I Love Beer. A Lot.

Beer is one of those things that you either love or hate. No, I don't care what you think. You either drink it like it's the greatest thing on earth, or you don't. And no, Budweiser and Miller products don't count. Beer also illicits strong feelings - not opinions. I personally judge people on what they drink, especially when it comes to beer. I consider myself a beer snob, but not because I won't drink certain beers - see above comment regarding Bud and Miller. I just classify them differently. They can all be classified into so many different categories and frankly, it can change from day to day - shit, even sip to sip depending on how deep I am. I could go on and on about classifying beers, but that's not really why I'm here. I'm here after a discussion with a friend of mine, in which he said some things about beer that I disagreed with. What good breweries are, what's a mircrobrew, how great Schell's is. Instead of doing what I always do - ripping him a new one because he thinks he knows about beer, but I don't trust him in that aspect - I simply put up a number of breweries that I really like. I don't know if this will become a regular thing or not, as my attention span is roughly 15 seconds, but here's a peak into some breweries you may or may not have heard of or tried. Keep in mind while you're reading this that I live in Minneapolis

Anchor Brewing Company - San Francisco, CA
I discovered this brewery last summer when I bought some on a whim. The Lady Luck really likes the porter which is also one of my favorites, and I'm not usually a big fan of porters.
Where to get it: It's on tap at a few places around town and available at most liquor stores
Recommended: Anchor Steam, Anchor Porter

Bell's Brewery - Kalamazoo, MI
I've had a fair amount of Bell's in the past couple years, as it became my bailout beer when I couldn't decide what I wanted. After I took a tour of the Summit Brewery, I gained a whole new respect for Bell's. The tourguide we had used to work for Bell's, back when it first started. He said that they had a very renegade attitude when it came to brewing beer. They didn't make it so YOU liked it. They made it so THEY liked it. They were also run by alcoholics and crazy people, so the beer was very inconsistant batch to batch. Rumor has it that, on occasion, they'd use marijuana instead of hops or just pour a bunch of scotch into a batch - you know, just to see what would happen. They've since cleaned up and their beer has become much more consistant across the board.
Where to get it: Also on tap around Minneapolis and available at most liquor stores
Recommended: Two Hearted Ale, Oberon, Amber Ale

New Glarus Brewing Company - New Glarus, WI
If you even mention this one to The Lady Luck, she'll try to coax you into driving to Hudson to grab some of this brewery's prize deserving beer. They began brewing in a barn using "retired" dairy farming equipment, and have since grown their operation to where they could start distributing in other states. Their claim to fame, in my book, is their special brews. They'll come up with a recipe and brew one batch, and that's it. When it's gone, it's gone, and we're all left crying in the rain. They made a Cherry Stout which was one of the great surprises of my beer-drinking life. It's stuff like that that keeps me coming back to Wisconsin.
Where to get it: It's only distributed in Wisconsin, but that's only a short drive from Minneapolis
Recommended: Spotted Cow, Fat Squirrel, any special brew

Lake Superior Brewing Company - Duluth, MN
Buy. This. Now. I only wish Duluth wasn't so damn far away because I'd really like to know how this tastes on-tap. The Lady Luck took a tour of the brewery when she was up there last summer and walked away very impressed. It's a small operation, also run with retired dairy equipment. It's family owned, if I remember correctly. If you're in Duluth, venture out there, I'm sure they'd be happy to take you on a tour. This is the best brewery in Minnesota, in my opinion.
Where to get it: Many places in Duluth have it on tap and Minneapolis area liquor stores carry it
Recommended: Kayak Kolsch, Oatmeal Stout, Mesabi Red

Four Peaks Brewery - Tempe, AZ
When The Lady Luck and I were in Tucson, we tried our best to dive into the local beer scene, even trying to work in a brewery tour while we were there. I grabbed the Kiltlifter, almost as a joke, and it turned out to be the winner of that nights selections. We tried a couple others from this brewery as well.
Where to get it: As far as I know, you can only get it in Arizona. Tucson area liquor stores should have it
Recommended: Kiltlifter, Kolsch

Nimbus Brewing Company - Tucson, AZ
This was definately the highlight of the trip to Tucson. I'm sad that we didn't tour the brewery, but I'm sure on the next trip, we will. Where to get it: Also only available in Arizona, maybe only in Tucson Recommended: American Red Ale, American Brown Ale

Post Script....

