the standings? Seriously, let me know because they are hot the last few weeks and it may make a difference with Nostradumbass here.
Washington Nationals - They just hired Jim Riggleman to manage the team back from the precipice of doom. They have since won an amazing 0 games. We miss you in Chitown Riggleman, like a whore misses the crabs. Seriously though, Ditka would have trouble making this squad of bums respectable.

The Phillies will win the division and the two things left unburnt after last year's World Series title will pretty much be fucked.

NL Central

Chicago Cubs - They are good, then they are bad. They are healthy and then they are injured. The team has been sold and then the sale is on hold. Milton Bradley is crazy and then he is batshit straightjacket crazy. Which team will we have in the second half? One thing momma told me - never make predictions about the Cubs, except that they won't make the World Series, so we will stick to that limb for now.
Houston Astros - the hottest team in the division over the last few weeks and star pitcher Roy Oswalt has always been a second half sort of guy.
Milwaukee Brewers - Prince Fielder will finally give birth to the alien baby which has been percolating inside him for the last few years. He will become the starting centerfielder and steal 40 bases in the last 50 games. Despite this exciting news, the Brew Crew will collapse in the second half as always.
Cincinnati Reds - Dusty Baker will keep his starters in games until their arms drop off and are collected in a pile in the outfield bullpen that would make Tamerlane squeamish. Dusty will then be given a five year extension because he is a genius. Later on, Mark Prior will jump out of the stands and assasinate the bastard in the name of pitchers everywhere.
Pittsburgh Pirates - Running out of players to trade in August, the front office decides to trade the franchise's two remaining fans to the Phillies in exchange for a roll of toilet paper.

Seems like there was another team in this division. Oh well, that's not important since this division will clearly go to the Astros.

NL West

LA Dodgers - Manny will be proved innocent when it is discovered he has breast cancer and in fact needed to be taking those fertility drugs since he is in fact a woman. Explains why he can't abide by Joe Torre's short hair rule - he doesn't want to be taken for a dike.
SF Giants - Their playoff chances will take a big hit when Tim Lincecum steps on his mullet and breaks his neck while pitching.
Colorado Rockies - The entire team bonded by putting their collective balls in the humidor. They are now unbeatable.
San Diego Padres - Rumors that the team has disbanded and gone to play golf for the rest of the summer remain unsubstantiated. Until then, stay classy San Diego.
Arizona Diamondbacks - Sadly, Dan Haren cannot pitch all of their games so they are pretty well fucked.

The Dodgers will walk away with the division and the Ballboys of Colorado will take the Wild Card.
Colorado will continue their testicular bonding on a run that takes them all the way to the World Series.
They will then lose to Detroit in a series so boring it will result in the suicide of several Fox executives. So the season wasn't a total loss. This amazing story will be retold in the movie Robocop III.

