Bacon-palooza

I know it's been a couple of weeks since my last post, and I'm sure the 2-3 of you who read my blog are dying to know more about what other wonderful things there are in Alabama.  Besides the adorable dog.  


Well, part of my Alabama experience, though not necessarily indicative of the typical Alabama experience, involved... bacon.





The night that I arrived, Corianne and her roommates threw a big party.  Instead of picking a single theme to the party, they instead picked several.  


The party would have tie-dye.  





The party would have a water balloon fight.  





And, probably most importantly of all, the party would have bacon.

A bacon-themed cooking competition, actually.


The above-pictured gold spray-painted rubber pig was the prize to be awarded to the one who most effectively and creatively incorporated bacon into their dish.


I made bourbon bacon brownies, from this recipe that I found.  This is the batter.  I actually think they turned out pretty well.





Corianne made a bacon turtle cheesecake (which sadly I could not try because it had nuts in it).





One of the most popular entries were these bacon-topped cupcakes.





They were so delicious, even this ball pyton was tempted by them. Don't ask me why someone brought a python to a party. That's just how they roll in Alabama, I guess. The snake was very cute and chill though, as far as snakes go. And he was named after some famous Floridian football player whose name escapes me but starts with a 'T'. My mom would probably know. For the sake of this post, I'll just call him 'Snakey'.





Snakey was a huge hit with the ladies.




Anyway, back to the bacon.


These were some kind of delicious fried chicken-bacon balls with a duck sauce to dip them in.


There was also some of your basic, chocolate-covered bacon.



There was a delectable cheesy, corn, bean, bacon dip.



There was some crackers with cheese and bacon-y stuff on top.



And there were these peanut butter bacon cookies. They happened to be the only vegetarian thing available at the party, because of their use of veggie bacon instead of real bacon.



I'll have to admit, my favorites were the bacon-wrapped prunes (much more delicious than it sounds, seriously) and Annie's creation, which were jalapeno peppers stuffed with cream cheese and wrapped in bacon.



For this creation, she won the coveted Golden Pig.




The lesson I learned from this party was that, if you open your mind a little, you can add bacon to a lot more foods than you would normally think.

Also, to always check your "douche bag" at the door.

Ain't Nothing But A Hound Dog

I recently went to Alabama to visit my friend Corianne.




Another one of my friends from high school, Annie, also drove over from Atlanta to visit that weekend, and it was awesome to see her.

Corianne has the enviable luck of getting to live with this dog.  He's a hound dog.  And his name is Bernie.




Bernie, sadly, belongs to Corianne's roommate, but still. I'm jealous of anyone who gets to come home every day to those big, brown, hound dog-y eyes. And the floppiest of ears.





Those eyes...they just make you wanna give him snuggles and ice cream all day long.





I was sad to say goodbye to Corianne and Alabama upon my leaving. But I confess, I was also really sad to say goodbye to Bernie. The ears! So floppy!

Vintage: Presidential Elections, 2004

I re-discovered that my Photobucket account, which contains some pictures I have from high school and early college. Among these were photos from a rally I went to for former presidential candidate John Kerry in 2004.

I remember election season in 2004. My first time voting. Everyone remembers their first time. The air was so full of hope back then. How young we were, how naive...

Also, I think I might've gotten extra credit in my AP Government class for attending this. Hopefully I did. That class was hella hard.

My friends and I arrived at the Johnson Center at George Mason University early to get a good spot. The evening involved lots of standing around waiting.

We were waiting a long, long time.  You can tell by this disgruntled-ness on Corianne's face.

There was plenty to look at while we waited. Here are some of the supports who got to hang out at the front of the stage and wave signs. You can't tell really in this photo, but this group has a sign that says "Armenians For Kerry". It's nice to know that Kerry supported the Armenian community.

And, of course, there were the usual crazies there with their signs. I can't remember what exactly it said now, but this one looks like it says something about Kerry killing babies.

Here are some random political type peoples talking.

And eventually John Kerry came up to speak, looking slightly like Sam the Eagle from The Muppet Show.

I feel like this was my first political rally, and I remember feeling so cool and patriotic at the time. I was pretty excited when I started college that fall and got to turn in my absentee ballot (less thrilling than going to a polling place, but still nice). Of course, as we all know, Kerry lost the election.

But still, you'll never forget your first Presidential election.

Ladyboys and Girls

A few weeks ago, I attended a roller derby bout in Richmond between a team from their league, the awesomely named Poe's Punishers, and the DC All-Star Team.

It was fun seeing a bout that was not on home turf. But what was even better was their half-time show. Can you guess what Richmond roller derby games have that DC games don't?



That's right.



Drag queen cheerleaders. Dancing to Lady GaGa's "Bad Romance". As my friend Aimee put it, "Every time a drag queen dances to Lady GaGa, a fairy is born."

I don't get it. Why doesn't DC have drag queen cheerleaders? We have plenty of drag queens. Can they not get all dolled up and show some hometown spirit? Seriously. We need to fix this. Seriously.

The half-time show also had girls with hula hoops. Also an improvement on DC roller derby's half-time shows.



Sorry DC roller derby, you fail at half-time shows. We need some drag queens and hot chicks dancing with hula hoops!



OK, DC roller derby doesn't entirely fail though, since they did win the bout by a huge margin. Go DC Rollergirls! Just get some drag queens and I'll love you forever!

Is Arthur Ashe Creepy?

