Introducing Yup-Town's new author

You may already know him as the Ballantyne Big Dog, who has previously posted on Chris Rock and Kanye West and demanded that you come party in the burbs. Starting next week, he will be lifting up his left leg and claiming this blog all for himself. But since he's a Southern gentleman, he decided to introduce himself first.Salutations.

Get ready for the Yup-Town invasion from the South. Ballantyne, that is. I'm coming in parachute-style, like the Russians did at the Wolverines' high school in "Red Dawn."

But don't fret, readers. Most of the content you have come to know and love on this blog will remain the same. Except I don't have as many friends who get shot or almost shot. I promise to try and work on that.

More on what I'm about will be coming next week. For now, let's discuss something that is affecting us Charlotteans more and more.

The attempts by Harris Teeter to control everyday life.

First off, out in south Charlotte where I live, HT has established a monopoly. There are seriously three (THREE!) within a 3.5-mile radius. How lazy can one get? Really, is the one in Stonecrest better than the one on Ballantyne Commons? Do the employees have Teeter-offs? These are things I'd like to see, rather than that stupid dragon offering me a day-old sugar cookie.

Then, there's the VIC card. This little piece of plastic that hangs on my keychain seems to offer "deals," but it also offers hassles. If, for some reason, you don't have the holy card, now the Teeter can find it by asking for your phone number. No thanks, Big Brother Harris. I'm onto you. You're not fooling me with your double-agent sushi chefs and deli workers.

Also, whenever the VIC card is scanned, they always say, "Thank you, Mr. (or Mrs./Ms.___." For me, here's the thing: The last name they call me isn't mine, but an old college buddy's. How I got his VIC card is beyond me, but it'll make me feel better if I'm ever the subject of one of those "Security Check" announcements you always hear over the intercom.

Finally, U-SCAN: designed to save you time, but ends up doing the exact opposite. If you're buying alcohol, it doesn't matter if you're 8 or 80; you get the "please show your ID to the register now." However, half the time the register attendant isn't there, so you end up waiting. Since they're so intent on getting your information, they might as well have a retina/facial scan there. At least I'd be able to walk out with a 6-pack quicker.

I guess I could always choose another grocery store, like Lowe's or Food Lion. But I keep getting drawn to the Teeter. Guess their strategy is working.

Tips for i-banker vacations

From one who recently jetted away for a very sunny and sandy extended weekend:

"You have to go far away (so your blackberry doesn't work) and take expensive ones (so they are less likely to cancel them because then they have to reimburse you)."

These guys never cease to impress me.

Celebrate me

Yup-Town will be changing hands next week, because I'm heading out of the country. More on that over the next few days.

To fill the void, make your way over to the annual festival held in my honor. That's right: The Giglio Feast. The feast will feature, as always, the majestic Dance of the Giglio, which should not be missed. Here's a brief, but very accurate, description:

Why is a Giglio danced?
For over 300 years in Italy, and the past century in communities throughout the greater New York area, this glorious ritual known as 'The Dance of the Giglio' has been celebrated each Summer with unbridled passion and devotion.

The Dance of the Giglio will also likely be on display at the Breakfast Club and points throughout Charlotte over the weekend, for those unable to make the trip to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, or the homeland.

'Just make it sexy'

In April, my friend Dick informed me of the amusing hiring practices at Whisky River when we dropped by for one of the bar's many grand openings. He had been creepily observing the tryouts from a window at work (the post):

They would show up in groups of "two to seven," all good looking and lacquered with makeup. Dick claimed to have overheard the following conversation outside his place of business one day:

Girl: What do I wear to the next interview?
Recruiter (male): Just make it sexy.

I asked one bleached blond bartender how she got her job. 'Like this,' she said, and closed her eyes and smiled real big. Then she mentioned her many years of experience as a bartender. To be fair, another also said she was hired after passing a test of her abilities behind the bar. Also for the record, she was young, blond and attractive too.

Apparently, this might be the practice throughout the EpiCentre. Or at least at Suite as well. Check out what Meck has to say at her blog "Keeping up with the Belks." She recently failed to get hired there:

"As much as it bothers me that this is how they determine who to hire, it bothers me even more that this is how they determine who to hire, and they aren't hiring me! ...

"But the point is, I have a good body. I realize that because I don’t believe in fake baking (in the summer), and don’t have plastic boobs or platinum blonde hair – that makes me not that desirable to Charlotte men at large. But I get checked out by the Brooks Brothers crowd and ogled by summer associates at my office enough to know that I could sell a ton of $8 shots to young professionals trying to get drunk on a Thursday night."

You can read her entire post here.

Best of luck to all the aspiring young table dancers out there.

