St Louis Summer Of Aught-Nine... Best Ever?

OK, just bear with me here. Calling anything "the best" is, of course, subjective. Tie that to the fact that summer isn't over yet and I'm seriously jumping to conclusions and I'm just fine with that for a couple of reasons. First, if you weren't aware, this blog is mostly based on opinion. (Fun fact: It is also loosely based on the classic children's movie The Neverending Story. Oscar is my Luck Dragon.) Second, has this not been an awesome summer so far? Even if the rest turns out horrible I can't help but place it number one on my list of all-time best St Louis summers. I will admit that only being here for one makes it a very short list.

Falcor the Luck Dragon

Probably the number 1 feature this summer has offered is the weather. It has been downright pleasant if you haven't noticed. Many days of just highs in the 80's, only the passing rain shower and cool breezes has made this a fine year to be outdoors. Compare that to what most people will tell you St Louis summers are like and you'll know how much of a nice surprise it's been. According to Microsoft and their crackerjack team of weather scientists, the average high for St Louis in June is 85F and in July 89F. August drops back down to 88, but we are still talking pretty hot there. This year? The 2009 June average high was 87F. The July average high was... wait for it... 84 degrees! Using mathematics I've calculated that this summer has been indeed cooler. So far through August we are right on schedule with an average of 88F, but I'm cool with that too. I think having such a mild summer makes the hot days seem less hot.

Even if we had one of those notoriously hot summer's here, do you know what makes up for it? St Louis has long, easy springs and falls. In Chicago autumn lasts maybe three weeks and being that it's my favorite season I always felt like I missed it. Hopefully that's not the case this year. I wouldn't want to miss out on October especially. Reason being...

Go Cardinals! It's been maybe the most fun year ever to be a Cardinals fan. We started the year as over-achievers still winning while playing with a weak line-up. Now, through brilliant and shrewd front office moves, we've got a serious team to go with some serious numbers (6). These games have been so fun to watch this year and I feel incredibly lucky that I'm able to experience so many of them first-hand. And this Albert Pujols guy... I'll be telling my grand kids about watching him play if I ever get around to having actual un-grand kids. It reminds me so much of the Jordan years for the Bulls. He just wills the team to win. And that's not easy considering there are so many plays that he has no opportunity to contribute to.

The people of St Louis are getting excited. Walk into a bar during a Cards game and that's all anyone is talking about. Actually, walk into a bar during anything other than a Cards game and that's still what everyone is talking about. It's just fun to be a part of.

In the meantime, St Louis continues it's re-emergence as a destination city again. Every year the city continues to take baby steps towards building a thriving downtown. Sure, there are always bumps on the road such as the death of the Metrolink expansion, but in only 8 months I've seen some huge improvements many of which I need to write about in greater length. The new Citygarden which takes a page out of Chicago's Millennium Park, the Old Post Office Plaza, the new downtown grocery store Culinaria, the emergence of Midtown - the area between SLU and Downtown, and perhaps most important, the early talks of how to tie downtown back to the Arch grounds/the river. Having the Allstar game here during the recession that brought many improvements and projects to a halt certainly gave us a boost that many cities did not have the luxury of receiving. Hopefully, we retain some of that excitement to get things done.

And if not, then the Nothing has won and all of Fantasia will be lost. By the way, I think the next project should be building the Oracles over the Mississippi River. They shoot lasers out of their eyes! That'll teach all of the Cubs fans coming down for the next Cards/Cubs series.

The NeverEnding Story- Limahl

Soulard Farmers Market Nestled In Summer

As promised months ago, I have returned to the Soulard Farmers Market to soak in all the culture during the warm and presumably more active months. To be honest I've been back dozens of times since the original post. I go almost every Saturday, actually. Funny thing is - I rarely buy anything. I know that doesn't make much sense but I liken it to the grocery store. I peruse all of the fruits and veggies yet very rarely bring any home due to... "The Pressure." I use quotation marks here to make it read much more intimidating than it really is. Using reality, all "The Pressure" really boils down to is the urge to eat all of your purchased produce before it goes bad. I've never been one to be wasteful and that's my hard earned cash slowly degrading on my kitchen counter/hidden refrigerator fruit drawer (once your food goes in that drawer it is over for that particular food. It will never be eaten. It's science and you can't argue with science). The truth is I just can't take "The Pressure." It gets to me in a bad way if you count getting to you in a bad way as eating it all the first day I bring it home. At this point I tend to just skip getting produce all together. Still, this never keeps me from planning on buying some every time I step foot in the Farmers Market. This time was no exception.

