tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38177629811856921932024-03-19T02:38:50.038-05:00The Sports KolacheSeanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.comBlogger90125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-87270446317452141192008-08-24T23:27:00.002-05:002008-08-25T00:15:06.784-05:00SLAPFEST 3 - LIVE AT THE BUS!!!<a href="#" onclick="window.open('http://www.houstonphotog.com/photos/1560/slapfest3/loader.swf', 'StatusBar', 'toolbar=nos,resizable=no,scrollbars=no,width=702,height=502,left=0,top=0');" title="Slap Fest 3"><img src="http://www.houstonphotog.com/photos/1560/sk1560.jpg" /></a>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-11821824637362365432008-07-28T01:36:00.003-05:002008-08-11T02:07:36.436-05:00WED, July 9th - MON, July 14th - The Baseball Part of the Trip (Part IV)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrKUp_KSDYKnB1jJWyMZNpWA9RHKb6xu6RQ7-bryF69lWPep6sndI04o98R1VCFW5CiLyUlkFFluJ_95EuXPvTWDEqiApwPxlMjwa4zQkRPykga_gDrGpndbMdzdO18NYgyO8Z_Mh-8g/s1600-h/093.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrKUp_KSDYKnB1jJWyMZNpWA9RHKb6xu6RQ7-bryF69lWPep6sndI04o98R1VCFW5CiLyUlkFFluJ_95EuXPvTWDEqiApwPxlMjwa4zQkRPykga_gDrGpndbMdzdO18NYgyO8Z_Mh-8g/s320/093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227950571751268290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">NEW YORK CITY, 7/14<br />(for a little while, and then North Jersey)<br /><br /></span><span>The plan all along had bee</span><span>n to try our best to attend the</span><span> Home Run</span><span> Derby at Yankee</span><span> Stadium on the Monday before the All-Star Game. Since this is the last se</span><span>ason that the Yankees will play in the old Yankee Stadium, I really did want </span><span>my kids to try and experience an evening there before it closes down. So on Monday afternoon, we made the trip into the Bronx with two tickets</span><span> in hand, and needing two more.<br /><br />We arrived in the Bronx around 4:00PM, exiting onto River Road and getting a good look at the new Yankee Stadium which is right across the street from the current (soon to be old) Yankee Stadium. In talking to my dad, despite his status as a Red Sox fan, he mirac</span><span>ulously maintains friendships with many Yankee season ticket holders. Apparently, the new Yankee Stadium will house a baseball experience that is at least five times better than the current baseball</span><span> experience for Yankees fans because the prices of tickets are literally</span><span> quintupling. I, for one, completely understand; I mean, how else can you afford to pay set up reliev</span><span>ers $6M per year? Seriously, upper deck tickets in the new Yankee Stadium </span><span>have a <span style="font-style: italic;">face value</span> of $400 apiece! After walking around the Bronx, I am going to make a calculate</span><span>d estim</span><span>ate that approximately 0% of the people living in the neighborhood near the park will be able to afford to go to a game. Thank God for the YES Network, though!<br /></span><br /><span>Jumping down off my soap box, I had a number in mind for the other two tickets; if I couldn't acquire them for less than $300 combined, my plan was to flip the two tickets we had for maximum profit margin and then go find some other activities for the evening. As it turned out, not only could we not find tickets for less than $300, we couldn't find any for sale at all! Seeing the dearth of available tickets, I put a 30 minute shot clock on finding tickets before it would become time to flip the two we had and go to Agenda B for the evening. My daughter was mildly fearful of her well being w</span><span>alking around the Bronx, and my sons decided to make up a new game called "Who can high five more homeless pe</span><span>ople?" So the sooner we resolved the ticket acquisition (or sell off), the better. As it turns out, we sold the two we had to a couple of baseball fans from Virginia, netting enough to pay for our gas and our activities fo</span><span>r the evening. Only problem was, we weren't sure what those activities would be. We got back to the car, which miraculously I was able to park on the street while we were hunting down tickets, t</span><span>hus saving me from having to donate a kidney to pay f</span><span>or parking in the Bronx. I pulled out the atlas and noticed that we</span><span> were a quick jaunt over the </span><span>George Washington Bridge from North Jersey. It was at this point that I recalled a Youtube video done by Sopranos fixture and good friend of "The Sean and John Show", Joe Gannascoli ("Vito Spatafore" from the Sopranos); the video describes a Sorpanos reality tour. Here it is ...<br /></span><br /><span><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0iSiR-7i2hE&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0iSiR-7i2hE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />So in my continued efforts to garner Father of the Year, I thought "What better</span><span> way to spend the rest of the afternoon than to visit some Sopranos landmarks?" To be clear now, my kids</span><span> do not watch "The Sopranos" (not until they are at least 12 years old, I say), but they do know who some of the characters are and they've seen the final scene on Youtube because they are big fans of Journey. (Sopranos fans know the Journey/final scene correlation.)<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9gDADQ4w-48vxSgY-h6jXC0eHisK-Kw9demr-4MqSpZpIlLX3jIehOGnkKzkHM-qF1bhsEDUbaP8xDTvzpobh-twjNFeItbal1X7nfAAgp-b2aTY18QJgRCnhHZzkGplK6bQEzphJbo/s1600-h/105.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP9gDADQ4w-48vxSgY-h6jXC0eHisK-Kw9demr-4MqSpZpIlLX3jIehOGnkKzkHM-qF1bhsEDUbaP8xDTvzpobh-twjNFeItbal1X7nfAAgp-b2aTY18QJgRCnhHZzkGplK6bQEzphJbo/s320/105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233125483833870930" border="0" /></a><span>We s</span><span>tarted with a little trip over to Lyndhurs</span><span>t to take a picture in front of La Cebeles, which is a Spanish restaurant that serves as the home of Vesuvio. On the show, Vesuvio is owned by Tony's boyhood friend Artie Bucco's, and it continually spirals downward in terms of food quality and clientele throughout the arc of the Sopranos</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgYGe0xxXaWb8Myh6IVKNvxJCafM_1mURSxeDwek85GKd5wahgc3fX5mpBAO4aSBGbUiWMmaDq6MEvaLJaeorT9wYu7vDLDWJMIguu0Rli5vqUIjvKX6XpjvxqdXnOp2PKMqKIXZcsZI/s1600-h/101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcgYGe0xxXaWb8Myh6IVKNvxJCafM_1mURSxeDwek85GKd5wahgc3fX5mpBAO4aSBGbUiWMmaDq6MEvaLJaeorT9wYu7vDLDWJMIguu0Rli5vqUIjvKX6XpjvxqdXnOp2PKMqKIXZcsZI/s200/101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233153090686695890" border="0" /></a><span> series.</span><br /><span><br /></span><span>Next we jumped over to Satin Dolls on Route 17 in Lodi, which is better known as the</span><span> Bada Bing to Sopranos</span><span> fans. This was the one landmark that I did not ask my kids</span><span> to pose in front of, as there reaches a point in a Sopranos reality tour where you wonder if Child Protection Services</span> would get involved. So I merely told my children that Satin Dolls was a "dance studio" and left it at that. Not exactly a lie, but certainly not the entire truth either. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsO4T-d9H0yFvWkADtOLo8VZDSMNNxBnVgpO4T1PqqCKZWd83xZJWvDeYtvtcjyNq2q6S1NxOQJd-Zw2sH0nAf8aOXJ8aLqnFXVci-0jJ2zHJQRQRJmgy9CquEt7RFTe7jTTeOfSmhs0/s1600-h/107.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsO4T-d9H0yFvWkADtOLo8VZDSMNNxBnVgpO4T1PqqCKZWd83xZJWvDeYtvtcjyNq2q6S1NxOQJd-Zw2sH0nAf8aOXJ8aLqnFXVci-0jJ2zHJQRQRJmgy9CquEt7RFTe7jTTeOfSmhs0/s320/107.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233142966013409634" border="0" /></a><br />Once I finished the "How to explain a strip club without really explaining it" obstacle course with my kids, we headed up the Belleville Turnpike in North Arlington to Pizzaland. Anyone who has seen the Sopranos opening credits probably subliminally recognizes the place pictured to the right. It's on for a total of about 2 tenths of a second in the opening montage but the bright green letters and the sheer joy that I experience when seeing the word "pizza" are enough to make it easy to remember.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiquFzktFNCytz3Ze5KB_qwUrK2TT2JWxAIe0NEe7hbURecnxs25Akt03vEEnRcc4mkVHwSlp3aUr7uiRly_b4xOh48K4gLvRjpCQxfW3ZiKJFjDjxZaUz6hGGS6OkkmAQNqyXf1jQhZTM/s1600-h/112.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiquFzktFNCytz3Ze5KB_qwUrK2TT2JWxAIe0NEe7hbURecnxs25Akt03vEEnRcc4mkVHwSlp3aUr7uiRly_b4xOh48K4gLvRjpCQxfW3ZiKJFjDjxZaUz6hGGS6OkkmAQNqyXf1jQhZTM/s320/112.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233125489532761570" border="0" /></a>After scarfing down a quick slice and a Coke at Pizzaland, it was time for the two main events of the impromptu Sopranos reality tour -- Tony's house and Holsten's, which is where the final scene was located. We drove all the way out to North Caldwell which is an absolutely beautiful suburb located out in the hills of North Jersey, and after winding our way down many wooded back roads, we pulled into a cul de sac and found 14 Aspen Drive, and maybe the most recognizable house for a family on TV. At worst case, it is second behind the kick ass duplex monstrosity designed by Mike Brady on "The Brady Bunch". (Thankfully, unlike Mike Brady, Tony Soprano had the foresight to (a) hire someone else to design his house, (b) build a back yard without Astro Turf, and (c) make sure the house had an occupant to bathroom ratio better than 5 to 1.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5MD8TzW3VKaSJUXekzIjBVcN88gy0DfCbOSmOoa6D3-4nRCJgmVHUPBsa4qtOE-x4ZTz6MhHpt-Whogfq4LVqjh8J1iX6uafgu4TDoY6aOiP_Pur0Cb2kKt04fOs20wxj-TQmkD8vYw/s1600-h/108.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV5MD8TzW3VKaSJUXekzIjBVcN88gy0DfCbOSmOoa6D3-4nRCJgmVHUPBsa4qtOE-x4ZTz6MhHpt-Whogfq4LVqjh8J1iX6uafgu4TDoY6aOiP_Pur0Cb2kKt04fOs20wxj-TQmkD8vYw/s320/108.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233125489286462322" border="0" /></a>Last but not least, it was time to get some dinner at Holsten's in Bloomfield, NJ. Now when I figured out that we would be making this trip over the bridge from New York, I figured that getting dinner at Holsten's would be fun, but potentially a really long wait. I mean, if I lived near the place where they filmed the final scene of the Sorpanos, I'd be eating there every night. I figured there would be a line out the door and we'd have to be patient. Well, apparently, the novelty has worn off for residents of Bloomfield because not only did we walk right in, but we also ate in the exact booth where they filmed the last scene! Yes, the sign in the booth says "This booth reserved for the Soprano Family".<br /><br />You remember the final scene, right?<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rnT7nYbCSvM&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rnT7nYbCSvM&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp623bjGoffNQWpqkAhr_GhEF2xwbsjDzm2-X49eny_hruEegZu3Kbx6KZL955kki14whD94s_5vJRMVSfD-Vy57meAMUXWApc1QuKtANupVECRMpJW_Qur_XyY985bmUd1QUCU_Nntz8/s1600-h/109.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp623bjGoffNQWpqkAhr_GhEF2xwbsjDzm2-X49eny_hruEegZu3Kbx6KZL955kki14whD94s_5vJRMVSfD-Vy57meAMUXWApc1QuKtANupVECRMpJW_Qur_XyY985bmUd1QUCU_Nntz8/s400/109.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233150864071700946" border="0" /></a>Three things that are depicted at Holsten's in the Sorpanos that are different in real life at Holsten's:<br /><br />(1) The mural in the Sopranos is different than the actual mural currently (and normally) on display at Holsten's. You can see the normal mural in the picture to the left.<br /><br />(2) The booths don't have the little jukeboxes at them. Those were added to the TV show for obvious reasons. No jukebox, no Journey.<br /><br />(3) The mysterious guy sitting at the counter in the Members Only jacket, who some theorize killed Tony after going into the bathroom and getting a gun (a theoretical "Godfather" homage), actually walked into the LADIES room. I don't know if that makes it more or less likely that he killed Tony, but it does make it more likely that the seat didn't get put down in the ladies room that night.<br /><br />And for the record, I ordered a bowl of onion rings for the table like Tony....<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">HOLSTEN'S - BLOOMFIELD, NJ<br />FOOD: ONION RINGS<br />GRADE: "BEST IN THE STATE, FAR AS I'M CONCERNED". SOLID A.<br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-65660696910434933742008-07-28T00:44:00.001-05:002008-08-10T23:43:50.518-05:00WED, July 9th - MON, July 14th - The Baseball Part of the Trip (Part III)<span style="font-weight: bold;">NEW YORK CITY, 7/12<br />(via Philadelphia)</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Gia4dPSvLjGh-Q8rxwpCD7yWr3UrtYdaeYLVOfVACaGp_yiPBi3gvstDVEqkUGojZ4fDgNS6TEWwZlTtJlUxys1RXXiKJx4V1F7T9zDhkzNgvfVdwGEYogUGBY7-MVlfoDk1N5mZ-LY/s1600-h/068.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Gia4dPSvLjGh-Q8rxwpCD7yWr3UrtYdaeYLVOfVACaGp_yiPBi3gvstDVEqkUGojZ4fDgNS6TEWwZlTtJlUxys1RXXiKJx4V1F7T9zDhkzNgvfVdwGEYogUGBY7-MVlfoDk1N5mZ-LY/s200/068.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227940550196976834" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Having finished up all of our business in D.C., we took to the road on Saturday morning to begin heading north. The ultimate destination on this trip had always been the Connecticut shore, and now I was a mere six hours away. The trip from D.C. to the Connecticut shore is surprisingly easy. If you Mapquest it, the directions are basically this:<br /><br />1. Find I-95<br />2. Head north on I-95 until you get to the state where liquor stores all close at 8:00 PM.<br /><br />Our agenda for Saturday consisted of lots of windshield time and two stops -- first, we were going to in the south side of Philadelphia for lunch at the legendary Pat's Steaks; second, we had tickets to the MLB All Star Fan Festival at the Javits Center in Manhattan.<br /><br />We arrived in Philadelphia right around noontime, and since the Phillies were playing an afternoon game, this means we arrived right in the middle of the lunchtime crush of Philly Fans getting their steak on before the game that day. The temperature hovered somewhere between 95 degrees and "surface of the sun", so cramming roughly 1,000 overweight Philadelphians onto one street corner, all with a common goal of devouring red meat had the air of a cruel joke from the gods. Regardless, the Pendergast family jumped into the cheesesteak fray, happily so.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVCzGPuoKbxRs_UmsqYk8bVP2Rowepkvc6mMe23rtnBFaThIbpKvpIUI-Vfe8aCM7dRkxbN252fb2CJlH9zLM23rKZjew1TuEiDcXtTUJI9ANF6d4G-OXqiyrImqzHmc-SLiIZVj2qjU/s1600-h/070.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAVCzGPuoKbxRs_UmsqYk8bVP2Rowepkvc6mMe23rtnBFaThIbpKvpIUI-Vfe8aCM7dRkxbN252fb2CJlH9zLM23rKZjew1TuEiDcXtTUJI9ANF6d4G-OXqiyrImqzHmc-SLiIZVj2qjU/s320/070.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233092841684582914" border="0" /></a>If you've never been to the south side of Philadelphia, just rent Rocky 1 or Rocky 2, and you'll get a pretty accurate feel. It's the Italian section of Philadelphia and the row houses/apartments are plentiful. Also, in this part of town, you'll find the Italian market, probably most famously displayed in Rocky 2, where Rocky jogs through the market proudly waving and fist pumping to every passerby. Most importantly, you find the three-way street corner of 9th Street, Wharton Avenue and Passyunk Avenue housing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pat%27s_King_of_Steaks">Pat's King of Steaks</a>. Worth noting, it's located right across the street from the almost as legendary Geno's Steaks, thereby making each day a Steak War in the Italian section of Philadelphia. I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for the sitdown when Pat and Geno sat with the Steak Boss (presumably Rocky's boss Gazzo from Rocky 1) and divided up the steak territory on the south side.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIBcEsy-7pL8CPBrqn7Axsprc7zqfMDwsWnFhWTc7cG2tdwbzM2dCcVf8eM70__cWn1a9zy8QTDfFqD_a0RXKLQOspNgRBmlBSyp6gqAeCMR1xzTH95yztDf1uN0rvY4OAXCF8XUUakE/s1600-h/076.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIBcEsy-7pL8CPBrqn7Axsprc7zqfMDwsWnFhWTc7cG2tdwbzM2dCcVf8eM70__cWn1a9zy8QTDfFqD_a0RXKLQOspNgRBmlBSyp6gqAeCMR1xzTH95yztDf1uN0rvY4OAXCF8XUUakE/s200/076.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233097497108745666" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntvVVMuOHW_Js5_qiXuc5RVN69Z7wsNL0neHXoGI6YtnfPI5umQtwdyBlZLxkg5RswO_L_2NBb2087cu-ldLF4_41sW26ctTlnHggYqdFDdMst_bS1msy4WS5kDRetYfDqhwL7nW9s5A/s1600-h/075.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjntvVVMuOHW_Js5_qiXuc5RVN69Z7wsNL0neHXoGI6YtnfPI5umQtwdyBlZLxkg5RswO_L_2NBb2087cu-ldLF4_41sW26ctTlnHggYqdFDdMst_bS1msy4WS5kDRetYfDqhwL7nW9s5A/s200/075.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233098225999978386" border="0" /></a>The first challenge in doing business at Pat's is making sure that you order properly. Since the line to eat is usually about 50 or 60 people deep, they have a very efficient method of taking orders that involves insider lingo (i.e. "give me two steaks, no onion, wiz wit', to go") and a shot clock of about 10 seconds to get your order conveyed. Somewhere, the Soup Nazi is nodding with approval. After ordering, you take a walk down to the pick up window passing by another window in front of the actual grill where the delectable mountain of red meat is constantly being refreshed. Seriously, looking at that grill piled high with steak, I felt like Rudy's dad walking into Notre Dame Stadium for the first time. <span style="font-style: italic;">"This is the most beautiful sight t</span><span style="font-style: italic;">hese eyes have ever seen."</span> Me, I went with the cheese steak, no onions with provolone (as opposed to cheese whiz, thereby making my sandwich a "wiz wit'out"). Sitting in a crowded Italian section of Philly already gives this meal a minimum of a B+ on atmosphere alone. The food did nothing to detract from the grade.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PAT'S KING OF STEAKS - PHILADELPHIA, PA<br />FOOD: CHEESE STEAK w/ PROVOLONE (wiz wit'out)<br />GRADE: A+++<br /><br /></span>Having successfully escaped the south side of Philly without getting caught in the Pat vs Gino crossfire, and with bellies full of red meat and various forms of processed cheese, we jumped back onto I-95 to head to New York City for the All-Star Game Fan Festival. Originally, we had planned on going to Shea Stadium to see the Mets play the Rockies, but we called an audible and decided against it for a couple of reasons:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNwqRq850DeJPEuKT7Zfw4fvwCZEgyq6uNoEtALdwUwy1WhbKZkuoDGai77wsgpqwaaogR1M7GHvLPjYp8GJkZGVh-jKNQrPXZ0oW4XHJXjyB6Cdbi79Gn94qz5DxB0O-1cRrOQ32XDc/s1600-h/081.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNwqRq850DeJPEuKT7Zfw4fvwCZEgyq6uNoEtALdwUwy1WhbKZkuoDGai77wsgpqwaaogR1M7GHvLPjYp8GJkZGVh-jKNQrPXZ0oW4XHJXjyB6Cdbi79Gn94qz5DxB0O-1cRrOQ32XDc/s320/081.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233104551275398482" border="0" /></a>(1) The aforementioned temperature.<br /><br />(2) I've been to Shea Stadium before so it didn't really have "Bucket List" status for me. And my kids ... well, they'll never know the difference. To be honest, crossing Shea Stadium off of your "baseball stadium visited" bucket list is a akin to crossing Toledo off of your "cities visited" bucket list. If it doesn't happen, your quality of life hasn't really been impacted one way or the other.<br /><br />So instead of sweating like stuck pigs at Shea, we decided to head to Manhattan to the Javits Center for the All-Star Fan Fetsival. If you've never been to this event, it is essentially one of those convention center style events with various booths containing different baseball experiential-type games, such as clocking your fastball on a radar gun, taking batting practice against in a cage, or singing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhARFkXfD6HVgxYn1887QGjt-o50iO_DZp9LS_lAb1OgMdkzI3BOwUS5hXMRzy3WbRCcp8c7rRd5D7ev-NXu1SWILWp4e5cYjVSqLtVDu0yNiaBUtOK8VPuGTB9FCEVvgAiqN8At7x55o/s1600-h/085.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhARFkXfD6HVgxYn1887QGjt-o50iO_DZp9LS_lAb1OgMdkzI3BOwUS5hXMRzy3WbRCcp8c7rRd5D7ev-NXu1SWILWp4e5cYjVSqLtVDu0yNiaBUtOK8VPuGTB9FCEVvgAiqN8At7x55o/s320/085.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233111820669065362" border="0" /></a>Conspicuous by their absence were the booths were you could take fantasy injections of HGH, testify on fantasy Capitol Hill, and date a Mindy McCready lookalike, but I'm hopeful these will be in place next year!