The Triangle (especially Chapel Hill and Durham) have enjoyed a strong reputation for a foodie culture for some time.

Perhaps I just haven't been paying attention, but it's hard to ignore that the area is building a similar reputation for tasty brews.

We've been fans of Big Boss Brewing in Raleigh for a few years now.  McKinney creatives Brian Murray and Scott Pridgen designed a bunch of award-winning branding work for them. We'd like to think that had something to do with the brand's growth - not to mention the beer is damn good.

Fullsteam Brewery just opened a few weeks ago in downtown Durham and is quickly developing a strong word-of-mouth following.

And Triangle Brewing Company here in Durham is making news by packaging its craft brews not in bottles, but rather cans.

At the same time, some creative, ambitious souls are breathing new life into Durham's indie music scene as well. 

The Pinhook opened a couple of years ago in downtown Durham and seems to have successfully proven that downtown can support an indie music venue.

Or three.

By the end of this Fall, two other downtown music venues should be up and running as well. With the addition of the Casbah and Motorco, Bull City residents may not feel they have to trek to Chapel Hill's Cat's Cradle or Raleigh's Lincoln Theater to catch good, up-and-coming bands.

So, be ready to drink up and listen to some tunes - right here.

What: Father & Son Antiques

When: Mon - Sat 11 - 6, Sun 12 - 5, Closed Wed.

Where: 107 W. Hargett St. Raleigh, NC 27601

Why: It’s a deceptively large, 3-floor treasure hunt through 20th century Americana. Clothes for guys, gals and tots, toys, furniture, music, and tchotchke mix with art so fresh the paint’s still wet.

Here’s just a taste of what you’ll find.

X marks 10,000 square feet filled to the brim.

Satisfy your cravings for both monkeys and art!

Depictions of nature.

Let’s go upstairs, shall we?

Someone got a little lost in the vintage denim.

Hand me my parasol, will you darling?

The woman in the mirror say’s hello.

Vinyl heaven…

Oh, Jackie O, where do I begin?

“It’s an art gallery, honey!”

Peeking out from the most unexpected places are over twenty paintings, like this one, by former Raleigh resident and current LA artist David K. Rose. Here’s a link to his site.

Stay tuned for the next "Go There Now" destination.

It doesn't take photos or videos. Or play music. The "delete" button is powered by the eraser of a #2 pencil. But it's tough, lightweight and cheap. It goes with me everywhere. Recently, I realized how glad I was to have it.

I went off to write at Foster’s Market, a leisurely café popular with Duke students, families and foodies. It has a big back room and a do-what-you-will mentality. I decamped, opened on my browser and was met with an error message.

NO NETWORK CONNECTION

Steve Jobs was speechless. Bill Gates was aghast. Suddenly, my laptop was an unwieldy doo-dad and my connection to a gazillion other voices was silent. (Kind of a relief, actually....)

There’s been a lot of talk recently of integrating the online and offline worlds. Foursquare. Geo targeting. Sixth Sense technology. Augmented reality.

It’s easy to assume the Internet is everywhere, like an invisible aura in our iPhoned and iPadded iWorld. Without it, things just are: a wooden table, a notebook, a pen.

So “No Wi-Fi” was a shock of cold water. It wore off when I remembered my trusty “iPad”– a pad. It’s cheap, sparkly, and pocket-sized.

I pressed the ink down onto the paper. My document was saved from the start. I couldn’t lose power. I was the power. Some of my favorite ideas are scribbled in notebooks like this. At a restaurant. In a doctor’s office. Before a gym class.

My "iPad" can teach my laptop a thing or two about versatility.  And it reminds me to be just as flexible.

I'm a Red Sox fan.  I'm a member of the Red Sox Nation, and have been long before it was cool to be an official "member".  I grew-up watching and playing baseball, and some of my fondest memories are sitting up late at night with my parents watching the Sox play. Pictures of Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio hang in my Dad's office.  Above any other sport, baseball is my favorite.

I was an avid fan in the late '80s and early '90s.  I could name every player on the team and knew who was who on rival teams.  My baseball card collection was pretty sweet. In the early 90s, I even (gasp!) liked the Yankees - it was a team filled with passionate players, from Don Mattingly to Paul O'Neill to Bernie Williams. 
 