As I had always suspected, contrary to the claims of Presidents Of The United States, peaches are, in fact, not free. I was forced to pay very near 25 cents for mine. Actually it was exactly 25 cents. Who really wants the change? And yes, I only purchased one so as not to lose another one to my fridge drawer of doom. I even waited a day to eat the one I did get. Dare I say it was the best darned peach I've had in a dog's age (peaches always make me talk old-timey).

Now, in the winter I claimed disappointment in the fact that many of the vendors sell the same produce you can purchase in the local supermarket. Unfortunately the same still holds true in the summer. As I don't purchase perishables too often, I don't know the difference in savings between buying from the two, but I've seen others marvel at the low prices in the Farmers Market. I'm not sure it's enough to counter the extra gas you'll burn driving down, but there are plenty of other things to purchase here.

There are fresh meat, eggs and flowers; a great selection of interesting pastas and freshly baked bread; a whole store of fresh spices as well as a whole section with flea market-like selections. Yes, you too can support Michael Jackson's death by buying an over-priced shirt with his likeness and years not dead printed on the front.

One new addition this summer is a large indoor store with freshly butchered meats and a large selection of jarred goods. What makes this store different is that it is run by the Amish. Well, I haven't noticed any claims that the store is Amish, but either the people working there are wearing the least revealing pieces of flair ever, or they're indeed Amish. They even sell fresh sandwiches which, as you know, I'm a fan of. I almost had one too, but instead opted for Julia's Cafe and their awesome Red Beans and Rice. Next time I'll get one because I can't imagine they aren't good. I'm not sure if I believe that because the meat is likely fresh or from my strange unsubstantiated trust of the Amish. You have it too, admit it. I feel a bit brainwashed all of the sudden.

How do I sum up the Soulard Farmers Market? First of all I'll say it's very much worth it to go down there just for the people watching. The atmosphere is a bit electric with the vendors shouting out the deals and the distant sound of jazz and bluegrass floating in from the outer edges of the market where the musicians are allowed to set up. As far as food goes, it's a great place to buy fresh bread (don't forget to barter) and pastas. My favorite thing about the market are the true farmer's stands where locally grown and hand-picked fruit and vegetables are available for purchase. You never know what they'll have any time you go. One week they'll have bushels of blueberries and the next raspberries. I'm not sure there's a great way to tell which stand has the local stuff, but other than asking, I think the easiest way is to look for what they are unloading the fruit from. Wooden bushels is a good sign. Waxed boxes with logos are not. The local farmer is where I got my peach from. It was worth every cent.

I think I might take the old Oscar drawn buggy down there again this weekend. Now that I've eschewed electricity and running water for a simpler lifestyle I no longer have to worry about "The Pressure." Wait a second... Damn you Amish and your entrancing yet trustworthy lifestyle!!!

Every Float Trip Has At Least One European

Very similar to the use of the term hoosier, I'm not sure it's well known or not in St Louis that float trips are mostly a regional thing. I can guarantee not too many peeps know what a float trip is up in Chicago and just doing a Google search for the term "float trip" brings up mostly Missouri float trips. Perhaps it's just the terminology. Surely people in other states get on rafts and float down rivers for fun, right? Oh yes - they certainly do. The only difference is they call it rafting and it usually includes white water.

For those unfamiliar with just regular 'floating', here's the breakdown of what's involved. First of all, you camp. Second, you sit on a raft for what's supposed to be 6 hours or so and gently float down the river. Third, you just get absolutely wasted. And that's about it. Well, my description is a little unfair. There are obviously many good things about them because people around here absolutely love float trips and seemingly look forward to them every Summer.

Now any regular reader of this here blog might be asking themselves why I would ever go on a trip that involves a body of water considering my past notes on the subject. That's a fair question. My only answer is that this is something I have brought upon myself. It's such a part of the St Louis lifestyle that, if I didn't at least try it, I wouldn't be truly experiencing St Louis. Besides, I was promised a very low occurrence of dead bodies in these rivers. I thought it best not to check their sources.