<br /><br />The business plan for an event like this is simple -- sell tickets for $30 a pop for people to come inside and (1) stand in line for an hour to take part in the aforementioned events and (2) spend another $200 on All Star Game gear. It's essentially the Amusement Park Business Plan, where the one-time expense of admission to the event buys you the right to stand in line and spend more money all day. Good times. And when you're doing it amidst thousands of Jeter and A-Rod jerseys ... well, even better times.<br /><br />The big selling point of the event was the ability to get autographs from some of the legends of baseball, including Rollie Fingers and Fred Lynn. Naturally, by the time we arrived at the event, the legends had left to go get up on the early bird special at Denny's. So we let the kids have one crack at batting practice, had my daughter sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" (available on CD! Yes!), and we hit the road for the Connecticut shore. I'll chalk up the All-Star Fan Fest as a healthy reminder of the age old adage that "Amusement parks suck".<br /><br />Onward and upward ....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuKvvNIK-kMBjCx9MWxSa8EvNUq5Ypw-4v8s4YKfvdvIvAFL5bKNH1R5pL0mE6bvvPrQo8TyvIZL8mL0xhIX-VlOgu5tht9rcifuCvlwzc2jqNDUCs-7WZNnGlcHXQw6RWKGUNonhnUg/s1600-h/082.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivuKvvNIK-kMBjCx9MWxSa8EvNUq5Ypw-4v8s4YKfvdvIvAFL5bKNH1R5pL0mE6bvvPrQo8TyvIZL8mL0xhIX-VlOgu5tht9rcifuCvlwzc2jqNDUCs-7WZNnGlcHXQw6RWKGUNonhnUg/s320/082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233111820282231554" border="0" /></a>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-29556005026091271682008-07-27T21:45:00.003-05:002008-08-10T21:53:11.298-05:00WED, July 9th - MON, July 14th - The Baseball Part of the Trip (Part II)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DOgWyJDSPVmdhqWl9ymxH9CWfFZC280WvijIYgMKo6TAHZNwARMH3C_dC7a8QQc4ZptHSSK04wiucl706mdaeUb4CHqK0bt6rmga_ghsZvo4GPuq15Dn8pXIyYcDcLjSobpCApdJJTY/s1600-h/029.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6DOgWyJDSPVmdhqWl9ymxH9CWfFZC280WvijIYgMKo6TAHZNwARMH3C_dC7a8QQc4ZptHSSK04wiucl706mdaeUb4CHqK0bt6rmga_ghsZvo4GPuq15Dn8pXIyYcDcLjSobpCApdJJTY/s200/029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227907453115868402" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">WASHINGTON, D.C., NATIONALS PARK<br />Astros vs Nationals, 7/11<br /><br /></span><span>At thi</span><span>s point in the </span><span>trip, </span><span>I was no longer traveling solo. </span><span>My kids made the flight from Chica</span><span>go to P</span><span>ittsburgh on Thursday, and I did what any self-respe</span><span>cting father would do -- I gassed them up on Mountain Dew and hit the road to head to our</span><span> nation's capital for a couple days of education on our </span><span>nation's history and, yes, more Astros baseball. We were also joined in Washington, D.C. by the patriarch of the Pendergast Family tree, my dad Paul. Since I don't think you peruse </span><span>this blog for stories about the Lincoln Memorial or the Smithsonian, I will skip ahead and get right to our Friday evening at the Washington Nationals new b</span><span>all park -- the ultra creatively named Nationals Park. (How d</span><span>id they come up with that one???)</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHqED2F7F7MA5uD1sxf0XOK86rMKte9wxR14yL_UoSoaPH71mYhDoEinJhIPF-UfqhW_Ozg6-WxH6vu8rtBiYuuGkFb21AH5VMBZzPRusIXeEbkt5aB2R2tZK81c7UN27MdDBVZgWEyU/s1600-h/055.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOHqED2F7F7MA5uD1sxf0XOK86rMKte9wxR14yL_UoSoaPH71mYhDoEinJhIPF-UfqhW_Ozg6-WxH6vu8rtBiYuuGkFb21AH5VMBZzPRusIXeEbkt5aB2R2tZK81c7UN27MdDBVZgWEyU/s320/055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227915503849895122" border="0" /></a><span>We arrived at the ball park right around game time. I had a media pass waiting for me, so first order of business was getting tickets for my dad and the Penderkids</span><span>.</span><span> I left ticket duty up to my father who is to ticket acquisition what Tiger Woods</span><span> is to golf. After watching him masterfully work</span><span> a scalper over for three tickets under face value (the drive</span><span>), somehow talk his way into the ball park with on</span><span>ly three tickets for four people (the chip), and then find five seats 20 rows up behind the third base dugout (the 25 foot putt for eagle), my respect level for the old man was never higher.</span><br /><span><br /></span><span>As for the ballpark itself, it is the newest one in the big leagues so from a standpoint of comfort, convenience, spacious concourse areas, and a vast amount of food selections, it was exactly what you'd expect.</span><span> However</span><span>, it was my trip to Nationals Park that made me realize</span><span> that we're going to have to start grading th</span><span>ese new ballparks on some sort of sliding scale. </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rG6-FKD3AvKYmZk9CN23uZK6tB9P-mOiqMLFowc7eCl_roDfaG4anVhz69oRWFOrnvE26Fyyd8eErglUhHwaC7nc07vKIcwj_ae8FDf32begMpYYHMsWZa4dEhnE309tAqaOfR62gx0/s1600-h/056.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7rG6-FKD3AvKYmZk9CN23uZK6tB9P-mOiqMLFowc7eCl_roDfaG4anVhz69oRWFOrnvE26Fyyd8eErglUhHwaC7nc07vKIcwj_ae8FDf32begMpYYHMsWZa4dEhnE309tAqaOfR62gx0/s200/056.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227936102742160370" border="0" /></a><span>Since they are all being built as sort of a correction to the sterile, generic, metallic/concrete beasts of the 1960's and 70's (Riverfront, Three Rivers, Veterans Stadium, to name a few), every single</span><span> one of the new parks grades out from good to excellent on the comfort and aesthetics scale. What would bring the Nationals Park grade down to something in the low B range for me was the overabundance of visual</span><span> and auditory encouragement to cheer, scream, yell, or "make</span><span> some noise". It seemed like the jumbotron (extra points for jumbotron in HD, by the way) and the vis</span><span>ual screens on the front of the upper deck were constantly telling us to do something, and doing so in a blend of bright color and booming noise that made i</span><span>t all feel like a bad acid trip at a Metallica concert. It came off almost amateurish.<br /></span><br /><span>Other notes from the Nationals Park visit:<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzFkxquvbrOv-KndX08MZLEivacwsAKv-aO22H-2JLf92BMGezWqUXriDuB6clXSAxspENj0reHU-XJQahB9Qq7OmtVlWwFkuc3ssJJLTNIj2yNNnMzN95_6KdkjZ35LS9JYX-1HlrLc/s1600-h/061.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmzFkxquvbrOv-KndX08MZLEivacwsAKv-aO22H-2JLf92BMGezWqUXriDuB6clXSAxspENj0reHU-XJQahB9Qq7OmtVlWwFkuc3ssJJLTNIj2yNNnMzN95_6KdkjZ35LS9JYX-1HlrLc/s200/061.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227916993006303346" border="0" /></a><span>- I have never caught a foul ball in my life at a game. Not at a minor league game, major league game, little leag</span><span>ue game, or even a beer league softball game. I left my kids and my dad for a few minutes to go handle some business at the</span><span> Nationals' media relations desk, and when I came bac</span><span>k, my kids were celebrating their grandfather snagging a fly ball off the bat of Nationals CF Willie Harris. When I'm 61 years old, I hope I am snagging foul balls at major league games. And sober, too. That would be good.<br /><br />- The game itself was a complete waste if</span><span> you are an Astros fan</span><span> (which I am, my kids are, and my dad sort of is now after visiting Houston in late June for the Red Sox series). Roy Oswalt (and his 4.56 ERA) started the game and pitched one inning before leaving with a recurrence of this mysterious hip ailment that he has. So that me</span><span>ans the game was left in the hands of the Astros bullpen, which is a little like leaving a spelling bee in the hands of Jessica Simpson.</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3NeTc-jEJ7ZBnhvJlKpj6Pj5mtqH0AEV_azzA3pXe_nrky_j4QpeGv0W5MpwyNKRrzPbXvA6OTaNYJKX4dS3il_Z4QmkiZimBY3gR-cr65lX-2_6Q1xc5HH89tN5zQnu6369OpY0EvY/s1600-h/063.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3NeTc-jEJ7ZBnhvJlKpj6Pj5mtqH0AEV_azzA3pXe_nrky_j4QpeGv0W5MpwyNKRrzPbXvA6OTaNYJKX4dS3il_Z4QmkiZimBY3gR-cr65lX-2_6Q1xc5HH89tN5zQnu6369OpY0EvY/s320/063.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227927764580059122" border="0" /></a><span> Anyway, Chad Paronto came in and gave up three runs in two innings. Then Dave Borkowski came in and did his best impersonation of a golf tee, giving up seven runs including two mammoth</span><span> home runs.<br /><br />Dave Borkowski, who as of this typing is no longer with the Astros, is absolutely brutal. Quick actual sports take, I am not nearly as offended by guys like Alex Rodriguez making $28M/yr as I am by guys like Dave Borkowski making $400K/yr. I mean, at least Alex Rodriguez is really good at what he does. At least peo</span><span>ple pay to see Alex Rodriguez. Dave Borkowski absolutely sucks at his job, he is the absolute worst, a total laughing stock. If he disappeared from the face of the earth, major league baseball wouldn't feel a thing. In short, nobody has ever bought a ticket to see Dave Borkowski, and no one has ever TIVO'd a game because there may be a Borkowski sighting. Yet he will make 10 times what a teacher will make this year. That bothers me. Not A-Rod, or Puma, or even </span><span>Carlos Lee getting paid big bucks. (Ok, maybe Carlos Lee a little bit...)<br /><br /></span><span>- Once Borkowski gave up runs 9 and 10 in the sixth inning and we were firmly in the apocalyptic aftermath of another Astros pitching meltdown, I decided to email my friend Alyson Footer. For </span><span>those of you who don't live in Houston, Alyson covers the Astros masterfully for MLB.com and is the perfect sounding board during 10-0 blowouts because she will respond with just the right combination of sarcasm, wit, and clarity. Fortunately, in addition to being a baseball guru, she can capably discuss topics like <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4MD7esdY_Kg">kiss-cam</a>, Billy Joel, and Tom Cruise's epic performance in "Top Gun". Alyson was sitting up in the press box at Nationals Park so we got onto the topic of the ball park i</span><span>tself. We agreed that maybe the Nationals audio/video folks were a bit over the top in presentation, but that the one thing that was a five-star winner was the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEGLjFMvEJ0&feature=related">Dead Presidents race</a> that they do between (I think) the fifth and sixth innings.<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyM7htre7MXh50Xfvaz645E98TrJd62SotOV6zaaWzOvMSkWGLOlY9b4TFewcJ8Qu20aAlI7ign2wT3udcWgW4PISNr-o8qWWSVKBFDBwCkxEmm0k5mzb6H1H3YM6T-esmRTqjpAJpl_A/s1600-h/Enron+Exec+Races.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyM7htre7MXh50Xfvaz645E98TrJd62SotOV6zaaWzOvMSkWGLOlY9b4TFewcJ8Qu20aAlI7ign2wT3udcWgW4PISNr-o8qWWSVKBFDBwCkxEmm0k5mzb6H1H3YM6T-esmRTqjpAJpl_A/s320/Enron+Exec+Races.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233087414263535986" border="0" /></a><span>They have people in Presidential costumes with huge, oversized heads racing around the perimeter of the ball park, starting in centerfield and ending at home plate. You can see in the picture to the left, the presidents involved are Teddy Roosevelt, Thomas Jefferson, Abe Lincoln, and George Washington. This event is very similar to the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4HMRtxY-ik">sausage races at Miller Park</a> in Milwaukee. Truth be told, costumes with oversized heads are neve</span><span>r "not funny". They are ALWAYS HILARIOUS. Without exception. Kind of like claymation characters. The fact is dudes made out of clay are always ten times funnier than the exact same dude in flesh and blood. It's a fact. Anyway, the Presidents race is a surefire winner. Alyson and I collectively lamented the fact that we have no "oversized headed costume race" in Houston, and decided that maybe it's time we started a movement to get one. Astros fans deserve it. We briefly debated who the contestants would be, knowing full well that they had to in some way capture the rich tradition of the city of Houston and in particular the ballpark itself. From there, the choice was obvious -- each night, the Astros need to conduct Disgraced Enron Executive Racing. Go get some costumes with oversized heads of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeffrey_Skilling">Jeffrey Skilling</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andrew_Fastow">Andrew Fastow</a>, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kenneth_Lay">Ken Lay</a> and race them around the yard between innings in orange jumpsuits. <span style="font-style: italic;">"Skilling is coming up around the oustide, Fastow is trying to hold him off ... meanwhile Ken Lay is going the WRONG WAY!!!"<br /><br /></span>- Food wise, at the recommendation of Brian Powell from the uber-blog <a href="http://www.awfulannouncing.com/">Awful Announcing</a>, I went to the <a href="http://www.benschilibowl.com/index.html">Ben's Chili Bowl</a> concession stand and went with the Chili Bowl Chili Dog. Ben's is a D.C. institution and their franchise inside the ballpark is their second location, adding to their historic site at 1213 U Street in D.C. As ball park chili dogs go ... hell, as ANY chili dogs go, this one was a beauty. Mustard, onions, chili, oh my ....<br /></span><br /><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">BEN'S CHILI BOWL - WASHINGTON, D.C.<br />FOOD: CHILI DOG<br />GRADE: a very spicy, hot A<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F7u0mnlCAGsFw3MIIRc32Qd8rKngDzlHy1DLKrDiKZvOEs1yBrY0G5VWUaAzDKzi1QbBqRSoDKbi2S59o4CBizlCCjbEcsLyeMyC9Wy1tZhF1XcCFHAksiAObxC-QVysiVAkC7GXlFo/s1600-h/062.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0F7u0mnlCAGsFw3MIIRc32Qd8rKngDzlHy1DLKrDiKZvOEs1yBrY0G5VWUaAzDKzi1QbBqRSoDKbi2S59o4CBizlCCjbEcsLyeMyC9Wy1tZhF1XcCFHAksiAObxC-QVysiVAkC7GXlFo/s320/062.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227930405257686674" border="0" /></a>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-15905535707363315982008-07-24T22:49:00.004-05:002008-07-27T21:56:33.478-05:00WED, July 9th - MON, July 14th - The Baseball Part of the Trip (Part I)<span style="font-weight: bold;">PITTSBURGH, PNC PARK<br />Astros vs Pirates, 7/9</span><br />After five days of a road trip agenda that was predominantly centered around barbecue, alcohol, and SEC cities, it was time to inject another facet of Americana into the mix. And really what says "good ol' USA" like the Pirates and the Astros on a random Wednesday night in July? IT's MOEHLER ... IT'S VAN BENSCHOTEN ... LIVE AT PNC PARK!!!!!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2Mi87LWJ5RgndbWR1wFsNMEyiUkEWlvMJOH-9fS47awT32t3_mHQWCao3Ey_-_m86M7RoTuGikt6xnQxEaM5Q3ApI7GUs-iWOmTTBauZy69nLm7j0ErR9urVtQzTNkKMT4Uhaj9tJzA/s1600-h/003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2Mi87LWJ5RgndbWR1wFsNMEyiUkEWlvMJOH-9fS47awT32t3_mHQWCao3Ey_-_m86M7RoTuGikt6xnQxEaM5Q3ApI7GUs-iWOmTTBauZy69nLm7j0ErR9urVtQzTNkKMT4Uhaj9tJzA/s320/003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226797052552987858" border="0" /></a>I had heard for a couple years now about how awesome PNC Park in Pittsburgh was, mostly from my dad. A couple years ago, he and his wife went on a road trip around the country seeing various ballparks throughout the Midwest and Northeast (I know, the apple doesn't fall from the tree). Miraculously, my dad remains married to this day. Anyway, he gushed about how great PNC Park was, that it was his favorite ball park he saw the entire trip. So I had to see for myself.<br /><br />Despite the fact that at this time of year my radio show centers more around topics like the chances of Tom Cruise making a "Top Gun" sequel than rabid discussion of the Pirates and Astros battling to see who is the taller midget, the Pittsburgh Pirates were kind enough to provide me with a media pass to the game. As you can see from the picture above (taken from seat 46 in the front row of the PNC press box), the engineers got it right with this yard. Bordering the Allegheny River and with a beautiful view of the highly underrated Pittsburgh skyline, PNC Park is exactly what the baseball gods had in mind when the renaissance of nouveau ball parks started with Camden Yards back in the early 1990's. The only problem as I see it is the fact that the Pirates haven't put a compelling product on the field since Barry Bonds skipped town in 1994. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvkkG74DqAsf3wWjB7JVrDthyphenhyphenQLvmxsivYfWkg3ekA-Sph4Pn7JIEQwQr65ZOwZoJ7UebBkfGjS6XnJ8ZHBkhkbeKzgvYIdAsBaBvSgvwt_Ggtaqw4fMOxVPvxMI7vm5pdnF-gzQPwsc/s1600-h/005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilvkkG74DqAsf3wWjB7JVrDthyphenhyphenQLvmxsivYfWkg3ekA-Sph4Pn7JIEQwQr65ZOwZoJ7UebBkfGjS6XnJ8ZHBkhkbeKzgvYIdAsBaBvSgvwt_Ggtaqw4fMOxVPvxMI7vm5pdnF-gzQPwsc/s320/005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227869110955219362" border="0" /></a> Since then, a combination of a mass exodus of marquee stars (Bobby Bonilla, Doug Drabek, Bonds), poor decision making (Jason Kendall for $10M a year anyone?) and the general financial dysfunction between the haves and have-nots in baseball have left the once proud Pittsburgh franchise a laughing stock. So you have a gorgeous jewel of a ball park with an utterly crappy baseball team. Imagine the producers of the movie "Vacation" deciding to put Amy Winehouse in the Ferrari instead of Christie Brinkley. That's what this was -- a beautiful vehicle with the homeliest of gnarly scum whores driving.<br /><br />To be fair, this Pirates team has some young players you can get behind, most notably center fielder Nate McLouth, but bad is bad, and this team is ... well, as Charles Barkley would say <span style="font-style: italic;">"they not turbull, but they not verah good." </span>The banners on the wall say it all -- the last time this franchise accomplished anything truly noteworthy was when the Pops Stargell-led "We Are Family" Pirates won a World Series in 1979, coming back from 3-1 down to beat the Baltimore Orioles. <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span>And yet miraculously, the Pirates were able to convince the city to build them maybe the most plush yard in the bigs. As I sat high above the field before the game, I watched each of the 13,000 fans file into this 40,000 seat superstructure (seriously, it was so sparse that the usher to fan ratio allowed for each paying fan to have his/her own personal usher .. or so it seemed). All I could think of was the argument that all of these owners who are/were seeking new ball parks in mid-level to small markets espouse -- that without a new park, they won't have the revenue streams to compete with the big boys. And yet here are the Pirates with the most beautiful yard in the league, and on July 25th they are practically in last place and dumping Xavier Nady (and his .330 batting average) and Damaso Marte for a bunch of New York Yankee farmhands. Same old Pirates, same old baseball. But it is a damn fine yard, a Ferrari to be sure. Too bad the team is Amy Winehouse.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PRESS BOX NOTE: </span>Perhaps my proudest moment as a media member was one that none of you will ever see nor hear. You see, the Pittsburgh press box is glassed in with windows before and after the games. During the games, they open the windows allowing for you to feel like you're at the park but also allowing in a fair amount of insects on warm July nights. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqwP1PEB0xf1StfCrOY7VR-QocpApIxGUsFmzsUkkwtwMdsmJQerSu24KjRojAH1-_XJx7Crd4p5jY3qZYbaZy1t-0saBVGazRS1Is6coyE70qRYOJosyHoyU-Nqjl36RXvGx38xEXMw/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqwP1PEB0xf1StfCrOY7VR-QocpApIxGUsFmzsUkkwtwMdsmJQerSu24KjRojAH1-_XJx7Crd4p5jY3qZYbaZy1t-0saBVGazRS1Is6coyE70qRYOJosyHoyU-Nqjl36RXvGx38xEXMw/s200/006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227857069328317586" border="0" /></a>Well,<br />after the game there was a junebug sitting to the left of my seat on the counter at seat 46. Well, perhaps fearing that PETA may actually consider an annoying little flying insect an animal, rather than squash my new press box neighbor, I decided to flick it down the counter away from my personal workspace toward seats 47, 48, 49, and so forth. (NOTE: There was no one sitting to the left of me so it wasn't as though I was depositing a new pet into someone else's area.) Well, I gave the little bugger a mighty flick with my right middle finger and it went in the laptop extension cord hole past seat 50! SWISH!!! You can see the hole in the counter to the left of Seat 50. To give you an idea of the degree of difficulty of this shot, it's like the equivalent of chipping in from about 120 yards, according to my calculations.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuF3h8JIYtfMBNmMji-z6uGqzDX4v3WMxPV-Tm1gtksbU6BC0ujpx_1j1NtDOHBC3ToJACpF7v1vhyphenhyphenKySiUoWYyx5lPDXP6uzRubldt3btYMXeky3j9EnKSwd1AmtZfimvszhWciAdMPg/s1600-h/007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuF3h8JIYtfMBNmMji-z6uGqzDX4v3WMxPV-Tm1gtksbU6BC0ujpx_1j1NtDOHBC3ToJACpF7v1vhyphenhyphenKySiUoWYyx5lPDXP6uzRubldt3btYMXeky3j9EnKSwd1AmtZfimvszhWciAdMPg/s200/007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5226797654087472594" border="0" /></a>I don't know why I am sharing this with you other than to show how it's really the little things in life like flicking a defenseless junebug about 25 feet into a two inch hole that make life worth living. Isn't it?