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After years of believing that pulled pork is something made in a crockpot, I decided that my family needed a reality adjustment. And my recent trip back to Chicago seemed the perfect opportunity.

So, my brother and I decided to pull a pulled pork all-nighter.

My brother may not have a Salivator per se, but he does have a propane-powered Great Outdoors smoker. Sure…a grizzled, Carolina pitmaster might scoff at the notion of propane-powered Q, but I’m not one for pretention. Besides…that which the smoker lacks in authenticity, it more than makes-up for in convenience. And convenience is exactly what’s needed when you’re pulling a Q overnighter, but don’t really want to stay up all night.

We slapped 12 lbs. of spice-rubbed pork butt onto the smoker at 11pm–about the same time that it started to rain. We then–in a stunning display of psychic, harmonic convergence–both woke at 4am to adjust the temperature and replenish the supply of wood chips…a task that not only took place under a heavy downpour, but also in nothing more than our boxer shorts.

That should be an interesting topic for discussion at the next homeowners’ association meeting.

Then, finally…we woke again at 7am to oversee the home stretch.

The butts hit our target internal temperature of 197F at noon–a comfortable three hours before the rest of the family arrived.

And the verdict? Well…let’s just say that nobody thinks I’m a crack-pot for dissing the crockpot, anymore.

[BTW…I know what you’re all thinking, and it’s true. This entire post was nothing more than an excuse to publish the above photo.]

Wow! You guys are good. You correctly guessed seven out of ten songs in the VTB’s “Name That Mystery [iPod] Meat” challenge.

I must say that I’m impressed…particularly with our friend Harsh, who likely destroyed all future prospects of picking up chicks by correctly guessing the LazyTown song.

And yes…I *do* have several LazyTown songs on my iPod.

The winner of the contest, however, was The Big Finn. He correctly guessed three songs…and did so despite his exhausting luxury vacation schedule. As for his prize, he wins a closet full of XXL Tommy Bahama shirts which–coincidentally–are already in his closet.

So, what of the three songs that nobody guessed? Here are the answers:

#1. “Chalkdust Torture” by Phish.
[It rocks…but, don’t EVEN try to make sense of the lyrics.]

#2. “Hot Smoke and Sassafrass” by Bubble Puppy.
[What?! You’ve never heard of Bubble Puppy?! Well…that’s them pictured above. What?! You’ve never heard “Hot Smoke and Sassafrass?!” Well…you must (absolutely MUST!) go HERE and listen for yourself. It’s one of my favorite songs. Euro-Trac will love it. Lady Di will hate it. Angie will be both confused and frightened.]

#4. “My Back Pages” by The Byrds.
[…albeit written by Bob Dylan.]

Great job, kiddies!

Excuse me while I steal an idea from Mr. and Mrs. The Big Finn…which they, BTW, stole from someone else.

The idea is this…I crank-up my iPod Shuffle and write the opening lyrics to the first ten morsels of iPod meat that come screaming from the ear buds.

You, gentle readers, must correctly guess each song and its artist.

And, oh yeah…you are NOT allowed to Google.

Whoever guesses the most songs correctly will win a valuable prize. Bear in mind, however, that winning a prize and actually collecting it are two very different things.

And so, without further ado…let’s play “Name That Mystery [iPod] Meat!”

1. [Oh, dammit! Wouldn’t you know it! The first song was “Pressure Cooker” by Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown. It’s an instrumental. Let’s try again.]

1. Come stumble my mirth beaten worker/I’m Jezmund the family berzerker.

2. In the mist of sassafrass/Many things will come to pass.

3. Well, I’m standing next to a mountain/And I’ll chop it down with the edge of my hand.
[Caffe Franje guessed “Voodoo Chile” by Jimi Hendrix. Technically, that’s not correct. “Voodoo Chile” is a different song on the same album (Electric Ladyland). The song whose lyrics I quote above is actually “Voodoo Child (Slight Return).” But…since I made the same mistake for nearly twenty years, I’ll give Franje credit for this one.]

4. Crimson flames tied through my ears/Rollin’ high and mighty traps.

5. When the truth is found to be lies/And all the joy within you dies. [Kudos to The Big Finn (TBF) for correctly guessing “Somebody to Love” by Jefferson Airplane!]

6. When I move, I’m feeling alright/Bing, bing, bang and I’m ready to go.
[If anyone guesses this, then I’ll personally fly to their house and eat the insole of their most smelly pair of shoes. And I’ll eat it without ketchup.]
[Oh damn! Harsh correctly guessed “No One’s Lazy in LazyTown” by Sportacus. I sure hope that Harsh has small feet.]

7. It’s been such a long time/ I think I should be goin’.
[If anyone DOESN’T guess this, then they must eat the insole of my two year old running shoes.]
[TBF strikes again, by correctly guessing “Foreplay/Long Time” by Boston! Guess I’ll have to let Jasemine eat those shoes.]

8. When I get off of this mountain/You know where I wanna go.
[Lady Di’s main squeeze, Gert, correctly guessed “Up on Cripple Creek” by The Band. Lady Di remains unamused.]

9. A cheap holiday in other people’s misery!
[TBF shows is punker roots by correctly guessing “Holidays in the Sun” by The Sex Pistols!]

10. Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup.

[Euro-Trac emerges from her hermetically-sealed cocoon in France and correctly guesses “Across the Universe” by that band that need not be mentioned.]

My scholarly dissertation on the Spanish liquor “Anis” is now published in The Spirit World.

Check it out by clicking here.

I’m right here. In Spain. But this time, I’m not lying.