Chucktown

Charleston, the first successful settlement in what was to be the state of South Carolina, is the home of many things, including secession (legislators there voted unanimously in 1860 to leave the union), the first battle of the Civil War, shrimp and grits, snobs (according to a successful group of restaurateurs this stands for slightly North of Broad), and yours truly. To be honest, I made my home for years 1 to 17 in the suburb of Mount Pleasant but let's not quibble over little details such as accuracy. As with Fox News, a substantial suspension of disbelief is usually required to accompany this column.
I returned to the homestead recently to pay a visit to my mother and to hang out a bit with my younger brother Colin and some of his graduate school pals. We rendezvoused with Colin's buds downtown at the old slave Market on Meeting Street where Mom suggested a historical tour for those who had not previously had their Charleston cherry popped. Our group assented and we meandered down East Bay towards the Battery.
If you have ever seen a house that was so large that you thought to yourself, man I want that, but I just can't afford it, then you have beheld a building that could fit inside the garage of most of the mansions that line the Battery. Check out the attached picture to get an idea of what the servants quarters looked like. The words behemoth and ginormous were invented by a Charlestonian to give a proper sense of the dimension of these structures. Line your bathroom from floor to ceiling with one hundred dollar bills and you might be able to meet the down payment for one of these homes, were they even available for purchase. One of these homes coming on the market is a rare occurrence in reality, a state you probably haven't visited for a while if you think you can actually afford to live in this luxurious hood.
You may be wondering what the word Battery stands for, which is cool because I was one of the 10% who failed to fall asleep in my history class. I must have had too much caffeine in my system. The Battery is not named after a Walkman powering device (if you are under 20 years of age please take some time to look up what a Walkman is), the pitching and catching duo, or even the best friend of assault, you know, the violent guys that can lead to your arrest and imprisonment. Rather, the area is named for the cannons that lined the nearby sea walls and were used to defend against the evil assaults of the damned Yankees (not the baseball team although they suck too) during the Civil War (which amazingly enough was not even that civil according to the eminent historian Axl Rose).
Afterward, we trudged through the dense humidity down Meeting Street in search of the cold beer that had been screeching my name like a banshee for a good while. Back at the Market, I reminisced about the days when you could get the number one meal, consisting of a steak, a pint of ale, and a slave all for the low, low price of $200. Fortunately (or not depending on your point of view), the damn Yankees won (God they always win - I fucking hate them) and that terrible practice came to an end. You can still purchase just about anything else at the Market, where the endless stalls chock full of beads, trinkets, and hot sauces lead you to the sweet Gullah (an African-American culture confined to the Sea Islands of South Carolina and Georgia) ladies patiently sewing together their sweet-grass baskets and speaking a mostly incomprehensible gibberish to one another (the lovely Gullah tongue).
Whatever you decide to purchase, make sure to stop off at one of the local watering holes to wet your whistle when you are done. If you go to Charleston between the months of April and October you will be dehydrated within approximately one minute of leaving the proximity of an AC unit. As a result, a drink is mandatory and there are a host of places to attain one within short walking distance. I recommend Tommy Condon's, Wild Wing, South End Brewery, and Henry's, but these are just a drop in the bucket. FYI, if you think you have been to a Wild Wing because you went to the one in Greenville you are wrong. Although a delightful place that has generated a great deal of business our WW is not worthy of cleaning out the Market Wild Wing's toe jam. Just a fact, apologies to those sure to be offended.