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PITTSBURGH CUISINE NOTE: </span>For those wondering, yes, I did make it out to a <a href="http://www.primantibrothers.com/">Primanti Brothers</a> restaurant while I was in the 'Burgh. If you haven't had a Primanti Brothers sandwich,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlmXC5C9F-3vB_HMD26BH0BoUYQNjiKKNi9HVTpR9HlavKR6o6imNhI6Qe2LPcFrGgm_lAN5y8nkiicDYsiQHu0e8Gs_GCrKMp6Auuj_KfBSGKJFEg1CLzjkj1HonGpuA6gkglKV-nvM/s1600-h/015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlmXC5C9F-3vB_HMD26BH0BoUYQNjiKKNi9HVTpR9HlavKR6o6imNhI6Qe2LPcFrGgm_lAN5y8nkiicDYsiQHu0e8Gs_GCrKMp6Auuj_KfBSGKJFEg1CLzjkj1HonGpuA6gkglKV-nvM/s320/015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227879736845114034" border="0" /></a> you are missing out on one of the truly unique sandwich eating experiences. If you're not sure if you've had one, then you haven't. The sandwiches have been a staple in Pittsburgh since the 1930's. There are times where eating establishments or food companies will combine seemingly unrelated food products into one eat-it-simultaneously amalgamation with hopes that they are discovering the eating equivalent of plutonium. Sometimes the results are historically great, like when the dude accidentally plunked his chocolate in the other dude's peanut butter. VOILA! <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JWMM7HPeTHQ">Reese's cups are born!</a> Other times the results give you disastrously sharp stomach pains all day, like McDonald's deciding it would be a good idea to use miniature, maple saturated pancakes as the bread device for a breakfast sandwich. VOILA! The <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0G3A8qMzU0&feature=related">utterly horrific McGriddle</a> is born, complete with complimentary Pepto Bismol.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMGaY5xDmAgSmDkfon5CMJZ75pC0X_dSPQ3rqyPTyiVOydrs1EopRKgKC8FLAwPJSs1YaCuSG7vZcExAk8F7KBNpHs44R2aY_UI3YWEeTMyMA6yEoGBjnokxqHlyFxiM8kUEDO1LqDFg8/s1600-h/016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMGaY5xDmAgSmDkfon5CMJZ75pC0X_dSPQ3rqyPTyiVOydrs1EopRKgKC8FLAwPJSs1YaCuSG7vZcExAk8F7KBNpHs44R2aY_UI3YWEeTMyMA6yEoGBjnokxqHlyFxiM8kUEDO1LqDFg8/s320/016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227883049512957122" border="0" /></a>Primanti's sandwich combination (freshly made cole slaw and french fries cut right in the store, along with your choice of meat and the best bread you will ever sink your teeth into) just works. There's no other way to put it. And like anything this gluttonous and messy, it's always better at around 2 in the morning with a twelver of Iron City beer coursing through your veins.<br /><br />Me, I went with the roast beef. It's the old reliable, never disappoints. Got the lovely and talented Aubrey to flash the double rods as well. Viva La 'Burgh!!!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PRIMANTI BROTHERS - PITTSBURGH, PA<br />FOOD: ROAST BEEF SANDWICH (w/ slaw and fries)<br />GRADE: rock solid A<br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-31497585649194978892008-07-17T00:11:00.002-05:002008-07-17T10:00:30.461-05:00TUESDAY, JULY 8th (Part II) - Goodbye SEC, Hello West VirginiaSeeing as we are about to move forward with the northeast leg of my cross country road trip, allow me for a minute to summarize the part of the country through which I had driven up to Tuesday afternoon. To recap, I spent the first five days of my vacation traversing Louisiana, cutting through Mississippi on my way to Alabama, before making a sweet sojourn through Tennessee which begat a beautiful two day ride across Kentucky. Along the way, there were plenty of green mountains, friendly people, fine food, and beautiful women. This was virtually across the board, in the rural areas and in the cities. The college campuses I saw ranged from pleasantly quiet (Southern Miss) to SEC Awesome-riffic (Alabama, Kentucky). I bring this up because people who attended SEC schools -- those who earned their degrees and the remaining 90% who either dropped out, played sports, or didn't attend Vanderbilt -- are very parochial about SEC football and SEC country and how it is different than any other conference. Truth be told, I always rolled my eyes at it a little bit. I mean I know the football is great in the SEC, but good college towns are good college towns, or so I thought. And to some degree, that is the case. Ann Arbor and Austin have every bit the college cache as Tuscaloosa or Knoxville. But there are certain places where the difference between "SEC college town" and, well, "<span style="font-weight: bold;">not</span> an SEC college town" can become very pronounced. The trip from Kentucky through West Virginia is one of those places.<br /><br />The drive through West Virginia itself, if done on the interstates, is nearly identical to driving through most of Tennessee and parts of Kentucky. It's very green, very hilly, and very rural. But get off the interstate in one of the cities with a major college (and in West Virginia, there's really only two -- Huntington which houses Marshall University, and Morgantown which houses criminals), and immediately you can tell that you're not in SEC country anymore.<br /><br />In SEC country, football stadiums are majestic cathedrals, surrounded by meticulously manicured landscaping, reminding its fans that this is where the best of the best have brought them to a higher place on Saturdays for decades ...<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxC2Oh-0l2CpmfdFApyuyWFuSa81z-dN25MtLAophGgWoiGlIpgl8rEA9JJkGGAMSbJzdAxzA9T_dqzzeZDVysI5HOSSEsYlKAf-fAEmRziCYsXfXC1dbes60bc_Rv9F5F8ES6KZX_XAA/s1600-h/004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxC2Oh-0l2CpmfdFApyuyWFuSa81z-dN25MtLAophGgWoiGlIpgl8rEA9JJkGGAMSbJzdAxzA9T_dqzzeZDVysI5HOSSEsYlKAf-fAEmRziCYsXfXC1dbes60bc_Rv9F5F8ES6KZX_XAA/s400/004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223838689105354162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />At Marshall, the football stadium is a reminder that Division I football is actually played amidst this cavalcade of generic urban squalor they call a college campus ....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWdGaJrLDIDEvcCfgphvqaugT7uxi_8Ny8_YjaDqEek2Vorm2LMGsOtPBL0LZnX9YSJS0j4Qjqf7GXXeRLkv5Y6Ckbg_vcKx7jhlDtyKaQZNI7WmRrmQYlGZltWb_aNUwLwKBTbqse5A/s1600-h/101.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZWdGaJrLDIDEvcCfgphvqaugT7uxi_8Ny8_YjaDqEek2Vorm2LMGsOtPBL0LZnX9YSJS0j4Qjqf7GXXeRLkv5Y6Ckbg_vcKx7jhlDtyKaQZNI7WmRrmQYlGZltWb_aNUwLwKBTbqse5A/s400/101.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223828431833632018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Clearly, one person who hasn't forgotten about Marshall football is Kaye from the Marshall bookstore, who had this to say when I brought up the rivalry with West Virginia ....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeH-cM6sJ6dJBqOk-wL9AGFi4PYHAar2x4szWo8pTAsmw82XIbTVUFuoi0yj8EB5_lpC7RkaxQez-Hbs2IYiuj9XUcJp3kkAVelEl0AtucaEc8zEgUR4TFyEuZBLCWl-eXr-z8eZC0XE/s1600-h/099.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTeH-cM6sJ6dJBqOk-wL9AGFi4PYHAar2x4szWo8pTAsmw82XIbTVUFuoi0yj8EB5_lpC7RkaxQez-Hbs2IYiuj9XUcJp3kkAVelEl0AtucaEc8zEgUR4TFyEuZBLCWl-eXr-z8eZC0XE/s320/099.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223848343887183554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />When I told her that I would be going through Morgantown later that evening, she warned me not to "look at any of them cross eyed" or else I'd catch a beating, to which I replied "Why not? Won't most of them be looking at me cross eyed?" (Inbred jokes in West Virginia are like the 1st grade questions in "Are You Smarter Than a Fifth Grader?" They're so easy that you aren't even really proud you nailed it, just relieved.) That said, Kaye got such a big belly laugh out of that burn on WVU, that I probably could have easily made out with her right then and there ... and if she were 30 years younger, I might have done that. Instead, I did the only logical thing ... squelched out her laughter by saying "What the hell are you laughing at lady?? You live in HUNTINGTON!! It's not like NASA is camped out here looking for future scientists ... " That crack on Kaye was not meant to disrespect the entire state of West Virginia, just the uneducated parts of it (or as I like to call it, "the other 99%").<br /><br />And by the way, if you're wondering what I purchased at the Marshall bookstore, I purchased a Marshall Soccer t-shirt, in protest of former Marshall QB Chad Pennington getting $9M this season from the Jets (assuming they don't cut him) despite being able to barely outthrow my 10 year old daughter.<br /><br />Just before getting back on the interstate to leave Huntington, I saw this final little piece of constructive brilliance. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSOYGzvOlyBFMACIYIMqGliOTsAWTm6s_HemEwt26OXpPzJdp4vOEJNRujvmREtYLYh4NqT8dhcVjCq5Hw9rKXhFrSdITAFBESCy0M8m-IjStMVpcdzXTwjpq-ScnwCGIafk_2TEbBeE/s1600-h/108.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijSOYGzvOlyBFMACIYIMqGliOTsAWTm6s_HemEwt26OXpPzJdp4vOEJNRujvmREtYLYh4NqT8dhcVjCq5Hw9rKXhFrSdITAFBESCy0M8m-IjStMVpcdzXTwjpq-ScnwCGIafk_2TEbBeE/s400/108.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223851165227932114" border="0" /></a>A Super 8 Motel built high atop some random hill just off the highway, with parking in front of the facility and no guardrail at the edge of the parking spaces. I have no empirical research to back this up, but I am going to put the over/under at 75% (and take the over) on the percentage of people pulling into a Super 8 Motel parking lot in Huntington, WV who have either (a) been drinking, (b) been using drugs, (c) haven't slept in 24 hours, (d) are shitty drivers, or (e) all of the above. I mean, isn't this a Faces of Death scene waiting to happen? That said, it is a pretty kick ass sledding hill in the wintertime if you get a nice snow cushion built up below the cement wall barricade at the bottom. So to review, in the world according to Sean Pendergast -- driving down this hill in an automobile because you were too impaired to properly park your rig, BAD .... sledding down this hill on a small piece of plastic shaped like a saucer with the only thing protecting your head being an old school Pittsburgh Steelers ski cap with a pom pom on top, GOOD. (And yes, I just made fun of West Virginians for being uneducated two paragraphs ago ... so what? You got a problem?)<br /><br />I continued my journey through the Mountaineer State headed for Morgantown by dinnertime, all the while with the lyrics to "Country Roads" by John Denver ringing in my head. I could hear him singing <span style="font-style: italic;">"Almost heaven ... West Virginia"</span>, and I began to think that if this is really almost heaven maybe it's not so bad that I've committed all of these sins. In fact, maybe I should commit <span style="font-style: italic;">more</span> sins, so I pulled over in Charleston, purchased a Playboy magazine (lust), read it at an all you can eat buffet (gluttony), went to a casino (greed), took a nap (sloth), killed a spider (wrath), became jealous of people with hair (envy), put on some cologne (pride) and jumped in the car to head to Morgantown, safe in my assumptions that my activities of the previous two hours (not to mention the previous 39 years) would be enough to keep me out of "almost heaven", let alone heaven itself.<br /><br />I had spoken with my father just thirty minutes before arriving in Morgantown with his words still ringing in my head -- <span style="font-style: italic;">"Why in the hell are you stopping to spend the night in Morgantown?!?"</span> I originally had not planned to; my rough draft on this leg of the trip had me arriving in Pittsburgh in time to see the Astros and the Pirates play on Tuesday night and Wednesday night. However, as the day wore on it became apparent that my late start combined with my "nooner" with the Mega-Ho in Lexington combined with torrential downpours the whole day were going to keep me from seeing my beloved 'Stros try and stay out of last place in the NL Central, at least on Tuesday. So Morgantown seemed like a proper stop on the tour, especially given the collegiate nature of my previous four stops (Baton Rouge, Tuscaloosa, Nashville, Lexington). I mean, maybe they had a Pac Man Jones/Chris Henry Reality Tour where you could ride around town and see the places they committed all of their felonious acts, narrated by the Morgantown Chief of Police.<br /><br />So I pulled into Morgantown, and the closer I got to the WVU campus, the more I could see what my dad was talking about. Now keep in mind, my dad spent ten years in athletic administration at the University of Connecticut from 1998 through 2007, so his impressions of Morgantown are largely formulated from experiences where he had whiskey bottles jettisoned his way at WVU v UCONN football and basketball games. All of that said, I was thoroughly unimpressed with Morgantown. The roads around campus are all about ten feet wide and wind agonizingly through some of the most depressing "rurban" decay you will ever see. (NOTE: "Rurban" is my made up word combining "rural" and "urban". It's for areas that are in towns, but just hillbilly enough to where they have a rural feel to them. With demographic awareness like this, I'm sure Obama and McCain are on the edge of their seats to see which of them I will publicly endorse come November.)<br /><br />Aesthetically, the campus itself was a blah 3.5 on a 1-10 scale, especially on the heels of seeing the great campuses of the SEC. Also, the campus was ultra-hilly, which I know sounds like nitpicking but there is something supremely depressing to me about a campus that has so many hills that walking or biking to class becomes a dreaded chore. I mean let's face it, I'll be the first to admit that walking or biking to class is a dreaded chore on the flattest of campuses (see Dame, Notre), so injecting 45 degree hills into the mix seems almost unfair.<br /><br />So with nighttime rapidly approaching, I had a decision to make -- do I stay in Morgantown tonight, or do I keep on trucking to Pittsburgh, despite John Denver's contentions that West Virginia has "almost heaven" status? The decision was an easy one. I bolted. It came down to three things:<br /><br />(1) Realizing that if this place was not good enough for Rich Rodriguez, who <span style="font-style: italic;">went to </span><span style="font-style: italic;"> WVU</span>, to stay then it certainly wasn't good enough for me to stay.<br /><br />(2) Seeing this guy leaving a meeting for the gifted and talented students at Morgantown High School<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5B4-fhZm3LJz1_Y0CRAhoAp78kJ-CZzsgqYBx39b2xjbn2h4fEcE6XVn8Z-_W8XAs45l_01JfCo37M3qPgsxDF7kr4VPVgIVLeV5ITMiOS84jhIhvjNrB_VaO6wsqaGZJcqnIne8xwsQ/s1600-h/Morgantown+kid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5B4-fhZm3LJz1_Y0CRAhoAp78kJ-CZzsgqYBx39b2xjbn2h4fEcE6XVn8Z-_W8XAs45l_01JfCo37M3qPgsxDF7kr4VPVgIVLeV5ITMiOS84jhIhvjNrB_VaO6wsqaGZJcqnIne8xwsQ/s200/Morgantown+kid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223864691799304498" border="0" /></a> ...<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />(3)<br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/w9R4t_Nwy5E&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/w9R4t_Nwy5E&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />The choice was easy. I pressed on, headed for that Pennsylvania state line. Made it to Pittsburgh around 10:00PM. Ironically, the Astros-Pirates game had multiple rain delays and didn't end until nearly 1:30 in the morning. So I got to stay up and watch the Astros blow a lead that they had held for nearly 6 hours. For this, I was bitter. However, the good news is I was not on a canoe in the outback of Appalachia. For this, I was grateful.<br /><br />And I was going to PNC Park on Wednesday. For this I was grateful, too.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-86833332337049946462008-07-16T21:03:00.000-05:002008-07-16T22:45:35.634-05:00TUESDAY, JULY 8th (Part I) - The Good Kind of HO<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnsTuVxFb0dXW02P_U7RQYjVVHgIKWHGN6gMZK0kEepma41KaSnbPzp_l-WHl6_WBLHo2r0PTPo_7vaMk0WfMP9mY3kFGCJdnBKE0LDq-BS18Zj43ptRVgT5Oo-v4AjfVWVO-TTh0hDw/s1600-h/090.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnnsTuVxFb0dXW02P_U7RQYjVVHgIKWHGN6gMZK0kEepma41KaSnbPzp_l-WHl6_WBLHo2r0PTPo_7vaMk0WfMP9mY3kFGCJdnBKE0LDq-BS18Zj43ptRVgT5Oo-v4AjfVWVO-TTh0hDw/s200/090.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223801957826194754" border="0" /></a>Shortly after forfeiting an hour back to the time zone gods heading east, I arrived in Lexington, KY around 8:00PM Monday night 7/7. I could tell you that the reason I didn't do much in the way of partying in Lexington on Monday night was because school was not in session and without the college scene in full force, Lexington is just another sleepy little city in the middle of God's country. However, truth be told, after a weekend of eating, drinking, ogling, and laughing my way through the SEC, I needed a night of Chick-fil-A and WWE Monday Night Raw in my hotel room. This was not necessarily a bad thing, as I got to see the new WWE Champion C.M. Punk <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgGj8nWKM67kYQcenBWxRqfCkYs-xg8JN5_qL7VKQMaTJY7yL8x-IO4BJYWNViB3tmZcc2Lz5whpqLkKrADzkIqk6lYTxyudeMBQDKL27vpNK0xOV6Ytb7HxS_9JzSy99orn3NFZpT1I/s1600-h/065.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgGj8nWKM67kYQcenBWxRqfCkYs-xg8JN5_qL7VKQMaTJY7yL8x-IO4BJYWNViB3tmZcc2Lz5whpqLkKrADzkIqk6lYTxyudeMBQDKL27vpNK0xOV6Ytb7HxS_9JzSy99orn3NFZpT1I/s200/065.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223804686831682594" border="0" /></a>(pictured here at the Wrestlemania press conference in Houston on June 25th; he looks a little like the drunk trail cook in "City Slickers") in his first title defense, I got to eat the grilled chicken salad with extra Honey Dijon dressing which is one of my favorites, and I got to fully experience the Fairfield Inn-Lexington, which has two -- count 'em, TWO -- treadmills and a continental breakfast to die for. All in all, life was pretty good in Lexington.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTakqcKJKIIF50ISXDMe70uL4DRwMiy6HG_0HvEZWyeExCxRluHWPshMWGS2-7hgwDDLZXPvFIoERHAWnofh-DKy1QUNAQU-Pwpl7reazhQtUalRatjkFzprJEYsHsczToKjQGS1BeozU/s1600-h/093.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTakqcKJKIIF50ISXDMe70uL4DRwMiy6HG_0HvEZWyeExCxRluHWPshMWGS2-7hgwDDLZXPvFIoERHAWnofh-DKy1QUNAQU-Pwpl7reazhQtUalRatjkFzprJEYsHsczToKjQGS1BeozU/s200/093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223807005502563842" border="0" /></a>It only got better on Tuesday as I was able to make my way over to campus and chalk up my digestive experience for this leg of the trip -- a swing by <a href="http://www.tolly-ho.com/">Tolly Ho's</a>, a 24 hour eatery right across the street from one of the bookstores on campus. This little dive (and I mean that in the most flattering way) came highly recommended from one of my listeners, Kerry Guidry. Kerry is a lawyer, so I knew that not only was I about to get a good burger, but there was probably a decent chance that I would slip and fall somewhere in this joint and have a shot at a six figure "pain and suffering" settlement. Bonus! So I parked my car on the street, and walked over to Tolly Ho's, keeping a watchful eye for any potholes on Tolly Ho property into which I might be able to trip and fall.<br /><br />You can see the awning over the front door in the picture above, and you may even be able to make out the slogan on the front flap. It says "A UK Tradition Since 1971". <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxfeEtf1GTGjWwU21uUQjN8Krw8F-TCJcRatQGKqhY8Q9DzqFwhRAaK95eptMp7gMuwruLmO_hKm3RxRyIKPQ0XL8osfSfGClwwDpobL0x57Bte0JfDzdoUblWWP-fcXxoRBbN_tKbrE/s1600-h/095.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxfeEtf1GTGjWwU21uUQjN8Krw8F-TCJcRatQGKqhY8Q9DzqFwhRAaK95eptMp7gMuwruLmO_hKm3RxRyIKPQ0XL8osfSfGClwwDpobL0x57Bte0JfDzdoUblWWP-fcXxoRBbN_tKbrE/s200/095.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223810929661792418" border="0" /></a>Do the math, they've been around for about 37 years. How do you stay in business that long in the "greasy spoon" business? Well, the immediate knee jerk answer is "you cook great food", and I suppose that's partially true. But in Kentucky, you also can't get too caught up in modern technology. In other words, when new video games come out, if the ones you already have ain't broke, then don't swap 'em out. I can only assume this is the philosophy of the King Ho at Tolly Ho's because the first thing you notice about this place is it's decided 1984 feel, complete with all of your arcade favorites (multiple pinball machines, Galaga,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSc_p0OwCMJOc_SaIPRuN_RF6Z_6OD5PZ6n0zUCWMyGtHyvEXzAUmBasirZ2ebNx2m7raDdxwp1ryZQIOKTlY34Ytd3qumb2NAFnvvcWOROjhopZtChsHLsY8yL8GLLwOYrFvAE4l4E9Q/s1600-h/094.