Not Our Campsite

Now for a quick rundown of the trip and please keep in mind that I don't enjoy camping, rafting is boring to me, and I don't get wasted (hangovers):

The camping was actually just fine. The Huzzah Valley Resort was one of the nicer campsites I have been to. If it weren't for the unruly guests this weekend I would consider their showers, although a bit low on pressure, on the high-end as far as campsites go. Unfortunately someone decided to do some unmentionable things to one of the shower stalls. And, yes, the unmentionable thing is probably what you assume, unless you're assuming that someone painted the stall in Unicorn blood. Why would you assume that? Gross... And dangerous.

Other than cleanliness, my other big problem with camping is sleep comfort. I can sleep in the craziest of positions and be completely fine. But turn the temperature a little bit too high and I'm tossing and turning. Being that camping usually takes place in the Summer, I usually have trouble sleeping. Luckily this time the temp was just about perfect at night. Right around 70 or under. Can't beat that with a camping stick.

The star activity of the weekend is the float itself, of course. Everyone packs up their coolers with all the finest wine spritzers (read: cheap beer) and piles into either multi-person rafts or two-person canoes. And then... they just sit back and float. Yes, this sounds like a nice relaxing fun time with some friends. And for me it would be except for a few small problems. First of all, we were sitting in these rafts on the river for something like 8 hours. 8!!! I was long ready for it to be over by 5. This is entirely too long although I assume it would be much faster in the canoe. Second, the drunken people are often waaaay too drunk. One good example I should cite was the massive 20 person beach brawl we witnessed about 2 hours in. This wasn't just a bunch of people kind of wrestling around. No, this was serious haymakers being thrown - and landed. And not just by guys! The girls were fighting too. Serious fighting. Like multiple kicks to the head fighting. It was ridiculous, dangerous and there was no one there to stop it. I actually feared someone could die. As we floated away after about 10 minutes of fighting it was still going on. It was ridiculous, but did give me the opportunity to pretend that one of those dudes said something along the lines of, "Welcome to the float trip, Bitch."

There were some funny moments too. Perhaps the highlight of the strange drunken behavior of the river folk was the gentleman offering to wash people with a bar of soap. This inspired one of the most quoted sentences of the weekend. A girl on a nearby raft points to me and says, "He's obviously European, wash him!" The good news was that I wasn't washed- I was, however, confused as to why I'd be "obviously European." According to the drunk girl it was what I was wearing. Please note that it was a white t-shirt, black shorts and sunglasses.

Overall, I'd give the entire weekend experience a 3 out of 10, but again this is personal preference. I certainly can see why it could be appealing to some people. As for why this is such a regional thing, I would guess it's because of Missouri's rivers. They are generally slow-moving, lazy rivers and there are lots of them. If they had more white water I would assume everyone would be just calling it rafting. In it's current state, however, you are unmistakably floating.

Newness:

So here's something a little different for us here. I just picked up the new iPhone and one of it's many lovely features is a video camera. I planned on taking a lot of video of this trip and editing it together but with the wildness on the river I was very cautious of taking it out of the water-proof bag. That being the case, this should still give you a little bit of an idea of what floating is like minus some of the serious drunken behavior. Listen carefully on the bus we took back clip though. You should be able to hear what much of the day was like. You can probably also sense my enthusiasm for it. Plus, you'll see that I brought Oscar on this trip. I had no idea of how he'd react. Let's just say he would probably give it a 2 out of 10. So without further ado, the first of what will likely be many Arch Observer videos.

Oh, I'd also like to comment on the tons of feedback I received on the terrible picture of me at the top of the page there. Yes, Mom, friends, anonymous people and mythological creatures, I know it's a terrible picture. It's probably the worst pic I've ever taken and that's exactly why I love it! Unfortunately, it's also apparently a distraction so I'm considering changing it. Eh. Maybe the problem is that I just look too European. Yeah, probably.

[Note: Happy 50th post to me!]

The New Look

Tomorrow brings something I never thought would happen when I started this blog. Press.