Our crew visited all of the bars listed above, with the exception of Henry's (hey our guests might have needed a reason to come back to town) as well as the most pretentious bar I have ever had the displeasure of entering. I will not justify this place by calling it by name and fortunately that will be easy since I have forgotten the moniker. This buzzing hive of metrosexuality was inhabited by a breed of people that had very obviously spent over two hours preparing for their night out on the town - and I speak now only of the guys. I am surprised the women were able to even make the place at all before the week ended considering all the intense preparation needed to enter. The only saving grace was a man , obviously a pimp walking around in an all red outfit (down to the shoes and hat) whose appearance gave me a hearty chuckle that I kept to myself for fear of being pimp-slapped.
After ducking into the much more civilized Moe's Tavern to have a drink with Al Coholick and to cleanse the stench of cologne, we made for the house and called it a night.
We woke on the anniversary of our country's birth and headed out to the Isle of Palms, a beach within just a few minutes drive of the momster's crib. Well, it would be that close if every other motherfucker on the planet had not also decided to head to the shore for some fun and sun that day. I was nice enough not to mention what a bad idea it was to go to the beach on July 4th. Except to my long-suffering brother who had to hear it twenty-five times (he would probably tell you it was more). Once we arrived I had to head straight to the restroom, where I took a shit that was more intense than the last twenty minutes of "The Exorcist." You're welcome for sharing.
We joined the crowd and then commenced participating in the normal beach activities, such as figuring out what people look like naked. Since these happenings probably interest you as much as the previous bowel movement play-by-play, I will instead describe the state of Charleston beaches as a whole. Besides the Isle of Palms, there is Sullivan's Island and Folly Beach - the local surfers' Mecca, if you consider someplace with three foot waves as worthy of praying to five times a day. Edisto Beach, Kiawah Island, Pawley's Island, and Seabrook Island are all within relatively easy driving distance as well.
After surviving the late morning and early afternoon with only mild pre-cancerous lesions, we made our way back to the house and prepared for the night's festivities. For others, this time consisted of showering, primping, purchasing food and beverages. For me, this time was better utilized with a three-hour nap. If anything exciting happened during these hours someone else is going to have to write their own fucking article about it because I was occupied in the endeavor of becoming one with my pillow.
That evening, thanks to the intercession of a friend of a friend, we were actually going to be attending a cookout at one of those mansions I previously described. How appropriate that on July 4th a peasant such as myself would be raised up and allowed to trod the sacred halls of the Charlestonian elite. Like Yakov Smirnoff (for those of you not familiar with Yakov he was a 1980s version of Borat who acted like a fool, although in truth he wasn't actually acting) said in his delightful Russian patois, "What a country!"
The fulfillment of my American dream took me to a palace just off of Tradd Street in downtown Charleston. Jaws dropped soon after our admittance to the inner sanctum beyond the iron gates that faced the street. My own mouth remained agape for the entirety of our visit and I do admit there may have been some drooling involved. Food was soon brought off the grill and allowed me to look a little less awkward with my oral orifice constantly open like the main entrances on a five-dollar whore.
The house boasted a yard capable of being used as a practice field by the New York Jets, in the center of which was a tree fort so huge that the wood used to build it is no doubt responsible for the deforestation of Brazil. I was incredibly jealous of the kids who called the place home until I found out they didn't have a television. Maybe the parents didn't want Sponge Bob and the Teletubbies teaching them about homosexuality.
I could go on and on about the colossal mansion, but thankfully this isn't Better Homes and Gardens.
Just after dinner we took the short jaunt over to Waterfront Park to watch the fireworks. Having seen the fancy lights and explosions associated with such an event a time or two, I chose to drift into my own twisted thoughts and reflect upon the place that was once my home. Sitting in the humid darkness, mosquitoes drank my blood like mini-Draculas and a foot-long palmetto bug crawled over my foot. Suddenly, the massive flying roach took off into the night sky, its wingspan blocking out the moon momentarily. Ten simultaneous painful bites on my hand reminded me that I was leaning on a fire ant hill. Don't get me wrong, I do love to visit, but in that instance I remembered the reasons why I live in Greenville instead.