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSc_p0OwCMJOc_SaIPRuN_RF6Z_6OD5PZ6n0zUCWMyGtHyvEXzAUmBasirZ2ebNx2m7raDdxwp1ryZQIOKTlY34Ytd3qumb2NAFnvvcWOROjhopZtChsHLsY8yL8GLLwOYrFvAE4l4E9Q/s200/094.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223810931952529810" border="0" /></a> Centipede, Ms. Pac Man, and yes the original Donkey Kong). I was half expecting Stacy from "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" to come out and take my order, and for Damone to be selling Blue Oyster Cult tickets over by Space Invaders. Hell, even the TV in the upper corner of the room was playing "Days of Our Lives" and the character getting major screen time was "Bo" (portrayed in all of his worse-than-porn-acting glory by Peter Reckell), who was one of the main characters back during the Reagan Administration. To bring the 1980's references full circle, it was like I stepped out of a Delorean into the year 1985.<br /><br />After resisting the temptation to drop about five dollars in Dig Dug, I strolled up to the counter to place my order. Knowing that the specialty of Tolly Ho's is their burger, I asked if there was any burger in particular that I should sample. The shapely tomcat behind the counter told me that I should choose between (from smallest to largest) <a href="http://www.tolly-ho.com/sandwiches.htm">the Tolly-Ho, the Super-Ho, and the Mega-Ho</a>. (Basically, the difference between each was that with each level of Ho you went up, another 1/4 lb beef patty got added. There's a metaphor for something in there.) So in honor of most of my formal dates in college (if one of you is reading this, I don't mean you, I mean the other skanks), I went with the Mega-Ho. Three all beef patties of artery clogging goodness, topped with three slices of cheese, ketchup, mayo, mustard, lettuce, onions, tomato. Total fat grams, who cares? I'm on vacation.<br /><br />I texted Kerry to let him know of my whereabouts and that I went with the Mega-Ho as my choice. He replied in about 30 seconds with a long soliloquy on how he and his buddies always ate there when they were drunk at three in the morning, and finished off the text message with "God, I miss the Ho." Indeed, Kerry. Don't we all ....<br /><br />Kerry also told me to be sure to convey to the cashier that I am a "virgin ho", which I happily did even if that's the biggest lie this side of Roger telling us Andy misremembered. Well, apparently the phrase "virgin ho" has nothing to do with my sketchy intimacy track record, instead it is a moniker for those who are experiencing Tolly Ho's culinary delights for the first time. What did my status as "virgin ho" net me? Well, when it came time for me to pick up my order from the counter, the announcement that my burger was ready was adjoined with a spirited proclamation from the cashier as to my maiden voyage status into the world of ho-ism. The only thing missing was Jim Ross proclaiming that "GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY BUSINESS IS BY GOD ABOUT TO PICK UP!!"<br /><br />After sheepishly waving at the other five patrons in the Ho (whose reactions ranged from indifferent to nonplussed) as if I were receiving an Academy Award, I took my tray back to my seat and dove into the Mega-Ho ... not unlike the Christmas Formal at Notre Dame back in 1989. Of course, my dates then never looked this beautiful ....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdU7OuY_1BpgWM0R2OnUuiu_K22pXH_EBA2j7o5xVbfJlAoKBoSMXtiv5zc3x-br8SKliQyifSm6nEfvzcxfyp3iPO8Hf2lyd3U_IuD8ZVyjDxBjRZFPWud1OE4wZ5C7lEjHqKnWvXXQ/s1600-h/097.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdU7OuY_1BpgWM0R2OnUuiu_K22pXH_EBA2j7o5xVbfJlAoKBoSMXtiv5zc3x-br8SKliQyifSm6nEfvzcxfyp3iPO8Hf2lyd3U_IuD8ZVyjDxBjRZFPWud1OE4wZ5C7lEjHqKnWvXXQ/s400/097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223815632771138802" border="0" /></a>The key with any Mega-Ho (the burger or otherwise) is toasting the buns. The difference in taste when you have a Mega-Ho whose buns are toasted is palatable, noticeable, and quite frankly, a gift from the heavens. I will never, ever have a Mega-Ho with soft, squishy, uncooked buns. Ever.<br /><br />You might think that it took me a while to down that tower of cholesterol you see to the left of this text. As Red in "The Shawshank Redemption" might say, <span style="font-style: italic;">I wish I could tell you that Sean fought the good fight, and that the Mega-Ho let him be. I wish I could tell you he didn't drop ten bucks into Donkey Kong and Q-bert. I wish I could tell you that - but Tolly Ho's ain't no fairy tale world.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">TOLLY HO'S - LEXINGTON, KY<br />FOOD: THE MEGA-HO BURGER<br />GRADE: A+++<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-13722150298004368412008-07-14T23:25:00.001-05:002008-07-15T02:46:51.310-05:00MONDAY, JULY 7th - Meeting Youtube's Chosen One<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(EDITOR'S NOTE: I know I am a few days behind on the vacation updates. That was bound to happen when (a) my kids arrived on the scene in Pittsburgh and (b) I became stuck at the Connecticut shore with an internet connection whose speed falls somewhere between "GLACIAL" and "CARLOS LEE". Consider these last few days the equivalent of when Mission Control wouldn't hear from Apollo 13 for a few days while they were orbiting the back side of the moon. I disappeared while orbiting Old Lyme, CT, but now I'm back. My goal is to be all caught up in the next couple days. Enjoy t</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">he ride.)</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdChOHH1MWig7w5bOQw3EpuExhq-LVhnOjjmVI-vt6mvRpYfaFLh5Ul8WXgVYCwUbNEgyviw-Yzfs2FDaJFXpGKWLZnnb5WTeCgy15p5kb1YkeEI8u_hpAObnc_PTkxRex7S_PLyHA4gE/s1600-h/043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdChOHH1MWig7w5bOQw3EpuExhq-LVhnOjjmVI-vt6mvRpYfaFLh5Ul8WXgVYCwUbNEgyviw-Yzfs2FDaJFXpGKWLZnnb5WTeCgy15p5kb1YkeEI8u_hpAObnc_PTkxRex7S_PLyHA4gE/s400/043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223128976864703522" border="0" /></a><span>It was with a hangover-induced haze that I left Nashville on Monday morning, wondering ho</span><span>w I could possi</span><span>bly top a weekend which included a tour</span><span> of a distillery, a cheeseburger called "T</span><span>he Gamble", and thought-provoking conversation with the drummer for an 80's hair ba</span><span>nd. Normally the task of topping that weekend would be impossible. But I was heading to Russellville, KY to meet the Youtube Legend (yes, I capitalized the word "Legend"), Kige Ramsey.</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><br /><br />Kige Ramsey. If you don't know anything about Kige, <a href="http://sportskolache.blogspot.com/2008/03/greatness-that-is-kige-ramsey.html">click here</a> for a pretty good Cliffs Notes synopsis of his work on Youtube. He is a third year student at Western Kentucky (although he says he may be taking this semester off), a video generating machine, and an internet sensation (see <a href="http://deadspin.com/sports/deadspin-hall-of-fame/deadspin-hof-nominee-kige-ramsey-292675.php">Hall of Fame nomination, Deadspin</a>).<br /><br /><br /><br />He doesn't shy away from any topics, whether it's <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88DX45Ex9yE">Nicole Richie's "anorexic"</a> ....<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/88DX45Ex9yE&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/88DX45Ex9yE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />or a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QiXVdUla-kw">public service announcement on how to safely deploy bottle rockets</a>.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QiXVdUla-kw&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QiXVdUla-kw&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />He doesn't shy away from the spotlight, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKhN4nNlMNE">he embraces it</a>.<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qKhN4nNlMNE&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qKhN4nNlMNE&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE MEETING</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />"Every once in a while, a person comes along who defies the odds, w</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ho defies logic and fulfills an incredible dream."</span><br /><br />These were words actually uttered by the mayor of Philadelphia in <span style="font-style: italic;">Rocky III</span> before presenting the now famous statue of Rocky Balboa with his hands raised over his head at the top of the steps of the Art Museum in Philadelphia.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzthKooUorTkpIPHzqWUTJzH93MivERBz-rzrUQYR6UHmVujAfbs2xhuaWzbCMZqlv8e9yQ-m7YRmR7j5gz5sC2E7BpDFWP_xmjXDq0SLE-tD-PWPEFiAdxP_U9Mha6v267kRkL6qSoE/s1600-h/039.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikzthKooUorTkpIPHzqWUTJzH93MivERBz-rzrUQYR6UHmVujAfbs2xhuaWzbCMZqlv8e9yQ-m7YRmR7j5gz5sC2E7BpDFWP_xmjXDq0SLE-tD-PWPEFiAdxP_U9Mha6v267kRkL6qSoE/s200/039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223110102647301474" border="0" /></a>I would argue that a similar ceremony could easily be held in Russellville in front of Roy's Bar-b-que emceed by the mayor of Russellville speaking about Kige with a statue of Kige wrapped in a Kentucky Wildcats banner. (I am assuming that there is no Russellville Art Museum, otherwise they could hold the ceremony there. I am assuming there is a mayor of Russellville.)<br /><br />It was at Roy's Bar-B-Que that I finally met the near Deadspin Hall of Famer for lunch before making our way over to Youtube Sports World Headquarters for an afternoon of spirited discussion regarding the future of the broadcasting industry. I am firmly of the opinion that you know you're at an establishment that's serious about its craft when they decide to abbreviate syllables (or sometimes <span style="font-style: italic;">entire words</span>) by using one letter as a replacement. Toys-R-Us .... Stop N Go ... In N Out Burger ... Roy's Bar-B-Que. It's almost as if they've built up so much street cred they're saying "Yeah, we know the whole syllable is actually "be". But we're gonna stick it to THE MAN! Just the letter B and that's all you get!! F-YOU!!!" Who am I to argue? As long as the food is good, they can spell it in Japanese for all I care. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4b9335m0v3aXCeoz2zXuCSG32Nj0BDAdsircI40uertdmiFCyqWJ1Qt-zlEWHVMqI5-niMqGm0hkp-XYxC7Dw5pZO5qDTiKVTehH_7ML7_0vcXIZtxheUyu8XdehjZuoW8xPqfbJj-g/s1600-h/037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm4b9335m0v3aXCeoz2zXuCSG32Nj0BDAdsircI40uertdmiFCyqWJ1Qt-zlEWHVMqI5-niMqGm0hkp-XYxC7Dw5pZO5qDTiKVTehH_7ML7_0vcXIZtxheUyu8XdehjZuoW8xPqfbJj-g/s200/037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223123854755223746" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And oh yes, the food was good. I got a pulled pork sandwich where they actually used <span style="font-style: italic;">cornbread</span> as the bread for the sandwich, making it the second most fattening bread for a sandwich behind the <a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2352/2367234693_f3b8b4da83.jpg%3Fv%3D0&imgrefurl=http://flickr.com/photos/stevenv/2367234693/&h=281&w=500&sz=97&hl=en&start=2&sig2=DIOnF8qiwfnc8J2BZWMjlg&um=1&tbnid=FMbSOsl20ULf2M:&tbnh=73&tbnw=130&ei=LEJ8SNGGEoOSswKBiL3FDw&prev=/images%3Fq%3Dvortex%2Bbypass%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN">Double Bypass Burger at the Vortex Diner in Atlanta</a>! (Yes, those are grilled cheese sandwiches...) It was awesome. The place takes its Kentucky hoops seriously, too, as the wall pictured here is just one of about ten walls covered in UK memorabilia.<br /><br />I met Kige and his dad, Butch, there for lunch around 1:00PM on Monday. Perhaps thinking that being the "dude who does those Youtube videos at Walmart" would establish some modicum of local celebrity for Kige, I expected many of the Russellvillians to come by our table and pay respects to him as if he were Vito Corleone on his daughter's wedding day. (<span style="font-style: italic;">"Don Ramsey, I a</span><span style="font-style: italic;">m honored </span><span style="font-style: italic;">and grateful that you are eating barbecue in our home on the day you are recording videos about boating safety and the NBA Draft. And may your first child be a masculine child..."</span>) But alas and ironically, Kige's fame appears to have far greater traction around the country than it does in his very own home town as we ate and conversed uninterrupted for over an hour. I will chalk this up to the strong possibility that Kige is the only resident in Russellville with access to the internet, and therefore the rest of the town has not yet seen his videos. It's the only plausible explanation.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE TOUR</span><br /><br />After getting a stroll around the restaurant to gaze at the walls and get my education on all things Kentucky hoops, we zipped up the bypass road to the Youtube Sports World Headquarters, or as Kige's parents like to call it "our house". I was pretty honored to be the second sports media personality to get the tour of these world class facilities. (Deadspin Associate Editor Clay Travis has the good fortune of being the answer to the trivia question "Who was the first?" See Kige's interview with Clay <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8CkDWaqE8Ag">here</a> and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EM6LAVUqvzw&feature=related">here</a>.) It was at HQ that I completed the Ramsey parental exacta and met Kige's mother, Rhonda. Kige's mom is a college basketball freak, and when I found out that she hates Duke, we became total BFF. (That's Best Friends Forever, for those of you who don't text message.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglC-etNZAWpfvVb0Sdag4Q39M2g_zdJFqOkG-R5XH3tJCBUrhFp1pQtmetUns06D-tSVQqmDfV7WVI8lJgHYUDoj0SqLJ5vLH9gTcub3eNXitjOV90S7ZSlnW_C-HiN2353XHXBvWChTs/s1600-h/042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglC-etNZAWpfvVb0Sdag4Q39M2g_zdJFqOkG-R5XH3tJCBUrhFp1pQtmetUns06D-tSVQqmDfV7WVI8lJgHYUDoj0SqLJ5vLH9gTcub3eNXitjOV90S7ZSlnW_C-HiN2353XHXBvWChTs/s200/042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223132478533983186" border="0" /></a>The studio where Kige films a majority of his videos is called the "Raymond Ramsey Studio", named after his dad (who goes by "Butch" but is named "Raymond"). The RR Studio may or may not be a converted broom closet. The room is a whole lot smaller in actuality than it appears in the Kige videos, which is ironic because at 6'5" Kige is a lot <span style="font-style: italic;">bigger </span>in actuality than he appears in the videos. Big is small, small is big ... it's like Casa de Ramsey is some sort of funhouse at the Jersey shore.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJP8fHzCvNCa5UqUGG30Efwm8E0bFIQoWtueFbaz3Tr0R3fuZhZrB0m6xqkExLqr6QkM608JH9OfeV9LpaED9D_OGwT7KdzX0LQu7f7gHV1wXN7U8MuM_Pp0A5Tita3NdTSYYH3dT9AY/s1600-h/040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJP8fHzCvNCa5UqUGG30Efwm8E0bFIQoWtueFbaz3Tr0R3fuZhZrB0m6xqkExLqr6QkM608JH9OfeV9LpaED9D_OGwT7KdzX0LQu7f7gHV1wXN7U8MuM_Pp0A5Tita3NdTSYYH3dT9AY/s200/040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5223129801160912610" border="0" /></a>With its trademarked wood paneling, the RR Studio has a definitive 1973 feel -- warm, yet trippy. Truth be told, Kige's parents both indicated they would like to do away with the paneling and bring that room into the 21st century, but Kige fears a backlash among his viewers, many of whom have commented on how much they enjoy the wood paneling. At one point, legend has it that Kige threw himself in front of a wrecking ball to keep the wood paneling intact. That's how much he loves all of you.<br /><br />Kige has basically imposed the will of Youtube Sports on his parents and their home, as his bedroom is no longer a "bedroom". It's the "production room". The living room is now the "viewing room". The kitchen is the "green room" (Indeed, the kitchen is where Rhonda gave me a bottled water and applied my makeup before doing my interview in the Raymond Ramsey Studio.). You get the idea. Kige is a force of nature that can only be stopped by his parents decorative choices and Youtube limiting the number of uploads a user can have.<br /><br />While Kige formulated his interview questions for me, I chatted with his parents and his uncle Steve about sports, the South, my brief radio career and life in general. I will say that you will not meet nicer people than the Ramseys -- genuinely warm people who were very interested in my trip and my story. Kige's dad is battling cancer right now and the day we got together he was doing well; he was in between treatment weeks. Certainly, keep him and Kige's whole family in your thoughts and prayers.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE INTERVIEW</span><br /><br />Before departing for Lexington, I was finally able to cross off "interview with Kige Ramsey at Youtube Sports HQ" from my bucket list. Hell yeah ....<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Bwr2aWD2A4w&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Bwr2aWD2A4w&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/F9MsaMFgNKg&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/F9MsaMFgNKg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-54509853322639701412008-07-11T09:04:00.000-05:002008-07-11T09:14:48.382-05:00GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY!!! THAT'S ......... THE PENDERKIDS THEME MUSIC!!!!<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DlMkUDuyzvEW27-IxCMqkT958UbNGN2Ckd7ZyuatMgnVcZEyyPS-TAPvDwrtgW0LqSwCmsOhryySJLeLiO-zJjLMTZlFcVdmyijmcLm8z1xYGPhXn1IM3-dY-gc461z1N0MYV7_3Lao/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DlMkUDuyzvEW27-IxCMqkT958UbNGN2Ckd7ZyuatMgnVcZEyyPS-TAPvDwrtgW0LqSwCmsOhryySJLeLiO-zJjLMTZlFcVdmyijmcLm8z1xYGPhXn1IM3-dY-gc461z1N0MYV7_3Lao/s320/008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221758097332004018" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmTsj7sUSULD8PScTzdMZfURlIvxVasd_XloGa5mM4OVA2vCUPKOTkxrpBArlrjOGnC0Ri8wOjqFF6fAXqyfB6Ic6E6Ih_Ll1QjdLwiqUxJYYz67agu6EYaAac9GrjM9M6gDX3cP1QuM/s1600-h/009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEmTsj7sUSULD8PScTzdMZfURlIvxVasd_XloGa5mM4OVA2vCUPKOTkxrpBArlrjOGnC0Ri8wOjqFF6fAXqyfB6Ic6E6Ih_Ll1QjdLwiqUxJYYz67agu6EYaAac9GrjM9M6gDX3cP1QuM/s320/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221758502621059138" border="0" /></a><br /><br />More blog posts coming later tonight...Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-11365072481380435382008-07-09T23:33:00.003-05:002008-07-10T02:11:49.885-05:00SUNDAY, JULY 6th (Part VI) - Music City MiracleWhen you hit the road on a vacation like this by yourself, it's good to have a few stops along the way where you know a friendly face. I say it's even better when the friendly face is a good looking woman. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskpbmQIS9JpDMLmkXCFvwgufVxOqH0u3wamPerSfDmiw4sVcrTKctm280iUphWvkaHPqvQ1URofR-g27jTvz-6N2kEmTk5OZmpRN4eL_8EOMLrV0X21hsNs8R6pTH-SudQjRBtMzUyqs/s1600-h/032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskpbmQIS9JpDMLmkXCFvwgufVxOqH0u3wamPerSfDmiw4sVcrTKctm280iUphWvkaHPqvQ1URofR-g27jTvz-6N2kEmTk5OZmpRN4eL_8EOMLrV0X21hsNs8R6pTH-SudQjRBtMzUyqs/s320/032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221257533183717586" border="0" /></a>And when that good looking woman has good looking friends, well it's damn near perfection. Oh wait, AND they all like to party? Well, looks like Nirvana has been achieved. It is with this preface that we arrive at the Nashville leg of my trip.<br /><br />Fresh off my unplanned afternoon with sobriety in Lynchburg, "NashVegas" was the perfect stop to remind myself of what it was like to bat my liver around like an old tennis ball. Fortunately, Heather Venesile, a good friend and a former co-worker of mine in my previous non-radio life (far left in the picture here), lives in the Nashville area and was kind enough to provide me with a chaperone and shelter for the evening. Like me, Heather is someone who decided that life is too short to sell maintenance contracts on telephone systems and decided to chase her dream of becoming a famous jazz singer. Akron, OH was not big enough for both her and LeBron, so she loaded up the truck and headed to Nashville. For a sampling of some of her work, you can <a href="http://www.myspace.com/heathervenesile">click here</a>. Or check out the video below from the BlueBird in Nashville. She can get after it.