This is Matt Trexler, a few pieces into a boat-load of sushi that he has 40 minutes to finish if he wants a free meal. The 40 piece Super Sushi Challenge was dreamed up by the folks at Kanki Japanese House of Steaks and Sushi to celebrate, you guessed it, 40 years of business. Mr. Trexler was quite confident in his ability to consume all the sushi laid out before him, including the wasabi. His girlfriend, Arielle, decided to celebrate her birthday by cheering him on. “Oh yeah, he’s got this,” siad Arielle after watching the manager start the timer. “He’s eaten the 4 1/2 lb. burrito at Bandido’s, so this should be easy.”
Having documented the start of Mr. Trexler’s challenge I circulated through the restaurant to meet more fine Americans taking on the glutinous challenge. There were several groups college students, a trash-talking father and son with a visibly embarrassed mother and a group of oncologists from Duke Hospital. By the time I came back to the bar Mr. Trexler was gone, a clear violation of the rules set forth in a four page contract and waiver each contestant had to sign. Arielle looked upset and turned away from the pile of napkins covering the half-finished boat. “Yeah, he’s not going to finish that,” said Arielle, possibly re-thinking her birthday outing. There was a slight funk in the air and I then noticed that napkins were doing more than signaling defeat; they were covering up a very bad scene.
Based on casual observations of the remaining challengers, there seemed to be a success rate of 40 percent, with many folks overcoming their physical discomfort with shrewd economic reasoning in order to avoid paying the $40 cost of failure. Some might prefer to call that courage. Either way, the scene left me reflecting on the world’s greatest invention, a process which turns air into bread and now supports nearly half of all the life on our planet.
It’s called the Harber-Bosch system and it’s a complex chemical process wich produces synthetic nitrogen fertilizer from air, a discovery detailed in fascinating book The Alchemy of Air. In the early part of the 20th century it looked as if the planet would not be able to produce enough food to feed a population of 1.75 billion people. Now we have just passed the 7 billion mark and we are dealing with an obesity epidemic. There is still hunger in the world to be sure, but mostly because of conflict and failed public policy. Interestingly enough, the same invention also led to rise of the Nazis and fueled the arms race. It’s a story worth learning. In the meanwhile, let’s see how our other contestants faired.
Caltrop: John Crouch, Sam Taylor, Murat Dirlik and Adam Nolton
Incredibly loud and incredibly intense blues-prog are two apt descriptors used describe the music of Caltrop in this week’s Independent Weekly. It’s true that I pounded on the front door of their practice space for some time before giving up and walking around the backside to see if there was another way in. Even through two walls, the music was really loud, but still amazingly nuanced and enjoyable. They’re about to release their second LP, which carries one of the best titles I’ve heard in a while, Ten Million Years and Eight Minutes, on the local label Holidays for Quince. Pick up a solid pair of earplugs and check ‘em out if you’re in the area. Better yet, buy the album, open the windows and give your neighbor another reason to dash off a long and convoluted diatribe about the decline of common decency and respect on the neighborhood listserv. They might even put it in ALL CAPS.
It could of been the free doughnut holes talking, but sound was divine. Voices climbed and blended with one another high above thanks to the superpub resonance of the wood floor and the vaulted wood ceiling. It’s a good thing that I travel with a nice audio recorder for such occasions, knowing full well that photos alone could not tell the story of the annual Sacred Harp gathering at Pullen Memorial Baptist Church in Raleigh.
Here’s a sample of three numbers from the day so you can get a sense of the scene.
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The following words are by Independent Weekly reporter Bob Geary,
Fa-So-La, with the occasional Mi: The relationship of these four notes, and the shapes assigned to each one, are the basis for shape-note singing, as I learned last weekend at the North Carolina Sacred Harp Convention in Raleigh.
Think Julie Andrews and “Doe, a deer, a female deer,” but not exactly. The Von Trapps were accompanied by dad on the guitar; shape-note singing is a cappella. And where Maria taught the kids to sing using a seven-note system with examples that weren’t religious, traditional shape-note singing employs just the four notes. There’s no “Doe,” “Ray” or “Tea.” (But there is a potluck luncheon, so you can BYO jam and bread.) And all the words are directed to God.
If it sounds simple enough, it is, though sight-reading shape notes isn’t a whole lot easier than sight-reading ordinary music. The idea of the circle, triangle, square and diamond is that if you know how Fa (the triangle) is supposed to sound after someone sets the pitch for you, you’ll know how the next note up (So, the circle) and the next note (La, the square) ought to sound. Mi, the rarest note, is a diamond. Then it’s back to Fa-So-La.
I think I got that right. In any case, here’s the key thing to know about shape-note singing: You don’t have to know anything. Just listen, catch the tune and use your shower voice when you can.
Gov. Blagojevich, DuQuoin State Fair, 2003
Former Illinois Gov. Rod Blagojevich begins his 14-year prison term today. In typical “Hot Rod” style, Blagojevich held a press conference on the steps of his North-Side Chicago home yesterday to soak up the spotlight for a few more minutes instead of quietly exiting the stage. As reported in the New York Times, most Illinois residents are more than ready for the big-haired long-winded-talker to retire to the quiet confines of the low-security federal prison near Littleton, Colorado. For his family, however, the sense of loss is more palpable.
Though it’s no different for millions of other families torn apart by long prison terms, there is a measurable degree of empathy for the family, especially his two school-age daughters, who have been and will continue to be deeply affected by the actions of their short-sighted and notoriously greedy father.
Gov. Blagojevich, Annie and Patti, DuQuoin State Fair, 2003
In the summer of 2003 I was interning at the State Journal-Register in Springfield, Illinois, working on a photo essay about the state’s other State Fair, in the Southern Illinois town of DuQuoin. One morning I was invited to a stately house in the middle of the fair grounds to photograph the newly-elected Governor as he bid adieu to the host family there. I thought about this photo of his youngest daughter Annie after seeing a picture of her now from his prison departure press conference. Then I thought about those infamous tapes of Rod wheeling and dealing his “f’in golden opportunity,” the recently vacated Senate seat of President Obama.
Some folks just can’t resist the temptation. They’ve got to get their hands on that golden syrup, despite the consequences.
We needed an action-packed photo of a popcorn-popper on deadline for this week’s INDY. I drew on my accumulated exposure to 80′s advertising to create this here photo. The popcorn wasn’t bad either.
Trophy Bucks, Dixie Deer Classic
There are two bucks mounted on the walls of my house. I didn’t shoot either. One was bagged in 1964, somewhere in Eastern Kentucky according the fella who passed it onto me when he pulled up stakes in North Carolina to live out his days in California. The other one is made of wood and painted blue with actual, tiny horns, acquired from a trip to Mexico. Once a year buck hunters from every corner of the Old North State bring in their trophy rack to be officially scored and displayed alongside other taxidermic deer. They are everywhere you look, in all shapes and configurations.
Over 20,000 people streamed through the State Fairgrounds in Raleigh to have a look at this year’s crop of bucks, buck-hunting accessories at the Dixie Deer Classic. There was also a indoor bowhunting and fierce turkey call competition. Having grown up in rural Illinois with avid hunters in the family, many of the sights were familiar. Even so, the sudden and alarming sound of a group of young men practicing their turkey calls at random still served to startle me again and again.
View slideshow at Indyweek.com
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