Baby (Got) Back Ribs

 

Want to know a secret about me? I like food. Even though I look famished most of the time, the truth is I know how to put down. While I will not say I could compete and win at most Man vs. Food challenges, I definitely can eat like a fat kid when I want to. And most of the time, I want to. My stomach is a gift and a curse at all times.

This past weekend, my roommate and I decided to get our grub on at the National Capital Barbeque Battle. While the battle for the nation’s best bbq is the main attraction, there is plenty of other activities to partake in. For instance, you can take your picture with the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile. Or if that’s not exciting enough, you can do what I did – blow $50 on a variety of ‘que. I mean, what else do I need to spend money on? Women? HA. But I digress.

I began with my personal favorite – a beef brisket sandwich. Now this sandwich was awesome. The brisket was lean, the sauce to beef ratio was good, and most importantly, take a look at those buns! Potato! This sandwich was a dream come true. After finishing in record time, I knew it was time for seconds. But as good as that brisket was, I was now in the mood for some pulled pork. (For the record, I was also given a rib bone around the time I ate the brisket sandwich. Just in case you thought I was hatin’ on baby back ribs.)

Unfortunately, the pulled pork sandwich was not up to par with the brisket. Instead of waiting on one of the longer lines for food, I went to the first empty station. What a bad idea. So lesson learned – always wait in line for the good bbq.  Anyway, the problem with the pulled pork was in the execution. First, the sauce was sweet and not smokey. I guess that’s fine if you are used to spare ribs from Asia Wok but I need my ribs just like forests needs bears – smokey. Second, the bread was only decent. Sure the main attraction is the meat but it has to be surrounded by a good supporting cast. Lastly, it was kinda cold. And there is just no excuse for that. Lamesauce all around.

At this point, I began to feel a bit sick from ingesting over one pound of meat in under thirty minutes. So I began looking for alternatives to bbq. And there were plenty. A free Oscar Meyer hot dog began to warm my spirits (and my tummy). Then I finally got a drink to quench my thirst. Now hydrated and feeling a tad better, it was time for dessert.

Up first, Famous Dave’s infamous chocolate covered bacon. Originally, I had refused to eat at Famous Dave’s since I can eat there at anytime, but damn, I was hooked at chocolate. So I ordered two pieces of bacon and anxiously awaited taking the Facebook pictures to brag about it. Unfortunately for America, it was turrible. Really! I know what you are thinking – how could something sound so great wind up being so bad. But just like the Karate Kid remake, it is possible. I thought the sweetness of the chocolate and the saltiness of the bacon should be a wicked good combination. However, unlike Pretzel M&Ms (which are the shit), there is nothing else to balance out the salty sweetness. So after a couple of bites, it got stale fast. I tapped out after half a piece of bacon (which is way below my normal daily intake of bacon).

Thankfully, I made up for it with my second dessert. Next to the place where I purchased that awesome beef brisket was a tent that was creating some novel fried items – snickers, milky ways, twinkies, and butter. Fried butter? Oh yeah, I was down for that. My only fear was that they were going to fry the entire stick of butter which I guess isn’t healthy. Thankfully, this was not the case as they only used a piece of butter and rolled it up into a ball. Not only was it delicious but the butterball made me feel a little better about my eating habits. And just in case you are one of those haters (Aashish) that does not believe I ate the fried butter, here’s a better butter (say that five times fast) picture for you.  

After polishing off the butterball, my body immediately went into shut down mode. I guess fried butter just does not sit well after two bbq sandwiches, a hot dog, and chocolate covered bacon. By the time I got home, I was fully under the wrath of the Itis. And it stayed that way until I took part in of one of the most cleaver wall posts of all time. But until that madness, the Itis left me debilitated and unable to leave my bed. Normally that would be fine. Except this time, the television was tuned into the Food Network and even I did not have the stomach for it.

Amish Paradise

Back in middle school, a group of girls decided to start their own magazine and would sell subscriptions of it to their fellow students. Their magazine, titled “Bearded”, largely consisted of one-joke (putting beards on different things) over 10-20 pages. While not the most creative topic, “Bearded” did last six or seven editions, which was five or six more editions of the magazine that my buddy Lorenzo and I tried out around the same time. Lorenzo’s and my magazine was so good that I cannot remember anything written or even the name of the publication. That said, by being a fellow magazine writer, I was given free copies of all six editions of “Bearded” while the girls were stuck with their one free edition of whatever the fuck we called our magazine. Yes, even in the seventh grade, I was an A+ moocher.