Ran into The Punisher again today - wearing his "must be this tall to ride" shirt again - and I noticed two more things that tickled my funny bone this morning. First off, the little gym bag he always carries is a WWF bag, which makes total sense, but still adds a level to this mans character. The second was that he was wearing what smelled like very cheap cologne, again confirming his creepiness.

Another lovely Monday...

The Punisher

There’s a guy I see every single morning as I wait for the bus to whisk me off to work. He’s an interesting sort of fellow. Imagine a not so famous Arnold, who didn’t lift quite as many weights. Okay, got it? Then add a child molester mustache and you’ve got him. He wears essentially the same outfit everyday – A t-shirt, tucked into tight jeans, and black, steal toed boots. He also is always carrying a medium sized gym bag. Now the guy, by himself, is pretty entertaining because he walks around like a machine, never changing his ways. But it’s his choice in shirts that gets me. The first time I saw him he was wearing a Punisher shirt, which was fitting, because he very well could be an extreme comic book nerd – not that there’s anything wrong with that, just using the stereotype because it fits. A few days later he’s wearing an American Indian Support Group shirt, which was kind of weird, but okay, it’s just that. Then, yesterday morning, I see him again. This time, and keep in mind this guy looks like he’s atleast mid-forties, he’s wear a shirt with the following slogan: Must be this tall to ride. Um, and there’s a line about chest high on the shirt. I almost peed myself. It was all I could do not to burst into laughter. It kind of loses something in the retelling, or rather, without seeing this guy, but Christ was that some good shit.

Hopefully next time he’ll have a shirt telling everyone he’s giving free mammograms or something.

Anal Retention Is Retarded

Yes, it’s retarded. I hate it. It drives me up a wall. Me, I just let it all go. I just shit whenever and wherever I feel like, no matter what. Like the guy who, after washing his hands in the bathroom, has to grab the door handle with a paper towel. You’re a moron. I know, I know, you don’t want to get the germs of the person who didn’t wash their hands. But seriously, what do you think you’re going to get? You’re paranoid. But, you know what? Because I just grab the handle without sanitary concern for my hand, I have made my immune system stronger. Yours? Well, it’s not really used to anything but soap and paper towels. Mine? Fuck, it beats shit like shit right out of my system because it’s used to dealing with it. In other words, my immune system can beat up your immune system.

My immune system shot 5 bucks! How many did yours shoot!? Huh huh, pussy!

Lil' Greggy Rantington

“Wow, your presentation was awesome!”

“Really? I’d have given it a 6 of 10”

“No way, you rocked in there, it was really great”

God do I hate corporate back slapping. Especially at the middle management level. It’s just awful. Like watching all the kids who work at Target (no offense, but it’s a great example) pat each other on the back and say how great they all are. Face it. You’re in the middle. You’re not a top dog, you’re not important, your managers’ manager doesn’t know you or care about you. Just because you buy the most expensive clothes offered by your employer doesn’t mean you’re better than anyone. You make less than a garbage man. You’re the trash he should be taking out. Blowing smoke up each other’s asses does not mean shit. Flapping your face about how great you are just shows everyone else how fucking ignorant and stupid you are. Yeah, you work at a large, extremely conservative, corporation that provides all types of shit to tons of people across the country, but that doesn’t mean you’re better than me. It means that your title means more to you than it does to me. “I’m an Account Executive.” Great, you know what that means? It means that you’re a little more than a phone specialist but less than an Accountants assistant. Yeah, your job has a purpose, but when it comes right down to it, you’re a customer service agent, a client bitch so to speak. Yeah yeah, tell everyone how you “handle” the Tyco account! But what you should say is “I help Tyco read their statements.” Great, that’s what I do, except instead of Tyco, I’m talking to Judy McNamara, Steve Griznewski, and Randy McOldfuck. Same job, different clients and, unfortunately, different pay scales. Hey, so you’re a Buyer? Oh great, you look at deals on diapers and toilet paper then give that data to your boss and he/she makes a decision. Awesome, so you’re a glorified research assistant. Again, a necessary job, but not any more important than those poor undergrad research assistants who work in the Psychology department. Yeah, sorry to tell you, but that’s really all you are. I know, I know, you wear expensive clothes, but that doesn’t affect your position in the pecking order. You’re still at the bottom. Patting each other on the backs isn’t going to change that.