Not So Good

I spend a lot of time here standing atop my soapbox pontificating and otherwise pretending I am wise to the point of being damn near knowledgeable. Alas I must confess that although I do have some mad game, there are certain areas in which I take craptacularity to stratospheric levels never heretofore attained. With that brief introduction, here is a list of things that I completely suck at to the extent where I should be considered among the worst in the world - an accomplishment in itself I suppose.

10. Relationships - I am single and have been for a few years now so that should say about all that needs to be said there. No need to get too in depth on that subject as I am already contemplating various methods of suicide that wouldn't hurt too badly. If this list had eleven spots, enduring pain would be the thing I am eleventh worst at doing.

9. Darts - Honestly, I do have some skills as far as the game of darts goes. I can hit the board pretty near what I am aiming at on most occasions and keep myself in games against most people that aren't experts. Once we get to the bulls-eye I am pretty much screwed. If the target were the size of the Grand Canyon's vagina I would still somehow miss the thing. Don't try to watch me and my brother play a game, as this shortcoming is genetic and you may not live to see the end of the contest. I swear the one pictured above is not my fault.

8. Golf - Sports have always been an area in which I excel or at the very least one where I am competitive. Not so much with the great sport of golf. If the idea was to knock the ball into the water, the woods, or the sand I would be among the all time greats. Unfortunately, the goal is some little round hole and no matter how hard I try I can't hit it within the unfairly small amount of strokes I am allotted by the fiendish bastards who designed the game.

7. Science - I was always a fairly decent student even if I never met Mom's requirement of getting a 105 on every test I ever took. I was a B+ student for most of my academic career until my social coming out party (the last couple years of college) when I forgot to attend lectures for awhile, which apparently has some connection to academic success. My performance in science classes, however, was consistently below par regardless of the exact focus of the class. I was consistent if nothing else. Here are my results as I remember them. HS Biology: C, HS Chemistry: C, HS Physics: C, College Biology: C, College Astronomy: C. You probably get the picture by now.

6. Fixing Things - Handyman I am not, if anything needs repairing in my household I either pray my roommate's brother Rhea visits or I call a professional. Removing and replacing a light bulb is on the very edge of my fix-it skill set. One of my proudest accomplishments was successfully changing a flat tire in only thirty minutes earlier this year. I am the man.