Getting paranormal at Caribou Coffee

I just noticed a sign on the door behind my perch at a picnic table outside the Caribou Coffee on East Blvd. "Tonight outside at 7pm :)" reads the hand-written note on a piece of paper taped to the glass. The letterhead: the Charlotte Paranormal Meetup Group (a combination of believers and investigators).

Sure enough, just in front of me, about 15 people are finishing up what must have been an incredibly long gathering for what seems like such an off-the-wall topic. They all look normal enough, at least for the Caribou Coffee crowd. Surprisingly, though, they're almost all middle aged. I don't know what I was expecting, but regular potential moms and dads it was not.

I'm going to have to check this out. A woman just stood up to announce the end of the meeting. She must be the leader. Take me to your leader...

The leader: Ambur Rose. Ambur is a clairvoyant. Does that mean she talks to ghosts?

Well, first of all, we shouldn't get too caught up in how the media defines ghosts. Ghost means different things to different people. Someone who was raised Catholic might think possession and exorcism. A pagan or Wicca, on the other hand, might think entity to communicate with.

On top of that, we all have the intuition to know when someone's about to knock on the door, or get a chill up our spines when we just know something is wrong. It's just a matter of honing those skills, and looking into the feelings and what's causing them.

So Ambur has honed it. She's trained in psychometry. You know that sensation you get when you pick up an old memento--teddy bear, picture, postcard? The memories that wash over and seem to transport you to another time and place? Ambur might get it from walking through a (haunted) house. She could be feeling the wall and get suddenly struck by a feeling, sound, or image.

In other words, a family who thinks their house is haunted will give her a call and ask her to tell them what's been happening and why.

"Once they see a scary movie or two, they think they're going to wind up with Carrie in their house, or being thrown across the room," Ambur tells me. "What the media shows you is far, far different from what really happens in this world. They need assurance that something like that is not going to happen."

But on a full-scale investigation, Ambur is only one part of the team. There are also lots of people with gadgets. To explain that side of things, Ambur walks back into the crowd and brings me Tina McSwain, the founder and president of the Charlotte Area Paranormal Society (CAPS).

Homes and businesses can be haunted, especially if there was once a death on the premises (battlefields are almost always haunted). If a client thinks his home or business (or battlefield) is haunted, he'll make the call.

Maybe he's hearing strange noises: bumps, knocks, voices. He could feel unusual hot or cold spots, or see something that he just can't explain, like a mist cloud or flickering ball of light. Sometimes, things in the house even move on their own--dishes or cookie jars slide across the counter and smash onto the floor.

First a few members of the team conduct an interview with the potential client in person, usually after work (all ghost hunters have day jobs; investigations are free of charge). They get a feel for his character. Is he trying to pull a fast one? Does he have an overactive imagination? Is there a pattern to what he's been experiencing? Did someone die in his house recently?

If they think it's legit, the full team will head over on a Friday or Saturday night, say around 8 (they might stay until 4 or 5 am). Instruments include, but are not limited to, Electromagnetic Field Detectors, night vision goggles, thermal imaging cameras, digital voice recorders, digital cameras, a compass.

The first order of business, according to Jason Porter, a member of the Atlantic Paranormal Society (the group that's featured on the TV show "Ghost Hunters") who's moving to Charlotte and considering starting his own team here, is proving that there aren't any ghosts.

"The term we use is debunk," he says. "And we try to debunk all the claims first. Like if a door is opening by itself, we check to see if it's level."

Faulty electrical wiring could cause lights to flicker. Iron deposits under a house might cause weird magnetic spots. Short circuits can make people feel like they're being watched.

But lots of places also have ghosts hanging around.

Unexplained hot and cold spots in a room might give one away.

"One theory is that when a spirit is around it needs energy to manifest or move things," McSwain says. "They'll take energy out of the air, thereby creating a cold spot. I mean, it's a theory, you know?"

The best results often come with a digital voice recorder, which can pick up otherwise undetectable voices. McSwain usually asks if there's a ghost in the room with something to say. Or the ghost might just speak up on its own.

McSwain remembers an investigation during which the clairvoyant asked her to come into a room, because she felt the presence of a little girl. McSwain said she would, but worried out loud that she'd scare the little girl away. Hours later, upon reviewing the tape, a little girl's voice could be heard: "You didn't scare me."

Once the client found out it was just a child-ghost, she was no longer afraid.

This would never happen at Starbucks.

The meetup group meets at 7 pm on the last Friday of every month. You can follow CAPS exploits at Ghost GRRLS.

**a few mistakes in the original post have been corrected

The Big Dog checks out Chris Rock

Another guest review from the Ballantyne Big Dog (read his last posts here and here).

