Dining Out For Life

If you live in Asheville and can swing it, eat out tonight at one of the 90 participating restaurants who have generously agreed to give 20% of their proceeds to the Western North Carolina AIDS Project (WNCAP), an organization that supports folks living with HIV and AIDS, and educates the public on prevention of this terrible disease. I am ambassador at The Jerusalem Garden, which means I'll be hanging there all night welcoming and thanking those who come out to support this cause. To find particpating restaurants, go to wncap.org and follow the links.

Hunting Island, SC

Here are some pictures from our Spring Break in Hunting Island State Park, SC. What a glorious, pristine place. We biked on trails through the woods on the island, caught crabs, built drip castles, explored the lighthouse, made fish print t-shirts, listened to an alligator talk and saw lots of wildlife, including deer and beavers.

Ball, Meet Windshield

Baseball season is here and my wild child has been out practicing his "pop ups". On Saturday, one made a hard left turn and smashed the windshield of a book club friend's car. YIKES! I thought this baseball gig would be an inexpensive sport. Wrong!

Right On, Mr. Iacocca

Am I the only guy in this country who's fed up with what's happening? Where the hell is our outrage? We should be screaming bloody murder. We've got a gang of clueless bozos steering our ship of state right over a cliff, we've got corporate gangsters stealing us blind, and we can't even clean up after a hurricane much less build a hybrid car. But instead of getting mad, everyone sits around and nods their heads when the politicians say, "Stay the course."
Stay the course? You've got to be kidding. This is America, not the damned Titanic. I'll give you a sound bite: Throw the bums out!
You might think I'm getting senile, that I've gone off my rocker, and maybe I have. But someone has to speak up. I hardly recognize this country anymore. The President of the United States is given a free pass to ignore the Constitution, tap our phones, and lead us to war on a pack of lies. Congress responds to record deficits by passing a huge tax cut for the wealthy (thanks, but I don't need it). The most famous business leaders are not the innovators but the guys in handcuffs. While we're fiddling in Iraq, the Middle East is burning and nobody seems to know what to do. And the press is waving pom-poms instead of asking hard questions. That's not the promise of America my parents and yours traveled across the ocean for. I've had enough. How about you? I'll go a step further. You can't call yourself a patriot if you're not outraged. This is a fight I'm ready and willing to have. - Lee Iacocca, Where Have All The Leaders Gone?

Slice of Heaven

Saturday morning, after the Brainianc's soccer match, I trekked half way across the state to meet some old friends in Chapel Hill, stomping the old grounds where we spent 4 years playing and studying. The five of us had dinner at Elaine's on West Franklin - fantastic place. Then we kicked it on over to one of our favorite past haunts, He's Not Here, a bar with "blue cups" of draught and an outdoor courtyard.

The kid who checked our IDs looked like Ashton Kutcher. OK, he didn't really check our IDs. He took one look at our purses and he just knew we were over 30. That's what we discerned anyway. It couldn't have been the wrinkles and pot bellies, swollen from months and years of incubating our offspring. After a round of free drinks (yes, I imbibed this weekend, falling off the Lenten Wagon) from a married dude who was without his wife and his wedding ring (when we toasted to his wife, it killed any notions he had), we parked it at a picnic table in the courtyard, chatting it up with Ashton, in between his ID gig. I swear the place was exactly the same, except for a new bright "He's Not Here" sign in the courtyard. Same nasty carpet inside. Same ratty picnic benches outside.

We swaggered "home" to the Carolina Inn around midnight and crawled in bed, just four of us now, as one went back home to Durham. All night, the drinks and food combusted in my gut, asking for a way out. If only I had been home in my own bed, I could have let the gases flow with no worries, but in consideration of my bed mate and friend of 30 years, I abstained.

But last night, home in my own bed, I let go of my inhibitions.