JJB’s Ramblings

Buster Poindexter had a point.

Jalepenos are essential to nachos.  Thai chili sauce is essential to thai chicken.  Extra hot horseradish makes a prime rib or cocktail sauce and my bloody mary better make me sweat.  These are truths.  That said I think I have it all figured out:  I like spicy, hot food.  My body on the other hand tends to disagree.  In fact, as if to punish me for indulging in foods that make me break a sweat, my body ups the ante.  It says “ok tough guy.  You can handle hot, but can you handle embarassment?”  This is when it launches me into a spectacular fit of hiccups that are neither enjoyable NOR funny. Unless you are a spectator, then apparently it’s a riot.  

Last night was a pinacle moment.  I had ordered some takeout from the East Coast Grill because I wanted a barbecue fix.  We aren’t talkin Applebee’s ribletts, we are talkin the real deal.  Since I’ve moved from the Davis Sq. area to Inman, I have needed some sort of substitute for Redbones.  The transition wasn’t exactly Bobby Orr to Ray Bourque, one superstar replacing another.  Rather, it was more Bourque to say, Don Sweeney: a second option that while technically precise, doesn’t have the flare and consistent delivery of a true champion.  ANYWAY.  From East Coast I decided to sample their trio plate, which featured: pulled pork, beef brisket, and 3 ribs accompanied by some slaw, bbq beans, watermelon and cornbread.  While this sounds like a ton of food, the serving size was modest.  It wasn’t a gut-busting portion that would lead to leftovers like Redbones, which was fine with me, but it was respectable.  In addition to that I sampled what they call a Crispy Hell Bones (one perfectly smoked and seasoned rib that is splashed with what they call Hell Sauce.) 

Once I got the food home, I sat down at my table with a nice cold beer and set my food out infront of me.  The hell bone drove my anticipation of the meal.  As I raised it to my mouth, I inhaled deeply smelling the sweet overtone of the sauce and the medley of spice and smoke within the meat.  If it tasted anything like it smelled, then this would be one perfect meal.  Then things get hot.  As I bit into the rib, I started noting on the subtely of the smokiness, the initial sweet of the sauce, the perfection of the meat and how it had a nice little tinge of spice.  Then the tinge grew a little more into a spark.  Before this could elevate in temperature, I placed the rib down and relegated my beer to the side table as I got up for a glass of milk because nothing fights a case of the “Oh shit this is hot” better.  I was ready now to finish what I started.  As I tucked into my perfect Hell Bone I swear that I heard a door close.  Presumably it was my common sense leaving the apartment.  It was only a matter of seconds before I realized that I was duped on that first bite, and that this sauce meant business.  In anticipation of what was about to happen, I grabbed at my milk and took a big gulp, extinguishing the mounting flame in my mouth.  Alas, it was only temporary relief and my body went into defensive “Hot & Spicy” mode.  Friends, I have never hiccuped harder, louder or more involuntary than I did this night.  Doubled over from the neverending rhythm of the involuntary spasms of my diaphragm, I decided that I need to finsh the rib now, rather than try and cool my mouth and then finish.  I fought my way through it, alternatly eating some watermelon, cornbread and washing with milk to keep it in control.  I finished the rib in less than 3 minutes, but it was a good 20 minutes before I could even attempt to eat anything else because the smallest hint of spice triggered a roaring inferno. 

So I got my ass kicked by a hell bone.  I suggest you do the same.  Go on.  Think I am exaggerating  (as I am sure Studly is just shakin his head at me)? Next time any of you are visiting, I would be more than happy to treat you to one.  You may not launch into a fit of hiccups, but I guarantee you will conceed that it’s hot. 

 Documented proof of Hott is here

. *Incidentally, the rest of the meal was average.  The ribs (without sauce) were good, but cold by the time I got to them (my own fault, I know).  The brikset and beans were tough and didn’t compare to RedBones and the pulled pork would have been nice with a little sauce, as they were pretty dry.  The watermelon and cornbread were good though and I will revisit East Coast to give their raw bar a twirl… and maybe one more Hell Bone.

So dig this… Around 9pm last night, I had just finished eating some pizza and was finally getting some energy…. so I started to move things around in the living room.  Nothing major, just repositioning a chair and bookcase trying to get my feng shui groovin’. 

My doorbell rings.  Immediately I think that it’s the two drunks that I passed (twice) an hour earlier. One asked me for $0.50 so that he could catch a bus, the other asked me for a slice of my pizza-pie, both requests were declined.  Dejected, the found solace sitting on my neighbors stoop. 

Anyway. 