In 1996, Chris Rock became a comedic icon when he premiered "Bring the Pain." The special, in which he riffed on subjects from media to racism, propelled him to superstardom.

And although he's made millions in movies and TV, stand-up is where his roots are at. Twelve years after "Bring the Pain," Rock showed he's still on top of the comedy world with his "No Apologies" tour, which made a stop in Charlotte on Thursday night.

Now, I've seen all of Rock's TV specials. Have them on DVR, and they never get old, along with Dave Chappelle's "Killing 'Em Softly." But nothing compares to seeing Rock live. He has a set routine, but ad-libs better than anyone else, like when he talked about being from South Carolina.

"But ya'll are in North Carolina, the future," Rock said. "There are still some 'colored' signs that have been left hanging up in South Carolina."

Gay marriage, straight marriage, Britney Spears ... as usual, nothing was off limits, ringing true to his tour name. But, the biggest roars from the crowd came during Rock's comments on the presidential election.

If I may channel Rock for a moment: Being able to do stand-up comedy during an election year is like being Brad Pitt at a sex addicts anonymous meeting. You really can do no wrong.

Rock went through all the candidates.

John McCain: "Everybody likes him because he's a war hero. Yeah, but he's a war hero who got CAPTURED. There are plenty of people in prison who have been captured."

Hillary Clinton: "When the Celtics beat the Lakers, the Lakers didn't stay on the court for another week. They left!"

And, of course, Barack Obama, who Rock supports. That didn't stop Rock from talking about him.

He mentioned Rev. Jeremiah Wright ("A 75-year-old black man who doesn't like white people ... is there any other kind of 75-year-old black man?) and Michelle Obama (Barack is going to have to get him a white woman, because a black woman can't be the first lady. 'Hey, honey, I won the presidency.' 'Uh-uh, WE won.')

Now that I've gotten my fill of the new material, I can get back to my couch and DVR.

More bad news on the banking front

From the cover story of today's Observer.

Inside the changing world of i-bankers

My latest article for the magazine discusses how the financial crisis has affected the rich, cocky young professionals who might be the standard-bearers for Yup-Town.

Here it is.

More people are choosing cities

According to this story in today's New York Times, energy prices are pushing people from suburbs to cities across the country:

"Across the nation, the realization is taking hold that rising energy prices are less a momentary blip than a change with lasting consequences. The shift to costlier fuel is threatening to slow the decades-old migration away from cities, while exacerbating the housing downturn by diminishing the appeal of larger homes set far from urban jobs."

The article is well worth a read.

The Cage Bully

When the buttoned-up bars and clubs of Yup-Town are getting me down, I make for the Breakfast Club. A couple of blocks and a world (or at least a few decades) away from Trade and Tryon, it's a square and cement-walled oasis of debauchery smack dab in the center of a parking lot.

The $7 cover is often negotiable. On Friday nights, bottles of domestic beer are $1. The chairs downstairs are shaped like hands. Up top, a disco Rubik's Cube hangs from the ceiling. The movie that provides the bar's namesake, along with everything from 80's dance videos and wrestling matches to "Fraggle Rock" and "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo," are projected on the walls above a dance floor that's packed with all kinds of people.

And these people are always dancing. Sometimes, even break dancing, but usually just grinding and getting ridiculous to the music. The atmosphere is relaxed and fun and very drunk.

Except, surprisingly enough, in the elevated cage in the corner of the dance floor. In the past, that tiny, difficult-to-reach cage has been home to rotating shifts of the drunkest, most hysterical women in the club, who make the precarious, ten-foot climb up the ladder along the side to spend a couple of songs in the spotlight.

Recently, though, that cage has been taken over in force. By a bully. A cage bully.

The cage bully is built like an offensive guard. She wears intimidating boots and black attire. She doesn't drink. Instead, she commandeers the cage for about twenty minutes at a time, dancing in a manner that can best be described as violent and angry. When she gets tired, she makes a slow and wobbly climb back down the ladder, then waits right there in the corner until she's ready to go again.

Aside from keeping most of the other women away from the cage, the cage bully also acts as the resident enforcer of the cage's only rule: No men allowed. On a recent Friday night, I decided to test her. First, I tried to woo her with kindness, climbing up and poking my head into the cage while she was going through her routine to politely asking if I could join. She gave me a firm denial, referring me to the "women only" sign. Then, when I tried to pull myself up anyway, she gave me a firm boot in the shoulder and turned around and blocked off the entrance.

I retreated to the dance floor and waited for her to come down. Fifteen minutes later, she was back at her post at the base of the cage. When she turned to talk to someone, I made a break for it. I was two rungs up when I felt her enormous hand grab the back of my shirt and yank me back to the ground. I tried another lunge for the ladder, but she jumped in front of it, and could not be convinced or bribed to move.

