This past summer I attended a Jonas Brothers concert and, no, I didn't lose a bet. We got free tickets so my girlfriend and I took her daughter and my nieces. Had Dante attended, this night would have been included as the tenth cirle of hell.
I wasn't in the same room when the girls were told the news but apparently three pairs of little girls' legs can sound like a herd of stampeding buffalo. We all braced ourselves as the house shook from stomping feet and high pitched screams. Oh the screaming. It had begun.
The few nights before the show produced some sort of pre-teen high as none of the girls slept. Normally the thought of sleep deprived tweens would make any parent shudder but the excitement of their first concert carried them through remarkably well.
There was much preparation: New outfits to coordinate, clothes to buy, CD's to purchase, posters to be made. All the while recapping the play by play of every waking moment in her best auctioneer's voice. If there were a way to harness this excitement I could solve the energy crisis and retire.
The day of days finally arrived. After work we sat down to dinner of pizza and juice. In hindsight, a missed opportunity to get them to eat healthier fare without complaint. Alas, pizza and adrenaline would have to carry them through.
Despite the excitement and anticipation getting the three girls out the door and into the car was more like herding cats. We headed down to Riverbend and, to everyone's surprise, there was traffic. Didn't these people know where we were headed? How did they have the gall to take the same route to the venue as us?
Parking was no less a disappointment. It turns out we couldn't park next to gate. Instead they had to (you'd better sit down for this one) WALK all the way to the show. No matter how many times we explained the parking situation someone had to ask if we could pull in every police-blocked entrance we passed.
Finally, after what felt like hours and hours of travel (more like 30 minutes) we arrived at the gate. From the front gate at Riverbend you cannot see the stage or seating area. The look of confusion and mild panic sets in. "Where's the concert?" "On stage." "What stage!"
Armed with a cooler of water and a blanket we climbed the stairs to the back of the lawn seating. Finally reaching the peak, further disappointment sets in. After so much tension and anticipation we entered the concert arena to find a packed house of parents, teens and preteens all struggling to see or simply survive the night.
It was at this moment the girls realized they weren't going to be serenaded by the Jonas Brothers and I realized what a train wreck we were walking into. I had never seen Riverbend so packed and crowded.
I'll give you a minute to imagine 1000's of screaming of pre-teen girls. The ear-piercing pitch. The constant screams. The mindless chatter. The desperation that sits in as the reality sets in that this is your life for the next 2-3 hours. As bad as all that was it was it was not the complete horror. If the thought of being trapped with thousands of screaming tweener girls isn't enough allow me to paint the rest of the picture:
This wonderful event happened to coincide with one of the hottest days of the year. Despite Riverbend actually being on a river bank there was no cooling breeze. Riverbend being an outdoor theater, there was no escaping the heat as it slowly strangled you.
For those of you playing along at home you may know where this is going: The stagnant heat coupled with thousands of tweens kids, most of whom hadn't discovered deodorant yet, made for a delightful slice of hell. A cool breeze would occasionally drift through. At first it was so refreshing and relaxing. But then The Stench would follow. Terrible. Did I mention the screaming? The constant, piercing screaming?
In the end the girls' loved their first concert. My eldest niece, normally too cool to display emotion, actually smiled and danced. (Don't tell anyone but I think she may have even laughed a little). The other two girls had no problems busting a move, singing, laughing and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Of course, if they looked like they were all having too much fun, Erin and I took it upon ourselves to join in with the dancing achieving Total Embarrassment.
As horrible as this night sounds there were good points: Family bonding. Participating in a milestone event in the lives of three wonderful girls. And of course: no line at the bar or in the men's bathroom.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
Steak Night
Steak Night was a weekly event of food-coma inducing, carnivorous gluttony. What began as a tribal ritual and rite of passage evolved into a weekly celebration of food and friendship that lasts to this day. (Albeit Steak Night is celebrated with less frequency and fanfare).
Steak Night began after college when my (then) roommate and I decided to host the weekly gathering of Sunday evening TV watching; the Simpsons and Sopranos. My roommate had the genius idea of christening our new bachelor pad with a cookout. The thought of grilled meat amongst male friends triggered a primal urge and a little testosterone filled bravado. Already a regular at Findlay Market I embarked on a quest for cuts of meat to put our friends to shame. Little did I know Phil, owner of Mackie Meats, would cut such great custom steaks they would trigger a red meat arms race.
Everyone arrived for the first week with traditional fare of hotdogs and hamburgers. After their prepackaged, almost "normal" sized portions started roasting on the grill, my roommate and I pulled out marinating steaks and quietly placed them over the heat. Weighing in at well over one pound each these monsters made the hotdogs and hamburgers look like finger food. Next diced potatoes and onions wrapped in foil took the edges like the Lakota and Cheyenne surrounding Custer at Little Big Horn. There was no need to speak. The protein gauntlet had been thrown down.
