* First stop was Phoenix (and the greater Phoenix area), in the wonderful and somewhat lawless land known as Arizona. About 20 ‘Don’t forget your papers!’ jokes later from family and friends, there we were in the land of dry heat, cacti and people wearing as little as allowed by law (which again, is not very strict in Arizona). My wife and I stayed with her brother in Mesa, and also spent a good deal of time hanging out with her friend in Tempe, a Ph.D. student at Arizona State.
In general, keep this in mind: any southwestern/Mexican/Tex Mex-themed food in this area is going to be good. It just is. Can’t go wrong. Mostly anything else is standard, as in it’s no better or worse than you could get it in many other places. Well, except maybe for Pizzeria Bianco in Phoenix, rated the country’s best by a few different sources (we didn’t make it there this time).
We tom-catted around the area for a few days, and I of course (if you recall from a reference in my last entry) attended the Phoenix Suns-L.A. Lakers Western Conference Playoffs (Game 3) with said brother-in-law. Quite an event. Amare Stoudemire exploded for 42 points and Phoenix won to trim its series deficit to 2-1. Of course the Lakers won the series, as we know by now, but it was nice to attend a winning effort for the home team. Oh and they gave away ugly orange t-shirts to everyone in attendance (my wife promptly made mine part of her ‘pajamas’ rotation). I’m sure Lakers fans that showed up probably threw them in the trash or urinated on them or something. One of the more memorable moments? Hitting an overcrowded men’s room afterward on our way back to the car to hear a dude waltz in behind us, chanting at the top of his lungs “Kobe’s a rapist!” My brother-in-law righteously, but somewhat quietly, commented ‘Dude, that’s inappropriate.’ I don’t think the guy even heard him.
The following day, we road-tripped up north in our rental car to check out Sedona and the Red Rocks area, which is pretty incredible.
Lots of extremely red mountainous structures, traffic roundabouts (which weirdly enough almost worked better than traffic lights), and charming little shops. The four of us chowed down at Red Rock BBQ at a nice outdoor table.
Overall, good times in the AZ.
* Next stop – New Orelans. That’s right folks, the Big Easy. We had familiar faces in this city also. Friends of ours who live about a mile away in NY met us down there while also visiting family of theirs outside the N.O.
I mean, how do you sum up this city exactly? So unique, so unlike anywhere else I’ve ever been. The music is incredible. Even at the touristy, loud, obnoxious Bourbon Street bars, there’s cover bands playing live music (Journey! Bon Jovi!) instead of some DJ spinning the latest sounds of Kesha or Lady Antebellum. Our first night, we found ourselves at a place called ‘The Spotted Cat’ where we saw an incredible live N.O.-style jazz quintet. Simply awesome.
The Big Easy also has some incredible food. We had some great meals. Probably my favorite place though? Mother’s Southern Deli on Poydras, in the central business district. Holy crap was this place amazing. Perfect for any occasion – hungover, sober, by yourself, with friends, just for the hell of it, whatever. You order at the counter, grab a beverage, take a number, sit down and wait for the food. The wife and I split two dishes evenly – the Famous Ferdi Special Sandwich and the Combination Platter. The sandwich has Mother’s World Famous Best Baked Ham, Roast Beef, and countless other delicious ingredients rounding it all out. The combo platter is heaven on a plate – five different mini-mounds of food including jumbalaya, red beans’n’rice, Etouffe (which is kind of like a delicious sea food platter), potato salad and collard greens with turnips. Holy Cow. No other meal truly compared.
We took one day to cruise out to suburban Slidell with our friends and do a swamp tour, where we saw one of the biggest goddamn alligators ever created, named El Guapo (the tour guide pronounced it ‘El Wapo’ though). This thing was 15 feet long, about 1,000 pounds, and is 75 years old (the males usually live about 90 years). It came right up to our boat. I thought about taunting him for a second, and then decided that I like having my arm attached to my body. We had a great seafood meal afterward at our friend’s father’s house in Slidell, including freshly caught-and-boiled crab along with fresh shrimp, crawfish, corn-on-the-cob, rolls and other goodies.
By the way, let me leave you with this thought (as if many people who’ve been to N.O. don’t already know this) – Bourbon Street is basically like Sodom and Gomorrah come to life. It’s like you’re an outcast if you’re NOT sinning in some way. It’s an alcohol-fueled, noisy paradise of 24/7 party-all-the-time fun. Bourbon itself is closed off to traffic for several blocks, but through traffic can pass by on the intersecting streets. It just has everything. No open-container laws, lots of greasy food, bar after bar, strip clubs piled on top of one another with scantily clad broads advertising why their place is the best. It’s a real scene, man. Even if this type of deal isn’t so much your thing, it’s worth walking up and down it once or twice, especially on a happening night, just for the experience.
And then we were on a plane back to the Big Apple, where everyone moves like their ass is on fire and there’s no time to relax. Yep, things move at an easier pace down in Nola, and people are definitely more stress-free. An attorney friend of mine is leaving his high-pressure, long-hours job in NYC for a position down there. He’s probably adding another 5-10 years onto his life expectancy.
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Okay, it’s a little ‘after the fact’, but about the umpire (Jim Joyce) who robbed Detroit pitcher Armando Galarraga of a perfect game this past week in a 3-0 Tigers victory over the Cleveland Indians, how about if MLB mans up for once and grows a pair already?
Is there any professional sports organization more apathetic and ‘clingy with tradition’ than baseball? Really MLB? You can’t reverse an obviously blown call with two outs in the ninth to give a perfect game to a young pitcher who grossly deserves it? I’m pretty sure you can actually, because you’ve reversed decisions in years past that weren’t always popular (George Brett, Pine Tar game in ’83) and somehow, we all moved on. Let’s not pretend it’s any different this time. Considering the backdrop of certain current dynamics within the sport of Major League Baseball (the continued black eye of steroids over the game, the fact that there’s still no HGH testing for players, no instant replay of any kind), it’s in no way surprising that there aren’t anywhere near as many fans and overall supporters as there was as little as 12-15 years ago, despite the fact that at that time the game was recovering from a crippling strike that still had many folks fuming with anger.
Weirdly enough, the most positive aspect of this unfortunate situation is the class and dignity with which both Joyce and Galarraga have handled it. Joyce, rightfully so, was as remorseful as anything I’ve ever seen from an official over a single call. This is only fair, since perfect games come along on average about once every six years (by the way, this would have been the third this season – a completely underrated but incredibly strange subplot). But I give the guy a pass. He reacted appropriately (admitted he was wrong, tears in public, hugging the pitcher and apologizing to him in person).
And I’m pretty sure that just about everyone on the planet has royally fucked up in life at least a few times at his/her job at one point. It’s so much easier to see how this is all unfolding from the comfort of home on HD TVs with 10 instant slow-mo replays from multiple camera angles. I’d absolutely hate to be in charge of making the right call as stuff is happening at lightning speed right in front of your face 30-40 times a game. Not an easy job. We should all be glad that most of us have occupations in which we’re not counted on to get it 100 percent right every time in a nano-second flash about 40 times per game in a 162-game season (not counting playoffs). It’s just incredibly unfortunate that this wrong call altered an otherwise historical event.
Once again, I blame MLB way more than anyone else. Put an impartial mediator in a booth somewhere who can be in charge of discretionary instant replay. This person is obviously not going to suggest it for the same type of play that Joyce botched if it were a 10-1 game in the ninth inning, but it would have certainly been a good idea on Wednesday night in Detroit.
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