Welcome, to anyone coming here for the first time after reading the article in the Suburban Journal by Shawn Clubb. I know the past month has been a bit lacking post-wise but I haven't eaten, visited, or generally been out of the house for over a month now. Ok, that was a lie. I have been doing all those things. Being your first time here this feels a little awkward now. How's this? I'll promise to never lie to you again if you promise to... I don't know - something. Just pay it forward like Haley Joel Osment (or HJO as I call him. My plan is to turn him into the next Neil Patrick Harris).

Anyway, to celebrate this big day in the short life of ArchObserver.com, I've updated the look of the site. Now you'll see my giant unkempt head every time you come here. And yes, that's what I look like when I'm "observing." It still needs some tweaking but that's going to be the look for the foreseeable future. Let me know what you thinkies.

I seriously do have a large backlog of posts I need to write so don't think you're getting away from here without the promise of more of what makes St Louis, St Louis. You have an awesome, unique city, folks, and I'm going to continue to write what's awesome about it (even if I don't like it - I'm looking in your direction St Louis-style pizza).

It's crazy how this blog has gotten to this point. It all began as a way for my friends and family back home to see what I was up to and it quickly become something else entirely. What that is, I really don't know at this point. I think I'm just going to let this bad boy do it's thing. Unless it's thing is nuclear missile war like in War Games. I have no patience for such things unless it's starring Matthew Broderick.

And lastly, while this isn't a formal AO post, I'd like to take a moment to applaud the city on the All-Star festivities. I had never seen the City so alive in my short 7 months here. I just hope we can keep it up. Visit the City everyone! It's safe and awesome. Promise. For real this time.

More to come... Soon.

Most Popular Posts Of All Time! (Yes, only 6 months):

1. St Louis Style Pizza Mocks Me
2. Do Not Swim In The Mississippi River
3. The State Of The St Louis Indie Scene (really?!)
4. Hoosiers And The History Of
5. Hangover Proof

*** Update ***

Leave it to my Mom to let me know the article is already out. Suburban Journal it up.

The Blackthorn Of Pizza And A Shocker

Within weeks of moving to St Louis I began to hear whispers of the Blackthorn Pub and it's delicious yet slowly served Chicago-style deep dish pizza. Claims such as "best pizza in town" were being bandied about - which made going there all the more intriguing considering my hereto search for good pizza in St Louis had been somewhat fruitless. So, after a long 6 months, I finally made it to the Blackthorn Pub and I was hungry for some awesome pizza, or awesizza.

Now keep in mind what this place is known for, the first being, of course, the pizza. The second, though, is waiting. Whenever you hear about Blackthorn people will regale you with tales of waiting for 2 hours or more for these pizzas. They usually claim it was worth it, but still, 2 hours is a long time for a hungry boy.

The place itself really is worth a visit. It's dark, beat-up and, although not completely original (they have dollar bills stapled to the ceiling), it does feel like it has a personality. There's plenty of room for eating/drinking and the bar is plenty big enough to cozy up to. And you better be ready to hit the bar because that's the only way to order anything at Blackthorn Pub and I mean anything. Even your pizza. You'll know your pizza is ready when they warble your name over the loud speaker. The older intercom isn't crystal clear so make sure you listen for the vowels that vaguely resemble your name.

As for the pizza - Yes, it is good. Very good. If you like Chicago deep dish style this pizza should fulfill your pizzaing needs. Keep in mind though it isn't a deep dish in the traditional sense. This is a stuffed pizza through and through. The difference is in the extra layer of pizza dough on top but under the sauce. It's more like an actual pie and while this is very popular in Chicago, it is not the traditional deep dish. Luckily it tastes fairly traditional. The sauce is tomatoee enough with a hint of spice. Frankly, this is what makes the Blackthorn pizza. Their crust, while obviously fresh and cooked perfectly, is unfortunately not my favorite as I prefer a buttery crust. Don't take my word for it though- many deep dish pizza lovers would consider this crust extraordinary. The cheese was excessive enough so no complaints there. Thankfully there was no Provel to be found. All in all this was a greatly enjoyable pizza and I look forward to eating it again.

Now here's where you should all be very surprised... Or not. I don't know enough about this place. Either way, I've found real Chicago-style deep dish. And maybe it isn't made with as much care as Blackthorn and I can't account for anything else there, but Caleco's at Broadway and Chestnut, Downtown St Louis has my favorite pizza so far in Missouri.