I visited some friends in Richmond this past weekend.  One of them lives on Monument Avenue.  Monument Avenue is aptly named because... there are quite a few monuments on it.  Most of these are famous Confederates.  You know us Virginians, ever so proud of our Confederate past.




Stonewall Jackson, for instance.





Jefferson Davis also.





Some oceanographer dude named Maury?


However, no monument on this street captures my interest quite like the one build for Arthur Ashe, a famous tennis player and Richmond native.





Joh had warned me about the slight creepiness of this statue. Here you see Arthur Ashe, with some books in one hand and tennis racket in the other, standing before a small group of children who are reaching out to touch him. He looks like he's either going to throw the books at the children or beat them with the tennis racket. There's something malicious about the expression on his face.





I'm sure the real Arthur Ashe wasn't really a child-beating creepster. I'm sure he was a very lovely man. He also died before the debut of this sculpture, so I won't put him at fault. I'm all for honoring hometown heroes and whatnot, but ... isn't this just a really creepy statue?

A Visit to Kurt Cobain's House

There was a time in my early teens when I was obsessed with grunge.  I watched the movie Singles enough times that I can still quote very large chunks of dialogue from it (particularly any of the scenes that the members of Pearl Jam appeared in).  I worshipped Eddie Vedder, grabbing any Pearl Jam related video or single or item that I could find.  I stole my brother's Alice in Chains CDs.  I read Michael Azzerad's book about Nirvana, Come As You Are, multiple times.  On a related note, I also read Poppy Z. Brite's biography on Courtney Love several times (both are actually fascinating reads that I would recommend).
I suppose it was fortunate that I got my teenage angst phase over with pretty early.  I look at that time now with some fondness, but mostly embarrassment.  While I still love Pearl Jam, my obsession with most other music of that time has died down considerably.


However, this did not deter me from the somewhat morbid desire to visit Kurt Cobain's house in Seattle.



Yes, peeps, this is the place where, on April 5, 1994, Kurt Cobain took his own life. Supposedly. You might be a part of that "Courtney did it" camp or whatnot. Technically, it happened in a greenhouse on the property which has since been torn down.




We stared at the house from across the street for a few minutes, taking photos and feeling a bit awkward. I could picture the current residents of the house pulling aside the curtains and staring at us in disgust. The fact that the lights were on in the house did not help. I could only assume that they're used to people coming by every day to gawk, but I couldn't help but feel like a morbid, morbid tourist.

You don't really get a sense of Kurt Cobain looking at this house. A nice, big, but not ostentatious home in quiet residential Seattle on Lake Washington. It does not seem like the kind of house a tortured, drug-addicted, suicidal rock star would choose to live in. This is a man who used to sleep under bridges.

Right next to the house is Viretta Park, where Nirvana fans from around the world come to scribble messages on these benches.







One person saw it appropriate to leave a book.

Others saw it fitting to use the bench as a platform to spout some vitriol against Courtney Love.





Jimi Hendrix got a statue in front of a record store in Capitol Hill. Kurt Cobain gets scribbled-on benches. It seems fitting though. Nirvana's music spoke to a lot of people in a really personal way. It seems appropriate that they can personalize their own tribute to him. Despite the fact that some of the graffiti on the bench was stupid and non-sensical, there were plenty of ones that said things like "You changed me" or "Your music saved my life". Cobain never managed to overcome his depression, and we'll never know what more he might have done had he not killed himself. Hopefully through his music, he's managed to helped some others.

The Best Kept Secret in the French Quarter

Let me take this oppurtunity to tell you all about Verti Marte.

Verti-Marte is a small grocery/deli/carryout that exists on 1201 Royal Street in the French Quarter in New Orleans.  If you're ever in the neighborhood, I would highly suggest a visit.  Particularly later in the evening, so you can socialize with the crazies and the drunks who are standing in line to get their mac and cheese or their jambalaya.

As silly a reason as it sounds, my reason for wanting to go to Verti-Marte during my trip to New Orleans had to do with Greg Dulli.  There's a song on the first Twilight Singers record entitled "Verti-Marte" and as soon as I found out about the deli, I wondered if maybe the song had been named after it.  The song is an odd, moody, lush, mostly instrumental  piece with random bits of dialogue repeated throughout.  Does not conjure up the image of a place you'd go get a sandwich at 1 AM. 

Verti-Marte, like all the best food places, is pretty inconspicuous.  You walk in, standing in line and wait to order.



You can peruse the large menu up front, advertising "Real Food for Real People at Real Prices".



Finally, you get your chance to order.  The food is worth the wait.



Anna and emerged with a muffuletta sandwich about the size of my face.  It was seriously large...and delicious.  Late at night sometimes, I dream about the sandwich.  It was so big though that Anna and I, together, could barely eat half of it.  I wish I had taken a picture of that sandwich now.

As we exited Verti-Marte, we were accosted by a drunk and/or crazy man eating mac and cheese who loudly exclaimed to us that it was the best mac and cheese he'd ever had.  A few blocks later, we run into this man on Bourbon Street walking a miniature horse outside of a gay bar (where another very nice, hairy man complimented my Twilight Singers t-shirt).


A few blocks after that, another very drunk and/or crazy man yelled at Anna and me that we needed to "love each other more!  There's not enough love in this world!"

Then we all had to meet up with our professor (who was taking a bunch of us college kids on this trip) who made us go to a bar to pick up his very drunk ladyfriend and drive her home. 

Overall, it was a pretty legendary night.