Pornography!

The Wolverine has become quite smitten with the blog, which I enjoy.

"This is Aaron, he's the sports reporter at the Daily News," he says when he introduces me to his esteemed colleagues and local bar flies.

He usually asks me afterward if I approve of him introducing me to people like that.

"It's either that or I need to wear a sign over my head, right?"

Anywhoo, the Wolverine introduced me to another friend, Jerome, who is in the pornography business. Check that -- he's the porn talent. Yes, he and his lady friend decided to film themselves and sell the footage to porn companies for money.

So yes, he is a professional porn guy. I would like to call him 'porn star' but that's like calling professional football player Antrel Rolle a 'football star' which he is not.

Now I'm not trying to take away from Jerome's porn skills (I'm sure they are abundant) but he's no Ron Jeremy. Not yet. Watch out ladies of St. Thomas, a rising porn star is in the making here.

Wow. I have no idea where I was going with this. I think I just wanted to show off that I knew a porn star -- I mean, porn guy.

So there you go America. It doesn't matter if you're a sports writer, a porn actor or the New York Jets football coach who intentionally tripped a player during the game -- you're all OK in my book and that's all I have to say about that.

Forrest Gump ending? Can't go wrong.

Hope for Haiti

A devastating earthquake, a cholera epidemic, and a near landfall miss of Hurricane Tomas has rattled the tension-filled country of Haiti to its core.

The ever-changing landscape of the current presidential election has brought many questions. The most important: Who will lead a country in such distress?

I had the extreme pleasure of speaking with one presidential candidate last week.

Charles Henry Baker ran for president in 2005 and is back again. When he answered his cell phone...

A) I was surprised he answered his cell phone.

B) I introduced myself quickly and he sounded very tired. But he didn't hold back.

"After the cholera outbreak, to screw the people of Haiti and take away their votes is criminal," Baker said in reference to the questionable preliminary voting results. "One day they said the results were fraudulent and the next day they accepted the results. How can you do that?"

The tension continues in Haiti as U.N. peacekeepers are against the ropes. They are trying to make sense of a presidential election where more than 12 candidates, including Baker, called it a sham before a single vote was counted.

He simply described for me all the basics you can imagine: ballot tampering, voters being turned away at polling stations and blatant corruption.

"We want the election annulled," said Baker, who joined other opposition candidates in a mission to prove the national polling was fraught with fraud. "We have asked people all over the country to stand up. Not only did we agree, we've asked every Haitian to take to the streets and believe in democracy."

Earlier in the week, Baker rode around the streets of Port-Au-Prince and spread the word. He had some important friends with him, too.

Wyclef John, who attempted to run for president but was denied, and Michael Martelly, a popular Haitian musician known as 'Sweet Micky' joined Baker in their pursuit of truth.

They rode around in the streets and spoke the truth. At the same time, they had to quell violent tempers and unite the people.

"We will continue to march all the way to the national place," Baker said. "And we will do it peacefully."

When was the last time you ever saw competing politicians in America join forces to get down to brass tax? Remember those 36 days in Florida when someone stole the 2000 U.S. Presidential election? I do. It still haunts me.

I sincerely hope Baker and the guy from the Fugees get a fair shake. I don't think that country can take any more setbacks. They certainly don't deserve it.

I didn't want to take up too much of Baker's time considering I heard a street protest going on in the background during our conversation. It was amazing that he could fit me into his schedule considering what he was in the midst of.

And because of that, I have nothing but the utmost respect for him.

I don't have too much experience talking with president candidates (from any country) so I ended the conversation the best way I knew how to.

"Keep up the good fight, Mr. Baker," I said.

Then I rolled my eyes at myself. Pure amateur hour.

I hung up the phone, stared out the window for a minute and then tried to make sense of my own existence. Here I am writing stories in the newspaper about sports. Mere games being played.

What's going to happen next? What's the score here?

No-talent ass clown

Let me rub my eyes and look around. Yup, I'm still on island.

It's been a crazy last few days and I apologize for the blogging lapse. Now that a severe Paradise Jam hangover has dissipated, I'm back in action and ready to get weird.

Speaking of the PJ, it generated close to $2 million for the USVI so you know I worked my ass off (I would link up the economy boost story I wrote but for some reason, it wasn't published online. Go figure).

The tourneys wrapped up about a week ago and consumed my Thanksgiving.

While my girlfriend celebrated with 39 friends grubbing on four different turkeys, I sat on press row for four consecutive Division I women's basketball games and didn't even get a whiff of cranberry sauce. It was pure bliss and the games were action-packed. No ... I'm being serious.

But on the final day of the 10-day tourney and as I was walking out of the gym faithfully with my over-heated laptop in tow, one of the tournament directors left me with a few kind words...

"Don't say anything mean about us in your blog," she said.