5. Cooking - I have already written a bit on my weaknesses in the culinary arts so I will just direct you to one of my older posts if you would like to delve further into my massive cooking skillz yo.

4. Singing - I think I have a pretty good voice and I take every opportunity I can to show off my awesome pipes. Sadly, the human race has been unable to appreciate this rare talent of my and in reality most folks are unable to endure being in the same building with my warped warbling. Please skip the one where you ask me who sings a song I am singing and then I answer _____ and then you tell me I should leave that song for them to sing. I have, in fact, heard that joke before. A lot.

3. Being quiet - I was actually a pretty good kid growing up, kind of a nerd (I know you are shocked) and rarely in any serious trouble. The one thing that got me in trouble (beside my attempt to read the entire Stephen King anthology during classes in 9th grade) was my loud voice. I was born with a sad condition known as unabletowhisperitis. Anytime I got involved in a conversation with another classmate the teacher's annoyed rasp would soon be heard in response, letting me know that it was time for me to either shut up or leave her class. I was officially banned by the government from joining the army, not because I am gay (hell its one of the best places to meet like-minded guys) but because my deep rumble of a whisper would have inevitably lead to the death of my entire platoon.

2. Training employees - During my illustrious career in the restaurant business I have had the unfortunate luck to occasionally rise so far in my job that I am asked to teach the ropes to those lower on the ladder than myself (yes that is pretty low). Since I only devote on average 2% of my brain to thinking about work while I am at my job it is hard to use my personal experiences to assist others. Usually I forget to tell the trainee about 96% of the pertinent information necessary to make them a great employee. As a side note, did you know that 47.4% of statistics are made up on the spot? Thanks to Stephen Wright for doing the research on that one.

1. Making lists - See what I mean? I couldn't even think of ten things.

100th Post

We here at Thoughts Askew are all about customer service. As a way to commemorate my 100th post (I know it seems like 987 to me as well) I will be writing about whatever you the dedicated reader would like to hear about. Tired of hearing about politics, food, drink, or who would win a fight between Danzig and a group of dead black men? Make the puppet on the keyboard entertain you with a story about a water-skiing squirrel (that would be cool as I already have a picture). Please send in your requests over the next few days and I will count the votes and start pounding out your story on Monday. Thanks to all of you out there who care enough to visit and especially those of you who comment, you make it worth the time and effort I put in here.

Health Tips(y)

As Congress prepares to debate the merits of changing our health care system, I have built my own special bunker to insulate me from the shitstorm of lies that is on its way to a 24-hour news network near you. 75% of Americans currently favor the public option, a system under which you can choose to either keep your current health insurance or pick a government created plan. The companies that have been ripping us off - you know the ones who have continually increased premiums until they are utterly unreasonable and discontinued the coverage of people who have expensive illnesses - won't allow their little scam to come to an end easily. These fellows have profit margins to look after. How would their stockholders feel if the system saved lives but lost money?
Hey ass hole, you might say (if you've met me before) health care reform is hugely expensive and our government is running huge deficits. How can we as a country afford to take on such a burden? I would ask, how can we not? The system we are now saddled with financially cripples individuals as well as businesses who are forced to split the costs. Recent media reports have suggested that 46 million Americans have no insurance at all and that number is rising among our country's youth.
In the long run public health insurance plans make fiscal sense. Nations that provide their citizens with cheap medical care see a rise in preventative measures, resulting in a decrease in catastrophic illnesses. You know, the kinds that cost so much green you could build a golf course with it. A national system can also free capital for businesses, who currently devote a huge chunk of their resources towards employee health care. These millions of dollars can be invested and put to use rebuilding our stumbling economy.
If the public option works as planned the average American will be able to spend less on health care. With premiums having doubled in just the last nine years that is no small chunk of change. Government competition will skew free market forces, causing the insurance companies to adapt or die.
Many people will complain that the government has an unfair advantage and there is no way the companies will be able to compete with their resources. I contend in this instance that is perfectly okay. The capitalist business model has consistently failed when applied to two aspects of our society - education and health care. In these venues the goal is not survival of the fittest, but determining the best way to help as many people as possible. In fact you can see a bit of an analogy for the public option when you look at the interplay in higher education between the public and private sectors in the United States. There are public (state run) colleges as well as private colleges both competing for students and each have been able to find their own niche and thrive. As long as the private colleges provide something that people need they will survive. The same is true of privately run insurance companies.
All of what I have said thus far is important, but there is a perhaps less logical, but certainly more humane point to be made here. Sure health care reform is great if it helps our economy and contributes to smaller deficits, but the bottom line is saving and improving lives.
Although I don't agree with all the points that Michael Moore makes in his move "Sicko," the main theme throughout was that we are all human beings and we owe it to one another to do all we can to protect others who are sick or injured, regardless of whether there is a financial benefit involved. The job of a doctor is not to save only the lives of those that can pay. Good, quality health care is a human right, something that should be guaranteed by the Constitution to all Americans.