Eventually, she climbed back into the cage, where she danced defiantly for the rest of the night.

If you have any information concerning the cage bully, or how to stop her, please contact Yup-Town immediately.

A photo from the good old days:

An Eastover resident's defense

A reader writes:

"I live in Eastover Ridge for a few reasons. First, they have very affordable housing and very spacious rooms. My apartment is a 900 sf single at a very good price. Second, they have great amenities. There are two pools, a good workout facility, and garbage pick-up at your door. Third, most of the residents are rather young and in their 20s. This makes it a fun place to live. Fourth, it is located in a safe area just outside of town. Finally, it is very close to my office and makes for an easy commute every day."

The prices aren't that great. The amenities aren't bad. His third point is probably right. There are always parties over there.

Basically, he's describing a dorm. His basic needs are taken care of, there's plenty of other people around just like him, and it's a short drive to class every day.

More on the New Balance prejudice

Late breaking development: They're not allowed at Suite, either. What's a casually stylish man to do?

Re-stocking the Yup-Town ranks

With several friends among the recent post-graduation migration to Charlotte, I've been doling out plenty of housing advice these days. With that in mind, here's a very condensed guide of my very limited knowledge on finding a suitable place to rent in Yup-Town.

1) Use craigslist. It's the most comprehensive collection of properties around, and also strangely addicting. First figure out what places in your area of choice are going for. Then check back feverishly; the good deals can be gone within a day, even an hour. For-rent-by-owner is preferable to for-rent-by-sleazy-real-estate-agent.

2) Never, under any circumstances, agree to rent a property you haven't seen. Sometimes, big apartment complexes will insist on showing you a model instead of the actual unit you'll be moving into. Abort.

3) The best way to find deals better than the going rate of craigslist is to rent from someone who has never heard of craigslist. Stroll around and look for signs. Call the phone numbers listed on those signs.

4) When dealing with a realty lackey or landlord, go with your gut. If the person seems slippery, it's probably a snake.

5) Choose the right area. Some tips:
- Eastover is for people who don't want to make the effort. It's Charlotte's go-to post-college dormitory. You'll know someone who lives there; use them for access to the infamous pool.
- Gateway is nice, but it's not uptown. Don't pay like it is. The man will try to get you here.
- Same with Third Ward, which also goes by the euphemism "the Warehouse District." You can't walk to anything but Panthers stadium. And Hartigan's. If you can't walk to Trade and Tryon without breaking into a nasty sweat, you're not uptown.
- First Ward is in walking distance. But you can get shot there. Seriously. Wins the award for best Euphemism though: "the Garden district."
- Fourth Ward is where it's at. Park, Teeter, Alexander Michael's. Entertaining vagrants here and there. It's far too expensive, but deals can definitely be found. They just won't be at Fifth and Poplar.
- Each of the surrounding neighborhoods--Dilworth, Plaza Midwood, NoDa, Elizabeth--has its solid neighborhood bars. But know that you'll feel detached from center city, especially every time you get in a cab to head to the main strip of bars. You can do Dilworth cheap without living in a slum (like I did). Look to rent a room in one of the big houses. The closer to Tyber Creek, the better. NoDa is a great area--if you just count the two blocks of its main street. Otherwise, you might be in danger.

6) I'll close with some words of wisdom, passed down from a man far greater than myself: Live where you play, commute to work. In a small city like Charlotte, the commute will never be too bad.

**also, check out the rent vs. buy map on this site: http://hotpads.com/pages/features/rentRatioHeatMaps.htm

Charlotte 'clubs' are getting snooty

First, it was HOM. On Saturday night, they wouldn't let me in. The guy in front of me with a t-shirt and chain? No problem. My two friends before me wearing shorts and sandals? Go on in. But then the bouncer, who actually had a European accent, stopped me at the door. He told me, in that filthy accent, that my New Balance sneakers didn't make the cut.

I began pointing at all the people in line wearing sneakers. Nikes, Reeboks, and Pumas, he said, were all permitted. Pumas? I tried to engage him in a conversation about proper style, but he couldn't be swayed. Then I reminded him that he was wearing a blazer with jeans. It was a lost cause.

A little shaken, from there my friends and I headed to Grand Central, or Old Faithful, as we like to call it. We hadn't been there, surprisingly, in a few months, but knew the free cover, cheap drinks, hysterical clientele, and dark and dirty atmosphere would cheer us up. Unbelievably, they were charging a cover. And the bouncers had taken to patting everyone down at the door. Say it ain't so.