Yeah, I know, I’m sorry too.

A Culture Of Anger

As you all know, I'm a Twins fan. I love everything there is to love about the Twins, including my love for hating the White Sox. They're a bunch of jerk-wads. Well, that may not be true, but I have to say it because they're a hated rival. But I'm not the only one who is angered by the White Sox. Every other team in the AL is angered by them, primarily because they're the defending champs and they still guard the gate to the World Series. Every NL team is angered by them too because they embarassed the Astros last season. But I believe they even their own players are angered by them. The White Sox are a culture of anger. Their manager, Ozzie Guillen, epitomizes this. His homophobic comments and attack on a reporter is clear enough evidence to raise suspicion. But I have done more research into this theory and have come up with the following examples that further show that the White Sox are Anger-mongers.

Freddy Garcia, SP


He spent the first portion of his career as a Seattle Mariner and he was happy. But when he was traded to the White Sox, his happiness was drained completely, and now he is an angry old man who hates everything.

Bobby Jenks, RP


Notice how happy he looks in his ANAHEIM Angels hat. He was clearly enjoying life then. Now, after spending two seasons in the windy city, he knows nothing but anger.

A.J. Pierzynski, C


While playing for the Twins, A.J. was the happiest person on this side of Lew Ford. When he was traded to the Giants, he still had a shred of happiness in him. But, once he became a member of the White Sox, even a championship couldn't replace his ever-growing anger.

Jim Thome, DH


Even he understood what it meant to come play for the White Sox. He prepared himself well because he hasn't killed anyone yet, despite his raging anger.

But, look at what happens when players leave!

Magglio Ordonez, RF


Poor Magglio looks so scared in his Sox cap. He was too happy for the White Sox, so they dumped his ever-not angry ass into Detroit, trying to ruin his happiness by sending him to a bad team.

Aaron Rowand, CF


Even a smashed face and broken nose can't make himangry anymore. Not after spending a couple years in Chicago.

The White Sox are nothing but anger, fear, and unhapiness, bred into their athletes, making them the most anger inducing franchise in sports history. If you still don't believe me, here's one last item that should push you over the edge


Ozzie is so mad, he's choking himSELF!

I can only imagine that they're angry because they have to watch the Cubs soak up all the attention even though they're terrible. I can't blame them.

You Know You Have Good Friends

An old memory flashed through my head today as I was taking a shit at work(although not a required piece of information for this story, it’s where I do my best thinking). Back in 7th grade I met a girl. She was born on the same day I was, some thirteen hours before me. Her name was Gina. She was my first girlfriend. Obviously, at 13 years old, it wasn’t any kind of real relationship, but that’s sort of the point at that age. She was the babysitter for my little sisters when I was not available. We met, and begun hanging out, when we were both scheduled for babysitting duty. We watched some t.v. and played Spy Hunter on my sweet Apple IIGS computer. We talked on the phone everyday, even went as far as exchanging Christmas presents – she got me ‘Too Hot for Love’ and ‘Theatre of Pain’ by Motley Crue, I made her a copy of MC Hammer’s ‘Hammer Please Don’t Hurt ‘em’ I know, I was lame, she was cool. So a few weeks of this passes and it’s glorious. Until the mixer.