Man vs. Hot Weiners and Pig Racing: A Trip Through the Halls of Raleigh

Those of you who remember your geography will know that Raleigh is the capital of our North Carolinian neighbor. Having been educated in South Carolina myself, I just learned that titillating factoid last week. But there is much more to the town than just a silly little golden dome and a herd of hyenas calling themselves state legislators. Part of the collegian triangle composed of North Carolina State, Duke University, and the University of North Carolina, Raleigh is home to some of the most cutting-edge science-related research in our great nation. Rumor has it that Doctors Doom and Frankenstein share laboratory facilities located in the nearby suburb of Cary.
The aforementioned schools also play a mean brand of basketball. Well, except for North Carolina State, which is better known for its excellent meteorology department. Duke is coached by the famed Mike Krzyzewski, which in Polish means Ratlike son of Lucifer and if correctly spelled in Scrabble will net you 3,724 points. UNC is the current national champ in the sport, and so much better than all those other loser schools that they can only hope to be allowed to sniff alumnus Michael Jordan's jock strap one day.
So now you know a little bit about the town of Raleigh, but surely not enough to want to visit, unless you like watching college basketball or nerds fiddling with chemistry sets.
The average traveler needs a place to eat and drink and otherwise be entertained. My own ignorance was equivalent to the empty expanses of the Russian steppes, so I contacted a couple friends of mine who just happened to be current residents in the hopes that they would fill the vast open spaces of my mind dedicated to such things with a cornucopia of Raleigh-related tidbits.
First we hooked up with Paul Absalom Hoover IV, a lifetime resident who is nowhere near as dignified as his name makes him sound. He promised to take us to some places that are quintessentially Raleigh. Since my man Paul is a famous chili-dogger in his own right, our first destination was the Roast Grill, and I confess to being hooked as soon as I saw the Hot Weiners sign outside the restaurant. To say the place is a dive would be to greatly overstate its size. You couldn't fall down inside the joint without smashing your noggin on a wall first, much less attempt to dive.
The Roast Grill was opened in 1940 by Mrs. Mary Charles and is still run by her daughter and grandson. The restaurant is known for their hot dogs and you better be a fan yourself or don't bother stepping inside the door. The menu involves a bevy of choices, including hot dogs, hot dogs, and also hot dogs for those who happen to like hot dogs.
Your condiment choice is also a bit limited. Customers are deterred from using ketchup by the $15 price tag on the RG's only bottle and the likelihood that the owner will bite off your head at the neck if you are foolish enough to ask for some, then laugh while your blood spurts like a crimson geyser. Loaded dogs come with chili, onion, and mustard. Cole slaw is also available if you want to be different, you know, like all the other different people.
The Travel Channel's Adam Richman, host of Man vs. Food, visited the restaurant recently for the show and managed to set a record by obliterating 17 of the tasty dogs without having a reversal (this is a polite term used in eating contest circles that means exactly what you think it does). Always without fear except when I am scared, I thought about challenging his feat, but chose against spending the rest of the day in the fetal position. Adam washed down his meal with a bottled beer, which along with Coke, makes up the vast amount of drinks available at the Roast Grill. I went the Miller High Life route myself.
After demolishing our hot dogs, Paul took us to the Player's Retreat, located just outside of the gates of the North Carolina State campus. The pub had an immense selection of beers on tap, but I was most impressed by the tremendously large beer collection that lined the top of their walls, seemingly stretching out into an eternity of hoppy goodness. Every brand in the world seemed to be represented, including many that are no longer produced. I could have spent the whole day drinking their draft beer and staring in jealous admiration at their bottle stockpile, but I had more exploring to do: the North Carolina State Fairgrounds awaited.
Having lived my entire life in the South there is an inner redneck always percolating inside me, fixin' to burst out at any moment. I reckon that redneck was one happy sumbitch on this day, as we walked through rows of ancient tractors, past the pig-racing area, the impressive tractor-pull arena, and the only known shotgun-firing booth in America towards the free food samples. Various purveyors were hawking their wares and we took the opportunity to try BBQ sauces, liver mush, fried pork, and generic cereals that are in no way cheaper rip offs of real brands (I recommend the Cocoa Poofs and Loopy Fruits). Despite all the tasty flavor sensations turning our mouths into Mr. Happy, we had come to the fair for a reason and at five o'clock the time had come - the pig races were ready to commence.
The fans gathered on bleachers in tense anticipation as the emcee, dressed in the required overalls and cowboy hat, announced the racers. Bets were made on the sly and the starting gun fired, the pigs shooting out of their gates like a house afire. I hadn't heard squealing like that since the time I rafted down a river with Burt Reynolds. Ducks, goats, and pot-bellied pigs were also brought out to entertain us with their dazzling speed. I would like to use this space to personally thank Dale Porkhardt, Jr. for winning me a wager in the pot-belly race.
Tired and beaten down by the sun, not to mention the otherworldly excitement of the pig races, we headed to meet another Raleigh friend, Robert Mera, a PHD candidate at NC State, soccer expert, and banana hider extraordinaire (that is not a sex joke believe it or not). His mother, the divine Patricia Velasquez de Mera, had promised to cook us dinner. Having enjoyed her victuals before, I was not about to turn down her hospitality.
The Mera family hails from Ecuador, which borders the Pacific Ocean, and we were treated to some fine Latin American seafood, including a tilapia dish with rice and green olives as well as a corn cake that melted in my mouth so fast I thought for a second it must be made of M&Ms. The piece de resistance however, was the shrimp ceviche (also spelled as cebiche or seviche) . Ceviche is a method of cooking that involves soaking the meat in lemon juice, whose acids actually cook the flesh while also making it tender and juicy at the same time.
Velasquez's version was tossed with tomato, onion, and garlic and was so delicious that everyone I tried to converse with during the meal told me to shut the hell up. Well that didn't actually happen, but it sure would have if anyone had bothered to remove their face from their bowls.
After departing the hacienda we finished our tour of Raleigh off by heading downtown for a free concert. Candlebox, performers of such classics as "Maybe" and "Far Behind" was rocking Moore park led by their singer in his bad-ass neon blue glasses. Although I don't profess to being a big fan of their work I couldn't argue with the price. Apparently a lot of people agreed with me, since there were more people there than the day back in 1997 when Candlebox were accidentally mistaken for a group of serious musicians.
Sipping on my blueberry beer that I had inadvertently purchased from a untrustworthy shyster manning the so-called beer booth, I sat back and enjoyed the show from an excellent vantage point as far away from the stage as possible. Raleigh had provided enough quality pork and alcohol to give even the great Anthony Bourdain a culinary boner. I wasn't too terribly displeased myself.

I want to use this spot to once again thank Paul and Sally Hoover, Robert and Sara Mera, and Senora Velazquez de Mera for their hospitality. I had a great weekend and hope to see you all again soon.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