Before I begin an admittedly feeble attempt to justify my absence from Blogland, let me apologize to my good friends La Familia Big Finn and Lady “No Longer on the Market” Di—all of whom sought to determine my whereabouts with a tenacity that hasn’t been seen since “Rambo 2.”

So, where have I been all this time? I was in Chicago until yesterday morning.

“But…but…you told us last week that you had returned from Chicago…well, last week.”

That’s right. I lied.

I wanted to post something on the VTB last week, but didn’t want to tell all those Nigerians who keep sending me emails that the contents of my house would be available for an unobstructed, week-long harvest. So…I used the miracle of the Internet to spread a bit of false information. And why not? Everyone else does it.

“So…you DID have access to a computer in Chicago, but still chose to post almost nothing for three weeks?”

That’s right. I’m lazy.

Plus, my brain and energies have been tugged into other parts of the stratosphere lately. But hey…that doesn’t mean that I don’t love you all. Seriously! I don’t not love you all at all.

But enough of that. The tiny flame of creativity in my head is starting to flicker again, so let’s use it before I get distracted by something important…like sumo wrestling on Eurosport.

When World Cup 2006 began, I resolved to suspend my lifelong ambivalence toward spectator sports that don’t involve Asian men kicking each other in the heads, and devote my considerable energies toward supporting Spain’s national team. 

The idea struck me as a good one. I am, after all, going to be living here for awhile…and World Cup season—particularly in a football-mad country like this one—is something to behold. The entire nation seems to go through a transformation.

For one thing, it’s the only time that the population pulls its Spanish flags out of the closet and shows a bit of patriotism. For one month every four years, bars, cars and bare-chested drunks are adorned in the red and yellow banner. In this sense, the atmosphere is a lot like in the United States when it’s lobbing large bombs at small nations. The only things missing are beer bellies and pick-up trucks.

Furthermore, productivity comes to a halt during each day that Spain’s national team is scheduled to play. Except in the services sector, where productivity never really caught-on in the first place.

In any event, I wanted to reach out and grab a bit of World Cup fever for myself. And I would do so just as soon as it were clear that the Spanish team would advance to the second round.   After all, each team plays three games in the first round and—at ninety minutes per game—I certainly wasn’t going to make that kind of time investment. You know, based on the team’s history and all.
 
But alas, Spain played brilliantly in all three of those games—or so I read on the BBC’s website—against teams representing nations in varying states of poverty or dictatorial rule.  So, when the Spanish team easily advanced to the second round and I had surfed enough websites predicting that they were actually good enough to win the whole damn tournament, I was ready to join the party. And the next party would take place on 27 June, when Spain was scheduled to thrash a squad of old age pensioners from France. 

Despite my good intentions, however, I…sort of…forgot about the game when 27 June rolled around. When I finally came to my senses and clicked-on the television, it was nearly half-time—and Spain was leading France 1-0. 

“Woooooohoooo!!!” I shouted in my thick American accent, as I lowered myself into a leather chair.

And at the precise moment that my buttocks touched the cushion, do you know what happened? France scored a goal. They tied the game…just seconds before half-time was called.
 
I found this a little disturbing. Spain had been thoroughly kicking ass during its prior three hundred fifteen minutes of World Cup play—i.e., three hundred fifteen minutes during which I was either reading a book or mowing the lawn. And now, this! Was it an unfortunate coincidence? Or had I jinxed the team?

It is well-established that Spain is the Chicago Cubs of the World Cup; but could it be that, in addition, I was Spain’s Steve Bartman?
  
I quickly purged my mind of such silly superstitions, and resolved to cheer-on the team twice as hard during the game’s second half.
 
But first, there was this small matter of half-time. 
 
If there is an occupational hazard of being an attorney, it’s that you’re always on the lookout for loopholes.  And I decided that my steely resolve to become a die-hard World Cup football fan need not necessarily apply to half-time.  After all, there technically isn’t any football taking place during half-time.
 
So I decided  to take advantage of this half-time downtime by firing-up my Mac Mini and initiating a brief webcam video chat with a friend in Amsterdam who had just had his first baby. 

Unfortunately, that “brief” video chat ended roughly two hours later.

Feeling drained after the long ordeal of having to make interesting conversation without the aid of a keyboard, I turned-off my computer and went straight to bed. 

And as I was laying in bed, I suddenly realized something important. I had forgotten to check the score and see who won the game.
 
But I didn’t need to check.  I had lived in Spain long enough to know the outcome intuitively.
 
I heard no screaming in my neighborhood. 

I heard no honking horns. 

I heard no endless strings of firecrackers. 

This sort of deafening silence could only be provoked by one thing. And that’s the national team’s elimination from the World Cup tournament.

My scholarly dissertation on the Spanish liquor “Patxarán” is now published in The Spirit World.

Check it out by clicking here.

Well… Jazzy went home this afternoon.

Her owners are back from vacation, and she left my house happy, well-fattened and very well-exercised.

And as an added bonus, her owners picked up all of this morning’s poo from the yard on their way out. That was a nice touch…especially since I didn’t have to touch it.

So, what did I learn from the experience? I learned that dogs are more fun to play with than cats; but they also require a LOT more work. As with so many things in life, it’s all about yin-yang. Push on this side of the balloon, and the other side will bulge. Have an animal that shows you real love and affection; and it will also show you the mangled reminants of your new leather sandals.

In the final analysis, I think I’ve walked away with a new respect for dogs. No…I probably won’t go out and buy one. But then again…my experience with Jazz will likely dissuade me from eating one should I ever visit Asia.

Now that’s what I call “personal growth.”