Here I was at the Boston Garden for a Bruins game. They played the Florida Panthers hard and two guys impressed really me: Patrice Bergeron, a forward of the Bruins and Roberto Luongo, the goalie of the Panthers.
Here is some interesting stuff from the Boston Museum of Art...
These caught my eye too...
And some instruments from around the world...
I've always been a big fan of Texas. I never really knew anything concrete about the state but I always imagined clear blue open skies, succulent steaks, big burgers, bad ass barbecue, bone-breaking bull riding, and the "Don't Mess with Texas" cowboy mentality. I had to see this wild west wonderland with my own eyes so I went the week of Cinco de Mayo last year. Austin, San Antonio, Houston, and Galveston were all relatively close to each other so I hatched a plan to survey those four cities in seven days. I used Google Maps to trace a triangle in Texas that took more time to develop than any trip I've ever taken. There were a lot of "ins, outs, and what-have-yous" as his dudeness said in the Cohen brothers masterpiece. Despite the logistical and geographic challenges and my complete lack of any personal knowledge of Texas, I orchestrated a vacation for the ages. All of my pre-conceived notions were true in general and I found the state to be as exciting as I had expected. I absorbed decades of Lone Star State history and endulged myself hedonistically in their finest food and drink.
The trip went down like this:
We ate, drank, did, and saw so much more than that so I have to selectively abbreviate this tale and keep it out of chronological order. Getting into details and time frames would get too tedious so I split it up into these four posts for your reading enjoyment:
We would like to wish a happy birthday to our founder Unkal Ryno. Thanks for giving us a way to share our travels with others.
I woke up
and headed for Syracuse, eager for a full da
y of beer and brawlers. The International Boxing Hall of Fame is a quick left jab off rt 90 and was, in my eyes, a must see so there I was right before noon ready to learn. I say learn because I knew nothing about boxing, let alone boxing history, so I planned the stop to educate myself. I figured I would have a full curriculum considering it is the worlds premium boxing museum. I stayed in there for an hour soaking in the flavorful history of the most prominent pugilists and then headed for the highway. http://www.ibhof.com/
I entered the "City of Champions" right before 2pm and had to go to Syracuse Suds factory first because Middle Ages Brewing ha
d no restaurant. This was the only choice because I needed eats immediately. A thinly shaved prime rib sandwich on pumpernickel with steak fries was my choice and it was wise. I was the only one eating in there so my lunch arrived quickly just as a seemingly homeless weirdo lunatic staggered up to the bar and ordered a beer. I focused on eating my food as he sipped his beer, loosely held in his shaky, bandaged hand. He was creepy but I had beers to sample and notes to take on them. A paddle of six brews came my way and I began with the Honey Light which was not too sweet or too light. It was too boring for my standards. The appeal is there though because it was refreshing and filled with delicious clover honey from the mid-west. Next were the not-too-wheaty Weizen and the nutty Irish Red which both earned a check plus on my sheet. Those two varieties usually score low due to my personal tastes, but they triumphed through my pre-disposed prejudices. The over-malted Pale Ale and excessively sweet Stout were both only worthy of my average mark but both interesting and worth the taste. My favorite was the rich, roasted barley-filled Brown Ale. It was very sweet but didn't have that "peel this film off my tongue" feeling that I got from their stout. I was satiated and stayed awhile, surveying the large restaurant and snapping these great photos. I noticed plaques on the wall hailing the Suds Factory "The Official Pit Stop of the Short Fat Guys' Road Run". What a great event that must be! I hope to be covering it for the Travel Channel someday. www.sudsfactory.com
Middle Ages Brewing Company was next and I was eager to enter western New York's best brewery. They "welcome wayfaring beer aficionados one and all," and I happily accepted their invitation. My hopes for a tour were shattered when I was told that they were under construction but the rest of the afternoon in the tasting room would be fine with me. The room was interesting because it doubled as an office and was filled with cats. I introduced myself to a the gentleman pouring the brew as an interested out-of-towner and he was kind enough to bring out Mark, the brew master and owner. He told me all about his beers and business then we traded opinions on beers of the east coast and beyond. He was really friendly and down to earth so we really hit it off. I told him how impressive his selection of 20+ beers was and he applauded how much I knew about beer at the age of twenty-five. When he went back to work I got to talk to some of the local regulars that stop in after work. They all praised his products and I gathered that they had been hooked on them for a long time by the individual conversations I had. When I had tasted all that was available and bought the rest of their offerings that were in bottles. I even indulged in their handsome selection of logo beer glasses. Luckily, all the beers I bought made it home in my luggage and I had a informal tasting with them at my bar a few days later. No notes were taken on them but the samples I enjoyed in the tasting room scored very high on my palate.
