Monday, April 11, 2005

Jim Stafford 'Jim Stafford'

Not much to post today so, take it easy on me.

This past Saturday night, Brad Hines and I met up with Kim Thore ( ) and her friend Cheryl ( I hope that I spelled that correctly) for dinner at Natty Greene’s. Natty’s is here in downtown Greensboro just a block or so from Rock 92's studios. It’s a brew pub with great food.

I’ve been assaulted by the media that Chipotle is the way to go when it comes to flavors on foods. I never heard of this flavor until commercials for Applebee’s and TGIF came along to usher in the arrival of this new flavor.

I must admit, I’m not that adventurous when it comes to trying new foods. I’m a standard burger and beer kinda guy. But, something inside of me wanted to buy into all this advertising on behalf of chipotle.

A few months ago, I met my friend Brad for drinks down at Natty’s. We were there to pour suds into our bodies in remembrance of Hunter S. Thompson who had recently sent his brains out for an outer body experience. We were feeling a little hungry and I suggested the chipotle wings. He agreed and they were damn delicious.

I wanted them again, but I just couldn’t get my hands behind the idea. I wanted something fast and a little less messy. So, I got the Super Bacon Burger. Big surprise, huh?

When my food arrived, there was a wretched pickle parked right next to the bun. This threw me into light hysterics. I don’t like the smell of pickles. I don’t like the taste of pickles. I don’t even like the sight of those damn things. And here was a pickle sitting next to my burger, pumping it’s foul juices into my bun.

I picked up the plate and held it close to Kim asking her to "Get it off! Get it off! Get it off!" with rapid fire repetition. She obliged. Whew...

Personally, I think there would be world peace if pickles didn’t exist. Of course, that’s just one man’s crazy opinion.

Note to self: Request no pickles next time.

Jeri Rowe (‘GoTriad’ magazine editor, ) and his friend walked with us over to the Carolina Theatre. We were all going to the Derek Trucks Band show.

Once inside the building, we discovered that the band had already started. There was no opening band. Through the doors I could see the singer who looked like a cross between Muhammad Ali and a lumbering, directionless mental patient. His singing was superb, but he just kind of stood there, lost. When he didn’t have to sing, he would exit stage right and maybe count the holes in the brick wall or something.

Hell, most of the band just kind of stood around. You see, I’ve become accustomed to performers running around the stage, flying above the crowd, explosions, fire breathing, and general mayhem in the audience. There was none of this at all.

I’m not saying it was boring. In fact, I had a really good time. Derek Trucks is an awesome guitar player. I still haven’t made up my mind about how I feel about him yet. He looks like either the dweeb that gets regular beatings in high school or an ugly Ivory girl. You make the call...

Before the intermission, I went out into the lobby for a beer. Brad was there and I felt the urge to purge the previous beers. I went for the bathroom door and I was clearly there before this kid came up. But, there was something in his eyes that made me stand clear and let him pass through the door first. Was it intuition? Was is instinct? Was an angel sent to clear the way for this guy? I don’t know.

One foot into the bathroom, this cat started to throw up into the towel in his hands. The load was too much, the force too great to hold back the powerful flow. Vomit shot out up and over the towel onto the back of a guy getting hand towels.

The unfortunate man who received this bounty didn’t seem to be that upset. He just looked at him and said, "Thanks a lot, a**hole."

When Hinzy returned to his seat, the angel had done it’s magic with him as well. Because the guy threw out the first pitch onto the very seat that was his.

Then we all met Rock 92's Chief Meteorologist, Dave Aiken for drinks at Ritchy’s. I never made it to Wild Magnolia for Abe Reid and the Spikedrivers. I kind of lost track of time and the next thing I knew, it was time for me to get my butt home for some more ‘24' on DVD.

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