<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/YgG_lCpx-zc&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/YgG_lCpx-zc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />So I arrived in Nashville around dinnertime on Sunday. I came into the city on 2nd Avenue just a few blocks away from LP Field, home of the Tennessee Titans. For the first noticeable time on my trip, I really missed having my kids with me; I mean it would've been one of those beautiful father-son moments to be able to tell them "Kids, there's LP Field ... that's where Vince Young barely cracks a 70.0 QB rating every week!" And then they could gaze out the window and act impressed .... <span style="font-style: italic;">"Whooooaaaa ..... coooooool ..... " </span><br /><br />I pulled into one of those parking lots where you walk over to the computerized parking attendant machine, put in some money and it spits out a receipt that you leave on the dashboard. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2-Dw9a3Syj6flEtJvbHaWNApdp9VAWQ35WKzVe2uk58M2NQ2yVU-V_lBXqG48zh68nmc-sanvyGVuab0TXYrtTjRqUhuEtWNfkdMyw6VqK9qBYRyARVxMEXP1j4zSSUGxSy3eE_prgo/s1600-h/034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2-Dw9a3Syj6flEtJvbHaWNApdp9VAWQ35WKzVe2uk58M2NQ2yVU-V_lBXqG48zh68nmc-sanvyGVuab0TXYrtTjRqUhuEtWNfkdMyw6VqK9qBYRyARVxMEXP1j4zSSUGxSy3eE_prgo/s320/034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221250003451972338" border="0" /></a>That's the new wave of parking lot commerce. All I could think about was all of the poor parking lot attendants that this machine has rendered jobless. I mean sure it's probably less costly for the owner of the lot to run his business by using a receipt-spewing computer to handle the cash, but I miss that personal touch of pulling into the lot and having Ahmed or Gus indifferently grunt at me while I hand them a twenty spot to leave my car in their midst for a few hours. The times they are a-changin'...<br /><br />With my car parked safely under the watchful eye of Wall-E the parking droid, I walked around the corner to Broadway Street to head over to Rippy's, which is a bar that has some good BBQ and live music. Actually, every bar on Broadway Street has music, and most of it is live. It's like Broadway is one big iPod, with every genre of music represented somewhere on that street. Even those of you who like shitty ten minute dance club beats with the same lyric repeated over and over 150 times can find a home in NashVegas! All inclusive, baby!<br /><br />I went up to the balcony at Rippy's and was greeted by Heather's friendly face and was pleased to make the acquaintance of her boyfriend/producer, Mike. I wondered what that must be like to date your producer, and decided that I probably would not go ahead and find out for myself any time soon. I mean, my producer Kyle is a good dude and all, but all things being equal, I'll wait until they promote one of our hot female interns to producer before I decide to go down that road.<br /><br />As Mike, Heather and I split a combo rib/onion ring/wing platter, we gazed across the street at the Sommet Center, which is Nashville's big indoor arena (home of their NHL team and where a lot of big concerts come in). The billboard was flashing with a chronological list of all of the upcoming events, including a Poison/Dokken/Sebastian Bach show coming on Tuesday, July 8. One of us (um, I'm not sure who) made a comment<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZGtWIqrmb5f9HgvV8XtDkWiJVOiUVt2DuqHpH-H66P_pkAoYSyKL0lgY7z83esrrGstYmssu0IUR9oR43VRD7LzJVVL5soYWCQmOTv51RcAChxS82xbmamGDNfxaH3NcupBhC5Q7AZo/s1600-h/030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZGtWIqrmb5f9HgvV8XtDkWiJVOiUVt2DuqHpH-H66P_pkAoYSyKL0lgY7z83esrrGstYmssu0IUR9oR43VRD7LzJVVL5soYWCQmOTv51RcAChxS82xbmamGDNfxaH3NcupBhC5Q7AZo/s320/030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221254786245481714" border="0" /></a> about how that would be a cool show to go to; it may or may not have been me who said it ... I'm just saying. No sooner had that sentiment been expressed when the middle aged fellow next to us at the bar said "I'm playing in that show". I would've called bullshit on him except this dude looked like he played in an 80's hair metal band -- long, scraggly, blonde hair ... laid back, glazed look in his eyes ... I mean, he seemed legit.<br /><br />He introduced himself as "Jeff Martin, the drummer for Dokken". Now if this were 1986, I'd have happily believed him, bought him a drink, and begin to scramble to remember one Dokken song so I could converse with him for more than 30 seconds. However, in 2008, I'm older, wiser, and more jaded. I did what any self-respecting 30-something male would do -- I pulled out my blackberry and said "Hold on, dude. I need to look you up on Wikipedia." So I did just that, and I have to admit I was hoping against hope that he was legit. Because let's face it, sitting and drinking whiskey with the drummer from Dokken makes for a much better story than sitting next to some dude pretending he was from Dokken. Well, much to my glee, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeff_Martin_%28American_musician%29">Jeff Martin was legit</a> ... unless it was a lookalike posing as Jeff Martin, but I don't think that's the case. That would be like someone posing as Wesley Wright. "Who?", you're asking (if you're not an Astros fan). "Exactly", I reply.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCR0DkR7DbTgSoTqkcERYhL1fWpyaSPAZBMjJ_WQeladEZ8UZea3fQjhUcrC1P2VeR6WpUieD-52sAHgTkucNs7Jv2eeXuqu3S4OhXOuKc_hXMnDt5hBLpW0RuM5aUBXxgUagkkT4Jhs/s1600-h/031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCR0DkR7DbTgSoTqkcERYhL1fWpyaSPAZBMjJ_WQeladEZ8UZea3fQjhUcrC1P2VeR6WpUieD-52sAHgTkucNs7Jv2eeXuqu3S4OhXOuKc_hXMnDt5hBLpW0RuM5aUBXxgUagkkT4Jhs/s320/031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221254546242814066" border="0" /></a>I was giddy. I mean, when my brother Kevin and I would crack on hair metal bands back in the day and we had to come up with a random one to punctuate our jokes, we <span style="font-weight: bold;">always </span>used Dokken as our go-to random metal band. I can't name one of their songs, but I can now name one of their band members! JEFF FREAKING MARTIN!! HELL YEAH!!<br /><br />So for the next two hours, we proceeded to get ripped with Jeff. The drinks and the Bret Michaels stories were flowing freely, to the point where Jeff had almost convinced our bartender, the lovely Merritt (pictured to the left giving double rods) to cancel her vacation plans which were slated to start on Monday so that she could come to the show on Tuesday and meet Bret Michaels. I don't know if she ever did end up canceling her vacation, but the big board had "YES" as a solid -150 when we left later that night. Jeff was quick to want to take pictures of Merritt because apparently Bret Michaels has some sort of finder's fee that he passes along to other band/tour members who are able to bring in the most, uh, talented "fans". And we're not talking some Michael Scott finder's fee like Chili's coupons either. We're talking legit four figure payouts. I started thinking that if those drones in the Lottery Oasis at the state line were smart, they'd stop buying 50 scratch-n-wins and head to Nashville to try and find Bret Michaels a few pieces of ass. I think the odds and the payouts might be better.<br /><br />It was time to wrap things up at Rippy's so we said our good byes to Jeff. He asked me if I needed tickets to the show on Tuesday, and I responded casually with "Nah, I gotta head out of here tomorrow to go do some videos in Russellville, Kentucky with Kige Ramsey." Probably not completely familiar with Kige's work, Jeff nodded his head and in a tone of voice that would indicate he was somewhat impressed said, "Sweeeet". I nodded my head and said "Yeah, it's cool man", acting like I was getting ready to film the lead role in the next Ironman movie ... when in fact, I was getting ready to film two three minute videos in my man Kige's wood panel studio at his parent's house. That's how I roll.<br /><br />The rest of the night was gravy. Heather, myself, and her lovely friends Anne and Whitney (pictured at the top of this post with Heather flashing double rods) consumed many drinks and endured many crappy ten minute dance mixes at another bar down the street whose name escapes me. The music there was mind numbingly brutal, loud, and repetitive. Now if they had played some Dokken .... now that would've been totally sweet.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-86501148408328642412008-07-09T23:07:00.000-05:002008-07-09T23:25:46.115-05:00TENNESSEE LOTTERY UPDATEWell, looks like I'll have to come home from vacation next week as planned. My lottery dreams were dashed tonight. That sucks, I really wanted to cash that $20M check and then tell John Granato what I really think of him. Dammit.<br /><br />For those scoring at home, the winning numbers were 5-7-31-49-53 and Powerball was 14.<br /><br />Now if you remember, I played the Houston special which was 5 (Bagwell), 7 (Biggio), 17 (Puma), 22 (Clyde), 45 (Rudy T) and Powerball was 34 (Hakeen-Earl-Ryan trifecta).<br /><br />So if you're keeping track, the only Houston icons that came through in the clutch for me were Bagwell and Biggio, which is ironic on so many levels (Signed, the 1998 MLB Playoffs). <span style="font-style: italic;">Well, you know, when the Tennessee lottery beats you, you just have to tip your cap and come back and spend a dollar on this</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> Saturday's drawing.</span><br /><br />Hard to get too pissed about losing the Tennessee lottery. I'm pretty sure the owner of this lovely Tennessee spread didn't win either. I feel a little better about myself.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghD_MN-qO28HFQxI82_b9d0CvKJnax8U77aYr3Kx0FAewj7jylddMnXcf8IqltQNULVXpS7paigS94-MXESXyKocWfmG4GsdO5wju69W9Bie_avDdt1h9DHZpvsRNUhpRaOlS060qS9X0/s1600-h/015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghD_MN-qO28HFQxI82_b9d0CvKJnax8U77aYr3Kx0FAewj7jylddMnXcf8IqltQNULVXpS7paigS94-MXESXyKocWfmG4GsdO5wju69W9Bie_avDdt1h9DHZpvsRNUhpRaOlS060qS9X0/s400/015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221236218979093538" border="0" /></a>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-41883241020920500872008-07-09T10:06:00.005-05:002008-07-09T22:41:44.248-05:00SUNDAY, JULY 6th (Part V) - Jack Daniel's if you pleeeaaase ....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvTm0wYOP5Uw6WJCtfrHAb7IePNEVXEr_jPO18EYFPRLFl1NguNPTHwQyXiRqlsvDzml5i5AZFG8DBk3sc-pgnOGoI3CCHn-lRvCiHu8SQs73U6F-H5OeCHnaGYzsrGS62hssIsekHNE/s1600-h/027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZvTm0wYOP5Uw6WJCtfrHAb7IePNEVXEr_jPO18EYFPRLFl1NguNPTHwQyXiRqlsvDzml5i5AZFG8DBk3sc-pgnOGoI3CCHn-lRvCiHu8SQs73U6F-H5OeCHnaGYzsrGS62hssIsekHNE/s400/027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221115825985170786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Jack Daniel's if you please .... knock me to my knees ..."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> -- DAVID ALLEN COE<br /><br /></span>I'm going to<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>say up front, I am generally not a whiskey drinker. Or a liquor drinker at all. I'll rock the occasional gin and tonic, and if my boy Malik puts a bull blaster in front of me I won't say no, but for the most part I am straight beer drinker when it comes to my alcoholic preferences. So I was only mildly giddy to visit the Jack Daniel's distillery in Lynchburg, TN, as opposed to being overly giddy for the ribs at Dreamland BBQ and earth-shakingly giddy for the upcoming Primanti's sandwich in Pittsburgh. I have to say that I should have ratcheted up my giddiness for this stop on my journey because the Jack Daniel's distillery is a must see if you're ever in the Lynchburg area. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRQLT3FOBB0GsPg-QmiLK0VJkid8EsksNQ8YzjVc0UKWecmuNU1Z0fs_m78uapUwaT50xLt_Qg8GR8F5pHwsNUNAqEzX4jVlLcEw3jhqj_L4xVwvaYpvWW9AT-MOEHNTuggvVQBmuayA/s1600-h/023.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzRQLT3FOBB0GsPg-QmiLK0VJkid8EsksNQ8YzjVc0UKWecmuNU1Z0fs_m78uapUwaT50xLt_Qg8GR8F5pHwsNUNAqEzX4jVlLcEw3jhqj_L4xVwvaYpvWW9AT-MOEHNTuggvVQBmuayA/s200/023.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221154373338051314" border="0" /></a>And we all know what a high traffic area the southern part of Tennessee is for vacation goers. <span style="font-style: italic;">"DAD, that summer we went to Chattanooga was the BEST! Can we go again?</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE???!?!?!"</span><br /><br />The tour itself was perfect -- informative, quick and not too much walking. We had a tour guide named William who I believe has been working at the distillery since his honorable discharge from the Confederate Army in 1862. William had one of those Tennessee accents where he could go on tour just saying the word "whiskey" over and over again for two hours and he would sell out arenas all over the world.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT -- </span>If you are planning on going on the Jack distillery tour, this is the NUMBER ONE THING you need to know ... <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lynchburg is in a dry county!!</span> So if you have designs on getting wasted during the tour or after the tour at the visitor center, you can table those plans. They're allowed to sell you ONE commemorative item with Jack Daniel's whiskey in it at the gift store, that's it ... except on Sundays when they can't sell you<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIsCY_t1bMAJrmL3ZXSomNGLEZeap3yn24-YnBJjqpxF8_2Quiv9ksYQ2OTJc4MqEeYqOeaC0jio97vI6ha8Ao667-yFJPbBtqnQKKZNYQd10MwrZW6lzp0V3XI9TPuLwdiSgZlH5yuXg/s1600-h/021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIsCY_t1bMAJrmL3ZXSomNGLEZeap3yn24-YnBJjqpxF8_2Quiv9ksYQ2OTJc4MqEeYqOeaC0jio97vI6ha8Ao667-yFJPbBtqnQKKZNYQd10MwrZW6lzp0V3XI9TPuLwdiSgZlH5yuXg/s200/021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221172417431132146" border="0" /></a> anything with alcohol in it anywhere in the state. So naturally I was there on Sunday ... getting a tour of a distillery full of whiskey ... the best whiskey in the world ... and I couldn't have a sip. I would imagine this is what it would feel like to show up at one of those all-nude, hedonism cruises and find out that it's all dudes on the ship. Absolutely, positively shameful.<br /><br />While the process is fascinating, I won't crush all of you with the whole "how they make Jack Daniel's whiskey" details. I don't think that's why you're reading this blog, and to be honest I'd butcher it somewhere along the way. Besides that's what Wikipedia is for. I thought instead I'd just dazzle you with a few little Jack factoids that I committed to memory. In fact, I am going to coin them as <span style="font-style: italic;">Jacktoids </span>because that is something that a zany radio host would do (cue some Mr. Zonko whacky sounds like a spring coiling and a bike horn honking):<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFpCo-YIv4FoZuoZzLzvCMBN1pmaY4a4UqDuCvMKl7GGHIb4fmS_6DD8SP9xaZfW0gol7cWOiibMSX_5D8G_sNlgnXgyGK62s2Z7IJklzpVT2035AniJPLmnzO5nRuBOTksSQOQgZvlKs/s1600-h/020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFpCo-YIv4FoZuoZzLzvCMBN1pmaY4a4UqDuCvMKl7GGHIb4fmS_6DD8SP9xaZfW0gol7cWOiibMSX_5D8G_sNlgnXgyGK62s2Z7IJklzpVT2035AniJPLmnzO5nRuBOTksSQOQgZvlKs/s200/020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221172643904437282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">SEAN'S JACKTOIDS</span><br /><br />A little background on the man that was Jack Daniel. First off, he was only like 5' 2" and considered to be somewhat of a prodigy business-wise, as he rose to prominence in his teenage years. He rapidly became a savior for the entire Lynchburg area as the distillery pretty much employs everyone who lives in that sleepy little town. He liked to wear big hats and coats with tails ... and the more I type this the more I think that Jack Daniel was basically whiskey's answer to Willy Wonka ... which I guess would make all of the inhabitants of Lynchburg the Oompa Loompas. A bunch of redneck, Tennessee, non-midget Oompa Loompas ....<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Oompa Loompa, doompity doo</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I've got another bottle for you<br />Oompa loompa doo</span><span style="font-style: italic;">mpita dee<br />If you are wise, you'll drink a fifth of J.D."<br /></span><br />Like Wonka, Jack never took a bride or had any offspring. Unlike Wonka, it does not appear that Jack had an affinity for luring nine year old boys to the distillery with golden tickets. I am going to assume that Jack got a lot of quality late 1800's ass. I am assuming this, because frankly I don't want to think that the inventor of one of the most manly drinks in the world was home at night doing the 1860's equivalent of watching "Sex and the City" and drinking appletini's. Let's not even go there! Jack Daniel's banged who he wanted, when he wanted, and that's that! You understand me?!? <span style="font-style: italic;">I don't wanna hear nuthin' else!<br /><br /></span>As for the whiskey itself, what makes Jack Daniel's so special even to this day is the fact that they drain the whiskey one drop at a time into a big barrel of charcoal before barreling it. Tourmaster William said that this is "what makes Jack Daniel's whiskey the only true Tennessee whiskey". And yes, my nether regions tingled when he said "whiskey" twice in four seconds. The charcoal thing seems strange, but we all know that creative geniuses have their own methods for creating their masterpieces. I suppose Jack's charcoal thing is like Wonka deciding that it's a good idea to throw sweatpants and soccer cleats into a vat of some liquid candy concoction.<br /><br />You know what? Screw it ... all of these Jack-Wonka comparisons. We need to just TALE OF THE TAPE this thing. So here goes:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-Ek00rXmtgf4IHa9tvK8dehWgbBQcrw1mJo1qjl6wQ0qW_Gb3r8jbFurKqce1eNEQPTtaQOf4rQJ8auqPKDnBdRCeCP-lM2E3hq8ApMwQtP1kGs8IF0ueFmjki9ryFfsTxth8lbBAU8/s1600-h/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy-Ek00rXmtgf4IHa9tvK8dehWgbBQcrw1mJo1qjl6wQ0qW_Gb3r8jbFurKqce1eNEQPTtaQOf4rQJ8auqPKDnBdRCeCP-lM2E3hq8ApMwQtP1kGs8IF0ueFmjki9ryFfsTxth8lbBAU8/s200/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221155596334629090" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsajgdN_lOS-ojW6KwrJ3b3jtan34ct1OxfdjSBtMR4beQmSyNoixLBO37Bg83tbUa-uG3bwwwFHHLogDDg-jhIC8Uixaq-BBBojVNiKRxXKykiTH7_hHnQ-bdDpcOhQ0MjWgjrvbhWE/s1600-h/Wonka+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXsajgdN_lOS-ojW6KwrJ3b3jtan34ct1OxfdjSBtMR4beQmSyNoixLBO37Bg83tbUa-uG3bwwwFHHLogDDg-jhIC8Uixaq-BBBojVNiKRxXKykiTH7_hHnQ-bdDpcOhQ0MjWgjrvbhWE/s200/Wonka+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221171447922495154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">JACK DANIEL vs WILLY WONKA - TALE</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> OF THE TAPE</span><br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jack Daniel</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hometown: Lynchburg, TN</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ht: 5'2", Wt: 135 Lbs</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">vs<br />Willy Wonka<br />Hometown: Somewhere with British</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> accents, possibly Great Britain<br />Ht: 5'8", Wt: 155 Lbs<br /><br /><br />BUSINESS INTERESTS<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJyKglvG279tQeGpRDarWXyfEko3ZHEEm7VBPuZerm44eKzRgKxCDe8TNvAyqFQ14yD_yCHduphgkbAp6UYpEyAfdvzDTU8On_qxdcFHJX_gVU-jJZuKfnogQMEjuUaw1xG1ePxuE5bo/s1600-h/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJyKglvG279tQeGpRDarWXyfEko3ZHEEm7VBPuZerm44eKzRgKxCDe8TNvAyqFQ14yD_yCHduphgkbAp6UYpEyAfdvzDTU8On_qxdcFHJX_gVU-jJZuKfnogQMEjuUaw1xG1ePxuE5bo/s200/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221169751562877186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">JD: </span>Owned the distillery of one of the finest alcoholic beverages in the world, Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey, during the late 1800's and early 1900's. He was a pioneer in the distilling and alcohol distribution business.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WW: </span>Owned a candy factory that doubled as a torture chamber for insolent little kids. We assume he was a pioneer in the candy industry because Grandpa Joe said he was and we respect the opinion of old people, especially those old people who go by the first name "Grandpa".<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: Jack Daniel<br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">LOVE LIFE</span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzzJXmAdeg4L-SV5eE1bW3hWbvn8UduGwN808AQMupwUYmmXttggVU4wkNpWVjzpk8YApDcymQ-rxyJDe4TLmxkhKNpTuutbxjBnfQp4UvKDBz1kBagCkJcLyUqdSzhIDN3flLzDPp0o/s1600-h/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYzzJXmAdeg4L-SV5eE1bW3hWbvn8UduGwN808AQMupwUYmmXttggVU4wkNpWVjzpk8YApDcymQ-rxyJDe4TLmxkhKNpTuutbxjBnfQp4UvKDBz1kBagCkJcLyUqdSzhIDN3flLzDPp0o/s200/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221169741794287762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">JD: </span></span>Jack Daniel never married or produced offspring. Because he manufactured whiskey, I'm going to assume that he was single because he enjoyed threesomes with hot models, staying out until all hours of the night, and he didn't want to split up his fortune with some bee-yatch.