Guantanamo Bay is the subject for this month's series I will call "exposing the trough of bullshit constantly being fed to us by our elected leaders". Not a short title but it does get the message across.
This week's subject is the projected closing of Guantanamo Bay and the eventual destinations of those imprisoned there. The pack of prevaricators have gotten up on their soapboxes to proclaim, "Not in our backyard" and "The citizens of my state won't be safe with these crazed terrorists here." As if they are going to be frolicking in our fields or picking up our children at the daycare center. Not so much.
Rather the eventual destination of these alleged (remember none of the prisoners at Guantanamo have actually been tried in a court of law and we don't know whether these military tribunals which Obama has unfortunately continued to back are even legal) criminals is a Supermax prison.
If you are not familiar with Supermax, here are some details to enlighten, brighten, but hopefully not frighten your day. Supermax prisoners are kept in solitary confinement for twenty three hours a day. They are given one hour of recreation, after first being strip-searched. The exercise period is not social hour, no terrorist plots can be fomented when you spend the hour alone in a concrete chamber (a separate room used by individual inmates during the recreation hour).
If you haven't figured it out already, prisoners have no direct contact with one another, their only human contact is with prison officials. The windows in the cells are designed so the prisoners can not even figure out where they are within the facility.
But these are resourceful criminals, they can probably escape! What can these puny civilians possibly do to protect us from that eventuality?
"The prison as a whole contains a multitude of motion detectors and cameras, 1,400 remote-controlled steel doors, and 12 ft (3.66 m) high razor wire fences. Laser beams, pressure pads, and attack dogs guard the area between the prison walls and razor wire."
With such state of the art detection equipment it is a pretty hard place to escape. In fact, no one has even bothered to make a serious attempt except in that prison break show on Fox, a program which is as fictional as the lies the idiots in Congress have been feeding us.
Here are some famous criminals who are already being housed in the Federal facility in Florence, Colorado:
1. Zacarias Moussaoui - yes the terrorist also known as the "20th hijacker" from the 9/11 attacks. So obviously there is no history of dangerous terrorists being held on U.S. soil. He was hardly a mastermind though, we couldn't risk having any of those here...
2. Theodore Kaczynski- AKA the Unabomber, guilty of planning and perpetrating numerous bomb attacks throughout the US over a twenty year period.
3. Richard Reid - Muslim fundamentalist known as the shoe bomber, demolisher of Nikes and attempted destroyer of an American airliner in route from London.
4. Eric Rudolph - a local hero of the town of Murphy, NC, (ignorant redneck town of the year ten years running now) Rudolph used to routinely bomb abortion clinics as well as random bands of innocents in Centennial Olympic Park during the 1996 games in Atlanta before his subsequent capture. He is now serving a life term at Florence.
5. Terry Nichols - the accomplice of Timothy McVeigh who somehow avoided the gas chamber, Nichols shares responsibility for the 1995 Oklahoma City bombing which killed 168 people.
6. Robert Hansen - These first five just liked to blow stuff up, they weren't real risks to national security in the long run. We wouldn't house someone like that in our backyard would we? Oh yeah, we would, Hansen has been imprisoned in Colorado for eight years after giving away national security secrets to the Russians, our greatest enemy at the time, over a twenty year period. That Cold War thing is so 1980, though, our biggest fear now is Al Qaeda and Muslim fundamentalists. We couldn't risk keeping any of their leaders here could we? Surely another deadly attack would have occurred as a result of having them within our borders?
7. Ramzi Yousef - Of course, if you think that you would be wrong. Yousef is the convicted planner of the first attack on the World Trade Center, the 1993 bombing. He has been residing in the Florence Supermax for over a decade now. Maybe the Colorado prison is at its capacity for dealing with lunatic terrorists (prison spokesman recently said they have only one unused cell) and we don't have any other adequate place to house them than Guantanamo.
8. Omar Abdel-Rahman - nope the blind Shiek who helped Yousef plan the Trade Center bombing is held in a separate facility located in Butner, North Carolina. That's pretty damn close to me, I had no idea I should have been shitting myself this whole time. Or....
9. Jose Padilla - The alleged planner of a dirty bomb attack in the United States who has never been tried on those charges (mainly because he was tortured until he became basically a vegetable) the Padilla flotilla was for several years housed in my home town of Charleston, where he was at least in military custody. Hopefully he is never turned over to a civilian prison since we know that it is much too dangerous to have one of these fellas there. * Update* Oh wait he is housed in Florence too now.

So quit with the bullshit and the lies Senators and Representatives, I have grown a bit tired of yawning at your pathetic efforts to deceive me. Now chill out and listen to some old Fugees as they teach us about Guantanamo Bay. Actually, they don't teach us a damn thing but hell they slipped the word into a song so god bless 'em!