Caleco's

Why is this a shocker? Probably because this isn't even a pizza place. It's a fairly commercial looking chain-like restaurant that has a billion other things on the menu besides pizza. Just perusing the menu if you're not careful you could miss the pizza section. They even call their deep dish "Sicilian Pan" and maybe it is, but it certainly tastes like Chicago-style to me. I really like Blackthorn's sauce but I *loved* Caleco's. Chunky bits of tomato and a real zing to it gives this sauce the upperhand. Their crust is even buttery just how I like it! While it still wouldn't be able to hold up to, say, a Giordano's pizza, you'll be hard pressed in St Louis to find anything closer. So far...

I still haven't been everywhere obviously so I can't equivocally call this the St Louis pizza winner just yet. I have tried Obama's fave, Pi, which I enjoyed enough but for an awesome hand-tossed try Feraro's in Soulard. If I'm going to eat a hand-tossed, Feraro's is the place. Plus, they make Buffalo Chicken Pizza- One of my favorites. I know there are few other places I need to hit that escape me for the moment, but I'll hit them.

In the meantime, if you're hungry after a ballgame don't forget there's a place just two blocks away busting out pizza better than most. If you like deep-dish I don't think you'll be disappointed. Consider me shocked. I'm not even sure Caleco's knows what it has there.

To the Dude In My Apartment, Part 2!

Sorry to leave everyone in such suspense. I can see now the error of my ways. Apparently I never told my mother this story so she called me in a little bit of a panic. Don't worry... I refused to tell her what happened. I told her she needed to wait just like everyone else. She scoffed - I said something along the lines of "you better check yourself before you wreck yourself"- she exclaimed "don't hate the player, hate the game"- and then we hung up. I'm sorry Mom. I think we should squash this beef. I forgive you. In honor of this forgiveness I will refrain from typing the next line I was thinking (it was something like "bitches be crazy") and go on with the story.

The hallway where it all went down

So, where did we leave off? Oh yes, I was pissed that there was someone in my apartment. I could hear them in the hallway and I was about to turn the corner to face them. So I turned the corner...

Keep in mind that I am not afraid of whomever I'm about to confront. My adrenaline was pumping big time. In fact, I think I instinctively flexed my muscles or something. Kind of like when dogs and cats get that little stripe on there back when ornery. Either way, I felt somewhat scary although the reality of situation was probably quite different.

...and there he was. He wasn't a big dude. In fact, he wasn't initially threatening at all. He was wearing what I call "Summer Jeans" (baggy khaki cargo shorts), flip flops and a backwards hat. If he was there to kill/rob/rape me he was wearing the absolute best disguise ever. As soon as I took a good look at him I yelled (in my deepest voice (which is sadly not deep at all)) "Get The Fuck Out Of Here!" and he was obviously freaked out. Considering it was pitch dark inside the apartment and his eyes weren't likely adjusted I would suspect he couldn't see me. He gave a little startled jump and then immediately started towards the door. I took a step towards him and he said, "Oh, I'm sorry man... I'm sorry!" and ran out, closing the door behind him. I followed him to the door and locked it now fully aware of the absurdity that just had occurred.

I walked back down the hallway and looked around my apartment for any other prowlers that might be ready for me to yell at them and noticed Oscar sleeping in bed. Yep, that little punk who was so nice to have alerted me to the situation didn't think it was important enough to come be a badass with me. Imagine my young intruder's fright if a mostly naked man yelling at him was accompanied by a medium-sized, slightly intimidating dog who's only wish was to jump on him and awkwardly smell his crotch. Wait, I made it clear there that it would be Oscar doing the crotch smelling, right? Anyway, I can't say I blame Oscar for sleeping through the confrontation. He could probably smell the Hollister cologne on the dude from a mile away.

At first I thought there was no way I could get to sleep again after the excitement, but due to the non-scary nature of what went down it really only took me 15 minutes of figuring out how he got in. There were only two options... Either I didn't lock the door or he had a key. I got the locks changed the next day of course.