Over the coming weeks the size and cuts of the various steaks came in at comic proportions. Soon a second grill was required as porterhouses, strips and ribeyes emerged larger than from any steakhouse. The attack on our colons didn't stop with the main dish. I would come to perfect one of the greatest side dishes of all times known simply as Dave's Home Fries.
Home Fries contained the usual suspects you'd find in a greasy spoon concoction: potatoes, onions and peppers. But that's where the similarity ends. I added a pound each of bacon and goetta followed by cheese, sour cream, seasoning and hot sauce. (Goetta is similar to a ground sausage, for all the non-Cincinnatians). Not wanting to waste any of the piggy goodness I added the hot sauce to the reserved bacon grease sending plumes of noxious smoke into the kitchen; kitchen napalm. I then caramelized the onions in the molten grease adding a distinct kick to the delectable dish.
(A law enforcement friend of mine scoffed when I recommended he leave the kitchen prior to the hot sauce dousing. I dropped a few drops of hot sauce into the hot bacon grease and with much bravado he inhaled deeply. Within moments he ran for the door and fresh air. Apparently my kitchen on a random Sunday was worse than police pepper spray training).
Not content with the amount of meat on our plates we added slow cooked baby back ribs to the ensemble. All of this garnished with a token vegetable; often fresh broccoli or asparagus. Bringing our standard plate to contain: steak, ribs, home fries (with bacon and goetta) and a veggie. All of this before various appetizers and side dishes which changed weekly. Our spread quickly grew larger than most families' Thanksgiving dinners.
Rumors of this feast traveled quickly and even mild acquaintances were asking to partake; their mouths watering at the thought of this weekly carnage. Our local watering hole's Sunday night crowd began to diminish since all the regulars were in our living room. However ground rules were quickly established: Guys only (although that rule was shortly broken with the help of my then roommate's now wife), bring a side dish or appetizer and for Steak Night virgins: a single steak of red meat weighing it at no less than one pound.
Before you get sick at the thought of this gastro-punishment it is important to note that all this food didn't have to be consumed in one sitting. Just that it must be prepared that evening. Truth is, the leftovers would last us a week.
Over time testosterone levels dropped and our culinary skills grew. Steak Night evolved into a weekly gathering of friends sharing our lives over great food. It was more than a ritual. More than a foodie feast. More than a social occasion. More than a bare knuckled digestive brawl. Our humble weekly feast helped friends through breakups, divorce and unemployment. We celebrated the triumps of new jobs, first cars and new loves. The bonds formed over those years are close ties still kept today.
Unfortunately, Steak Night has forever tainted every steak I order in a restaurant. I honestly rarely try anymore. My family stopped taking me to great steak houses since I'd end up ordering the fish or chicken. I don't know if it's because I've mastered the art of grilling steak; no chef can ever cook one to my liking. Or maybe it's that food always tastes better when you prepare it with friends.
Steak Night began after college when my (then) roommate and I decided to host the weekly gathering of Sunday evening TV watching; the Simpsons and Sopranos. My roommate had the genius idea of christening our new bachelor pad with a cookout. The thought of grilled meat amongst male friends triggered a primal urge and a little testosterone filled bravado. Already a regular at Findlay Market I embarked on a quest for cuts of meat to put our friends to shame. Little did I know Phil, owner of Mackie Meats, would cut such great custom steaks they would trigger a red meat arms race.
Everyone arrived for the first week with traditional fare of hotdogs and hamburgers. After their prepackaged, almost "normal" sized portions started roasting on the grill, my roommate and I pulled out marinating steaks and quietly placed them over the heat. Weighing in at well over one pound each these monsters made the hotdogs and hamburgers look like finger food. Next diced potatoes and onions wrapped in foil took the edges like the Lakota and Cheyenne surrounding Custer at Little Big Horn. There was no need to speak. The protein gauntlet had been thrown down.
Over the coming weeks the size and cuts of the various steaks came in at comic proportions. Soon a second grill was required as porterhouses, strips and ribeyes emerged larger than from any steakhouse. The attack on our colons didn't stop with the main dish. I would come to perfect one of the greatest side dishes of all times known simply as Dave's Home Fries.
Home Fries contained the usual suspects you'd find in a greasy spoon concoction: potatoes, onions and peppers. But that's where the similarity ends. I added a pound each of bacon and goetta followed by cheese, sour cream, seasoning and hot sauce. (Goetta is similar to a ground sausage, for all the non-Cincinnatians). Not wanting to waste any of the piggy goodness I added the hot sauce to the reserved bacon grease sending plumes of noxious smoke into the kitchen; kitchen napalm. I then caramelized the onions in the molten grease adding a distinct kick to the delectable dish.
(A law enforcement friend of mine scoffed when I recommended he leave the kitchen prior to the hot sauce dousing. I dropped a few drops of hot sauce into the hot bacon grease and with much bravado he inhaled deeply. Within moments he ran for the door and fresh air. Apparently my kitchen on a random Sunday was worse than police pepper spray training).