Last night, we made our way to Suite, the fancy new club on the top floor of the EpiCentre (note the snooty British spelling). I was wearing jeans and brown shoes to avoid trouble. But a few of my friends were wearing shorts. No dice. After some arguing and name dropping, we finally made our way inside, only to find other guys in shorts already raving it up. Apparently you can wear shorts to Suite, but only if you're willing to fight your way inside. You have to work for it.

Charlotte may be getting a little full of itself.

HT success story

Jurassic J hates many things. But he loves the Teeter (for good reason). Another guest post from the last of his kind.

Yesterday I couldn't decide what to eat for dinner so I went down to the Harris Teeter and wandered around like someone that was stalking the wine-tasting lady until I realized I had free sub points. I haven't had a sub in a while, and I never tried the chicken, so this was a perfect opportunity. After picking up the sub I cruised by the meat section and noticed $4 off the 2lb 93% lean hamburger meat that comes wrapped up like sausage. This cut the price down from $7 to $3, or $1.50 a pound which is insane for 93%. Dinner for tonight and extra hamburgers for lunch next week. Done and done. I also picked up a six-pack of fancy beers (Red Stripe) for $7. My total was $10 and change, but it took care of my six-pack for Thursday night, Thursday night dinner, Friday lunch, Friday dinner, and potentially lunch for a few days next week and a late-night burger this weekend. Just another HT success story.

Previously, Jurassic J has disrespected the Bobcats and almost gotten clapped at the mart.

Food Street

When trying to figure out what will be going on at any uptown event, you need only to check for one detail. What type of currency will be accepted?

At Speed Street, for instance, it was straight cash, all combinations of pocket change encouraged. And we all know what happened there. Alive After Five, meanwhile, makes you stand in one line to purchase tickets, then get in another to purchase alcohol with those tickets. Mind-boggling, I know, but it sends a message. A message that says, "We're so fancy, we invent our own money. Welcome to Yup-Town. Now please go wait in another line."

This weekend, there's a festival called "Taste of Charlotte" taking over center city. Some information here and here and here. I've never been to it. But I just checked out the Web site. The first link along the left side: "coins." Description from the site:

"Coins are used to purchase food samples, beer, wine, soft drinks & water!"

You can even pre-order them online. They come in "cups," priced in intervals of $20 at first, then $100. No telling how many coins the food will cost. Be careful how many you buy. Their refund policy reads, "If you have unused coins, you can bring them back & use them next year!"

This should be Yup-Town on steroids. Enjoy.

Speaking of yuppie spectaculars, this could get interesting.

Leftovers: Speed Street

So you'll appreciate the relative sanity this weekend.
I don't know about you, but I pretty much stayed away from all the madness. Breakfast Club Friday night, HOM Saturday night, and both were pretty free of riff-raff considering what was going on in the rest of the city. I did venture out to Dixie's for a bit one night, and this is what I found. (It might look like that girl is trying to dance with him. She's not. Everyone cleared away and gave this guy room to work.)
I only heard one crazy story, aside from the standard "all these drunk guys were trying to fight" line. It was from the woman below, who was working the entrance on Seventh Street and keeping people from bringing things like drinks and firearms into the festivities. Between bites of fried turkey leg, she informed me that she's seen a riot break out in front of the Miller Lite stage on Friday night, then "got the hell out of there." Then she finished off my cup of whiskey and ice for me.
I didn't see any riots myself, though I did run into a group of kids stomping into the party to avenge their friends, who apparently had "just been stomped by a bunch of Mexicans." Yikes. And the guy below was out at the bars all weekend, screaming "Freedom Fries!" at everyone within ear shot and accusing those who gave him dirty looks of being French. I followed him back to his apartment afterward to watch the show.
Here's a regular view of the street from Saturday night, for everyone smart enough to have stayed inside.

Take cover!

The normally docile block on Sixth Street between Pine and Church contained a frightening number of men wearing wife-beaters and chin-beards last night. When I looked a little closer to make sure that those were really chin-beards, they immediately snapped into "What the heck is that guy lookin' at" mode.

I can only imagine that the rest of the city was much worse; the people I saw looked lost.

Here's an update from Jarvis Holliday (of Grown People Talking), pulled from the comments section:

Yo Giglio, I was out at Speed Street last night with a friend. Jagged Edge had just finished performing when two girls next to us started arguing and cussing each other out. I told my friend it was time to go.

I said: 'The later it gets, the drunker people become, and the more likely they are to fight. As a matter of fact, a guy who writes for Charlotte magazine wrote a story a few months ago recapping his first year in Charlotte. In the story he tells how he got BEAT UP at Speed Street.'