Now, by nature and by loyalty, I don't root for the Yankees.  My heart broke when Roger Clemens, Wade Boggs, and Johnny Damon traded in their Boston sox for Yankee pinstripes.  I ask my cousins what went wrong in their lives to turn them into Yankees fans.  I cried with pure joy when the Sox came back from a 3-game deficit and beat the Yankees to win the ALCS in the 2004 World Series battle.  Their victory meant so much for Boston and more to me, as it carried me through my Dad's heart surgery saga.    

In simple words, I love the Red Sox and despise the Yankees.  I uphold the age-old rivalry and respect it in more ways than I can describe.  Yet with that respect, comes a greater one for those who keep the spirit of baseball alive.

I, like many, was not a fan of Steinbrenner, Yankee owner or not.  And while it's easy to criticize him, today is a day to respect him and the empire he built, as he passes into another life.  He kept baseball alive for many years, when the strikes, ridiculous salaries, and drug scandals could have buried it permanently six-feet under.  He built an amazing team of star players, who, at the end of the day, love their game: Jeter, Rivera, Posada, and yes, even the over-paid A-Rod.  He fiercely wanted to win and did what he could to build a team loved by many.  Steinbrenner re-energized a team, a sport, a nation of fans.

And, as we head into tonight's All-Star Game, I'm sure baseball players and fans - former, current, and future - will bid him a fair adieu.  

“A bottle of Silk Hope wine is fitting for any Carolina occasion, from fine dining to an afternoon picnic, from vegetarian cuisine to a backyard pig-picking.”

I expected a vineyard straight out of a Napa Valley postcard. What my friend and I pulled up to was a metallic tube, a climate-proof, above ground cellar at the foot of rolling grape-filled hills. 

The owner/planter/vintner/sommelier/host was the only one there. Wally Butler was his name. He had a silver-streaked ponytail that said, “My office is God’s green earth. I punch in and out when the sun tells me to. Mother Nature is my boss. I make wine.”

I’m no oenophile, even if I can use the word properly in a sentence. Only recently have I begun to really taste wine, to notice the subtle variations beyond color and general category.

That said, our white sheets of tasting notes listed varieties I had never heard of. If anyone ever tells you the only grape that grows in North Carolina is the Muscadine, they haven’t been to Silk Hope.

There was Chambourcin. A French-American Hybrid. The French consider it “inferior”, but they’re missing out. It makes a red perfect for white wine drinkers or a voluptuous white with depth the color of rosewater and scotch.

Vidal Blanc. A hybrid of the Trebbiano and Rayon d’Or grapes. It’s sharp, like a clean sword going down your throat.

Traminette. My favorite. A child of Gewürztraminer (AKA Riesling) and a French something or other. It tastes like Goethe had an affair with a Southern Belle, all syrupy sweet talk and sharp wit.

We tasted and talked for three hours. About the troubles of lingering Blue Laws and a rigid mentality. About how the NC Wine industry has grown from 8 wineries to well over 40. About how Wally’s son is starting a mushroom farm.

Before we left, my friend and I split a case of wine and grabbed brochure of all the wineries in the state. Little ones. Big ones. All of ‘em, just waiting for us to arrive.

The Silk Hope Winery
2601 Silk Hope Gum Springs Rd
Pittsboro, NC 27312-6957
(919) 545-5696

It’s got to suck to be a vegetable. Think about it − bugs bombard you, kids can’t stand you, and you always end up playing second fiddle to an entrée. Surely, a cruciferous plant or two has sadly muttered, ‘No one would miss me if I was gone.” But life without produce isn’t pretty.

Durham does the Supermarket Shuffle

Cities across the country did too. It's easy if you’re a supermarket; just step back from your urban surroundings to the wealthier, White suburbs nearby. Then watch as the city you left behind dips into the sadly ironic state of “malnourished obesity.” Here, fast food is your staple, feeding you both too much and not enough at the same time.

Areas like this are called Food Deserts (everything has a catchy name nowadays), places where markets with fresh food are more than 2 miles from a community.

The corner of Angier and Driver Streets in East Durham was one of those for 50 years. That ended on May 13th with the opening of TROSA Grocery.