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WW: </span>Willy Wonka never married or produced offspring. Because he lured little kids to his factory with golden tickets offering them a lifetime supply of candy, I'm assuming that he was single because he enjoyed molesting young children.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: Jack Daniel<br /><br />PHILANTHROPIC TENDENCIES</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqrS5W8rxZqpbSmhH62YkfPvKy_xUe1cC_ZzHFYCSqqrMn8yJzwMx4q0o83B4dWjMkS770bRASxlkQ5c4zEa4bcxMbfvvmK5SgC_M25C08aPXxuwYastALskVoZVjiRYi9H0iRsqS60M/s1600-h/Wonka+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaqrS5W8rxZqpbSmhH62YkfPvKy_xUe1cC_ZzHFYCSqqrMn8yJzwMx4q0o83B4dWjMkS770bRASxlkQ5c4zEa4bcxMbfvvmK5SgC_M25C08aPXxuwYastALskVoZVjiRYi9H0iRsqS60M/s200/Wonka+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221169753564462498" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">JD: </span>Jack Daniel basically ensured that an entire town would have a stable economy centered around local employment and manufacturing a tangible product. Without the Jack Daniel's distillery, Lynchburg would basically be Appalachia West.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WW: </span>Willy Wonka emancipated an entire country of Oompa Loompas from the oppressive government (and "vermicious knids") in their native Loompaland. Upon bringing them stateside, he dressed them up like two year olds, and gave them jobs doing things like cleaning up geese shit and free style rhyming about spoiled little kids who visited the factory and broke the rules.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: Willy Wonka, but only becau</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">se midgets are involved<br /><br />GREATEST CONTRIBUTION TO SOCIETY<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfiTqQUsDt7xlgvCUb6l6jsnwQKBUjYTaRUjQ1ADEVOgXKk49Yd_0XIesk5plZmTIXtrz_IGqfk20z9Jfzu1U0oliwWIeR0vvyQN-_wbXmmOb4HviNvZI8YXuhmhQVKhQBVaRYlMwWF4/s1600-h/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWfiTqQUsDt7xlgvCUb6l6jsnwQKBUjYTaRUjQ1ADEVOgXKk49Yd_0XIesk5plZmTIXtrz_IGqfk20z9Jfzu1U0oliwWIeR0vvyQN-_wbXmmOb4HviNvZI8YXuhmhQVKhQBVaRYlMwWF4/s200/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221169741232672386" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">JD: </span>The invention of the job "whiskey taster". There are actually 90 people employed by Jack Daniel's whose sole job is to taste the barrel-stored whiskey to ensure that it's time to bottle it up and ship it. I would imagine applying for this job in Lynchburg is the equivalent of applying to Harvard in New England. Not only is it a nearly impossible spot to get, but if you are fortunate enough to get accepted, your family brags about you like you just cured cancer.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WW: </span>The Everlasting Gobstopper. While as consumers we appreciate the idea of Wonka giving poor kids a piece of candy that lasts forever, I can't imagine that Wonka's shareholders are all that happy that dude is spending resources creating a product that essentially ensures your target audience no longer has to spend money with you. Not a real good way to grow your revenue numbers. If Wonka were on "The Apprentice", he'd have been fired before the end of the first episode.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: Jack Daniel<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">DEATH<br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">JD: </span></span>Jack Daniel died from a blood poisoning infection in his toe that spread throughout his body. True story, he hurt the toe by kicking a safe when he got pissed off that it wouldn't open. I have no idea if there's any truth to the rumor that he asked the safe "Do you know who the hell I am?!?"<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WW: </span>We actually don't know for sure how Wonka died, but we'll assume vermicious knids were involved in some way. Payback for freeing the Oompa Loompas.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: Even</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />SUCCESSION PLAN<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMZAex5gmlfbc_dOq5ztyNfMEENxgLH1FWFtLG1Tx9Ae5BsUkUfK3kiNJE5AnOgBFKKRdPITYdine9XU79MC0MCcekSE8yd_5Z-NXtLjHLF6axu8Z1JBWww2zbRvKApfIoBVlQUVZlWI/s1600-h/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSMZAex5gmlfbc_dOq5ztyNfMEENxgLH1FWFtLG1Tx9Ae5BsUkUfK3kiNJE5AnOgBFKKRdPITYdine9XU79MC0MCcekSE8yd_5Z-NXtLjHLF6axu8Z1JBWww2zbRvKApfIoBVlQUVZlWI/s200/Jack+Daniel%27s+Portrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221169738765644258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">JD: </span></span>Since he didn't have any offspring, Jack Daniel took his favorite nephew, Lem Motlow, under his wing. Motlow was an accounting whiz with a keen business sense and in 1907, Jack gave him the distillery as a gift. The Jack Daniel's product continued to thrive under Motlow and to this day is one of the premier brand names in the world.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">WW: </span>Since he didn't have any offspring, Wonka invited five random children to his factory using golden tickets hidden in his chocolate bars. In an emotional exchange aboard an elevator levitating high above the city, Wonka decided to give the factory to 10 year old Charlie Bucket, whose entire business resume to that point consisted of a paper route. Perhaps being overly generous, Wonka invited Charlie's entire family to join him, including his invalid grandparents who all slept in the same bed and hadn't left the house since the Coolidge Administration.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">ADVANTAGE: Jack Daniel </span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">VERDICT: </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Whiskey is better than candy, rednecks are better than Brits, and Wonka is Jack's bitch. TAKE 'AT, WONKA!!!<br /><br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-31972075126452510692008-07-09T02:34:00.004-05:002008-07-09T15:35:04.131-05:00SUNDAY, JULY 6th (Part IV) - Tennessee POWER BALL!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdn2kbBUsxwgTyr2WqQUkLCtyzKt5DuxsASMv-DjzSKEHYx0opkvo9N89ACGSaBJfu_RybzRndXK7Ik1_6af5p4rP_ZY7zK7RbCEI1gTFqZVP6BilxFMDbjHUovmkOSmfNyTDT2q2fcs/s1600-h/009.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdn2kbBUsxwgTyr2WqQUkLCtyzKt5DuxsASMv-DjzSKEHYx0opkvo9N89ACGSaBJfu_RybzRndXK7Ik1_6af5p4rP_ZY7zK7RbCEI1gTFqZVP6BilxFMDbjHUovmkOSmfNyTDT2q2fcs/s320/009.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220894275473567522" border="0" /></a>I've crossed over state borders all over the country no fewer than probably 10,000 times. Admittedly, most of the time it was because the alcohol purchasing laws in the state I resided in were considerably more restrictive than the neighboring state. (Thanks for that 8:00 PM closing time on liquor stores, Connecticut. Could you be any lamer?) Anyway, most of the time you'd never know that you just entered another state if there weren't a <a href="http://www.teresco.org/pics/signs/states/">sign there welcoming you</a> to your new temporary home away from home. (You know like "Welcome to Wisconsin - Birthplace of Jeffrey Dahmer".) I say <span style="font-style: italic;">most</span> of the time you'd never know when you cross state lines because the fact is when you cross the border from Alabama into Tennessee, you know <span style="font-weight: bold;">immediately</span>. How do you know? Well, apparently the lottery is like a really big deal in Tennessee because as soon as you cross over into Tennessee there are facilities about ten feet past the state line whose sole purpose is to sell lottery tickets. LOTS of them. Not gas stations that happen to sell lottery tickets (oh sure, there are some of those in Tennessee as well), but buildings where all you do is buy lottery tickets. Who'd have thunk it?<br /><br />And not just lottery tickets, but pretty much any game of chance involving numbers on paper. Power Ball, Pick 4, every scratch off imaginable in those dispensers where you can roll them out like toiletpaper and the cashier can pull off like 50 off them. I'm pretty sure there may have been guys in the corner rolling dice, and three overweight ladies betting on ants crawling toward the wall. Either that or they were just hungover.<br /><br />Sidebar - I love the marketing geniuses behind the scratch offs. Ultimately, those games are all the same. You're using the side of a coin to scratch silver paint off of a piece of paper to see if you happen to score a victory in a game where the odds of winning five bucks on a one dollar card is about 1 in 100. But for some reason, when those silver spots are carrots next to a cartoon of a rabbit, it becomes "fun" to play. It's pure genius. I honestly think that if people served their spouse divorce papers with silver scratch offs on it, it would "fun" up the divorce process and make the two soon to be ex spouses much more cordial to each other. "Let's see what is under this silver spot ... <span style="font-style: italic;">scratch, scratch, scratch ...</span> WHOA! SOLE CUSTODY!!! YYYYEESSS!!!!" (Cue "Price is Right" showcase winner music!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8JaljIz9JSiNIEB5NKo1q1ZnBGLan32ymvR4QRgNXd1b1rVlFQHr7xmFi1NGvSDQQaek4U4jpF49cBtM3tal0R5fR6U4qWijIYN13WsJ7gs0sxTsB1Ldkn-5h-_7YlqcNZCp1FY2iO4/s1600-h/010.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV8JaljIz9JSiNIEB5NKo1q1ZnBGLan32ymvR4QRgNXd1b1rVlFQHr7xmFi1NGvSDQQaek4U4jpF49cBtM3tal0R5fR6U4qWijIYN13WsJ7gs0sxTsB1Ldkn-5h-_7YlqcNZCp1FY2iO4/s200/010.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220909681669151186" border="0" /></a>Anyway, back to the LottoDome. Check out this room. It's a bunch of tables where people sit down and map out their lottery strategy, like Belichik preparing for the Super Bowl, as if somehow they can gameplan and control the way the ping pong balls will come out of those little tubes. I looked on the back of one of the entry tickets for Power Ball and the odds of winning it are roughly 1 in 146,000,000. (So naturally the estimated jackpot is $20,000,000, or about 1/7th of 146 million.) I thought those odds seemed pretty steep, but then I considered that half of the homes I'd seen within 15 miles of the Lottery Oasis had more cars on blocks in the front yard than they had in the driveway. I mean, unless the demand for rusted out cars with no wheels skyrockets in the next few months, the odds of these folks making more than 20 THOUSAND dollars next year are far greater than 1 in 146,000,000 so I can see why they'd scrape together all of their nickels and dimes and take a crack at the Power Ball for 1,000 times the payout. It's solid business sense really.<br /><br />So you have a room full of people cashing in their welfare checks to play lottery games that are decidedly skewed toward the state .... naturally, I had to particpate. You know what they say ... when in Tennessee, do as those below the poverty line do! So I went ahead and bought two Power Ball tickets (drawing on Wednesday night, July 9th!!) Here's what I went with.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKF1SkEIfaDJLfaaMOcjc89oon2WOna0U41VB0ypMWkRq-DnzReUgaP47CdKa856IE5WWMgxyKaDi_Vw98spxssR97iD8Egr1mApH1gCheV2uJJawuQNUogtlsgRBPEwnrkd9vOqbATM/s1600-h/012.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKF1SkEIfaDJLfaaMOcjc89oon2WOna0U41VB0ypMWkRq-DnzReUgaP47CdKa856IE5WWMgxyKaDi_Vw98spxssR97iD8Egr1mApH1gCheV2uJJawuQNUogtlsgRBPEwnrkd9vOqbATM/s200/012.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220909886364324098" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">TICKET 1:</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5 - daughter's soccer jersey number<br />12 - brother's football number at Notre Dame<br />20 - 1560 birth date is Aug 20th<br />22 - my birthday and my twins' birthday is Jan 22nd<br />34 - number of Charles Barkley, my favorite athlete<br />POWER BALL - 29 - mom's birthday was Dec 29th<br /><br />TICKET 2 (I call this one the Houston special):<br />5 - Bagwell<br />7 - Biggio<br />17 - Puma<br />22 - Clyde<br />45 - Rudy T<br />POWER BALL - 34 - can you really go with any other number for the Power Ball on a Houston Special??<br /><br /></span>If I win, I promise to rent out the Toyota Center and pay Rich Lord whatever it takes to have him agree to sing Barbara Streisand's greatest hits in the round while we all throw urine balloons at him. I mean that. Wish me luck!<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-19630272480747997872008-07-09T00:51:00.004-05:002008-07-09T02:38:11.994-05:00SUNDAY, JULY 6th (Part III) - My favorite exit in AlabamaAfter picking up two t-shirts (including a nice redneck sleeveless joint for $4.99) and a bathing suit for a grand total of $42 at Academy (the right stuff...the low price...INDEED!), I began the trek north to the great state of Tennessee. Heading north on I-65 toward Huntsville, I passed the exit pictured below:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9HXclUQzFh9IPAPwylv_SYw_EQCswqrhRvYSm4vPdEE_-QY-BBHvCUsE1ObvFPxjZTIs-q64UCjQTQCYUDwmwazVO3N_mc-NKqvaakKK5dkA5a0ZokBBual0VFpkENr7ZeLax2fGvar0/s1600-h/008.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9HXclUQzFh9IPAPwylv_SYw_EQCswqrhRvYSm4vPdEE_-QY-BBHvCUsE1ObvFPxjZTIs-q64UCjQTQCYUDwmwazVO3N_mc-NKqvaakKK5dkA5a0ZokBBual0VFpkENr7ZeLax2fGvar0/s400/008.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220915014046461074" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Naturally curious, I took the exit and found this fellow standing at the stop light at the bottom the ramp rambling to himself. The Warrior lives....in Alabama of all places!<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cF4ZTcuhixc&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cF4ZTcuhixc&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-36200186439558539782008-07-08T11:29:00.002-05:002008-07-09T00:24:02.986-05:00SUNDAY, JULY 6th (Part II) - An Alabama Staple ... THE WIGGLY!If you've never lived in or been through the South, you just can't understand the magnitude of the <a href="http://www.pigglywiggly.com/">Piggly Wiggly</a>. It's a Southern Institution. So when I rolled up behind a Wiggly truck, naturally I had to take a picture.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDpeAEI7Ry_gPqndQ1AodmhhE4yMdOXzG1US5bLev3XbqdKOGXgXlyXJjM5Tvc44RmwCwnrOsNYFB593PMg5ZzVC3Jf6Wl8eLZfQCL0JYN6l4krRYzdpXCD0VU7t-2WlrNa4VfAiUTyw/s1600-h/007.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXDpeAEI7Ry_gPqndQ1AodmhhE4yMdOXzG1US5bLev3XbqdKOGXgXlyXJjM5Tvc44RmwCwnrOsNYFB593PMg5ZzVC3Jf6Wl8eLZfQCL0JYN6l4krRYzdpXCD0VU7t-2WlrNa4VfAiUTyw/s400/007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220681909677527122" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I think SEC Guy can do a much better job of capturing the essence of the Wiggly. Here you go ....<br /><br /><br /><div><br /><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://fpdownload.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,0,0" id="mp3playerdarksmallv3" align="middle" height="25" width="210"><br /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="sameDomain"><br /><param name="movie" value="http://www.podbean.com/podcast-audio-video-blog-player/mp3playerdarksmallv3.swf?audioPath=http://thegame.podbean.com/medias/play/aHR0cDovL21lZGlhMi5wb2RiZWFuLmNvbS81ODk4Mi91L1NFQ3dpZ2dseS5tcDM/SECwiggly.mp3&autoStart=no"><br /><param name="quality" value="high"><param name="bgcolor" value="#ffffff"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><br /><embed src="http://www.podbean.com/podcast-audio-video-blog-player/mp3playerdarksmallv3.swf?audioPath=http://thegame.podbean.com/medias/play/aHR0cDovL21lZGlhMi5wb2RiZWFuLmNvbS81ODk4Mi91L1NFQ3dpZ2dseS5tcDM/SECwiggly.mp3&autoStart=no" quality="high" name="mp3playerdarksmallv3" allowscriptaccess="sameDomain" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" align="middle" height="25" width="210"></embed><br /></object><br /><br /><a style="border-bottom: medium none; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; padding-left: 41px; color: rgb(45, 162, 116); text-decoration: none;" href="http://www.podbean.com/">Powered by Podbean.com</a><br /></div>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-3452873849045987122008-07-08T10:10:00.004-05:002008-07-09T00:24:56.588-05:00SUNDAY, JULY 6th (Part I) - Porn for the SEC GUYIf you listen to 1560 The Game, you know about SEC Guy. His name is Karol Kenton Kogslotter, and he frequently contributes to our programming on 1560. He is a 60-something family practitioner who lives in Alabama and eats, breathes, sweats and lives all things SEC football, particularly the Alabama Crimson Tide. In SEC Guy's eyes, the sun rises and sets at John Parker Wilson's locker, the WAC and Mountain West don't exist, and Kenny Stabler has been framed by an Auburn police officer on all twelve of his DUI's. So it's only natural that as I drove around the Alabama campus that I would think about SEC Guy and how enthralled he would be by my surroundings. And it's why I entitled this post "Porn for the SEC GUY". I have to believe that he pops in VHS tapes (maybe beta tapes... ok, maybe reel to reel films) of old Joe Willie Namath highlights and gets that "special feeling", kind of like those skeevy pervs when they pull into the parking lot at those 24 hour adult bookstores.<br /><br />Ironically, one of the first places I passed as I made my way onto campus was a Jimmy John's sandwich shop. Why is this ironic? <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDlfSfMm1P0_kqy0C5yMsPOSP_JW-VS8ws7d3rlWQlnV912NZqB1YnZ_c8DwKHNzI8XKM8oGHpKEBZHRJ05O1Ot8zzafUz0YQncPk70jxiDFNRrf1_tuW9x5CHHgEfIYYYL3oy_LVLOY/s1600-h/003.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikDlfSfMm1P0_kqy0C5yMsPOSP_JW-VS8ws7d3rlWQlnV912NZqB1YnZ_c8DwKHNzI8XKM8oGHpKEBZHRJ05O1Ot8zzafUz0YQncPk70jxiDFNRrf1_tuW9x5CHHgEfIYYYL3oy_LVLOY/s320/003.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220666715514099922" border="0" /></a>Well, if you've been following the news out of Tuscaloosa, you know that Jimmy Johns is also the name of an Alabama linebacker who was <a href="http://www.usatoday.com/sports/college/football/sec/2008-06-24-alabama-johns_N.htm">recently arrested on charges that he was selling cocaine to undercover police officers</a>. To see the actual sandwich shop about a block from the stadium, with an Alabama banner in front of it to boot, was just too perfect. So I had to capture the moment for posterity's sake.<br /><br />In fact, SEC Guy's most recent effort on the "Sean and John Show" (or as SEC Guy calls it, the Shane and Jacob Show) was his plea for an investigation into the possible framing of Jimmy Johns the linebacker. You can catch this piece of radio brilliance by clicking on the icon below. Trust me, it's worth it.<br /><div><br /><object classid="clsid:d27cdb6e-ae6d-11cf-96b8-444553540000" codebase="http://fpdownload.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,0,0" id="mp3playerdarksmallv3" align="middle" height="25" width="210"><br /><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="sameDomain"><br /><param name="movie" value="http://www.podbean.com/podcast-audio-video-blog-player/mp3playerdarksmallv3.swf?audioPath=http://thegame.podbean.com/medias/play/aHR0cDovL21lZGlhMi5wb2RiZWFuLmNvbS81ODk4Mi91L1NFQ0dVWS1KaW1teUpvaG5zLm1wMw/SECGUY-JimmyJohns.mp3&autoStart=no"><br /><param name="quality" value="high"><param name="bgcolor" value="#ffffff"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><br /><embed src="http://www.podbean.com/podcast-audio-video-blog-player/mp3playerdarksmallv3.swf?audioPath=http://thegame.podbean.com/medias/play/aHR0cDovL21lZGlhMi5wb2RiZWFuLmNvbS81ODk4Mi91L1NFQ0dVWS1KaW1teUpvaG5zLm1wMw/SECGUY-JimmyJohns.mp3&autoStart=no" quality="high" name="mp3playerdarksmallv3" allowscriptaccess="sameDomain" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" align="middle" height="25" width="210"></embed><br /></object><br /><br /><a style="border-bottom: medium none; font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; font-weight: normal; padding-left: 41px; color: rgb(45, 162, 116); text-decoration: none;" href="http://www.podbean.com/">Powered by Podbean.com</a><br /></div><br /><br /><br />With the disrespectful-to-the-legacy-of-The-Bear chicanery out of the way, I made my way over to Bryant-Denny Stadium. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HvK9NDvX0PtJmeTy8H4N3aVwEq7_mo0ow-SXyRXDjEvgOJ7HIY49nsuGqxJd_YT3v-elX-Iyjlts49NnXcZtoWNTPcxTk_-lBcI2FiUKqLu9JAwP4H7pfN8m3rvfQ_9fB2nH1gi5U7A/s1600-h/004.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-HvK9NDvX0PtJmeTy8H4N3aVwEq7_mo0ow-SXyRXDjEvgOJ7HIY49nsuGqxJd_YT3v-elX-Iyjlts49NnXcZtoWNTPcxTk_-lBcI2FiUKqLu9JAwP4H7pfN8m3rvfQ_9fB2nH1gi5U7A/s200/004.