Escape From Whiskey Island...

Which, let me tell you right now, isn't as intoxicating or exciting as it seems. But I'm putting the cart before the drunken horse. On Sunday, lacking any real substantive responsibilities (course work, yard work, house work...you get the idea) I decided to take advantage of the high blue skies and bike over to Whiskey Island. It's actually an isthmus, but no need to nitpick.

I'd been there after a marathon ultimate frisbee game at nearby Edgewater Park last summer, but wanted to come back and explore a bit. So, I hopped on my (increasingly rickety) bike, popped in my ear buds and away I went. Twenty minutes later I was standing outside the old Coast Guard Station on a pier about 100 yards from the mouth of the Cuyahoga.


I must say, it's strange being in that rustic and natural environment, then turning around and seeing the Sunday brunch crowd at Shooters... Another interesting observation that may not interest anyone: of the two dozen people fishing on the pier, I'm absolutely positive I was the only one speaking English. Weird...

Anyway, as I sat there on the pier and read the PD, I felt a breeze pick up and heard a faint rumble in the distance. This should have been my first clue. But, instead of packing it up and heading home, I decided to opt for a beer at the Sunset Grille, the one and only watering hole in this urban park escape. That's when the rains came. I, along with an assortment of Cleveland city dwellers, small boat owners, and the occasional rich yuppie sailor (who wanted to escape Whiskey Island about 10 times as much as I did) all made the best of the rain; drank our summer drinks, listened to the summer songs, and (they) ate their greasy(-iest) summer food (I've ever seen in my life). Make a note to bring a picnic lunch, FYI.

I swear it's not as rough as it looks

One hour, then another passed, with no sign of relief. So, having finished my newspaper (and another beer), I opted for a meteorological opinion from Jordan (he's a remarkably astute radar observer). He indicated that in about 14 minutes I might have enough daylight to peddle like I've never peddled before and make it home.

He was right; I did make it home just as the next round of raindrops began pelting the roof, but in hindsight I'm not sure what I was waiting for exactly, because the water kicking from both wheels was like rain, only coming up, and very very muddy. you win this round Mother Nature...lesson learned.

A Feast at Light Bistro and Katie's Big Bon Voyage

After a thoroughly enjoyable going away party on Friday evening, replete with Swedish meatballs, good friends and far more alchohol than is recommended by the Surgeon General, Katie and I enjoyed a leisurely Saturday, preparing for her big adventure to Peru. In anticipation of this, I made a reservation at Ohio City's Light Bistro, one of the tastiest spots in Ohio City to celebrate her opportunity and enjoy some seriously good eats.

We sat at a tiny two top in betwixt a weird couple and some co-workers who had apparently been waiting all year to vent.

After our initial choice of Grilled Ostrich in an Asian Glaze was deemed unavailable by our flighty and entirely distracted waitress, we opted for a dinner of tapas, five in all. What ensued can only be described as one of the most gastronomically satisfying meals (not prepared by my Mom or Grandma) in my life. What, perchance, made it so delectably delicious? You can explore the menu yourself online, but I must say it's far tastier in person. Some highlights included the Cuba Libre Braised Pork Belly, a small cut of the most melt in your mouth meat you will ever enjoy (have it before you die for sure), the bacon-cured foie gras, absolutely indulgent, and the udon noodles in miso dashi, which actually were an accompaniment to the slightly less than stellar BBQ Moullard Duck Breast.

Sunday was departure day. Katie loaded up her 98 pounds of checked luggage (with two pounds to spare), we made sure Visa and Passport were firmly in hand, said goodbye to The Mayor and headed to Hopkins. I'm happy to report that she is firmly rooted on the Andean plain as we speak, participating in some alpaca related activity and gazing out on Mount Misti.

I've got to admit, it beats the Mittal Steel Plant hands down...

Only a few short weeks and I will be winging my way to Arequipa, which I'm sure will surprise some of you to know that it looks not like this:

but like this:

If you haven't watched the trailer, you probably should. I can hardly wait for the maelstrom and carnage to be meted out on Independence Day when this shit hits the fan... I'll be there, will you?

10 Cent Beer Night Remembered...

Today, June 4th, 2008 marks the 34th anniversary of the ill-conceived but entirely entertaining debacle that was '10 Cent Beer Night' at Cleveland Municipal Stadium (and Whitney's birthday of course!). There's an extremely entertaining article from ESPN.com linked here, replete with your run of the mill Cleveland bashing, Cleveland weather bashing, Indians bashing, and finally, and thankfully, some head bashing. For instance, in this gem, Joe Tait (then a Tribe broadcaster with Herb Score), reports on the utter chaos that is breaking out in the midst of the ninth inning:

The fact that Hargrove would later come back to play and manage the Indians, and in fact now make his home in Northern Ohio, says something about our collective ability to take a punch. Here's three interesting things I didn't know before I read the article:

1. They ran out of beer quite early in the game, so they encouraged fans to head to the area beyond the outfield wall and fill up directly from the Stroh's trucks that were pulling up. Brilliant...
2. Apparently it was totally acceptable (at least to some degree) to bring fireworks and pot to a Tribe game in the seventies.
3. The umpiring Crew Chief, in an interview after the game said, and I quote; "When uncontrolled beasts are out there, you gotta do something. I saw two guys with knives, and I got hit with a chair!"

That's the spirit, Cleveland...

Start Saving Now...

The 'heads are abuzz of late (though what else is new), perpetuating or decrying the (latest) rumor of a Phish comeback. The impetus was a Rolling Stone interview with Trey on May 21st, in which he essentially said he would be willing to sacrifice a testicle to play with Phish again.

Halloween at MSG and/or a spring '09 run on the East Coast seem to be the most heated of the (totally void of evidence) rumors. Of course the most intriguing is the idea that the foursome will provide a sort of second-coming appearance at Rothbury in early July. With Mike, Trey, and Jon all slated to play (separately), only Page is left out of the equation. But, as we've witnessed, painfully, at Bonnaroo in more years than one, this variable is not an easy one to guarantee.

Whether or not this is just another in a long line of empty statements, phans are vocal, to say the least. On message boards and comment postings around the internet, there are your usual malcontents, ruing the idea of a reunion; 'Oh the humanity; they'll never be able to summit the musical peaks of greatness I witnessed, personally, back in '94'... as well as the 'in the know' set, of which an excellent example is posted below:
My girlfriend's sister's best friend's dog's veterinarian said that she heard from.... you get the idea. Anyway, thanks to C-Note for the heads up, and even if it comes to nothing, we're no worse off than we are now...