I love breweries with well named brews especially if they are themed! The Middle Ages medley showcased the Wailing Wench Strong Ale 8% which was grape-fruity and delicious. The Black Heart Stout 6.6% was roasty and robust and the Old Marcus ESB 6.5% proved that it was extra special. I also loved the Winter Wheat 6.3% which was an excellent dark wheat beer that was good and strong yet demonstrated a hint of lemon. Their regular wheat, the Swallow Wit 4.8%, was impressive as well but I would only pick it over the dark variety if I had to drink it in large amounts. Only two brews fell short of the check plus rating but were not disappointing. The Apricot Ale 4.6% was average but very drinkable and the ImPaled Ale was hoppy but boring. www.MiddleAgesBrewing.com
Well, we are finally at end of my seemingly endless Upstate NY trip. I slept well and flew home the next morning with a suitcase full of beer and fond memories of the Deep North. I packed a whirl-wind week long vacation into four days without spending much money or missing anything back at home!
My final Preakness of college was a surreal feeling. The realization that the day drinking and debauchery would start decreasing from this point was hard to fathom. My last story revolved around my experiences of Preakness and Hunt cup during my freshman year. I am going to skip the next two years due to the similarity and cut straight to my final horse race while in school. My final Freaknasty acts as a gateway into the real world. Now I continued to go on drunken benders, aka Keifer style, but it was less frequent.
The night before Preakness usually consists of drinking beer in order to compensate for my excitement that usually occurs before a day of drugs and booze. The night before, a bunch of my friends from school came to my house in Baltimore. There were about 10 of them in all. That night we drank some nice bottled beer, smoked some pot, and had a bar-b-q feast. Honestly, as I much as I love to party it up 54 style, the relaxing night with some good beers, food, ganj, and friends can be just as enjoyable. Preakness eve draws as much excitement as Christmas Eve, but instead of presents such as clothes, the presents that you get for Preakness are either alcohol, weed, or blow. We finally all passed out around 11 to take on the next day.
The next morning, we woke up in excitement. Everyone quickly got dressed and made our way to the event. A few bagels were crushed, some bacon was digested, and some herb was inhaled. I had convinced everyone to leave early, which turned out to be a great strategy. We did not have to wait in any type of line.
Once there we set up shop in the Udel section and started the festivities with a few beer bongs. There was a bet going to see if I could make it the whole time and stay somewhat coherent. I had a strategy, one that made more sense then the one used in Nam. I shot gunned occasionally, did not drink liquor, smoked once in the morning, and paced the Wendy white bag on occasion. If I could start jawing no earlier than 2, I would be money in the bank.
The day consisted of going into the stalls and doing some pfunk key bumps and drinking slightly lower than usual. I made it, I was home free. Then the rain came down. This point is I was out of my mind. I decided to walk home which turned out to be a trek. So anyway, it ended with my friends calling me out due to the fact I left. I collected everyone, who then came to my house. Somehow, they were capable to drive and they made their way back to Delaware. I woke up the next morning in pain and hangover. That was it, "Game Over" came into my head. Then the realization came to mind that although I was finished college, I would still be able to participate in things like this. Time and age are irrelevant when compared to the mind and soul.
I just want to let you know that I will be posting pictures when I receive them. There has been technical difficulties.
A few weeks ago was my Birthday. I turned 23, which, in my opinion, means nothing. After 21, the monumental birthday is 30. 18 is great because you can buy cigs, 21 is phenomenal because you can buy booze without the aid of a fake id, and 30 is a time when you start figuring out your shit in regards to all aspects of ones life. Therefore, turning 23 is anti-climatic and should never be considered a time of the birthday brat. Now back to my fucking birthday. My boy Evan decided to plan a trip to see the Wizards play. Now, being the die hard sports fan that I am, I could not miss an opportunity like this. I have been to almost every type of sporting event, but I have never been to an NBA game. I was excited by this opportunity, not just because it was an NBA game, but because I had a yearning to get out of the routine Baltimore scene for a weekend.
The night before, I ended up getting plastered with the satisfying realization that I did not have alcohol class. That is, I was skipping it. It was my birthday so I felt obligated to skip it. I also would have probably failed the breathalyser.
So we left on Saturday at around 4:30. It was a motley crew of 14 of us. This one ride in particular consisted of 3 girls, me, and one of my boys. It was an interesting ride, ripping grits, and shitting on the female gender. I do not honestly feel that women are inferior, it is just fun to tell them that to their faces to get their reactions. It only took about 45 minutes. We stopped by some girl's place before, which was located about 10 blocks from the Verizon Center. She provided some great food, a few drinks, and she was fucking smoking. After a few drinks, we made our way closer to the game. We met up with about 8 of our other alcoholic friends. We ended up going to a bar with 200 different beers on tap, also known as R.F.D. It was a great upper-class sports bar; and it was the only sports bar I have ever been that has 200 different beers. So after a few beers and a car bomb, in which we were hit by shrapnel on a few occasions, we decided to make our way to the game. The Wizards were playing the Bobcats that night, which meant Earl Boykins, Emeka Okafor, Jefferson, and the Gonzaga Wailer Adam Morrison. On the other hand, the Wizards have the better team and have a chance to make the playoffs, especially in the terrible Eastern Conference.