Anyway, I bring this up because last week I decided to experiment with a beard of my own. I do not recall ever attempting a beard before; rather, I only kept the scruff due to a lack of caring or time. Even though I like the concept of facial hair, I never kept a beard for a few reasons. First, after a week or so, my neck would become itchy, which would lead to a shave. Second, I was never blessed with my Jewish friends’ power of growing facial hair (even now I wonder how long this will last until my face gives up). Last, the company that I work for is kinda anti-beard. They won’t say this; however, I have been told a few times to shave in the past. In fact, the only times I have been disciplined at work have been for sloppy grooming or not watching my surroundings (aka being waisted in public). Feel free to call me the James Dean of power tools.

So last week, instead of my usual Brazilian facial, I successfully executed a neck shave. I was pleased with my efforts and even told a few others. Their response was “Pictures or STFU.” And who I am to not please my fanbase? So on Saturday night, I texted the below picture along with the subject “Beard – yay or nay?” to a few friends for their feedback. Here are their responses in a segment I would like to call “Texts From Last Night.” I know, I know, I’m creative!

Texts from Last Night

Text #1 – “Time to shave.” Thanks Melissa, thanks a lot.

Text #2 – “Looking good. Have to grow hair longer.” Yes, my mom dreams that her child’s going to grow up looking like a junkie.

Text #3 – “Yay as long as you keep it scruffy… like that length, not a full-on Amish pride beard.” Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’ve hated the Amish after being stuck behind a horse and buggy for miles in Lancaster, PA.

Text #4 – “Awwwww.” I’ll take that as a yay.

Text #5 – “Yay, you look gangsta. Maybe roll with the chinstrap beard?” Now that would look good with a turtleneck, thin chain, and light beer.

Text #6 – “Hey buddy sorry for getting back so late we’re over at the black cat for dave’s bday.” Irrelevant, but now you know my Saturday night plans.

Text #7 – “I like da burrrd. It’s a keeper.” Clearly, someone was not watching their surroundings or wanted to see my peacock. Probably both.

Text #8 – “Don’t forget to make a dentist appointment. Love you, Mom.” Dear Mom, can you please stop texting me after 10pm?

Text #9 – “Hmm, let me think about it.” R U Serious Bro? Make a damn decision. After called this person out on it, I received the following text…

Text #10 – “I say yay fuckface.” Much better.

(By the way, 1000 bonus points if you can correctly identify who wrote all 10 texts.)

Judging by the feedback, it appears that Beard: Week One has been a success. Here is hoping that week two works out just as well (stay tuned to my Facebook page for all late breaking bearded news). And in case you are wondering, I plan on keeping the beard until I am bored with it, the itching drives me crazy, or once, I achieve the ultimate goal – 

Joaquin Phoenix bearded immortality!

Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

 

A downside to living in NOVA is the lack of a nearby body of water (ocean or lake) to go swimming in. Both Ocean City, MD and Virginia Beach are 3.5 hours away – too far a distance for an impromptu trip when there’s a lack of other fun things to do. This is an unfamiliar experience for me as in Boston within 90 minutes you had your choice of hanging out with bears in Provincetown, fist pumping with Jersey Shore rejects at the ABC Club in Newport, RI, spending a day on Kurt’s boat in Rye, NH, or at worst, a ton of other shitty to mediocre beaches up and down the coast of Massachusetts. Yup, it was really convenient back in the day.

With all large bodies of water in NOVA dried up, I seeked out the next best alternative – community pools. While not the most attractive idea as community pools can tend to be dirty (at least in New Jersey), it was a step up from dousing myself with a hose behind the garage (sexy, I know) or stealing Little Jimmy’s slip n slide.  That said, if Little Jimmy had a Crocodile Mile, I would totally be there. Fortunately, a search for a community pool led me to an even better discovery – a waterpark in my very own city!

