The Pig Roast: Preparation, Drinking and Being Tired

A couple of weeks ago, we threw down with the latest installment of the backyard pig roast.  By all accounts, it was a success.  

I'll have to take the critics' word on the subject. 

I was working on 1.5 hours of sleep and 26 hours of beer drinking. 

A rough weekend.

The roast was co-hosted by the Flaherty family and assisted by numerous neighbors.  A hearty thank you to all who joined us on Friday and Saturday.

Here are the preparation pictures: 



This is Gary II.  The pig, not the Flaherty.



The Gary II Roaster - comfortably seats one 175 lb. pig. 



Gary and Jim assisting Gary II.

Henry volunteered to act as a measuring device. 

The pig was roughly three Henrys.

How do you ruin a childhood?

Jack Wallace.  Pig roast legend.



No one does backyard cuisine like we do.



The Mop.



In case you were wondering, he's asleep.



Speechless.



 

Chris Lewis shows off his inner Howard Hughes.

 

You would think the pole played a larger role in this game.

There were only two morons who nursed the roaster through the night.

One of us -- not wearing red -- even managed to sleep through most of the early morning and leave the 4a and 6a mops to a solo artist.

Yeah, I nailed it.  Hope you slept well, Flaherty.

What do you do when you finish undressing the pig at 10:30a?

You drink.



The preparation highlights:

• Pig roasts and garage sales do not mix.
• Having multiple pig roast "experts" dissecting every pig roast decision. Too large of a pig.  Too early of a start time.  Too much charcoal.  Not enough charcoal.  Too much rub.  Not enough rub.  Hickory smoke versus Apple smoke.  Face the roaster north-south.  Face it east-west.  Take the temperature at 4a.  Wait till 8a.  Pull to eat.  Cut to eat.  Hilarious.  This just in...you can't F up a pig roast.
• Jack Wallace.  Honest.  Chock full of side-splitting stories.  Sponsored by the Red Man Plug.  I love that guy and I want him at every party I do from here on out.
• A tent that survived two Thursday thunderstorms.
• Letting Gary walk right into my brother's "talking-about-work" phobia.  Note to Gary: let us know if you ever find anything out about it.  We are still unsure he even works there. 
• Estate Avenue is a straight shot.  The first wall you hit is not the problem, it's the second one that'll get you in trouble.
• Still not understanding the secret dig behind the Handsome Rob line.
• Being able to avoid sharing the "New Year's Eve" story with new friends.
• Penn State still sucks.
• No one works a fire like Jim.  No one.  Seriously, I don't think he will let you. 
• Being "awakened" at 8a with George's Donuts.  Erica, you rock!
• The Flaherty and Wallace families.  You'll be so sorry you started hanging around us.
• The best part of a pig roast is the 12 hours you have cooking the pig the night before.  Again, that time did not disappoint. 
• Staring at the sky at 4:30a when everyone was asleep. 
• Battling trains, neighborhood booty calls and random snoring for sleep.
• Jim's patio loungers.
• Pork.
• The value of CO2.
• Watching Bill roll out the barrel.  Literally.  Home slice rolled a full beer keg up the driveway.  Thought it was going to explode when tapped.  Thankfully, CO2 neutralized the keg bomb.
• My $9 GWL beer glass.
• Jim's Mop Sauce.  I would have drank it if no one had stopped me.



First Grade, Cincinnati and the Outdoor Fungi

Bear with me, I'll make that title work.

Henry started first grade a few weeks ago.  Rather than show you the obligatory video of the bus coming down the street to pick Henry up and blah-blah-blah (because we've got that video if you want it), I'm just going to simply state that Hank is awesome and could make a wool sweater fit comfortably in August.

He is excited about school this year.

He's a social kid.  He'll be fine as long as he doesn't shove any more legumes up his ear canal.

Our real test comes about this time next year when the Lil' E goes to kindergarten.

Yowch!

We may have to knock her out just to get her on the bus.

Mommy and Henry at the bus stop for the first day.

Last weekend, we joined the Calvin family in Cincinnati, Ohio for some waterparking and a baseball game.

Dave Calvin is my best friend from IU.  He saved my life on Mount Rainier, taught me how to adapt to the unfamiliar and gave me the worst possible advice concerning Milwaukee County Stadium alcohol consumption policies.