At the game, we bought a bunch of beers. They only allowed two beers per person which is a fucking insult to people who can actually drink. Keifer Sutherland would have beat the fuck out of someone. After downing some grease coated with chicken tenders and french fries, I continued the boozing. I hit a bit of a blurry period at this point. I remember some basketball game, a few toasts, my boy Jon bought a useless jersey, and some girl started to lick me. I think I had a good time. Due to the lack of necessary beer flow, I came back to reality for a brief hour.
After the game we made our way to Adams Morgan in Georgetown. At this point, it felt like 12 but it was really only 10. Everyone at this point was starting to die a little so I decided to buy a shitload of shots. We went to some bar, in which I forget the name, but we tore that bar apart. We trashed the hell out of that place. The shots were flowing like the Trevi Fountain. After that bar, we met up with a bunch of my boy's friends. They were girls from his alma mater Dickinson. So the rest of the night we danced with these girls, got bombed, and blacked out. It got kind of blurry, but I do remember that we stopped by a late night grubbery known as Jumbo Pizza. They have the biggest fucking slices I have ever seen. It was actually almost too big.
The next morning, I woke up in some bed, got everyone up and moving and got the fuck out of the DC area. We had a complex morning of finding everyone together. We made a necessary pit stop at the red-headed stepchild Wendy’s. It was a great trip. DC and Georgetown is fucking great place. The bars are opened late and although it is expensive, it was worth every cent.
Last week I told the tale of Ravens on the Road '06 so I figured I why not Ravens on the Road '07 this week. Fifty-one wonderful weeks later I found myself getting off a sixteen hour shift of Terps homecoming bar tending. It was five in the morning and I had all six of our deadest presidents buried in my wallet. Most importantly, I was right on schedule to see the black birds of Baltimore swarm the blue Bills of Buffalo in the deepest of north in eight short hours.
My dad and a great mix of our friends had been in and around Buffalo for two days of Niagara Falls, gambling, and a stop at the Anchor Bar. I would have been all over that shit but I couldn't pass up the best shift of the year at the saloon. The money was too good to turn down so I had to miss some fun, lose some sleep and take an extra plane.
I left work heading to BWI and hopped on the 7:30 to Philly with nothing but my ravens gear, camera and money. I sleep the whole hour flight and woke up hung-over but undeterred from catching my flight to Buffalo. I found myself sitting with a Ravens fan and a guy that had taken interest in us. The guy asked us about the Ravens and the conversation that ensued got us a ride in his car to Ralph Wilson Stadium. This was perfect because getting all the way from the airport to the stadium in time for the game was going to be the hardest part of the trip.
As we approached our drop zone a rabid Bills fan verbally assaulted us in his underwear, proving that these were of a diff
erent species. I immediately envisio
ned droves of desperate, downtrodden and derailed Bills fans jaded from four straight years of choking and bad luck. Isn't that what us big game hunters want deep down inside? It's the rare breeds, the ones that only exist in certain climates with particular temperaments that are so interesting.
I was tossed a Lab
att Blue when I arrived to the tailgate around noon and from then on I
enjoyed that icy Canadian water coursing through my veins. I needed it with jackasses jawing about Ray Lewis being a murderer. Maybe it would be funny if he wasn't simply guilty of having bad friends. So I tossed it back at them saying that I would take General Lewis any day over their beloved OJ "I actually killed two people with a knife" Simpson. There was also an air around the departure of Willis McGahee and his biting comments about Buffalo that was as thick as their Canadian accents. Angry fans were defacing and burning his jerseys and carrying signs with choice words about him. I had to push on through all that nonsense on my way into the large 34 year old; under ground bowl they call Ralph Wilson Stadium.
The fearless confidence that I had at the beginning of the game quickly turned to rage as I found myself walking around the stadium to avoid the game for the entire second quarter. Tha
t's when I found the New 
Robb. It was a double portion of soaked roast beef on weck (short for a kummelweck roll) which was so salty my tongue rolled up like a slap bracelet. It went so well with my ice cold refreshing brew that I forgot how angry I was at the game. But the Bills were still trampling all over us. It was a slow painful death, even though the score was close, be assured that we had been stampeded.
On the way out all I could think of was devouring one of Ted's famous hot dogs. I knew a
bout them from the Hot Dog Heavens
show on Food Network and knew I would be getting an out-of-this-world wiener. That grilled frank with their signature hot sauce was the only thing in Buffalo that could have consoled me after the abomination that I had witnessed. People fly to Buffalo from all over the country for those dogs and that tangy hot sauce and then I knew why.
The only thing getting between me and my bed that I hadn't seen in 32 hours was about 277 miles of nothing. Thankfully the trip went fast as I reclined in the third row of a six-seater SUV that was running on black and milds and going 90mph through the dark mountains. I thanked the driver for my passage and thanked God I was alive. 