Oh God.

Remember those? Where the girls all dance like crazy little fools and the guys are over in the gym playing basketball or whatever else prepubescent boys do – the “cool” boys are dancing with the girls, but I certainly wasn’t one of those guys. So, Gina comes up to me on the basketball court with a herd of her friends and simply states, “the next slow song, we’re going to dance.” A deer in headlights I am. It’s like I had lost the ability to do anything at all. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t do anything but stand there. I’m frozen with fright and nervousness. I mumble a non committal response, which is taken as a yes, and she walks away. She exits the gym and I unfreeze. What the hell am I supposed to do? I hate crappy music, I hate dancing, and I’m not really all that comfortable around girls. I mean, I did go head bang to Motley Crue for a bit, but that’s about as much dancing as I was doing then. Well, the current song that was playing ends. Fortunately, the next one is the B-52s doing ‘Loveshack’ or something equally cheesy. I’ve got a few minutes that I don’t have to think about dancing. With a girl. To crappy music. I can only assume that the guys reading this have some idea of what I’m talking about because I cannot begin to explain what I was feeling at that point in time. It was like everything nerve wracking that had ever taken place was waiting to happen again. I was devastated.

Then it was time….

As the slow song started, I panicked. I headed out of the gym, making my way towards the bathroom, trying to stall or avoid the inevitable. In order to get to the bathroom though, I had to walk by one of the entrances to the other side of the gym, where the dance was taking place. Oh boy, gotta make this quick and smooth. I slid past the door, and for a moment thought I was home free. “Dave!” Oh shit. Damn it. Now I’ve got to dance. I turn around and there she is, with her herd en tow. This strikes me as a little odd, but I respond. Hey, how’s it going? Nervously. Then I notice the look in her eye. That look is accusing me of ditching out on our dance. I make some lame excuse about how I had to hit the bathroom and I’d be back to dance. She doesn’t buy it at all.

“We’re breaking up.”

She lifts her chin – her friends all follow her action, and takes off back into the gym. I’m left standing there, still in shock over the whole ordeal. So much stress for such a dumb little dance. I turn heel and make for the bathroom – I actually had to go now. After spending a few minutes in the bathroom composing myself for next contact, I head back towards the gym. A girl stops me in the hall, apparently she’d seen the whole thing, and asked if I was okay. I said yeah – because I was, I felt better than I had all night – and went back to join my pals playing basketball (this girl, strangely enough, I would have a crush on through early high school though I never did work up the balls to ask her out. What can I say I’m a chicken).

I get back to the gym and all my friends want to know what happened, so I relay the story, and they’re upset for me. It was nice to hear them say they had my back. Shit, I was happier not to deal with the stress anyways. A bit later, some of my friends leave the gym. Hey, where’d you guys go? They blow it off, they went to get a drink, to the bathroom, outside, no big deal. Okay, fine. So we get tired of basketball and decide to go run around the school. As we’re walking out of the gym and head past the dancehall, Gina’s pals stop us. In unison, “Hey Dave, piss off!” arms raised in a “flick off pose” minus the finger, and they walk away(I don’t actually remember now what exactly they said, but it was along those lines). At this point all of my friends break out laughing and mocking the girls. I turn around, confused as to what had just happened. I ask them what the hell that was, like when you see somebody just go off the handlebars for no apparent reason, and they begin to explain. Apparently, when they were “out getting a drink” they had all gone up to Gina and said, “Hey Gina, HONK HONK!!” while grabbing their crotches on the honks. I lost it. I couldn’t believe they’d do something like that, especially without me. I about died laughing. We tore off into the school and terrorized lockers for awhile.

That night went from awful to great all because of those guys. I still call those guys my friends and hang out with almost all of them on a regular basis. I’ve always known I’ve had great friends, but sometimes they still do things that surprise me. That was one of those times when I realized how good of friends I really had. And still do.