For a while I thought that the key thing was the likely scenario, but it wasn't a week later, still cautious about the whole person in my house thing, that I was headed to bed and thought it would be smart to check the front door for proper lockage. I even almost disregarded my better judgement, but finally relented and checked the door. To my shock it was unlocked. I couldn't even imagine a reason why I wouldn't have locked it the last time I walked Oscar but there it was. While I felt like a complete idiot it also left me a bit comforted. It was a stupid mistake on my part that allowed this to happen. I could live with that.

And now, a message to my very first intruder if he should ever find this blog:

Hi! I hope this post finds you well. I just wanted to say thank you for the great story you left me with. I honestly don't know what you were doing in my apartment but I have a few guesses. The most popular guess seems to be that you were drunk and went into the wrong door. The other guesses usually start with you looking for a place to crash and end with "wouldn't it be funny if you woke up in the morning and the dude was on your couch." I usually say, "yes that's funny", but secretly don't think so. My personal theory is that you were here looking for the suburbs. They're that way, buddy. If you're ever back in Soulard please don't hesitate to knock. I'll likely be much more clothed and hospitable.

Your Possible Friend,

Jim Barnthouse

Arch Observer

To The Dude In My Apartment, Part 1!

What follows is a true story.

It's 3:30 a.m. on a Friday morning. I hope I don't ruin the story by telling you I'm usually sleeping at that time. Because I was - and very soundly at that. Oscar is usually sleeping right next to me randomly kicking me in his sleep and tonight was no exception. The nice thing about Oscar is that he isn't a barker. I have very little patience for yappy dogs and it's one of the fine qualities of 'Scar that make us such dear friends. My Mother breeds Papillons. They're those little tiny dogs with flowing ear hair that always need to be carried. Not really my type of dog to say the least. They're also, perhaps, one of the most yappy dogs in history. It has fortified my distaste for them. I'll just say it - I sorta hate them.

Papillon: French For Annoying

But not Oscar. Nope, he only barks when either someone knocks on the door or gives a single, quick, little bark when he hears someone outside. I equate it to a warning bark. It's like he's saying to the passing stranger, "Hey Douchebag, you know there's a dog in here right?" And at 3:30 a.m. on a Friday morning, that's the bark I heard.

Oscar: French For Awesome

Naturally, as I awoke from the bark, I assumed there were some people walking past the apartment being too loud. I mumbled something to the effect of, "shub up Oskber", gave him a slight nudge and closed my eyes. Then, right as I began to drift back to sleep, I swore I heard what sounded like my front door opening. This caught my attention. A few possibilities began to sweep through my mind; 1. Is my neighbor getting home right now? I look at the clock. It's 3:30... No way. 2. Did I somehow leave the door ajar and the wind is slowly blowing it open? (Keep in mind my apartment door opens to the sidewalks of Soulard, not a hallway) No, there's no way I left the door ajar. I've been closing doors my entire life. I have experience. 3. Is someone in my apartment?

At first, that thought seemed unreasonable. I'm an avid locker of doors. I don't even think of it, really. It's like putting on a seatbelt to me... Just habit. Even when people come over, as I let them enter the door, I close it and subsequently lock it. So there was just no way someone was coming in without making a huge noise. Yet, as I sat up in my bed listening more carefully, I heard the distinct loud creaking my heavy front door makes when being opened. Yes, it was my door and it was being opened!

I immediately jumped out of bed and my first thought was to put on some pants. Nope, no time for that. I know what you're thinking... Luckily it was blue boxers day. Pink boxers day is Monday, everyone know that. I took the long walk from my bedroom door, through the kitchen and dining room, past the living room and approached the long hallway my door sits at the end of. On my way there I'm becoming more and more aware that there is indeed someone inside my apartment. I can hear his feet shuffling quietly. I'm barefoot and quite Ninja like in my light steps.

I have no idea what awaits for me as I'm about to turn the corner to face my first intruder, but for some crazy reason, I have no fear. I'm effing pissed. Never in a million years would I have even pretended that I'd be like that in a situation like this, but that's what was happening. For the first time in my life my "Fight" reflex was firing on all cylinders. It didn't matter who it was or that I was in my boxers... I was about to do something to the effect of ripping them apart.

So I take the corner and there he is...

Wow! This is exciting huh? This post is turning out so good I've decided to end it on a cliffhanger. Tune in later this week to find out what happens unless the box office receipts come back disappointing.

[Spoiler] - I don't die.