You would think that I would not need fucking Google to point out a waterpark less than three miles from my house, but you’d be wrong. I also wondered why I have never heard of a waterpark less than three miles from my house! No radio commercials, no brochures, no billboards, nothing. Hell, my roommates did not even know about it. It’s like the park would rather not let you know it exists. But it exists. It exists all right.

Take a look at the above picture. Look again and let it soak in. Because that’s the whole park! Okay, I am exaggerating a tad. In addition to what you see above, to the right of the picture is a kiddie section (with a bucket ready to spill at any time) and there is also another pool that is used for swimming laps. But that’s everything unless you count the nonstop barrage of Jimmy Buffet music as an attraction. So yes, two slides, two pools, a kiddie section, and a musical Margaritaville all this for the low entrance fee of $30!

I’m just kidding. It was only $8. Hell, for an additional four dollars, Ocean Dunes will throw in a free round of minigolf and access to the batting cages! Take that Water Country USA.

For that price, I am fine with what I got even with the beach chair shortage as there weren’t enough chairs when I got to the waterpark 10 minutes after it opened. Undeterred, I had no issue doing my best Emerson impression by planking on the grass for four hours. I was one with nature and one with my tan. Which I hope will look impressive as I applied a shit ton of Maui Babe tanning oil to my body. I take tanning pretty, pretty, pretty seriously.

Now if only I had someone to help apply the tanning oil on my back. But that’s a whole ‘nother story. And it sadly will probably cost me more than $8.  

Center Field

Radiohead lied in their 1999 documentary “Meeting People is Easy.” It’s not. For if it was, we would all make a ton of friends at the bars nightly. But that’s not happening nor is that realistic. In actuality, to meet people, you need to put yourself out there or at least, take on a certain role in a group. Since I do not like putting myself out there, I’d rather spend my time perfecting my role as a social drunk. I find it to be something that I am good at. All you need is a few drinks (I might be the biggest 210 lb lightweight ever), a couple off-kilter remarks that could be considered racist if you weren’t so loveable, and a complete disregard for what other people think… at least on the outside. Inside you can be as emotionally scared as you’d like.

Recently, I think I have taken my social drunk skills to an entirely new level. Call me a late bloomer, if you’d like but I like to think of myself as a former first round draft pick that has finally hit his potential years later.  I could also blame my surroundings (Wade) or the miscreants and hooligans (Lebron) that I have decided to hang out with recently. But nope, like Akon, you can put the blame on me.

But please don’t. I (Bosh) can’t handle that pressure.

Rather blame the game of baseball. I mean seriously, it’s boring as shit. Take this past Tuesday’s Nationals vs. Phillies game that I attended. I could not tell you one distinct play in the game. And I attended it. Then again, I never made it to my seats that night.

That’s because some genius created “The Bullpen” – a hangout spot outside of the stadium full of 90s cover bands, rows of cornhole, and most importantly, my new favorite drink, frozen Red Bull Vodkas. Yes, you read that correctly, FROZEN red bull vodkas. I would easily give up a kidney to the person who thought of this concoction. And really, why hasn’t anyone thought of it earlier? Seriously, people, y’all been slacking.

By the way, said cost of these lovely drinks - $10. The cost of my ticket to attend the baseball game - $10. And it did not stop there! My $10 cover also allowed me to attend the baseball game or should I say get a prime spot at the National’s Red Loft Bar – an open air bar in center field. The Red Loft Bar had all sorts of drinks you’d fine at classy establishments like Gypsy Bar – Jack, Jim, Jose, Johnny, and Jaeger. Suffice to say I comprised the sixth J and by the end of the game, I’d be shocked if I could remember all five names.

So Fly.

Yes, I was waisted (and by the way, this is my blog and this is how I spell waisted) on a Tuesday night. This is not a good idea when you have work the next day. And it’s also not a good idea when you decide to drunk text on said Tuesday night. And it’s an even worse idea when you decide to drunk online shop on said Tuesday night. Oh man, thank God, that transaction did not go thru. Because as nice as a Childish Gambino red hoodie would have been, I really did not want to foot the $50 price tag. Plus, had I purchased the jacket and decided to wear it out, it would have taken me out of my “social drunk” role and into something that I do not have much experience with. Hipster.

Judging by how some people dress/act in DC, this might not be the worst idea. Maybe then it might be easier meeting people and then everything would be in its right place.