Then when we got to the light rail stop and were waiting for the train, a drunk guy tried to start a fight with a civil guy. The drunk guy was wearing a T-shirt that read: Redneck Rafter. I kid you not.

Please keep Yup-Town updated about all such incidents throughout the weekend. I'll be taking my camera out, and trying not to get punched in the face (again).

How to bail your friend out of jail

A public service courtesy of Yup-Town. Because, as the previous post details, you just might need it during the debacle that is Speed Street. (People were drunk on Tryon street by lunch this afternoon. Head out of the office for fried turkey legs at your own risk.)

1) When he (or she) is in the process of being arrested, do not interfere. Even if you're 100 percent sure of his innocence, there is nothing you can do to help, no matter how well you explain what happened. But you can piss off the cops.

2) Once the situation looks relatively calm, cautiously and politely approach the officers and ask for an estimate on what time your friend will be ready to be bailed out, and where you can pick him up (this will almost certainly be 801 E 4th Street; 704-336-8100).

3) In any case, let your friend know you will be there first thing to get him out. This makes it a lot easier on him throughout.

4) Even if the officers won't give you an exact estimate, it's going to be at least four hours before he gets "processed." But don't try and go home and go to sleep, then wake up and take care of it. If you oversleep, your friend will be in a world of trouble.

5) Try the Pita Pit on Tryon to keep yourself busy; it's open until 4am.

6) Once you get to the jail, prepare to spend the majority of your time waiting for the magistrate, the person responsible for setting and receiving your friend's bail. This takes place in a large waiting room inside the building. Usually, you're just waiting in line for the magistrate to show up.

7) The first time the magistrate shows up, she might not even know who your friend is yet. Get in line, repeat.

8) Around this point your friend might start trying to call your cell phone from the pay phone in the jail (local calls only; if he's well behaved, they'll let him pull some numbers out of his cell before they take it away). You'll be yelled at if you answer. Run outside and reassure him.

9) When you finally get something worthwhile from the magistrate about bail, remember that it's cash only. They'll tell you where the nearest ATM is.

10) When you pick your friend up, greet him with your camera phone. But try to wait a few days before really rubbing it in.

Speed Street. Here it comes

Apologies for the week-long break. Graduation season hit me right in the face. I can only listen to so many insurance executives and social workers give their honorary-degree acceptance speeches before my nose starts to bleed all over my loafers...

Speaking of bloody noses, Speed Street will be shutting down the city this weekend. In case you're unaware of my arrest history, this is the weekend I got thrown in jail, unfairly I might add, for getting attacked by drunken idiots. (I probably wouldn't mention this if the charges hadn't been so easily dismissed.)

In other words, don't expect a regular weekend in uptown Charlotte, especially at night. Trade Street will be blocked off and full of people wearing sleeveless shirts and Dale Jr. hats, and a lot of these people will be very drunk.

But the real worry is the police, who get extremely aggressive and arrest-happy during big uptown events like this. My own incident aside, 169 people were arrested on the Fourth of July last year, and hundreds more likely bullied into saying "yes sir" for minor offenses. One thing I learned the hard way is that to accommodate the personnel demands that come with turning center city into a police state, the county brings in a good portion of its reserves, or cops with no cars or clue and a frightening determination to assert their authori-tah.

When I told the other people in my holding cell last year that I had been arrested at Speed Street, the ones who hadn't also been arrested at Speed Street laughed at me. Apparently, it's common knowledge, at least among the regular jail crowd, that you don't go uptown during big events unless you're looking for trouble.

That being said, I'll be heading uptown this weekend, though turning and running from any potential altercations. It's nice to see people wearing ripped jeans and oversized belt buckles in places like Ri Ra's. And who can pass up a free concert featuring a Kiss tribute band on the "Budweiser Stage"?

Here's the event schedule. And here's some help for the impending traffic problems.

Good luck.

A story from a vagrant

Every once in a while, I stop and talk with one of the bums that populate the benches in Fourth Ward Park. I usually learn something interesting. For instance, some live in makeshift tents in the wooded patches scattered around the area. Others have let me know that a good number of them sleep in the Elmwood Cemetery, which I can only hope has led to schoolchildren declaring it haunted. But I recently met an unhappy drunk man with the most memorable story yet.

(Obviously, none of this has been verified; just a passing conversation that I couldn't politely end, because he wouldn't stop shouting.)

A Vietnam vet who had lost his home about a year ago, the man wore camouflage cargo pants, a hooded sweatshirt, and a puffy black vest. He had a bottle of wine in his hand, shaggy graying hair, and a matching beard. Partly because of the wine, partly because he was cold, and partly because of what he described as heavy-handed treatment from a certain local officer (we'll go with Lieutenant Murtaugh; five cool points for whoever gets the reference), he was spitting mad.