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220673561542857378" border="0" /></a>Now, Lord knows that the gods of college football have given us<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkVRaOnOuCLPkaFQjOPNAjEnsSXcBYuokdigU0xrNhRA6ugtTG1NeuF8umDTwwPZvqjwN7kGjDz45ugpf6Ow-9720k4zoPCTgKxprBNTk8DWdxngJWags06ACqy-xTZpg4r8Xmfk0KKE/s1600-h/005.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkVRaOnOuCLPkaFQjOPNAjEnsSXcBYuokdigU0xrNhRA6ugtTG1NeuF8umDTwwPZvqjwN7kGjDz45ugpf6Ow-9720k4zoPCTgKxprBNTk8DWdxngJWags06ACqy-xTZpg4r8Xmfk0KKE/s200/005.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220678526916953874" border="0" /></a> enough reasons to be the scandals, and the patronizing references to a barely existent "student-athlete" (well, barely existent in many places at least),cynical about the game what with the BCS, but I have to admit it still gives me a tingly sensation in my nether regions when I walk up on a hallowed college football cathedral like Bryant-Denny Stadium. To know that the greats like Jay Barker and Brodie Croyle have slung the rock around that yard, I mean you can almost smell the greatness ... oh wait, that's the bread at Jimmy Johns (mmmm....freeeee smeeelllls .... AGGGGHHHHH ....channeling my inner Homer Simpson). Anyway, it was very cool seeing the stadium, even if it was just the outside.<br /><br />My next stop was to head to the bookstore and add the University of Alabama to my cadre of tee shirts on this trip. There was only one problem, and it was the same issue that I encountered in Hattiesburg -- apparently, the south has a ban on opening stores with books during the month of July. WTF?!? Did someone pass a law making July Illiteracy Month in the Deep South? C'mon Alabama! I mean, I expect that kind of behavior from Mississippi, but you guys are at least ranked in like the mid-40's in public education (as opposed to, well, 50th like Mississippi). You're better than that. Open a freaking bookstore. Hell, it wasn't just the bookstore. ALL of the Bama gear shops were closed! I'll chalk it up to being a Sunday and assume that there are blue laws in Alabama that I'm not aware of.<br /><br />So desparately needing a tee shirt, I went to the one place that I knew I could count on ... the one place that has all of your tee shirt needs covered .... 6,000 1560 tee shirts sold .... for all of your sporting goods and outdoor needs ... the right stuff, the low price .... ACADEMY!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MtgkQEfsonKpZmXrKyPQl8wpgNo432egT-F5RuDzv4o6Rz1nFFS2ZCVu4GW7oEl58S2apAzI25BOsbPKzw6qx98uhKrB8BFAFcmVbsmmt_AwSXGve0Ow27ZqCbX1NDHGhjoZ2Ae7bfw/s1600-h/006.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0MtgkQEfsonKpZmXrKyPQl8wpgNo432egT-F5RuDzv4o6Rz1nFFS2ZCVu4GW7oEl58S2apAzI25BOsbPKzw6qx98uhKrB8BFAFcmVbsmmt_AwSXGve0Ow27ZqCbX1NDHGhjoZ2Ae7bfw/s400/006.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220675747694951138" border="0" /></a> I knew I could count on them!!<br /><br />On a whim, thinking that perhaps the station is blowing up in Alabama, I asked the lady behind the counter if they had any 1560 tee shirts. When she responded with "1560? Them shirts over there are only 8 bucks! Just grab one of them, save yourself like 10 bucks!!" then I knew that we still had more work to do back in Houston.<br /><br />We're not quite blowing up in Alabama ... not yet. It's coming though.<br /><br />So with the Dreamland BBQ ribs still nestled snugly in my digestive tract and rocking my new Alabama tee shirt, I hit the road to head to Music City.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-39888909863314439852008-07-08T09:01:00.001-05:002008-07-09T00:25:21.026-05:00SATURDAY, JULY 5th (Part VI) - Tuscaloosa, ALI crossed over the Alabama border, and I was understandably proud. Proud that I was able to cobble Brett Favre's illiterate hometown, a stop in Hattiesburg, and a few billboards into enough material for <span style="font-weight: bold;">four</span> blogposts. I mean, if they made blogging an Olympic sport, what would the degree of difficulty be on that? Wouldn't that be like the Triple Lindy of blogging? I'll let you judge for yourself ... what is more difficult? Putting together my recent slew of blog posts on a nothin' happenin' backwater like Mississippi, or this ...<br /><br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/J8zLSGvV454&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/J8zLSGvV454&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />Yeah, I thought so. Screw you, MELLON!!<br /><br />So when I put my trip out there publicly for our listener base to comment on/contribute to/ridicule, the one eatery that was designated as "can't miss" more than any other was the <a href="http://www.dreamlandbbq.com/">Dreamland BBQ</a> in Tuscaloosa. So I pulled into Tuscaloosa late afternoon on Saturday, and knowing that I would be hitting the 'Bama campus on Sunday, and also starving from having not eaten in nearly three hours (gasp!), I made consuming those delectable ribs my priority. (That is after checking into the luxurious Fairfield Inn off of Skyland Avenue, complete with continental breakfast!)<br /><br />I followed Mapquest's directions to the Dreamland, and as I was weaving up hills and along curvy rural backroads I started questioning why we trust any computers ever. (Yes, I'm looking right at you my sweet little laptop ... don't look at me like that ... ) As it turns out, my computer was being truthful; the Dreamland BBQ is off the beaten path, standing by its lonesome at the top of a hill in the middle of one of Tuscaloosa's, um, <span style="font-style: italic;">less affluent</span> neighborhoods.<br /><br />The first thing I noticed when you walk in is the "hole in the wall" feel to the place, and I don't mean that in a derogatory way. I mean it as the highest compliment. Old school booths, old school counter seats, and walls seemingly papered with autographed pictures of famous people who have consumed their ribs. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThQ7Pzb_9iuRyJOH1ZlZi9Wns56lrwIW0AIDUkexnWRLZSs8qwRtISNYFIkTmkzvNKW_wM6TbrJob04J34jqFAUdukhODZ9ukAd-MON3qbU-6Z71_mAXGl115QQ_5AQ6to5LZLtOR6H8/s1600-h/040.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhThQ7Pzb_9iuRyJOH1ZlZi9Wns56lrwIW0AIDUkexnWRLZSs8qwRtISNYFIkTmkzvNKW_wM6TbrJob04J34jqFAUdukhODZ9ukAd-MON3qbU-6Z71_mAXGl115QQ_5AQ6to5LZLtOR6H8/s320/040.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220652007094086754" border="0" /></a>And here is the best part ... I was the only person there! Total old school feel. I felt like Tony Soprano eating by himself in an empty Vesuvio's. Only replace "Tony" with a starving radio host, replace "mushroom tortellini" with slabs of ribs, and replace New Jersey with ... well, somewhere that most assuredly was not New Jersey.<br /><br />The beauty in Dreamland was in its simplicity. I have said this many times about <a href="http://www.www.in-n-out.com/">In N Out Burger</a> -- there is a reason that they are so good. You go there, and they only do one thing. Hamburgers (well, and fries and shakes, but you get my drift). And they do it better than anyone. (Sorry, Whataburger loyalists.) Well, Dreamland BBQ is like the In N Out Burger of ribs. Their menu has ribs, a couple sides, and that's it. When I sat down and my waitress Faye came over to take my order, there was no indecisiveness on my part. There didn't need to be. All Faye had to say was "Wanna start off with half a slab?" and all I had to do was grunt, and it was on like Donkey Kong ... assuming Mario were a rib-devouring slob. Faye brought out a plate of white bread, a half slab of mouth watering ribs, and my large coke, and I went to work (Pendergast quirk you may not have been aware of -- when eating dinner, I'd much rather have a soda than a beer. Now when getting hammered, I'd much rather have beer, but for dinner, Coke is my drink of choice.). The sauce was the perfect combination of spicy, sweet and tangy. I think I mopped up every drop with the white bread sponges they gave me. Three plates of ribs later, they rolled me out of there like the Oompa Loompa's rolling out Violet Beauregard after she carelessly defied Wonka's orders to not eat the gum.<br /><br />I mean look at these pics of the front of the building. When I pulled in, it was still light out. When I left, it was dark and they had to practically kick me out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlSM1tDlu-blhi4eU-MCiURxQ-1yGk4nxA09k3urusNXxqmiQmLEpo6K3LY-CDBP0tYch7fpGpzvyVIbirSo4xiFZGmExej8iIx6I0yZwlYyHVt7s9wWVhFt1VC-BfbbfwMGnmkhB9h0/s1600-h/039.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxlSM1tDlu-blhi4eU-MCiURxQ-1yGk4nxA09k3urusNXxqmiQmLEpo6K3LY-CDBP0tYch7fpGpzvyVIbirSo4xiFZGmExej8iIx6I0yZwlYyHVt7s9wWVhFt1VC-BfbbfwMGnmkhB9h0/s320/039.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220652005888044418" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zwatmMee4gmoPSPnOS0lZp0dRqgJoPwN23cEXiC8ylEGDF1rrgboYYP-LXoe1vTRqjMAZ-y6wo5hYsacZOJEqW75m5t0jaRpQly-2aJ-rNT-M2CYC0IV82Q8C89zdIYhD95c4UjLLm0/s1600-h/043.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_zwatmMee4gmoPSPnOS0lZp0dRqgJoPwN23cEXiC8ylEGDF1rrgboYYP-LXoe1vTRqjMAZ-y6wo5hYsacZOJEqW75m5t0jaRpQly-2aJ-rNT-M2CYC0IV82Q8C89zdIYhD95c4UjLLm0/s320/043.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220652735428986626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Needless to say, everything from the atmosphere to the food to the service equated out to the highest grade on the trip yet. And for good measure, the staff at the Dreamland dropped the double rods. Say "Hello" to Raymond, Faye, Carmen, and Rhonda!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOOEn1dToiC26SDi4WKOaza6NUZAUkEUst96FeFBZCLuNyDmezjiq0eryTY7r2XdpekB-DHD05dayjLiQVEFLAbFkzalwCrxLnI6od8Pa81oYf_JBtjhqU5QjUmbIlIigZCRuOvfsVjM/s1600-h/042.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOOEn1dToiC26SDi4WKOaza6NUZAUkEUst96FeFBZCLuNyDmezjiq0eryTY7r2XdpekB-DHD05dayjLiQVEFLAbFkzalwCrxLnI6od8Pa81oYf_JBtjhqU5QjUmbIlIigZCRuOvfsVjM/s400/042.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220653006139650818" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />DREAMLAND BBQ - TUSCALOOSA, AL<br />FOOD: SEVERAL SLABS OF RIBS AND LOAVES OF BREAD<br />GRADE: A+<br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-23485877301070942972008-07-08T00:19:00.001-05:002008-07-09T00:25:47.098-05:00SATURDAY, JULY 5th (Part V) - Final Add MississippiI know that when I'm planning a party, and I go through the final checklist, there is no sweeter sound than being able to say "Fireworks? Check. ..... Streakers? Check."<br /><br />Somewhere at the end of this dirt road in Mississippi, someone is planning a kick ass party.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FNxDRDpJSkft5KYCTId8qdJgXu7Q6YukzKIrsqRYNDKdZTRAHle1fTX5AIPIom-2JjF0w4oS-E-WOBsiYE-TH0PPhJH2jSPh3yZhEqokWH59logu6gZ0NqudHqNDsyM6LA4tziYFIDo/s1600-h/034.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4FNxDRDpJSkft5KYCTId8qdJgXu7Q6YukzKIrsqRYNDKdZTRAHle1fTX5AIPIom-2JjF0w4oS-E-WOBsiYE-TH0PPhJH2jSPh3yZhEqokWH59logu6gZ0NqudHqNDsyM6LA4tziYFIDo/s400/034.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220510607427455650" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Best part is, if you look real closely, you can see that this road also is the home of a Baptist Church. I believe it is the second book of Colossians that mentions streakers and fireworks.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6TEe5fgzSijQPGNAZaiwrVso_y38kkucfEK4HasUOy37xFzX37lK3AOH4JnaqRutxdAGzFiNqbuH2ZT4HqhWEjJy366Z8DoDVfwFkz8Xfckm8hQ7FfwW4ZIn5bPmMLIDXXH8qKQWJ4w/s1600-h/035.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6TEe5fgzSijQPGNAZaiwrVso_y38kkucfEK4HasUOy37xFzX37lK3AOH4JnaqRutxdAGzFiNqbuH2ZT4HqhWEjJy366Z8DoDVfwFkz8Xfckm8hQ7FfwW4ZIn5bPmMLIDXXH8qKQWJ4w/s400/035.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220511202263050178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Frank the Tank would've loved Mississippi ...<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RcCxc5ZAX80&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RcCxc5ZAX80&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-76290380999575991892008-07-07T23:12:00.001-05:002008-07-09T00:26:13.110-05:00SATURDAY, JULY 5th (Part IV) - Hattiesburg, MSAs I stated from the outset of this trip, my goals largely center around getting college gear at the college towns I pass through and sampling cuisine in each city. Anything that occurs beyond that such as finding the future ex-Mrs. Pendergast or solving some struggling Kentucky town's budget crisis, I'll consider gravy.<br /><br />With that in mind, I ventured to Hattiesburg, MS, to pick up some Southern Mississippi Golden Eagles gear. Sure, Southern Miss is not a BCS school, but I felt like I needed to make a statement that even though my alma mater's total revenue from athletics is higher than the<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrW_NohHDWKJrs4YhGjvGynr5knGkm709e_WIFUup9qXx8HfWxnjUt_rYFzyX2p2EOWp8iTHhQ1dKQVi6G5Wto_sXjqSI2ccXt-A-F48yMw9nhyrosDjndfS2VhyeJFLrYXcFyy3un98Q/s1600-h/036.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrW_NohHDWKJrs4YhGjvGynr5knGkm709e_WIFUup9qXx8HfWxnjUt_rYFzyX2p2EOWp8iTHhQ1dKQVi6G5Wto_sXjqSI2ccXt-A-F48yMw9nhyrosDjndfS2VhyeJFLrYXcFyy3un98Q/s320/036.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220496414066096082" border="0" /></a> GNP of some third world countries, I am all about the little guy. So I ventured to the Southern Miss campus, which on a Saturday in July was kind of like New York City in "I Am Legend". Lots of big buildings, lots of weeds, and no other living, breathing organism within 20 miles. The only thing separating me and Robert Neville were a dog and some pigmentation.<br /><br />Hopeful that there might be a live person selling Southern Miss t-shirts somewhere on campus, I made my way to the bookstore. There was only one problem -- it was closed.<br /><br />Honestly, I'm not sure what I was thinking. I mean, we're talking about a state in which literacy is basically optional during the school year, and I'm expecting them to keep a store that sells BOOKS open in the summertime? How brain dead am I? Luckily, I made the mistake of driving the wrong way down a one way street on the Southern Miss campus, forcing a campus police car to pull me over, and therefore giving me exclusive access to the only other living, breathing person on campus so I could ask him where in the hell I might be able to get a Golden Eagles tee shirt. So as I sit here dangerously on the precipice of boring you to tears with this story, I will sum up by saying I was able to secure a nice Southern Miss Under Armor tee shirt at an off campus location.<br /><br />Everyone knows that the physical toll your body takes from sitting on your ass in a car all day can make you hungry, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-_sVWCBGwKdtZigjp467BBVfITbAlOXRKq8Rdsx8WqpK16Njrj8amc1Co-LGD30hcsQxUSzCXLzHVQBg83jn_K3aOgIy3tOXAg0flxLzKR5YaFF71gfmBZR7UiBwY_8HDAnLF900K20/s1600-h/037.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB-_sVWCBGwKdtZigjp467BBVfITbAlOXRKq8Rdsx8WqpK16Njrj8amc1Co-LGD30hcsQxUSzCXLzHVQBg83jn_K3aOgIy3tOXAg0flxLzKR5YaFF71gfmBZR7UiBwY_8HDAnLF900K20/s320/037.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220502284325756258" border="0" /></a>so it was time to find a Hattiesburg staple to call home for the next hour or so. One of the lovely young ladies at the tee shirt store told me that if I'm in town for one meal that I needed to get a burger at Mugshot's. So far be it from me to eschew the advice of a pretty tee shirt selling, fair haired lass. "TO MUGSHOT'S!!", I shouted and then I gallavanted out of the store like a warrior poet.<br /><br />My first reaction when I pulled into the Mugshot's parking lot was, from the outside, this would easily be the nicest restaurant in Louisiana. My second reaction was how ironic it was to be eating at a place called Mugshot's in somewhere other than Tuscaloosa. (I later found out that Tuscaloosa also has a Mugshot's, thereby restoring cosmic order to my universe.)<br /><br />Apparently, burgers are sort of the Mugshot's specialty -- kind of like wings at Buffalo Wild Wings, calzones at Nick's Place, or salmonella at White Castle. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYBaaxkPHzIaUvoOiVmVhYZJ7c_CG_5SPIt0e5hjhWHSFvIi3qXADkspTN8ekGd36lsyM3tLyJHv2trZOYjTVjpTqkRR_IqBCHJkGa19X-AOJhtLA7l8x2pyJKVX2sTBD0wVnVhTMzcs/s1600-h/038.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJYBaaxkPHzIaUvoOiVmVhYZJ7c_CG_5SPIt0e5hjhWHSFvIi3qXADkspTN8ekGd36lsyM3tLyJHv2trZOYjTVjpTqkRR_IqBCHJkGa19X-AOJhtLA7l8x2pyJKVX2sTBD0wVnVhTMzcs/s320/038.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220504751687401554" border="0" /></a>(Just kidding, White Castle.) Their signature burger is called, of all things, the "Mugshot". Go figure. It's like three burgers tall, with a couple different buns, and lots of fixings. You can see it in the picture here next to the lovely, doublerods-administering Dixie and Shawna. Knowing that the Dreamland Barbecue in Tuscaloosa was in my future on Saturday night, I decided to go for something a little more compact. I went with the Gamble Burger (one burger, lots of chili, queso, jalapenos, and sour cream). It had the word "gamble" in it, so that sounded about right. I was quite satisfied with my choice. My only complaint would be that it was so lathered in chili, queso, and such that it turned into a fork and knife meal about halfway through, and there's something about eating a burger with utensils that makes me feel like a little less of a man. So major points on the food and it's taste, but slight minus points for making me feel like a foo foo cake boy while eating it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">MUGSHOT'S - HATTIESBURG, MS<br />FOOD: GAMBLE BURGER<br />GRADE: A-<br /><br /><br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-31647080129865857102008-07-07T22:47:00.002-05:002008-07-09T00:27:17.430-05:00SATURDAY, JULY 5th (Part III) - Just outside Kiln, MSIf you're like me, you (a) have barely enough money to make it to your 40th birthday, and (b) spend roughly 23 hours a day trying to figure out how to become independently wealthy, hopefully without having to try very hard. You rack your brain trying to find something special within your skillset that would yield a product for which people would pay handsomely. Handsomely enough to at least retire before you own a colostomy bag. Handsomely enough to at least make sure your kids college alma mater doesn't contain the word "Community" in it. Your head hurts from concocting business plans in your mind, and maybe even transcribing them on the proverbial cocktail napkin.<br /><br />And then you drive through Mississippi, see a billboard, and realize that the best business plans sometimes are beautiful in their simplicity, and you lament "Why didn't I think of that?"....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNCVZchSPGI4FPaykfwQMl7GuzhYQGoPsFLHidZiSdIX8fJdzXTWjOgMxkuOG8LSrDmuAU9DIY7WKOFG5l2dYlgpn-bP91iWxMrX2mVoDqpR03cJILPbVsbwN5IlLNY-C550eqi5SIks/s1600-h/027.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaNCVZchSPGI4FPaykfwQMl7GuzhYQGoPsFLHidZiSdIX8fJdzXTWjOgMxkuOG8LSrDmuAU9DIY7WKOFG5l2dYlgpn-bP91iWxMrX2mVoDqpR03cJILPbVsbwN5IlLNY-C550eqi5SIks/s400/027.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220487330576838370" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />BUSINESS PLAN -- Cheap beer. Cheap tobacco. Without leaving your car.<br /><br />Bravo.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-7468915730183014422008-07-07T21:16:00.002-05:002008-07-09T00:27:42.803-05:00SATURDAY, JULY 5th (Part II) - Desperately Seeking FavreI'm not sure if any of you have heard lately, but there's this guy Brett Favre. Used to play quarterback for the Green Bay Packers. You remember him, right? Number 4? I know it's been a while, he's the dude who threw the crucial pick in overtime of the NFC Championship Game and then a couple months later retired -- wait, sorry .... "retired" ... there, had to put quotes around it ---from the game in a tearful press conference. Coming back to you now? Now I know this sounds crazy, but according to published reports, he is rethinking his decision to walk away. Favre has dismissed those reports as "rumor". Are you sure you haven't heard this? I mean, it has been mentioned on a couple of websites sporadically (and by couple I mean thousands, and by sporadically, I mean every 4 minutes).<br /><br />Why do I bring up Brett Favre? Well, the second leg of my trip on Saturday took me into the great state of Mississippi. The itinerary I had carved out had me heading up Interstate 59 toward Hattiesburg. However, I took a second to scour the atlas and noticed that I could go a few minutes out of my way and take some back roads to get to Hattiesburg and go right through Kiln, MS -- hometown of BRETT FAVRE! I could put my neophyte journalistic skills to use and try and find out right from the horse's mouth if indeed Brett Favre was coming back! YEEEESSS!