Dear Axis of Stevil,

Greetings and fine salutations. I have had tremendous results on my truffle hunt. I snuffed out almost three bushels of Scorzonetruffles and other tasty mushrooms in abundance in northern West Virginia. I know! People are always so turned off by West Virginia, what with all the jokes of inbreeding keeping the spirit alive. Once you leave Charleston, it's like stepping back in time. What you don't realize is that the spring season there was like northern Italy. The air was refreshing and sweet as it blew across the valleys and hills. The unforaged fields were littered with nearly five thousand dollars worth of formidable fungi.  I gathered a bag of some of the best finds and will send them along snail mail. The rest of the truffles have been sold to the Kitchen Stadium.  My piggly ways have never been good for much, but every now and then, my love of fine foods pays off.

I was content to spend the weekend basking in my own success when I checked in on the website and noticed that The Dr. Dog was playing in Chapel Hill at my old haunt, The Local 506. The band caught my eye a while ago when they opened for My Morning Jacket. Their vocal harmonies and throw back psychedelic style made my tail curly with delight. 

Dr. Dog took the stage Saturday night with a strong performance.The humbly dressed group had no problem dishing out handfuls of energy. Performing songs from their CDs Easy Beats and Toothbrush, Dr. Dog captured the audience with a sound that cannot be ignored. A room full of heads bobbed along with the music as Guitarist, Scott McMicken played with all the sensibility of Angus Young dancing about the stage in thick, black, plastic sunglasses andblue overalls. At themic, Toby Leaman's committed vocals engaged the crowd to sing along with many of the band's infectious songs.The guys also dipped into their new catalog by playing a couple numbers that were hinted to be on an upcoming release. The remarkable set ended with a sing-along course and two encore songs. The show was amazing and I was blown away by the bandsup-tempo pace and collectiveness. They played it cool throughout the entire night.

Greetings and many warm wishes to you all. Warm being the key word; thank pigness that the weather finally started to get warm.  The days have been beautiful and we all know beautiful days make for easy travel.  Things have not changed a great deal since my last correspondence.  After my entertaining rock and roll experience with Katharsis, I made my way across the nation headed for the West Coast.  I was tracking down a rare antique deal that would put me one step closer to completing my Antebellum Heroes Trading Cards Collection. The trail led me farther than I expected.  Did you know that Malaysia has the highest number of trading card collectors than any other country? Blew my mind. After procuring my piece, I continued my journey west; so far west that I wound up in your neck of the woods, Greenville, NC.

In town this week for the Spin Doctors Show on the campus of East Carolina University, I was out and about checking out the scene that I had missed so dearly.  While reading The East Carolinian, I spotted a front page article about a group of pirates bursting into flames.  Hoping to find a shocking tale of 3rd degree burns and disfigurement, I found a local improv comedy group called Swash performing a stunt of self-sacrifice to lure people into attending their upcoming show by setting young chickens on fire and tossing them down their throats.  I can’t lie; I was intrigued.  I hauled pork to the Wright Plaza at noon, as directed by the parchment, and to my surprise I found a bustling crowd of over enthusiastic people huddling around what seemed to be a cheap folding table. Given the university’s reputation, we will just assume that’s what it was. Seated at this table were several, well-dressed, comical individuals eating chicken wings.  Unfortunately for my whimsical imagination they were not on fire, even though the article referenced “100 Blazin Wings”.  The gang was determined to eat 100 of these “hot” wings to prove their level of seriousness about comedy.  I caught a whiff of the wings and it burned my snout hairs.  I don’t even want to know how spicy they were.  Sure enough though, they did it; The Swash Improv Group ate 100 Blazin Wings and in just under an hour too.  It was at the moment that I was sold.  Swash is the cream of the comedy crop.  They earned my infinite respect and attention.  After the wings were eaten and the brown milk was consumed, the group immediately jumped to attention and formed in the middle of the plaza.  It was like clockwork, but from a clock of madness.  There was shouting, gestures, and movement. The group had such great energy; it was certainty infectious. Each person had their own ritual that they performed to one another.  As far as I could tell it was some sort of pre-mating ritual because shortly after they concluded, the group huddled together in a tight form and began making more noises.  The next thing I knew scenes of hilarity were happening before my eyes.  Where do they come up with this stuff?  Game after game after game they played. Each one more entertaining than the previous.  At one point, just when I thought it couldn’t get any funnier, a Point-Off was declared.  Now, I have seen many a walk-off in my day but this was definitely a first.  The short female and the male with the goatee and writing on his chest wielded their phalanges at each other trying to take control of the situation.  This task proved to be difficult as the other gang members quickly began causing distraction and humorous interruptions of animal calls, baby cries and even a light saber duel.  The event concluded much like it started, swift and entertaining.  Swash Improv Group truly is ECU’s finest free entertainment.