TROSA Grocery
2104 Angier St.,
Durham NC

This year, MSN named Durham the 11th fattest city in the U.S. Next year, maybe Durham will be a little lower in the rankings.

Clive Sweeny was a McKinney-ite who was a passionate cyclist.  He was killed two years ago this week while out riding.  The annual Ride For Clive is this Saturday, June 5.

I never rode with Clive while he was alive.  But I could tell he was a good rider.  You can tell someone who is good literally from a mile away; just by the way they sit on the bicycle.  They way they move with it.  I watched Clive ride away from the building one night and thought "Hmm.  He's pretty good".

Clive died on a day much like today.  This morning the conditions were perfect.  Not too hot or humid; warm enough to ride without extra clothing.  As I started off I was thinking about how pretty it was: sunlight flicking through the trees as I warmed up, dappling the road; slight mist burning off the fields. 

Riding with a guy like Clive can be challenging.  He was big, and a big guy on a bike punches a huge hole in the wind.  It's great to tuck in right behind him, taking advantage of the shelter.  But he was also strong, and while you are behind him you can do nothing but watch those huge legs, banging away like cannons, and do all you can to hang on so he doesn't simply ride away from you.

I'm going now, and as I get warmer I'm thinking about Clive and how he loved doing this.  The  miles start to drop away; 5, 10, 20; we're flying along a smooth road, our fuel great lungfulls of sweet Carolina morning air, the sounds the tick of the bike and the whoosh of the wind and faint birdsong; we swoop down hills like falcons, then up the other side as the symphony changes and all we now hear are heart and lungs and legs pounding out a rhythm that drives to the crest of the hill and the incredible joy of being at the top with enough left over to do it again.  To keep flying.  Past farms and fields and lakes and moms getting the kids to school.  A great spectacle of green and blue and grey.

Finally as we approach home, there is one remaining short, sharp hill.  A mean little climb that strips away anything left.  Side by side we rise out of our saddles, and with the last remaining shreds of strength in our legs we Pound.  That.  Hill.  To.  Rubble.

Then we coast into the driveway, unclip before we fall over, and stand, gasping and grinning as we look at the numbers we have wrought on the bike computer.

I never rode with Clive while he was alive.  But I did today.  And he looks great.

Photo by Joseph Levinski

As much as I’d personally like Ms. Palin to join the BP suits in physically plugging the hole, I’m talking about tea.

Not Oolong or Darjeeling or fancy-blends like Fairy-eyelash flower or Lotus-sutra mint but straight-up Lipton tea-flavored tea. A 100-count box, with each individual bag sewn together by hand, by me, with needle and thread.

It was my sixth grade science project. This was the Spring of 1989, right after the Exxon Valdez spilled 10.8 millions gallons of crude into the Prince William Sound. Inspired by Exxon’s slow-going cleanup efforts, I filled the biggest casserole dish I could find with salt water and a quart of Wesson Oil and submerged my 100-bag mass. It was Operation Tea Party, and while it didn’t get every last drop of oil, it soaked up enough for me to get an A.

BP should try this. Lipton tea would get a boost and hey, what do they have to lose? I’ve read the headlines, seen the live video feeds and heard the poor excuses. Like millions of Americans, I’m upset by the current comedy of errors. I’m also sad, and scared, that with all the science that money can buy, BP is still getting an F.

I drive underneath this bridge 5-7 days a week. It’s right by the Alston Ave exit on NC 147. Long abandoned, it was, as someone on Waymarking.com put it, “An ugly green thing.” On St. Patty’s Day, it became a brand new thing, one that would hopefully be good luck.

The Ugly Green Thing, courtesy of J. Wenatchee/Waymarking

See, this bridge connects two sides of the predominantly African-American Hayti (pronounced Hay-tie) district of Durham. The naïve would call it a ghetto, but before 1965, it thrived. There were Black-owned businesses, including a bank, library, hospital, and an insurance company. Voices strummed, plucked and wailed Piedmont blues, jazz, gospel and R & B into the night. Among them Nina Simone, Blind Boy Fuller and the Rev. Gary Davis.

Then a knife cut Hayti in two. A stretch of the highway was laid down right in the center of town, destroying businesses and displacing hundreds. A bridge was built in 1970 to heal this wound, but it festered. The bridge was dark, and the people desperate enough to rob and kill, to turn “Black Wall Street” into gangland. The bridge was closed in 1995; access blocked by massive iron bars and a chain-link fence.

