Smoking Meat

We are fully into the second week of the Official Barbeque Season, and I was hoping to barbeque Saturday or Sunday. Sadly, Mother Nature appears poised to take a big steamy dump on those plans; rain is forecast all weekend.

However, I will report to you on the success of the rib cook I did on Good Friday (which I have renamed "Pig Flesh Friday"). I used a famous recipe know among BBQers as BRITU. This stands for "Best Ribs in the Universe". The recipe uses this presumptuous moniker because it was the formula that won the 1993 American Royal BBQ competition in Kansas City. You can read all about it here.

The cook went well, lasting about 6 hours or so. I carefully followed the instructions, and when I pulled the ribs out of the smoker the meat was falling off the bones. Success.

I found the recipe to be good, but by no means would I be so bold as to say that they're the best in the universe. They were a bit too sweet for my taste.

The moral of this story is that I hate Mother Nature.

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POWERBALL: When I think of smoking meat, I definitely think of you Jerry, and then I remind myself that some people are born with a disposition for lathering up meat and inhaling it repeatedly.

[And no Jerry did not offer any of said meat to me, the whore.]

A Recent Historie of Thine NFL Drafte Watching

Two years ago I discovered the NFL Draft. I was visiting my alma mater, engaging in the infamous binge-drinking game/day/event known as Newman's Day. For those of you who don't know, Newman's Day is an event that requires the participant to test his or her drinking stamina every April 24th. The rules go like this:

1. You must drink 24 beers in 24 hours.
2. During these 24 hours, you may not vomit, sleep, or masturbate (actually, masturbation is perfectly acceptable according to the storied "Ro Gupta" allowance first instituted in 1998).
3. You must also attend all lectures, seminars, labs, and class activities scheduled for Newman's Day.
   

Basically, hundreds of students across campus are drunk all day, which leads to a lot of public urination, dancing, and general hilarity.

It just so happened that in 2004 this annual event coincided with the NFL Draft, which was on a Saturday. No one had classes, obviously, so there was less staggering into lectures with a backpack full of 20 brewdogs and more grilling burgers and getting drunk outside while playing wiffleball. Also, when we got tired or too hot or too full of grilled meat, we would retire to a cool, dark dorm room and check in on the draft. As the day went on, I found myself spending more and more time following the draft. Pretty soon I was hooked.

Now, I don't know if it was divine intervention or just dumb luck, but the marriage of marathon drinking and NFL Draft watching was born. It was a perfect match. Here's why:

Watching the Draft is abit like watching a horse race, but without the racing. Big Paul Tagliabue just comes out from backstage and tells you what horse won. And your team is either thrilled or devastated, the drafted player is suddenly a millionaire, and you're sitting on the couch pissing yourself, slamming cans of beer and reflecting on the silliness (and graveness) of what you are witnessing.

There's nothing quite like it.

We've got little over a week left before the 2006 NFL Draft. If you've never followed it, this year is as good a year as any to catch the fever.

Nineteen-Ninety-Never going to read it

Fellow blogger Nineteen-Ninety-Never posted a comment on this blog, calling the Woodpile a copycat site.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little...

Anyway, you should visit the site and decide for yourself. Or, if you don't feel like wasting five minutes of your life, you can read this excerpt, taken from NNN's concert review of the Raconteurs show at Irving Plaza in early April:

"The guitar solo that followed let me know that we were in for the absolute definition of everything a rock show is supposed to be."

Sounds pretty awesome, dude.

If you follow the link you are in for the absolute definition of everything a hipster is supposed to say.