Thurston Z. Pig

PS - Please enjoy these video clips I collected during my outing.
Lep-ri-con.mov
Pain.mov
Victory.mov

It is good to finally write you. I must apologize for my lack contact for the last few months. I found myself traveling the eastern seaboard with a dear friend of mine, Captain Steve. We hooked up “No Mo' Money”, 40 pounds of chicken and hit the Atlantic Ocean. The days were sunny and full of fishing; the nights short and hazy. With Steve at the helm, our voyage was vast and entertaining. We made our way up the coast and made port at many interesting port cities. I remember one chilly night in October, we made port at a yacht club in New Jersey. Just a few blocks away from the docks, we took a load off in a local watering hole. This joint was typical, wood panel luan covered walls with 6 coats of lacquer. The stools at the bar were worn and tattered, loved by many warm souls. The pool tables, all torn, with faded felt, scattered the tavern’s loyal patrons across the room. The corner, ironically nicknamed “The Escape”, balanced the overbearing force of the billiard tables. Warm couches fill the area, inviting souls to relax and ‘escape’ the daily grind. Free to converse, play music and experience liberation, its frequents often arrange various events. It was on the night of our visit, that we had the pleasure of hearing bands from all walks of life. Local bands, touring bands and even international acts, congregated at this creative avenue to share their art with others. We rubbed shoulders with some very talented musicians. Among them was a group called Katharsis. I was extremely taken aback by meeting them at that moment in time. Through conversation, I learned they hailed from your neck of the woods; Greenville. The guys were winding down their flagship tour of their recent union. Steve and I parted ways with them and began our voyage back home.

While in the neighborhood, Captain Steve dropped me off in New Bern, NC. I was visiting friends. It was there I ran into my friends Katharsis again. This past Friday, at a bar called Milligan’s, they were having a live show, with a musician named Brad Benson, known to play in Greenville.

Garret, Eric and Me!

The band began warming up their instruments; each doing their own pre-show ritual. At a moment unexpected the guys’ tunes converged and started rocking the crowd in unison. Building energy and lighting the crowd’s faces, they set the tone for the evening and that tone was ROCK! The bands energy was astounding; they were everywhere, but in complete unison. Exploring the space, moving the music, spreading the passion, they were one with this crowd. From Bassist, Eric, leaping off the drum stand, to Patrick dominating the fret-board, and Cory wailing on those drums, Katharsis gave ole’ Milligan’s more than I think they could handle. The night came to an end on a more than appropriate rendition of Simple Mind’s – ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’. On the ride home, I was recalling my impressions of the night and could only think of one word . . . POWER!

Listen, I have got to go. I had a few moments here, in my hotel at Eastshore, Nebraska, to write you all. This place is great, by the way. Two dollar L.I.T.s and robust selection of mud bath assistants: wink:. That’s where I am headed now; they are invigorating.

Until next time, good wishes and blue skies for you all.

Thurston Z. Pig

PS - Where is my "I <3 Stevil" T-shirt?

The drive to the airport was rather uneventful. I guess it was the "calm before the storm." I had high hopes for this vacation to see my piglet sister in Las Vegas, Nevada. It had been a while since I had seen Turtle. But even hope could not silence the nervous fear inside. I'd never been to Nevada.

After my first flight, I connected in Washington D.C. with my mother, Ms. Mae B. Pig. Complications arose during our flight that extended the journey. By the time we arrived in Las Vegas, it was an entire twelve hours since we boarded our first planes. Turtle picked us up at six in the morning, and after some grubbing at a public trough, we slept until after noon. Rolling out of my blanket, I decided to explore the sights. I'd never been to Las Vegas.