Instead of scurrying to the nearest pub like I did after every 10-hour day spent at the tourney, I was taken aback.

"Whaaaaa?" I asked, with those little thirsty white deposits sticking to the corners of my mouth.

"Oh," she said. "I'm a little embarassed to tell you this but I Googled you before we came down."

That's funny. I've googled myself a few times -- shut up, don't act like you've never done it -- and that no-talent ass clown in the NBA is the only thing that comes up.

He is one of few American-born white players in the Association but he still sucks. The "Aaron Gray" realm belongs to me.

Anyway, back to my story. Of course, I briefly chastised the tournament lady for stalking me online but I also thanked her for reading.

"It's always a pleasure running into a fan," I said.

So for the record, the 11th annual Paradise Jam men's and women's basketball tournaments held at the University of Virgin Islands from Nov. 19 through Nov. 27 were thrilling to witness. America's basketball elite gathered on St. Thomas for that memorable week (Don't forget: I ate no turkey, gravy or mashed potatoes) and a joyous time was had by any non-V.I. resident who shelled out $35 to get in the door.

Since then, I have been busy with other life projects. I'll get into those tidbits tomorrow because at the moment, I am done with work, tired and thirsty.

A sweet trio indeed.

Peanut butter and (Paradise) jam

When is the only time pale-white people from Iowa, rowdy drunks from Jersey and Mohawks from Long Beach gather at one time on St. Thomas?

The answer to that question and many more is Paradise Jam.

It's a men's and women's Division I basketball tournament that is held at the local university for eight straight days.

And because a few out-of-towners have became privy to my blog, my official analysis on the annual event is that it's fantastic! I'm having a great time, enjoying the stateside basketball fans and cooperating with the helpful staff.

In reality, it's taking up each and every of my waking hours. I shouldn't complain. I was warned.

I also spoke on the phone this morning with University of Tennessee women's basketball coach Pat Summitt, was given a high five from Seton Hall's Jeremy Hazell (after he broke his wrist) and I've eaten pizza five days in a row.

Plus, my parents are in town and have so far been amazed by how many beers I can drink while on the beach and then report for duty like nothing happened.

The men's championship between Xavier and Old Dominion tips off in an hour so I better get my game face on. Or not.

Maybe I'll just grab a beer with the Seton Hall fans and see where it takes me. They're always good for a larf.

No more cancer sticks

So a smoking ban at restaurants and all public places went into effect this week on St. Thomas.

Yet, there I was. Sitting a the Shipwreck, devouring a 2/3 pound Mexican cheeseburger with a beer. Minding my own business. Looking straight ahead.

At the same time, on each side of me, drunken men were puffing away on cigarettes.

"Smoking, huh?" I asked.

"Yup," they sort of muttered (one of them actually just nodded).

"In a public place, huh?" I said before a refreshing swig of beer.

They didn't vocalize their answer but I can only imagine they were thinking, "Why not? Fuck off."

The news reporters at our newspaper are tearing the smoking ban rule apart. Even the jackass who wrote the actual law doesn't know what to think of it.

It reads that you can't smoke inside a public place or within 20 feet of said place. But if you go down Main Street -- where more than 100 jewelry and other tourist crap stores are located -- you can walk to the middle of the street and still be within 20 feet on each side of the shops.

"Does that mean you can't smoke at all on Main Street?" the diligent reporters asked only an hour after measuring the distance between shops on Main Street and almost getting run over.

"I'm not sure," the jackass said.

"What about the hookah lounge or at the cigar bars?" they follow up with.

"I'm not sure," the jackass says again.

And these dumb asses just spent a majority of their money and man hours this past year trying to get re-elected. For dumb-ass laws like this. Way to go, fellas!

As for me, I finished my burger. I drank my beer. I left a good tip and I drove to the high school football game I was covering that night.

I told my friend about the experience and he was privy to my situation. He knows the owner at Shipwreck and told me the smoking ban will go in effect there on the 15th, not this last week like the rest of the island.

Which would explain the parting shot I unknowingly absorbed.

"We got until Monday you sonofabitch," the smoker on my right muttered as I walked out of the bar. "This fucking guy thinks he knows everything..."

Black squirrels and pickle juice

Most of the tall, black guys I was strutting around the U.S Capitol Building with had never even left the rock we call St. Thomas.

The University of Virgin Islands men's basketball team made a four-day visit to our nation's capitol last weekend with a half-drunk, half-hung over sports reporter in tow. Check out the story.

The Buccaneers played three exhibition games against squads that wouldn't grace the headlines of the Washington Post unless a politician's son was aboard.

UVI did well. The team went 1-2 over the stretch and posted the program's very first win over an NCAA stateside team. The win came over Goucher College and the V.I. faithful -- all 13 in attendance -- went crazy after the landmark win.

But before the boys saw the basketball hardwood for the first time (just kidding, they have hardwood floors here but good luck on a functioning scoreboard), the group went on a tour of downtown D.C. to observe America in all its glory.

The main highlights, you ask? Touring the U.S. Capitol Building and observing all three branches of U.S. Government in action, of course.

But when I asked the guys in private what really blew their hair back, the answers were not what you expected.

One was very impressed with the hotel the team was stating at. Another was intrigued by how top-level security folks who carried around high-powered assault rifles in broad day light.

"It was like they were just carrying a duffel bag or something," he said. "All out in the open like that. That was crazy."

Meanwhile back on the island, my girlfriend texted me that she just heard gun shots.

One player was immersed by the squirrels. Now there are no squirrels on St. Thomas or at least I've never seen them. This player was amazed by the black squirrels in particular and made some sort of racial connection to the black squirrels playing in front of the White House and President Obama.

"It was the weirdest thing I ever saw," he said.

Most of the players toured the White House -- one was left out because his date of birth was 1989 and it was recorded as 1988 -- and their first experience on the Metro rail was uneventful.

The games were during the day which left me to by own devices when the sun went down. Now let's get down to the good stuff...

Of course there was great visits with my parents and delicious mom cooking (Fred and Joan will actually be making it to St. Thomas next week) and a joyous rendezvous with old friends inside the D.C., Northern Va and Baltimore sectors.

There was a blurry Annapolis pub crawl in there somewhere, a haircut from a Vietnamese woman at a random barber shop in Rockville, Md. and some late-night wrestling with a Sterling girl. One of my brothers must have taken pictures because there is photo evidence.

I ate a big bite hot dog from 7-11 at a horrendous hour, was introduced to a vodka and pickle juice shot, and wore pants for the first time in months.

The best part of the trip was when I dropped in on the new homeless-prevention center in Annapolis. Now I volunteered there for three years when it was called the Light House Shelter and was located inside a cramped building downtown.

For years, the good people there have been raising funds to build a new complex that could cater to their growing needs. I left Annapolis just before they broke ground on the new project and for a holiday gift, the staff decided to put a brick in the front sidewalk in my honor (along with many other decent souls). After a quick search, I discovered the brick and immediately shed a tear. Then I realized I haven't cried since the final episode of The Sopranos.

All in all, it was a successful trip. Good friends, pretty good basketball and an overall great time. Just like Big Chris, from Lock Stock & Two Smoking Barrels: "It's been emotional."

Smoking the vote?

Just got off the phone with my esteemed colleague Jon Wass, who is also one of my top lieutenants on the West side.

It's Election Day and I was reminded of the fact because our newspaper, The Virgin Island Daily News, published the lone word "VOTE" in six-inch red font across the front page. With a tabloid paper, that usually delivers the message.

Also during my morning run, election folk saturated the already decaying sidewalk near my house which I found ironic. Should have brought my dogs and a smooth, straight path would have parted for me like Moses and the Red Sea.

Alright, enough religious talk. Back to Jonny Wass.

So my man voted in favor of the legalization of marijuana for recreational use inside a California old folks nursery home today. I guess that's where his district elected to cast votes. You would think it would be at a nearby school but California has enough problems.

The proposed law would allow persons to carry as much as an ounce of weed and it would also allow people to grow a small amount in their backyard. I forgot the dimensions of the weed garden allowed but it didn't matter: PEOPLE OPENLY GROWING POT IN THEIR BACKYARD??

It sounded to me like a fairy tale but we'll have to wait and see if this catches on like wild fire. (Sorry California, bad reference.)

"About a month ago, early voting numbers said it had a 51 percent chance of passing," a disillusioned Wass said. "But as of last night, there was a slide in the numbers and it may not fly."

With the legalization of weed on the ballot, one would think the number of college student voter turnout would be through the roof but the Wass said the numbers were stagnate. And that's even after Obama's initiative to entice young voters to come out. That, and weed.

"You would think the younger voters would have come out but politics in California is a funny thing," said the Wass, also referencing the government's stance on no alcohol on the beach.

After he cast his vote for ganja on Prop. 19 and skipped most of the social questions and surveys the government likes to throw at people because they're trapped inside a strange voting booth on their lunch break, the Wass made his exit.

On his walk back, an elderly woman, who presumably was living at the old folks home, was just sitting nearby enjoying a mid-afternoon spliff. As Jon casually walked by, the old woman exhaled marijuana smoke right in his face.

"It was on purpose," the Wass said.

He wasn't mad. Actually, quite the opposite. Jon tried his best to avoid the cloud and actually threw up a fist of revolution to the aging pothead to let her know, "Hey, I'm on your side, grandma."

The Wass then walked to his car and decided to give me a call because he knew someone on this twisted planet would appreciate a good marijuana story, with a hint of democracy blended in.

Well done, Mr. Wass. Power to the people.

Anyone got a light?