In return for all of that, I make him laugh and gave him the nickname "Bundy".

I guess that's worth the equivalency.  I'll be trying to figure out a way to repay him for the rest of my existence.

Anyway, the Cubs-Reds game was the first official MLB for both Caroline and Josephine.

They lasted until the bitter end.

The Cubs won, 3-2. 

Here's the boxscore, Dad. 

Free children's lipstick to the first three Holman children in attendance.

Bundy and Bob.

View from the seats. 
I'm pretty sure whatever he was selling, we bought it.

Caroline thinks Cub fans are wussies.

Henry and the strange scab that joined us on our trip.

Mommy and Joey at the 7th inning stretch

For Those About to Rock (for my Father's Day Present)...

Due to schedule complications with our favorite babysitters and thus an inability to free Erica from the kids for the evening, my long awaited Father's Day gift was shared with Billy Brew.

What, you ask, did I get for Father's Day?

Tickets to see Built to Spill.



You're welcome.

A couple of admissions here.

First, I didn't shoot the video.  I was busy drinking with Bill and watching the show.

Second, Doug Martsch is my hero.  He's the bearded dude making his guitar gently weep for you. 

Third, he bears a striking resemblance to UB. 

That's my uncle in case you don't follow the blog.  He's another of my heroes.

UB drinks beer, too.

Speaking of beer, after Billy and I destroyed an untold number of cold and frosties, I summoned the courage to personally thank Mr. Martsch for the effort after the show.

You can do that at Musica in Akron.

Because he is the most awesome guitar hero on the planet and the most normal looking guitar shredder in history, it shouldn't surprise anyone to know that he calmly shook my hand and thanked me for coming to the show.

Cue the Chris Farley.

"That was awesome!"

Happy Father's Day to me.  Thanks, Erica.

Hilton Head Island, South Carolina: Act III

The final Act of the HHI vacation is Hilton Head Island, SC.

We stayed in Sea Pines this year.  If that means anything to you, I should congratulate you.  All it meant to us what that each time we ventured outside of Sea Pines it took an extra 30 minutes to get back. 

Kind of a pain, really.

The rental was nice.  The aforementioned pool and a convenient little "bait-and-switch" known as an inoperable hot tub.  Fortunately, there was no charge on the latter. 

You know things aren't going well for fixing it when the contractors they hire to repair the thing refuse to acknowledge you and disguise their incompetence in a foreign language.

Don't know what was going to be accomplished in said hot tub with a heat index approaching 110 degrees, but I'm sure it probably would have killed someone.

Anyway, that was not the only flirtation with a form of vacation disaster. 

There were several near misses.

Roughly two hours after acquiring access to the rental, we nearly burned the mother-F-er down.

Yep.  You heard me.

Miami of Ohio Spring Formals have nothing on the Holmans.

All I will say to protect the identity of the perpetrator is to say that you should never, ever "warm" a cardboard pizza box in an unfamiliar oven and you should never, ever leave it unattended.

Sadly, those involved were sober at the time.  Happily, one of them doubles as a pirate and literally pulled the flaming boxes out of the oven with his/her bare hands.

Even recreation within the vacation had notable hazards.

Bill and I played the Sea Pines Ocean Course with an early morning tee time.  First tee, second shot.  Bill leaves the golf cart near his ball and a murky, but harmless looking lagoon.  I jump out of the cart and nearly step onto a 15 foot alligator resting nearby. 

Never saw the damn thing. 

Probably should have. 

After all, it's a F-ing ALLIGATOR!

I'm not good at golf, but do you really need a live alligator as a playing hazard?

Luckily, it was Bill who had to swing near the thing.

I needed a change of underwear and had 17 more holes to walk it off.

As an aside, it's too hot to play golf in August in SC.  It's also too hot to drink beers while golfing in SC.  Our other half -- we were joined by a Pittsburgher and the poor bastard who married into a Steeler family on the links -- consumed four beers apiece.  It was in the 90's with a dew point plus 80 degrees.

I marveled at their stupidity ability.

Billy and I managed to choke down a few despite the intolerable conditions. 

We're Holmans. 

Skipping on...

The swimmers, the involuntary divers and the rest.

(Dig Bro-ham's Dog Paddle)

Henry and Caroline at dusk.

Maura and Caroline celebrating the spoils of involuntary promise keeping.

Just the three four of us.