So on our first night in "Sin City," we saw the Blue Man Group at the Luxor. It was an incredible show. The men in it were pretty talented... for humans. I even tried my hoof at a slot machine. Luckily, I'm one of those pigs that knows when to stop gambling. So one quarter in the hole didn't break me.

During our visit we visited Impressionist and Eygptian exhibits, saw dancing water, explored Sigfried and Roy's Secret Garden, experienced Cirque du Soleil (Ka), laughed with Penn & Teller, and payed homage to one of our country's greatest features, the Hoover Dam.

A red-eye flight separated us after almost a week of play. This vacation was necessary for all three of us. I've always been a family-oriented swine. Besides, now I can say I've been to Las Vegas, Nevada.*

*I am not able to release in exact detail the events that occurred during my trip. Afterall, what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

Sincerely,

Thurston Z. Pig

Good evening friends! This past weekend I found myself back in a child-like state while visiting old stoner friends in Washington DC. After sharing a few beers with my associate, Garfield, we found ourselves crashing a “Girls Night” gathering. I was immdediatly brought back to my youth and some old memories. I was reminded of the good old days when we boys would terrorize the little piggies’ tea party with our Super-soakers. This time the reaction was much different. Soon after crashing their gathering, the girls weren’t squealing with anger, but shoving girlie flicks and wine in our snouts. Before we knew it we had seen cat fights (which are quite odd from a pig’s perspective), a midlife crisis, and romance while becoming sufficiently trashed. At this point we pulled out the Super-soakers. Ahh, that’s better.

Sincerely,

Thurston Z. Pig

I apologize for not writing sooner, but I have been in the process of moving. Between daily journeys to find myself and the joy of transporting box after box to the new "crib", I have hardly had time for writing. A few weeks ago, a close associate and I relocated to another neighborhood that we believe to be more suitable to our special needs. We have less space in the new place but we didn't need so much room to begin with. Even after we were fully moved in, we still have not managed to get completely organized. Little things (i.e. laziness) have prevented us from using free time to get situated. Since it is only the two of us and our pet, we are not too worried. We do not plan on having as many business meetings in our new home.

Now that we're up to date on my recent life, I'd like to address a concern of mine. I have noticed recently that the health of my grandfather, Ulysses B. Pig (U.B. to his friends), has begun to spiral downward. In truth, this has been going on for some time now, but distance and denial have helped to mask the seriousness of the issue. Grandfather was my only male role-model during my younger years. He was a man of few, but very important, words. His stories were thought provoking and fascinating. The pig used to have a superb memory for detail. During his time in World War II, he used to get drunk off of bets. His friends could introduce him to a man who would give him his name and any random word of his choosing. If at any point in the night, that man asked my grandfather what his name and words was, and he could say it correctly, well my grandfather would win a drink. Even several years later, when approached by one of these gentlemen and asked what his name and word was, he could still answer. Amazing. Lately, his memory has nearly abandoned him. He is not the same man anymore. Every once in a while, I see a glimpse of the brilliant inventor and the fascinating man he used to be. Then, in a flash, he is a hollow shell with a confused countenance. His dwindling pride is depressingly evident. It pained me to hear from a phone call that he is looking worse and worse. "Any day now," my grandmother whispered. She is not the most tactful of pigs, but at least she caught herself and refused to say any more in his presence (not like he could hear her anyways).

I guess what I am trying to say is that my journey has been recently hampered by this realization. While I my aim is to create new experiences, new memories, I am hindered by the constant worry of becoming my grandfather: losing precious memories and losing myself. I took this break to work on myself and to become a better person. I wanted to build up a resevoir of great memories to look back on. I wanted to be able to look back years later with a content smile and know I lived. My recent thoughts, though, have been more concerned with the years just before the "end." If I am to end up like my grandfather, what good are the memories I have so lovingly created? If I won't be able to recall the people and the events that meant so much to my personal growth, what good is this sabbatical of mine? I am still working through these thoughts. I'd love to be able to rise above the depressing situation, but at this point in time, I'm still coming to terms with the finite life of a great man before it catches me unaware.

I still maintain that life should go on. I still believe that one should live life to the best of his or her capabilities. This is just one of the many self-doubting thoughts that I need to grow from. This is just another obstacle in my life.

Sincerely,
Thurston Z. Pig