I check the peephole and see a girl that I vaguely recognize, so I open open the door and she re-introduces herself to me… she is my neighbor from 2 doors down and I realize we met when we moved in.  She asks if it would be at all possible to cut through my apt to get into her back door because the two bums are passed out cold on her stoop.  Being neighborly, of course I let her in and we chat a min, she says she loves the apt (which is a mess because I am rearranging things) and I lead her out back and say goodnight.  I returned back to the front room and continue to move things in around, feng shui be damned.  I decided that the bookshelf next to my bed might look good so I wander back to the bedroom to eyeball it and see if it its suitable.  I happen too look outside and see my poor neighbor still in the backyard, making her way to my backdoor again.  I bent down to the window and ask if she is ok.  Exasperated, she explains that her key doesnt actually unlock her back door, which is normally unlocked.  So I let her back in, she kindly assures me that she wasnt peeping and she just wants to get home and her roomate isnt there.  I tell her that I will go with her to her door and ask the men to move.  For the record I have had to ask one of the guys to move off my stoop once before and he was totally amiable. 

So here is the situation:
Drunk #1 (the guy that was bent about me not giving him change to “get to a bus at lechmere” was passed out COLD against the corner of her door.   
Drunk #2 had actually rolled off the stoop and was lying on the ground, sort of facing the step.   

Did I mention that we stepped around vomit to get to her entrance? 

Anyway.

My dear neighbor is looking a little harried by the situation, but we approach and I direct my words at drunk #2 and ask him to move so that the kind woman next to me could get into her apartment.  This is when I realize things are worse than they seem.  Drunk #2 has his hand down his pants.  I realize this is not for self-gratification, but rather to help him aim a little better as he pees on the step he is laying next too.  Mind you, he hasnt exposed himself; he has just pulled away his waistband to relieve himself.  Of course, he doesn’t notice (or care) that it immediately starts puddling up next to his shoulder.  Awesome. Neighbor C is taking the whole experience rather well; she just looked very worried and was kind of standing behind me.  So I tell him, again, that I would like for him to move aside.  He says “sure sure”… mumbles some drunk speak, pulls his hand out of his pants and sits up to start chattin with me “of course…I’ll move for the lady” he says.  His mind and body are not really on the same page though.  He talks about moving, but doesnt exactly get up.  I then gesture at his buddy who is doing most of the door blocking and say that he needs to move too.  Drunk #2 looks at me and then at his buddy and says “Yeah.  HEY FUCKTARD!  The lady wants to … hey… move… she wants to go home”.  Drunk #1 is out cold.  Ice cold.  Drunk #2 looks up at me and says “lemme ask…lemme ask you somethin… you got a smoke?”  I respond “Ha. No. It’s bad for your health.  Now move over”.  I turn to Neighbor C and ask her if she is ok stepping over them, she nodded, said thank you about 10 times and inched over them.  I am pretty sure I have a friend for life now.   

They didnt move an inch.  Drunk #1 was still motionless and #2 had lain back down (as if to let her pass).   

I contemplated calling the police but didn’t because I was pretty sure that if she didn’t, someone else would see them and call.  About 20 min later I thought I heard something outside and wanted to make sure that nobody was on our stoop (especially because E was going to be home any minute) so I stepped out to see a cop car and an ambulance that were strapping the comatose drunk #1 to a stretcher.  I watched for a few minutes and saw E round the corner and weave around the remainder of the mess. So yeah, it was an interesting evening.

Remember when we all love anagrams? no? really?  well you should. because they are awesome.  and sometimes, if the words are right, you can come up with phrases that include the word pee.  anyway.  go forth, play, and then feel free to post a comment back here with YOUR coolest anagram.  do it to it.Clicka This.

I’ve started to develop this irrational dislike of Billy Joel, and I can’t quite figure out why. I know that Chuck Klosterman touched on something like this in one of his books, but I don’t think a pop culture mouthpiece is swaying me.  In fact, I think he went on to talk about how Billy Joel is iconic.  Anyway, I really can’t stand listening to him lately.  I used to love his stuff.  I listened to his Greatest Hits album on tape over and over again.  I’d sing along with Movin’ Out, or We Didn’t Start the Fire.  Shoot,l I could even make it a few verses before I started messing up the lyrics… I liked Uptown Girl, and remember the video as being wholesome and entertaining.  I even enjoyed some of lamer songs: Allentown; A Matter of Trust; The Downeaster Alexa, etc.  But now, I can’t stand him.  Every time a song comes on the iPod I try and change it before I get the melody stuck in my head and start hating his catchy verses even more.  I haven’t deleted the songs off of the mp3 player yet because I am secretly hoping this is a phase, and that I will once again sing along with the piano man…but until then, I keep having thoughts of the dudes from the Dropkick Murphys just kickin his ass.