A few days back, he had gotten sick--too sick, he said, to really move--and called the police to ask that they take him to the local shelter. The man did have a cell phone; he seemed to be talking into it before I walked by and my dog started barking, which is what struck up the conversation in the first place. When Lieutenant Murtaugh found him, instead of bringing him to the shelter, he arrested him for improper use of a 911 call. And he did this roughly, slamming him against the car, and pressing the cuffs into his wrists.

At this, the man shot his wrists in my face to show me the marks, and I jumped back in surprise. He was missing the thumb of his right hand. I assumed it was from the war, but he told me he'd been robbed one night and had the thumb bitten off in the process. I'm not sure if this is even possible, but the thumb definitely wasn't there.

So he'd spent three sick days in jail with his sore wrists, and had just gotten out and gone on his drinking binge. Apparently Lieutenant Murtaugh had a history of abusing him, and when he'd complain to all the other cops about this, they'd always just shake their heads and say, yup, that's Lieutenant Murtaugh for you.

He had a solution to it all, which is really what made the whole encounter stand out, aside from the missing thumb. A football game, right there in the park. Him against Lieutenant Murtaugh in the open field.

"We'll see who's the real man without all the equipment on," he said. Then he went through a surprisingly detailed account of all the different weapons a police office carries: gun, club, flashlight, mace, cuffs.

At this point I began to notice that the other dog-walkers were altering their normal courses off of the brick path and through the minefield to avoid getting near what was becoming a real scene.

"Now I'm not trying to go out and hurt somebody," he continued. "Just a game of football. Man against man. Hell, we could even charge money for people to come and watch. And the money could go to support the kids..."

He repeated his plan over and over again, talking about the beauty of a tackle football game played between men on a level playing field, and the nobility of helping the kids. Listening to him talk about it, I'd have paid to watch it happen.

Of course, I didn't have in me to tell him that this idea had been made, twice, into a movie called The Longest Yard, and that people had indeed paid good money to go and watch. Maybe that's where the idea came from in the first place. Or maybe it really is what a guy dreams about when he spends his time getting bullied, at least from his point of view, by police.

In any case, in the interest of the children, let's put this thing together already.

"Preacher says"

One of Ramblin' Willie's tales from the road. Read his last post here.
I was ramblin' up 77 when I made an emergency weightroom stop in Podunk North Carolina: population = tooth count. Eventually, I found the local gym and began tossing so many weights around, I was afraid I'd run out.

Of course, Redneck Randy rolled in and struck up a conversation about how he's going into cage fighting. The bad news: he can't afford a mouth piece. The good news: judging from his grill, it won't be necessary. In between discussing his cage fighting dreams and his prior job as a strip-club deejay, Randy decided to enter the political realm.

Randy asked me, "Willie, who you voted for in the eeelection? Barack or Hillary?"

I informed him that I'd voted for Obama. He replied,

"Well, preacher says ..."

Anytime a sentence starts with "preacher says", prepare yourself for complete enlightenment.

"Well, preacher said on Church on Sunday that the Book of Revelations speaks of a man. This man is Christ-like in his ways and is of Muslim deeeecent. He is from the island of Hawaii. He speaks change and is very popular with the common folk. This man is the f**kin' anti-Christ! Preacher says Barack Obama is the f**kin' anti-Christ! You gonna vote for the f**kin' anti-Christ, man? HELLLL NO YOU AIN'T!"

This prompted me to call he and preacher ridiculous. It also reminded me of all the white conservatives pissed off over what Obama's "preacher says." We have podunk rednecks taking Obama's preacher's words out of context, and their own preachers think it's necessary to convince their congregation that Obama is spearheading the rapture. This has lead me to create some new pro-Obama slogans:

"Vote Obama, piss off rednecks."

"Vote Obama, expedite the rapture and Jesus' return"

"Vote Obama, preacher needs material."

Feel free to include your own Pro-Obama slogans.

Kanye takes over Charlotte

Another guest post from the Ballantyne Big Dog (read his last post here).

Kanye West has been called many things since arriving on the music scene nearly five years ago. He's turned some people off with his antics and comments, even though many are the ones dancing to his music out in the clubs or bobbing their heads in the car.

And boy, can the man put on a show.

West and three other acts brought an electricity that had previously yet to be seen in three years at Time Warner Arena. Even though it's only May, it's going to be extremely hard for any other performer(s) to top the "Glow In The Dark" tour.

