Friday BBQ Spotify 4/26/13
I knew we’d had a long day yesterday when I was dropping off the last ribs delivery and saw the full moon rising in the east, and I remembered that earlier in the morning that same full moon was setting in the west when we were just getting the day’s fire going in the pit. I’m not normally someone who thinks much about metaphysics, but I think there is something to the idea that the full moon brings out behavior in some of us, that is – for lack of a better description – odd. At one point yesterday morning, I was putting out our signs when I heard someone yelling “COME BACK HERE!!” on the road behind me. And when I turned around, all I could see was a fully-grown pit bull running at full speed directly toward me with his owner (I presume) trying to chase him down with his car. It was like that scene from No Country for Old Men where Josh Brolin has jumped in the river trying to escape from that angry pit bull, except that angry pit bull is REALLY angry and isn’t going to let a simple freezing rushing river stop him. But unlike Josh’s Llewelyn Moss, I didn’t have a gun.
All I could think at that moment was “I’m not dyin’ like this.” Fortunately, even though when he ran into my leg he felt like Ray Lewis laying an open-field tackle on me, all this four-legged monster was concerned with was giving me a few quick licks and leg-rams and then continuing his escape from his barefooted owner. (Who drives a car in the city with no shoes on?) I’ve never been much of a small-dog man, but my wife has been begging me to get her a French bulldog and I must admit, the thought of having one is starting to endear itself to me. Especially after The Rock plowed into my right leg. And then our first customer of the day walks up wearing a shirt that says something like “World’s Best Dad” with the “DAD” in big bold letters. Prompting me to blurt out “Hey, Dad’s here! I knew that Dad would show up!” Prompting him to respond with a gravelly “F___ you!” with a sarcastic laugh attached. I don’t know what it is about New Yorkers (he lives in Georgia now but is from upstate New York) that gives them the ability to hurl an f-bomb at you and still make you feel they’re your best friend. And then tell you for a couple of hours (Hey, our ribs take 4 1/2 hours on the pit before they’re ready. He wanted to hang out with us and wait.) everything about all the people he feels are “a fair-weather b____” to the crazy encounters he’s had with state troopers across the country (he’s a long-haul trucker) to the notion that he likes to smoke a little crystal meth now and then. “What? Did you say . . . What?!” And more stories that I can’t seem to remember now. For hours. Never mind that the pit bull returned. And scared the holy crap out of our commercial kitchen’s owner. And we start making deliveries and I lose my wallet with the day’s till. So we frantically drive the truck back and look for it in my customer’s house while she’s rushing to leave for Reno (fortunately, she’s also a friend) only to find it in the bag where I originally put it back in the truck.
We hadn’t had a day like this since that same commercial kitchen owner’s chicken had gotten out and the UPS driver was running back and forth down the street to try and catch her. The chicken, I mean. And then on the drive home, it hit me. It’s a full moon. That explains everything. Or at least I’m going to let it explain everything. Because I’m too tired from being awake long enough to see two full moons in the same day and too sore from being head-butted by a four-legged battering ram with alligator jaws to care and think of a better reason. So, here we go – a few songs about that fickle lunar disk to ease you into a Friday afternoon. Have a great weekend everyone. With your Uncle Richard who wears the Dad t-shirt and gives you too much 411. And while you’re at it, let your small dog have some barbecue.