Then something strange happened. People of all colors and classes moved into Durham. New businesses started opening up. People went downtown and stayed there for dinner and a show. Per capita crime rates dropped in half. So city council decided it was time to rebuild that bridge and put the two halves of Hayti back together again, or at least try.

Opinions were just as split. Voices from the News & Observer and the blog Bull City Rising showed passion and hatred on both sides.

“More waste of money just to placate racial and class equity.”

“This is the selfishness and small-minded thinking that has divided the Bull City for so long.”

“This area is so full of drugs and the bridge is just going to spread the crime out.”

“Let 'em rot in their own criminal juices. Note the sarcasm please. “

“Why can’t they [the Hayti residents] get anything nice?”

They did.

It took two semi tractor-trailers to move the 192 ft. long steel bridge to it’s new home.  It has an open structure with good visibility; a bike lane, a walking path and an LED light that arcs over the bridge, colored “Durham Blue.”

This week I was honored to sit down with the mastermind behind the groundbreaking new band The Role Playaz— representing advertising powerhouse McKinney at this year’s Corporate Battle of the Bands at the American Tobacco Campus, Saturday May 15th @ 7:30 PM.  

I met up with lead rhymesayer HeavyE (aka Ben Eckerson) at local hobby shop The Android’s Dungeon.  Between dice rolls and Kirk/Picard debates, I managed to gain some insight into the Playaz style and inspiration.

JL: What’s a typical day in the life of a Role Playa?
HeavyE: Wake up, get online, check the profile for new posts, a little WoW, work, home for some Ramen and Netflix, late night WoW, sleep, dream the future… wake up and do it again.

JL: Have you ever engaged in Live Action Role Playing / LARP’ing?
HeavyE: Judging by that question YOU have never participated in battle with the great warriors of the Park Royale.

JL: So did The Role Playaz meet LARP’ing?
HeavyE: We formed like Voltron.

JL: How many members are in The Role Playaz and what do they do?
HeavyE: We’ve got Vincent Patterson as our Hype Man, our lovely Lead Singer Teccara Carmack, Hammerin’ Hank Leber on the bass, Ben Blackmer on Keys, John Roelofs laying down the beats, Leslie Riley on Cello, Scott Gaston running the AV, and the wonderful harmonies of our backup singers Aubrey Eckerson, Kelly Quinn, and Grace Tarrant.  And of course myself as lead MC.

JL: How does the cello fit in with The Role Playaz music?
HeavyE: It’s like how the Cool Whip fits with Pumpkin Pie.

JL: What are some of The Role Playaz musical inspirations?
HeavyE: Soul meets Bach says “hi” to Jackie Wilson then shakes hands with Gang Starr sits down next to Whitney Houston waves to Yo-Yo Ma and gives dap to J-Dilla.

JL: You guys have an amazing video show and stage presence.  Is the visual style of The Role Playaz as important as the music?
HeavyE: Our style is all encompassing and includes all aspects of our greatness.

JL: How did you choose the images for your video show?
HeavyE: Scotty G pretty much ran with the genius thoughts he already conjured by listening to our symphony.

JL: What is the inspiration behind The Role Playaz songs?
HeavyE: Everyday of our lives, put to tasty beats and glorious musical arrangements.

JL: Where did you learn your dope dance moves?
HeavyE: Star Search.

JL: Who are your nerd heroes?
HeavyE: Lamar Latrell of Lambda Lambda Lambda fame.

JL: One of your songs is called “Lightning Bolt”.  What is a lightning bolt useful for?
HeavyE: Only the most honorable battle, at the most difficult hour.

JL: You have another song called “Netflix”.  What is in your Netflix queue?
HeavyE: Princess Bride, Willow, Ghostbusters 2, Flight of the Navigator, Neverending Story, Home Alone 2, Sister Act 3.

JL: Do the Role Playaz have a CD?
HeavyE: A 3 track EP at this time, LP to follow.

JL: Do The Role Playaz plan on touring anytime soon?
HeavyE: June 19th Nashville. B.B. Kings. Be there.

JL: What do you think your chances are of winning the Corporate Battle of the Bands?
HeavyE: 110%.