We WON!

10 July 2011

We wuz robbed WON! WE WON!

As I write this, I’m sitting in Chapel Hill watching the US get shafted right out the Women’s World Cup by poor officiating. I normally loathe people who complain about the refs, but in this instance I think we have a case. Those of us sitting here think it. The announcers think it. Hell, even the CROWD thinks it (and they’re mostly German!). That was a bad call, plain and simple.

Even worse, Brazil has been playing dirty. Smart, but dirty. Trying to burn time. Faking an injury to the point of getting carried off the field on a stretcher, only to get up and sprint to the sideline once she’s off the field. This is just low. And depressing, because we’re likely–

HOLY SHIT!!! WE SCORED!!! IN STOPPAGE TIME!!! IT’S THE LATEST GOAL EVER, AND ONLY CAME BECAUSE OF THAT LAME ASS FAKE BRAZILIAN INJURY!!! GOD I LOVE SOCCER THAT WAS EFFING AMAZING!!! HOT DAMN!!! BRING ON THE SHOOTOUT NOW!!!!

*ahem*

Sorry about that.

Here comes the shootout. I suddenly feel good about our chances. Our keeper is named Solo. Hope Solo. A more badass name I cannot think of. Here’s *hope*ing.

Ok…that was bad.

A clean save! We’re up!

AND WE WIN!! WE WIN!! USA WINS!!! IT’S UNBELIEVABLE!!!

Holy crap…I’m exhausted. I had some major points to make, but that game was just too good. That was amazing.

Suffice to say, I’m going to miss US soccer while I’m in Africa. At least I won’t miss the next men’s World Cup, which isn’t until 2014.

Whew.

In praise of barbecue

09 July 2011

In praise of barbecue

I’m from Eastern North Carolina, otherwise known as God’s Country, heaven on Earth, and the only place on this big blue marble where barbecue is a noun, a verb, AND a way of life. And here in God’s Country, barbecue means “pulled slow-cooked pork, sauced with vinegar and peppers, then served with vast quantities of slaw, hushpuppies and/or cornbread, potato salad, and fries.”

In case you’re not clear on the concept, let me be explicit: that is the only acceptable definition. Those poseurs in Texas, Kansas City, Memphis, St. Louis, and Western North Carolina who insist on using sweet tomato sauce make a yummy product, but it’s not barbecue as the Lord intended. Lexington style comes close, but it’s really just adulterated perfection. As for those benighted heathens in Lesser Carolina who insist on spoiling perfectly yummy pig with that mustard-based vileness, well…let’s just say the only reason that the good citizens of Greater Carolina haven’t marched south and wiped their abomination unto all things culinary from the map is that we would actually have to enter their hellhole of a “state” top do it. And who wants to do that? Yuck.

I don’t say this to point out the obvious inferiority of certain “states” and cooking styles (although they are, and it should be pointed out as often as possible), but to convey my absolute, unequivocal, devout, and enduring love of all things involving Eastern NC and barbecue. It is in my life blood. I love it. And I will miss it, something awful.

Which has me wondering…surely they have pigs in Africa? Or warthog? And surely I can get some salt, pepper, vinegar, hot peppers, and other assorted secret spices? And maybe some suitably sweet smelling wood to burn? Do I dare to dream?

Surely not.

Surely, the risk of trichinosis is too high?

Surely pig is a rare delicacy that the locals, in their unenlightened condition, will mistakenly refuse to drown in vinegar?

Or I won’t be able to make the slaw? Or the hushpuppies? Or even I can, I won’t be able to do it for one reason or another?

Surely.

Here’s hoping I’m wrong. And in the meantime, I’m going to eat all of this delicious yumminess that I can: