CORNHOLE

One of the unexpectedly best parts about moving to this corner/side of the country has been the rich new vernacular I've been exposed to. As someone who loves words, who uses them to build stories and brands in my work every day, who always hears them float to the top of songs before the music ever sticks, it has been an utter delight to be introduced to Durham's East-Coast tinted Southern drawl, it's simultaneously genteel and backwater lexicon. I'm starting to hear bits of it in my own speech already, and I'm easily warming to the evolution.

For example. I've been playing "Beanbag Toss" for years. On elementary school playgrounds, at campground family reunions - tossing a beanbag to a slanted platform, trying to hit the hole and rack up points for your team. A simple premise, though not entirely thrilling. But here, Beanbag Toss is not Beanbag Toss. Beanbag Toss is Cornhole.

Cornhole.

It's like Beanbag Toss ran away from home, crossed the Mississippi, started drankin', joined a freak show, and decided it needed to change it's name to properly mark the occasion. Cornhole. The verb form of which is, of course, "cornholing." So much potential there, I can't even. I've played this game more in the last two years than I have in all my years before that combined, and I truly believe it is solely because of the power of this word. Cornhole.

Cornhole cornhole cornhole. 

So when I spied a cornhole setup at Fullsteam a few evenings ago, snugly slotted in the narrow space between two buildings (back-alley cornholing, anyone?), I knew my cornhole intake would increase even further. After all, we seem to be at Fullsteam on a near-weekly basis. And who can resist a little casual cornholing between friends while enjoying excellent craft beer? Certainly not I. Happy cornholing, everyone.