First up was Kanye protége Lupe Fiasco, one of the more underrated artists out there right now. (If you haven't picked up "The Cool" yet, do so. You won't be disappointed.) Fiasco got the still-filing-in crowd going with past gems such as "Kick, Push" and "I Gotcha," then brought Matthew Santos on to sing the current hit "Superstar." Fiasco and Co. closed with an amazing version of "Daydream," which got the crowd moving in their seats.

N.E.R.D., also known as hitmaker Pharrell Williams' group, was up next. And they wasted no time putting the fans into a frenzy, with an electric set that featured a full band with dueling drummers. On the song "Mosh," Williams brought up several fans from the crowd to dance on the stage. One guy stood out more than the rest, and for good reason—it was Chris Brown,
who put on a mini-show of fantastic moves and showed why he is this generation's top dancer. The highlight of the set came during the song "She Wants To Move," when the band broke into a cover of The White Stripes' "Seven Nation Army," letting Williams and bandmate Shay Haley rap over the tune. N.E.R.D. is a tough act to categorize (rap? rock?), and that's just how they want it.

After Fiasco and N.E.R.D., Rihanna (who is dating Brown, hence his attendance) took the stage. I'll admit this is the one act I was not excited about, and the mood shifted a little when the R&B singer took the stage. However, the beauty from Barbados impressed me when she covered M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes," and the crowd was grooving with her as she ran through radio hits such as "Umbrella," "S.O.S.," and "Don't Stop the Music."

The stage was then set for West to enter. Actually, the stage required almost a 30-minute setup behind a curtain, which made sense once things got going. As the lights went dark, West emerged lying down with his crashed spaceship, "Jane," as they embarked on a journey from space trying to get back home. After fittingly opening with "Good Morning," West blazed into "I Wonder." From there, it was hit after hit featuring tunes from all three of Kanye's critically acclaimed albums, including "Through the Wire," "Heard 'Em Say," and "Champion."

With the crowd moving in their seats and rapping along with every word, West scored some of the best crowd responses with "Diamonds From Sierra Leone" (featuring every fan throwing up the Roc-A-Fella diamond sign), "Gold Digger," "Flashing Lights" (my favorite song off "Graduation"), "Good Life," and "Jesus Walks."

The one time the show slowed down was for West to pay tribute to his recently deceased mother during "Hey Mama," a touching moment, which was followed by a stirring rendition of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." After that, West got the fans back on their feet with a seven-minute version of his megahit "Stronger." From there, the crowd was spent, to the point that it was hard to muster energy for the two-song closing finale of "Homecoming" and "Touch the Sky" (featuring Fiasco).

As for any outbursts, well, there was a small one during one of the songs, when West told the stage director that "we need to get these flames together," referring to one of the many elaborate parts of his stage that also featured a rising platform, smoke, and a light show. The flames never appeared again, so the problem was solved in a way, I guess. West also had an incredible live band beneath the stage, which is much better than just using a DJ.

So while Kanye may have an ego as large as Jerry Richardson's bank account, he backs it up. Near the end of his set, he said, "They say hip-hop shows are boring, boring. But now I got the No. 1 show touring, touring."

And he's spot-on. It was an electrifying night, and showed why West is such a perfectionist and meticulous about every little detail. He wants to make sure every single fan has an unforgettable experience, and did just that in Charlotte on Thursday night.

Spy on your friends

You can check out how your precinct voted in Tuesday's presidential and gubernatorial (aka, for governor) primaries with this map.

It's confusing if you don't know your precinct number, though. You can look that up by entering your address here.

To be a little creepy and find out whether or not people you know voted, use the "show me my voter information" option on this search engine. Not everyone knows this is possible, making it an excellent way to make someone uncomfortable, especially a co-worker who used "voting" as an excuse for an extended lunch break. It's not updated with the recent results yet.

Smoking the reefer in Fourth Ward Park

With all the weird people that hang out in the park--hippies on blankets by day, bums on benches by night, and everyone in between--I've been wondering if I'd ever catch someone doing drugs.

I catch people, including myself, drinking alcohol from time to time. As I've mentioned before, a gun has been pulled. Crazy vagrants accost dog-walkers on occasion. I've even seen someone pull up in a car, get out, and pee in a bush.

Well, as of this weekend, the park is officially lawless. The ferocious roommate Jurassic J had his parents come for a visit. The standard family visit involves a walk to Alexander Michael's followed by a stroll to show off the park. So it was about 8pm when they walked by a couple of young guys in jeans and tee-shirts, possibly high-schoolers, hanging out beneath some trees off to the side of the path.

"It's been quite a few years since we've smelled that," was the remark made by J's father, who probably didn't think as highly of our neighborhood anymore.

For the record, the graveyard off of Graham Street seems to be another semi-secluded location favored by pot-smoking teens. If you're interested in having a little fun, just skateboard on over.