What happens when yentas start snapping pictures.

Maddy gives a thumbs up to phony pink eye outbreaks.

You'd be on your ass too if you were hot, pregnant and miserable!

Joey and Mommy assume the beach position.

Crocs calendar 2011.

Why I locked my door each night.

Did someone say Noodle Rainbow?

Shortly before switching her to the basket.

Billy and the Boogie Boarder.

Okay, so the credits have run on another HHI vacation and you're still here. 

Let's close this thing out with a set of quick hits on HHI - 2010.

1.  Likes:  Mellow Mushroom Pizza, the unburnt version of Giuseppi's Pizza; Grouper - day one and two; Yuengling Beer; 813-402; our new Facebook catchphrase "....I didn't sign up for this one! LOL!;  and air conditioning.

2.  Dislikes:  Grouper - every day thereafter; Bill's leprosy poison ivy issues; damage waivers; jellyfish; zealous garbage collectors; and being stupid.

3.  I've been trying for three years to get the family into the ultimate tourist trap on HHI -- the Salty Dog Cafe. 

This year, we finally made it. 

Guess what?  It sucked.  

Go figure. 

Maybe twenty tables.  A one hour wait for lunch.  Pub grub disguised as haute cuisine?

I had grouper.  Thanks for asking. 

But the tee shirts are cool aren't they?

A webcam can prove our ability to check this one off the list.

That's me at the bar stool and me Bill in my shirt with the red hat on the official Salty Dog Webcam. 

Notice the thermometer reading. 

Great golf weather, eh?

It's not a sunset, it's a sunrise.

See you next year, HHI.

Savannah, Georgia: Act II

Savannah is another cool, old city.

Where else can you get free lap dances and flowers made out of straw?

Why Savannah, Georgia, of course.

This year, we sprinkled a new twist to the Savannah, GA visit by scheduling an afternoon dolphin cruise down the Savannah River and into the Atlantic Ocean.  More on that in a moment.

We start today's installment with an out-of-focus picture of what the locals call "Chatham Artillery Punch". 

Appropriately blurry image of a drink designed to kill you -- slowly.

This year, Bill joined me in partaking the CAP at the Shrimp Factory on River Street. 

I likes me a drink with a little history. 

For those interested, here's the abbreviated Poogie version of the story.

The Chatham Artillery dates back to 1786.  They like shooting cannons to celebrate funerals and George Washington.  Their chicks like to make fruity drinks because it is hotter than Hell in Savannah.  They put out a bowl of oranges and water to drink.  The artillery dudes start laughing at them.  They start pulling out flasks of whisky, rum, brandy, battery acid, Fire Water (that one is for you, bro) and the head of Alfredo Garcia.  They are hot and drunk and start pouring this mixture into the skull of Charles Cornwallis or Stonewall Jackson (I was a little fuzzy on that one).  The dudes then top it off with some champagne to cover their tracks before the chicks find out what they've done to their version of orange-aide.

Chatham Artillery Punch is born.

Don't believe me?  Sure, I have been infected with the stuff, but my version is pretty close.  See below.  Enlarge it for the full effect.

 

Did you read those ingredients?  Yikes.

Here's what it looks like in today's terms.

$250 bucks for a buzz?

Anyway, Bill and I powered through CAP after the dolphin cruise.  Although, it is possible that we were never on the cruise at all.  The CAP shaved a month off my life. 

There's an alleged one drink limit, but we got the glass for posterity's sake.  I am toying with the idea of brewing the CAP for the pig roast.

Any takers?

Any-who.  Here are the rest of the pictures.

Finding shade while waiting for Justin Bieber to load us onto the dolphin cruise.

Joey wonders why the Earth is melting.

Downtown Savannah, GA from the back of the Dolphin Magic.

A glistening Mommy feigning a smile as we hurtle down the river at 25 knots.

The dolphin cruise was a good break from downtown Savannah. 

Yes, we saw dolphins, but unfortunately, my camera succumbed to the heat and humidity and stopped working.  I know Bill captured some dolphins jumping in the wake of the boat. 

I was kind of expecting the dolphins to jump into the boat since that's what it looks like on the Dolphin Magic website.

Check it out below.

....unless you subsequently drink the CAP.

Amazing how you can photoshop your way into the "experience you'll never forget."

Reality is so yesterday.