<br /><br />So the audible was called and I took State Road 603 to Kiln (population 2,040). Upon pulling into town, I passed Mojo's Bar and ___LL ... well, I think it's actually supposed to be "GRILL". All that was on the sign was two L's. Check it out....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqU_TxLG-OWZODSgfqV_X5C_dkj_wBVqV_31so9OdjNPMC2vp8i39SZYGphmjrg3_yz0tle50W4kd2bfuNmhZxP7Q9652dfJVJfVsPOQL9_0ybBTSVk8mWMvNaw2KNRdKRsKNf91ZiR0/s1600-h/028.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqU_TxLG-OWZODSgfqV_X5C_dkj_wBVqV_31so9OdjNPMC2vp8i39SZYGphmjrg3_yz0tle50W4kd2bfuNmhZxP7Q9652dfJVJfVsPOQL9_0ybBTSVk8mWMvNaw2KNRdKRsKNf91ZiR0/s400/028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220467941509298498" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And then pulled into this gas station. The __T_O. More missing letters.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNksl-Ks1iv9QLi4ywO-TNVVUdUbPXVUqpEOgxshbiFMXNAAwJeAN3MMpjOObBQ4lmM2aeGmn2duN3Gu3jJjHtn-u24RWjJqEhrEMUqYd2oKZS207VZVNEcxJ3e0YeCW6UyWzyj7UvuI0/s1600-h/025.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNksl-Ks1iv9QLi4ywO-TNVVUdUbPXVUqpEOgxshbiFMXNAAwJeAN3MMpjOObBQ4lmM2aeGmn2duN3Gu3jJjHtn-u24RWjJqEhrEMUqYd2oKZS207VZVNEcxJ3e0YeCW6UyWzyj7UvuI0/s400/025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220467938489630098" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />This gas station was right across the street from the _H___ _I_______ ___ ___H. (To be fair, you can actually make out the letters on this one. Barely.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3g3UY_E9tAnLKvg7SHVGUDWZAkvJWdjpmz91mFOd62AE5gjMblyNGCkuEwokq7Cxl4MOenXnFHaCUIRVkg44qP2DwEpjkD5vTz2v0f8QZLnmOo41jm4Zx67-lK1ww8066SLuW-9JI95Y/s1600-h/032.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3g3UY_E9tAnLKvg7SHVGUDWZAkvJWdjpmz91mFOd62AE5gjMblyNGCkuEwokq7Cxl4MOenXnFHaCUIRVkg44qP2DwEpjkD5vTz2v0f8QZLnmOo41jm4Zx67-lK1ww8066SLuW-9JI95Y/s400/032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220467942281799874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I'd like to say that there is an establishment in Kiln that has all of its letters on its sign, but these are the only three buildings I could find in Kiln. So driving through Kiln and trying to ascertain the name of a business was essentially like playing a giant game of hangman. Or perhaps a game of redneck "Wheel of Fortune" (or as they call it in Kiln, "hangman wit' prizes!") I mean, I know that reading will probably not fall into any Mississippian's top 1000 list of leisure time activities, but can you at least appear to make an effort and replace the letters on your signs? If you're not sure which letters are needed to fill out the word "GRILL" just call someone in any of the other 49 states. You know ... those other states that are all ahead of you in public education, Mississippi?<br /><br />Anyway, I digress. Distraught that I could only find three commercial establishments in Kiln, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6mMQR7JNbXtYiqa90kfnelzhM91oBGGMybhd2pIU7ileE1T6KL5nMRwIntzqUXu_Qgbj4XdKGMQ2NqVRR4aAgrLePOHLXfRgUkP_61kNS6pULItL9dK_jgDCwZvgi3MGEtIxIkAzen8/s1600-h/Devendorf+01.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy6mMQR7JNbXtYiqa90kfnelzhM91oBGGMybhd2pIU7ileE1T6KL5nMRwIntzqUXu_Qgbj4XdKGMQ2NqVRR4aAgrLePOHLXfRgUkP_61kNS6pULItL9dK_jgDCwZvgi3MGEtIxIkAzen8/s200/Devendorf+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220472539168855202" border="0" /></a>I decided to pull into the __T_O and see where downtown Kiln was located. I went inside and the young man working behind the counter looked like a miniature version of Eric Devendorf (Syracuse guard, pictured at left), which is ironic because the actual version of Eric Devendorf will probably be the weekday cashier in that gas station sometime in 2011. Working under the assumptions that (a) Brett Favre is the only Kiln native to ever actually escape Kiln and (b) Mini-Devo actually knows his way around his hometown, I asked him how to get to the center of town. He proceeded to tell me that I was already there. Yes, the Mojo's/Citgo/car wash intersection is Kiln's "downtown", which means that there is a one in three chance that town hall meetings are actually held at a self-serve car wash (which is just as plausible as holding them in the gas station or Mojo's Bar & ___LL). I thought about asking Mini-Devo where they hold the town hall meetings in Kiln, but fearful that a discussion of local politics might cause his head to explode, I opted to just say "Ok, so this is all of Kiln pretty much, huh?" Mini-Devo, perhaps slightly embarrassed that this ol' city slicker was disappointed in how little Kiln had to offer, quickly pointed out that the curve in the road I had just come around was "where Brett Favre's dad died from that heart attack he had".<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrM2Yy_vt69J_zYoE5n9VFm5ObyISy7ZxhJWdXnD6MjHTos2RCtwfW2A5clgpXQp_ZgLQ1fZR42mhUgyyAUAMWsqLoIgwadkZo5XKuitWxl0DzZLCGG2XJ1rg_Y_DRo3bUOn1p86vUwc8/s1600-h/031.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrM2Yy_vt69J_zYoE5n9VFm5ObyISy7ZxhJWdXnD6MjHTos2RCtwfW2A5clgpXQp_ZgLQ1fZR42mhUgyyAUAMWsqLoIgwadkZo5XKuitWxl0DzZLCGG2XJ1rg_Y_DRo3bUOn1p86vUwc8/s320/031.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220476392659818066" border="0" /></a>"ALL RIGHT!! Now we're getting somewhere!!", I thought. The aforementioned curve is pictured to the left, and I can only assume that in Kiln this is the equivalent of the north side of Elm Street in Dallas, sans the grassy knoll.<br /><br />Trying to milk as much information as I could out of Mini-Devo's brief flirt with lucidity, I asked him if Brett Favre's ranch was in Kiln and how to get there. He said that it's not in Kiln but it's "that way", pointing at .. well, pointing at the cigarette rack behind him, but I think in his mind he was pointing due northeast. Ready to venture to #4's home, I asked Mini-Devo for directions. However, when the first fifteen seconds of his instructions did not include one discernable street name but <span style="font-style: italic;">did </span>include two different animals ("take a left by the field of cows and then go right at the dead squirrel"), I decided that it probably wasn't worth it. Instead, I would just go ahead and find the nicest ranch I passed in Kiln, snap a picture, and tell all of you "there you go, that's Brett Favre's ranch".<br /><br />So .... there you go, that's Brett Favre's ranch ....<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiiUwNg6cCHyy9hDDysnUk_1lsxedcLJf0cV-F7kR9fdl48RyAoRmlJziME9zb3CTFMAWYJlY396odSokqfbogUHuayudc0WCKXOSJiznOInIp5ZQSy_9mwAwmC0apgbk4VR-FxGMSis/s1600-h/033.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpiiUwNg6cCHyy9hDDysnUk_1lsxedcLJf0cV-F7kR9fdl48RyAoRmlJziME9zb3CTFMAWYJlY396odSokqfbogUHuayudc0WCKXOSJiznOInIp5ZQSy_9mwAwmC0apgbk4VR-FxGMSis/s400/033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220479794547832930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />In the end, I'm glad I made this side trip to Kiln. It's given me much greater insight into why Brett Favre might be pondering a change of heart regarding retirement, and maybe now I won't be so quick to criticize him. Because the fact of the matter is, unless you feel like washing your car, pumping gas, or playing darts at Mojo's, there ain't shit to do in Kiln. So c'mon back, Brett. I understand.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-47364568980415703792008-07-06T00:15:00.005-05:002008-07-09T00:28:11.356-05:00SATURDAY, JULY 5th - Calling Baton Rouge!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJP8MxPBsWfkmvvXZGfiHWhljmaw12NdgwEZ8ctpiVwIk86rJMSi2P0Yxrg6tN2UbIcTz8pqq4a7nUptfV0nAkpG96Gvj27qrSpHt3hpQiY1bsGWuA9PwnhR7VJBHt-EhLC1O42v0uH4/s1600-h/020.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBJP8MxPBsWfkmvvXZGfiHWhljmaw12NdgwEZ8ctpiVwIk86rJMSi2P0Yxrg6tN2UbIcTz8pqq4a7nUptfV0nAkpG96Gvj27qrSpHt3hpQiY1bsGWuA9PwnhR7VJBHt-EhLC1O42v0uH4/s320/020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219773542792970802" border="0" /></a>When you travel as many places as I plan to over the next two weeks, it's inevitable that somewhere along the way I'll meet some random person who knows a random friend of mine, or whose grandfather taught me Strategic Marketing in college, or whose son was beaten up by one of my relatives at Mardi Gras. You know, random "six degrees of Kevin Bacon" type stuff. Well, it only took one day. At the Chimes in Baton Rouge, I was telling my waitress (the lovely and talented Cricket, pictured going dual rods below) about my trip and my New York-area destination when the couple at the next table overheard our conversation. Rather than publicly lambaste them for eavesdropping on my top secret "sweet nothings" with Cricket, I decided to engage them in conversation. Come to find out the husband coached my cousin Mike's son in soccer in upstate New York. Why do you care about this? I don't know. To be honest, after re-reading the story, I'm starting to care less and less about it as well. Damn, sorry about the lead in for this post. You'll never get the last 90 seconds of your life back ... my bad.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVRxMvG87HthXzr7zYKMT01RDVnPYlPK7vPMZ2whw2CeKcEBPcPztc-1oAcZDm47adMrXY-mDkmMX-Y_LuvCoVz5C9hOpFnDTcw0QJtdL4B7PA2vK02N-fp56qCWlc26ada-C9YovYeg/s1600-h/021.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmVRxMvG87HthXzr7zYKMT01RDVnPYlPK7vPMZ2whw2CeKcEBPcPztc-1oAcZDm47adMrXY-mDkmMX-Y_LuvCoVz5C9hOpFnDTcw0QJtdL4B7PA2vK02N-fp56qCWlc26ada-C9YovYeg/s200/021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219776894561362450" border="0" /></a>Anyway, I did go to the Chimes, which came highly recommended by many LSU alum listeners to the "Sean and John Show". Truth be told, I've been to the Chimes a handful of times before with the mother of my children back in a simpler time and place, back when deciding between gumbo and stuffed mushrooms represented "tough decisions". Feeling nostalgic for said time and place, I decided to jump on the stuffed mushrooms Saturday morning before hitting the road for Mississippi. I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I came away disappointed. The mushrooms themselves and the crab meat stuffing were fine, but the cheese on top was problematic, to say the least. When a dish is described as having "melted cheese", I expect the cheese to have a gooey consistency to it. The cheese on the stuffed mushrooms can't even be described as "melted". It was more like a cheesy shell, kind of like the chocolate shell that Dairy Queen puts on a soft serve cone. Like the chef said "screw it" and poured the queso version of the chocolate shell on my stuffed mushrooms. It was like a cheese helmet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R18gsXLKVStEXte17onMvobPAZNMur-iNHynZLDNURwBZmD7Z44rH9h_CGg8C966hI3IiyB_wzX4rHMIPUoC4tIYI8LrdEfD_aOXj5gyS4S9BEfH2-qXj0r7NykAJknLGV8qyvknI0s/s1600-h/022.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4R18gsXLKVStEXte17onMvobPAZNMur-iNHynZLDNURwBZmD7Z44rH9h_CGg8C966hI3IiyB_wzX4rHMIPUoC4tIYI8LrdEfD_aOXj5gyS4S9BEfH2-qXj0r7NykAJknLGV8qyvknI0s/s320/022.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219773546491239202" border="0" /></a>Now, I have certain rules in life and one of them is that if the melted cheese on a dish crunches like a mouthful of Doritos, the grade for said dish cannot be above a C. Of course, back in the aforementioned simpler time and place (around 1994), the stuffed mushrooms were an A- at worst. Perhaps that's a metaphor for something. Or perhaps the chef at the Chimes on Saturday mornings is violently hungover and could give a damn. Whatever.<br /><br />At least Cricket is not averse to flashing the double rods. You go, girl!!!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">THE CHIMES - BATON ROUGE, LA<br />FOOD: STUFFED MUSHROOMS<br />GRADE: C-<br /></span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-2781224380008215122008-07-06T00:10:00.002-05:002008-07-09T00:28:46.254-05:0054 days until college football season.........just sayin'.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxXlegA5WZSsYfw4MC_fZL_WsyXgqTBB1Dg0loGJJLhpxQDnqRbeqkHG5ahyphenhyphen_omhikC1JHD4pej1EEJPqKLvqfvq5KZF09GjsFC-yvjc8IpB0vMuR3pA0bMW-NnaE76J-H6FvLJDBRr0/s1600-h/024.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxXlegA5WZSsYfw4MC_fZL_WsyXgqTBB1Dg0loGJJLhpxQDnqRbeqkHG5ahyphenhyphen_omhikC1JHD4pej1EEJPqKLvqfvq5KZF09GjsFC-yvjc8IpB0vMuR3pA0bMW-NnaE76J-H6FvLJDBRr0/s400/024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219764437502912242" border="0" /></a>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-39867983916990572732008-07-05T22:38:00.005-05:002008-07-09T00:56:53.998-05:00FRIDAY, JULY 4 - Lake Charles, LASo I decided to take a little vacation ... and here's how it works. Over the next couple weeks, I am driving from Houston up to New England and back. Along the way, my kids will meet up with me, presumably flying into an airport in one of the cities I am visiting, but I wouldn't put it past the three of them to lift an SUV and try to race me to Connecticut. I mean, 10 year olds are really advanced nowadays. Just look at the video games they play. When I was 10, Space Invaders (in all of it's block graphic, horizontal-only movement glory) was the height of video game sophistication; today, my 10 and 9 year old sons earhole me from long distance with a sniper rifle in Call of Duty.<br /><br />At any rate, my plan is to stop in as many college towns as possible between Houston and New York City, and along the way sample recommended cuisine (thank you again to all of my listeners who emailed in suggestions) and buy a piece of gear from the local university. I'm a little over 24 hours into the trip and already I'm wondering why it took me so long to do a trip like this. There's kind of a cool vibe to hitting the open road with only some semblance of a plan as to where and when you'll be stopping. It's kind of like I'm Dr. David Banner from "The Incredible Hulk" randomly bouncing from town to town. Except that I don't have to hitchhike, since I have a car. And also, I'm not presumed dead like he was, so I don't have to change my name to some variation of "Pendergast" at every stop. (Remember how he would introduce himself each episode to his new pal du jour with some new last name that was close to "Banner" but not quite "Banner"? Like "Bannon" or "Barrett"? That D-Banner was slick, especially for a dude with that much gamma radiation tugging away at his body chemistry.)<br /><br />Ok, I just totally lost any of you who are below the age of 35, so enough Hulk talk ... I made my first stop of the trip on Friday night (July 4th!!) in Lake Charles, LA. After enduring literally two hours of standstill traffic in Vidor, TX caused by road construction, I was hungry. So taking the recommendation of several listeners, I stopped at a bar called <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtB-aHSTqcEoT-BpeI49vzer45vfKCaz1IwzuEjloA-kNvK1xvgQ1PuO8w3Xar6lYnFbN2jod9Mko0zBrsgNA2GqhVCUiVS4tkyHkbrvSX7Sn790j6FZVkONyWNAyvTFsy-RqNU9eZoek/s1600-h/017.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtB-aHSTqcEoT-BpeI49vzer45vfKCaz1IwzuEjloA-kNvK1xvgQ1PuO8w3Xar6lYnFbN2jod9Mko0zBrsgNA2GqhVCUiVS4tkyHkbrvSX7Sn790j6FZVkONyWNAyvTFsy-RqNU9eZoek/s320/017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219753787340875058" border="0" /></a>Darrell's which is right down the street from the majestic L'Auberge casino. My goal was simple -- to get up on the shrimp scampi po-boy. Now, if you've attended one of our listener events you know that if there's one area in which 1560 listeners are experts, it's cuisine. So I wasn't really concerned about Darrell's. That said, I knew that this recommendation was a stellar one when I called my brother in law in Baton Rouge (he's a Lake Charles native) to let him know I was gonna be staying with him Friday night and I'd be late because I was stopping at Darrell's, and he responded by hyperventilating the following plea: <span style="font-weight: bold;">"Get me a Darrell's</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> Special po-boy with jalapeno mayonnaise to go!!"</span>. He had this giddy bounce in his voice that I haven't heard since his bachelor party when he found out that we could bring our own beer into the strip club we went to. Needless to say, I knew the grub was gonna be good.<br /><br />I pulled into the parking lot, and like most good places in Louisiana, Darrell's doesn't look like much on the outside. But if you've ever eaten in south Louisiana, you're aware of the Dive Corollary which clearly states that the quality of food at any given establishment is inversely proportional to the aesthetic beauty of the domicile in which it is housed. (For the record, the Boiling Point in New Iberia, which may or may not be on wheels, is the benchmark for the Dive Corollary.) So I was optimistic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNBT8HWmZumLmegqhIA4VSFmj2OCbmm9KU2JmhxPxSnWL26LujgtkofH4C54GEhyphenhyphenu8OR-UFI5-eOUmPIvCx6cNFp3EACxPtgsz-bK15gYmLyOJFKDPwHD50FWugHMbYGe9qlooPejjNU/s1600-h/015.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYNBT8HWmZumLmegqhIA4VSFmj2OCbmm9KU2JmhxPxSnWL26LujgtkofH4C54GEhyphenhyphenu8OR-UFI5-eOUmPIvCx6cNFp3EACxPtgsz-bK15gYmLyOJFKDPwHD50FWugHMbYGe9qlooPejjNU/s320/015.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219753786098744994" border="0" /></a>Upon entering, the first thing you notice is that whoever owns the place has a real hard-on for the deer species. I mean like <span style="font-style: italic;">badly</span>. We're talking like at some point as a kid, the owner had to have been molested by a deer and is now trying to get back at all deer by gunning them down like Tony Soprano rolling over Uncle Junior's crew in the first season of "The Sopranos". That's all I can figure. There were no fewer than ten dear heads on the walls.<br /><br />After thanking God that I'm not a deer, I went ahead and ordered the shrimp scampi po-boy. In short, it was awesome. Not your typical shrimp po-boy in that the shrimp was actually sauteed, not fried. So the shrimp was laden in butter ... and not so ironically, butter laden shrimp was by far the healthiest thing about this po-boy, which included three kinds of cheese, mayonnaise (regular, not jalapeno flavored), and was housed by Darrell's homemade po-boy bread which they make in house. The bread clinched the five-star status for this delightful creation.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-IGsKLGvq-9-kSvfoEQ2j8YcieR6LADaLC58GdqEOWLdIKZ-pBncNQHfs81hZP7oNGubwtEo02ghNR0QprGjwORSDCzbsp_QGqykTUEi3rmtIimtz641K8Gq9sHo57AZiuMRpt7RU1g/s1600-h/016.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-IGsKLGvq-9-kSvfoEQ2j8YcieR6LADaLC58GdqEOWLdIKZ-pBncNQHfs81hZP7oNGubwtEo02ghNR0QprGjwORSDCzbsp_QGqykTUEi3rmtIimtz641K8Gq9sHo57AZiuMRpt7RU1g/s320/016.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219753789469420562" border="0" /></a>To top it all off, I was served by the lovely and talented Lindley who was kind enough to give a double rods shout out to the 1560 Secret Society.<br /><br />So in conclusion, if you're ever in Lake Charles losing money at one of the casinos, be sure to set aside $8.99 for a foot long shrimp po-boy at Darrell's.<br /><br />And if you're winning money, be sure to buy a foot long shrimp po-boy at Darrell's for everyone in your crew. It's what good friends do.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />DARRELL'S - LAKE CHARLES, LA<br />FOOD: SHRIMP PO-BOY<br />GRADE: A</span>Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817762981185692193.post-10640058801930240752008-07-05T21:31:00.000-05:002008-07-05T22:37:18.972-05:00GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY.......THAT'S THE SPORTS KOLACHE'S THEME MUSIC!!!<br /><br />After a prolonged absence, I'm getting the blog cranked back up again. I figure since I went on hiatus, the price of gasoline has gone up about another 50 cents a gallon, so maybe if I start blogging again, the oil barons will stop raping all of us. I realize on the surface the two things (my blog and oil prices) would seem to be unrelated, but at $4.29 a gallon for premium, I'll try anything at this point.<br /><br />As a gift to try and buy my way back into your hearts, I give you this video -- nearly ten minutes of deliciously hilarious interaction between Chrissy Moltisanti and Paulie Walnuts. You don't even need to be a "Sopranos" fan to enjoy this one:<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uuEqu5ilj-s&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uuEqu5ilj-s&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />I am two days into my two week cross country vacation, stopping in college towns throughout our great country to sample food, purchase gear, and ogle the local talent. I'll be sharing pictures and thoughts throughout the next couple weeks.<br /><br />So welcome back. Make yourself at home. Just put the toilet seat down when you're done, that's all I ask.Seanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15288988565277045606noreply@blogger.com0