Not content with the amount of meat on our plates we added slow cooked baby back ribs to the ensemble. All of this garnished with a token vegetable; often fresh broccoli or asparagus. Bringing our standard plate to contain: steak, ribs, home fries (with bacon and goetta) and a veggie. All of this before various appetizers and side dishes which changed weekly. Our spread quickly grew larger than most families' Thanksgiving dinners.
Rumors of this feast traveled quickly and even mild acquaintances were asking to partake; their mouths watering at the thought of this weekly carnage. Our local watering hole's Sunday night crowd began to diminish since all the regulars were in our living room. However ground rules were quickly established: Guys only (although that rule was shortly broken with the help of my then roommate's now wife), bring a side dish or appetizer and for Steak Night virgins: a single steak of red meat weighing it at no less than one pound.
Before you get sick at the thought of this gastro-punishment it is important to note that all this food didn't have to be consumed in one sitting. Just that it must be prepared that evening. Truth is, the leftovers would last us a week.
Over time testosterone levels dropped and our culinary skills grew. Steak Night evolved into a weekly gathering of friends sharing our lives over great food. It was more than a ritual. More than a foodie feast. More than a social occasion. More than a bare knuckled digestive brawl. Our humble weekly feast helped friends through breakups, divorce and unemployment. We celebrated the triumps of new jobs, first cars and new loves. The bonds formed over those years are close ties still kept today.
Unfortunately, Steak Night has forever tainted every steak I order in a restaurant. I honestly rarely try anymore. My family stopped taking me to great steak houses since I'd end up ordering the fish or chicken. I don't know if it's because I've mastered the art of grilling steak; no chef can ever cook one to my liking. Or maybe it's that food always tastes better when you prepare it with friends.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Why I Hate Blogs
Yes, I see the humor in that one of my first blog post is about why I hate blogs. Let me clarify: it's not that I hate blogs it's that I hate the chronological format. There are a lot of great, articulate writers producing wonderful works. Unfortunately, some are posted in the traditional blog format.
Blogs are for Breaking News and Diaries
There's no single definition of a blog but one consistent characteristic is that blogs publish in chronological order with the most recent articles first. That's fantastic for time sensitive news and personal diaries but lousy for just about everything else. If I need news or someone’s stream of consciousness then the blog format is the ideal choice.
Blogs Deprive Us of Wonderment
The chronological order of articles makes it difficult to browse great content. Search engines are wonderful tools if you know what you're looking for. But what happens when you don't know where to start? When you don't know what to search? Or when you didn't know what you were secretly missing?
Browsing Leads to Curiosity and Discovery
Search engines help us run in and run out of a website. It's the difference between rushing into the local super store to grab toilet paper versus getting lost in the local farmer's market. Sure, we all need toilet paper and there's a comfort and convenience in being able to find the staples quickly and easily. But sometimes immersing yourself in the experience leads to creativity and discovery.
There Is Hope
We instinctively know the limitations of the blog format due to the popularity of sites like Digg and StumbleUpon. We reach out to the community to help us discover. We are avid users of Twitter and Facebook hoping our friends will broaden our horizons. (Of course, we also hope to find embarrassing pictures of them at the same time).
These types of tools expose us to sites and articles we may never have discovered on our own. But the blog format itself is missing a great opportunity: Pull your readers into your site with related content. Create tangents from them to follow. Engage your readers with more than a discussion board and some links. Help them explore.
Blogs are for Breaking News and Diaries
There's no single definition of a blog but one consistent characteristic is that blogs publish in chronological order with the most recent articles first. That's fantastic for time sensitive news and personal diaries but lousy for just about everything else. If I need news or someone’s stream of consciousness then the blog format is the ideal choice.
Blogs Deprive Us of Wonderment
The chronological order of articles makes it difficult to browse great content. Search engines are wonderful tools if you know what you're looking for. But what happens when you don't know where to start? When you don't know what to search? Or when you didn't know what you were secretly missing?
Browsing Leads to Curiosity and Discovery
Search engines help us run in and run out of a website. It's the difference between rushing into the local super store to grab toilet paper versus getting lost in the local farmer's market. Sure, we all need toilet paper and there's a comfort and convenience in being able to find the staples quickly and easily. But sometimes immersing yourself in the experience leads to creativity and discovery.
There Is Hope
We instinctively know the limitations of the blog format due to the popularity of sites like Digg and StumbleUpon. We reach out to the community to help us discover. We are avid users of Twitter and Facebook hoping our friends will broaden our horizons. (Of course, we also hope to find embarrassing pictures of them at the same time).
These types of tools expose us to sites and articles we may never have discovered on our own. But the blog format itself is missing a great opportunity: Pull your readers into your site with related content. Create tangents from them to follow. Engage your readers with more than a discussion board and some links. Help them explore.
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