Tuesday, November 25, 2003
Full Oregon beer notes later. First, some stupidity:
Heineken. I am from Holland, ishn't that weird?
Yesh, yesh, you have a strong personal flavor
and some people just don't like you. People who
really know you realize that you are one of the
best.
Which Beer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Heineken. I am from Holland, ishn't that weird?
Yesh, yesh, you have a strong personal flavor
and some people just don't like you. People who
really know you realize that you are one of the
best.
Which Beer are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Wednesday, November 19, 2003
I am drooling over the tentative beer list for the Eugene Beer Summit, where I'll be in a mere few days. I'm going to have to look over my old tasting notes to see what to make sure I revisit, but of course I'm going to prioritize trying new stuff. As usual, I'm sure I'll be unable to resist Unibroue, even though I'm quite familiar with their brews already.
I'm not going to take the beer list too seriously, though, as there are always last minute changes and Beer Summit is good with the special surprises :)
I'm not going to take the beer list too seriously, though, as there are always last minute changes and Beer Summit is good with the special surprises :)
Pacific Gravity has been named the 2003 Anchor California Home Brew Club of the Year. Rock on! I am honored that they even allow a neophyte like me in the door :) It really is a good group, with a lot of brewers churning out better stuff in their garages than some microbreweries sell for money. I know I'll be a better brewer in time because I'm hanging out there.
I bought some Double Bastard on Sunday (yay, buying beer on Sunday...we're not in Boston anymore, Toto) and perhaps Rick and I shall drink it tonight.
I bought some Double Bastard on Sunday (yay, buying beer on Sunday...we're not in Boston anymore, Toto) and perhaps Rick and I shall drink it tonight.
Monday, November 10, 2003
So I've been participating in National Novel Writing Month, an internet project daring its participants to write 50,000 words in 30 days. It doesn't have to be good. In fact, if you get concerned with it being good, you'll never make your 50,000. You're supposed to just write crap, and assume that some gems will emerge in the process.
Here's one of my more salvageable passages, in which our protagonist wakes up the morning after Catholic Schoolgirl Night at the local pub. Do not read while hung over :)
***
Ugh. Mmmph. Ow. Eyelids sealed shut. Let's see if we can pry one open. Ow again. Bright. Why the lights? What time is it? Wait...where am I? Not home...not at parents' house...no...oh, shit! I'm at Tanya's house! I hope. This could just as easily be Marcus' little yuppie SoHo condo or some shit. No, no. I'm positive. It's Tanya's living room. I recognize the couch I'm on.
Uuuuuuggggggghhhhh.
I may die on this couch. I'm certainly not going to arise from it anytime soon.
I feel like 6,000 drunken Riverdancers are doing a jig on my skull.
Problem is, I have to pee like a racehorse.
If I can just get one foot on the floor, instinct will somehow take care of the rest.
One foot out. Oh god, I'm still dressed like Mary Teresa McMasterspaz from the 6th grade class of Holy Terror Elementary.
Other foot out. I peek under the skirt. My underwear is on the right way. At least I probably didn't have sex with anybody in the bathroom.
Okay, self. Let's hurry this up. The bladder's a-waitin'.
I get to the bathroom by feeling my way along the hallway with my eyes shut. Life is pain, princess, anyone who tries to tell you differently was smart enough to remember the phrase "beer then liquor, never sicker."
I open my eyes when I get to the bathroom. I look like the bus driver on South Park.
I whiz some toxic looking opaque yellow stuff and wonder how I'm still alive.
I kneel in front of the toilet for a few minutes, really hoping I can just vomit and dislodge the crazed nausea monkey that has taken up residence in my guts. Nothin' doing.
Then I stumble to the kitchen table, where Tanya is clear eyed, cheerful, moving at a normal pace, and talking way too loudly.
"Good morning, sunshine! Have fun last night?"
"Ssssshhhhhhhh. Inside voice, I beg you."
"Oh, is my little girl hung over?"
"Patronizing friends make the baby Jesus cry."
She pours some coffee, the pours something into it from a can. "Drink this."
"Last time you told me that, a Long Island Iced Tea sent me straight down the fucking rabbit hole. What's this potion?"
"Taste it."
I do, only because it couldn't possibly make things any worse. "It tastes like horse piss. Don't even tell me there's more booze in here."
"No, silly! Hair of the dog is for alcoholics."
"Then what is it?"
"Red Bull."
"Sounds like booze to me."
"No, it's magic wake-up juice."
"Shut up, I'm not doing speed first thing in the morning, either."
"Chill, it's legal. OTC. You can get it at the more discriminating grocery stores. Huge in Europe. It's just caffeine and some random organic whatever."
"Horse piss."
"You're thinking of thousand-year eggs."
"Oh yeah."
Here's one of my more salvageable passages, in which our protagonist wakes up the morning after Catholic Schoolgirl Night at the local pub. Do not read while hung over :)
***
Ugh. Mmmph. Ow. Eyelids sealed shut. Let's see if we can pry one open. Ow again. Bright. Why the lights? What time is it? Wait...where am I? Not home...not at parents' house...no...oh, shit! I'm at Tanya's house! I hope. This could just as easily be Marcus' little yuppie SoHo condo or some shit. No, no. I'm positive. It's Tanya's living room. I recognize the couch I'm on.
Uuuuuuggggggghhhhh.
I may die on this couch. I'm certainly not going to arise from it anytime soon.
I feel like 6,000 drunken Riverdancers are doing a jig on my skull.
Problem is, I have to pee like a racehorse.
If I can just get one foot on the floor, instinct will somehow take care of the rest.
One foot out. Oh god, I'm still dressed like Mary Teresa McMasterspaz from the 6th grade class of Holy Terror Elementary.
Other foot out. I peek under the skirt. My underwear is on the right way. At least I probably didn't have sex with anybody in the bathroom.
Okay, self. Let's hurry this up. The bladder's a-waitin'.
I get to the bathroom by feeling my way along the hallway with my eyes shut. Life is pain, princess, anyone who tries to tell you differently was smart enough to remember the phrase "beer then liquor, never sicker."
I open my eyes when I get to the bathroom. I look like the bus driver on South Park.
I whiz some toxic looking opaque yellow stuff and wonder how I'm still alive.
I kneel in front of the toilet for a few minutes, really hoping I can just vomit and dislodge the crazed nausea monkey that has taken up residence in my guts. Nothin' doing.
Then I stumble to the kitchen table, where Tanya is clear eyed, cheerful, moving at a normal pace, and talking way too loudly.
"Good morning, sunshine! Have fun last night?"
"Ssssshhhhhhhh. Inside voice, I beg you."
"Oh, is my little girl hung over?"
"Patronizing friends make the baby Jesus cry."
She pours some coffee, the pours something into it from a can. "Drink this."
"Last time you told me that, a Long Island Iced Tea sent me straight down the fucking rabbit hole. What's this potion?"
"Taste it."
I do, only because it couldn't possibly make things any worse. "It tastes like horse piss. Don't even tell me there's more booze in here."
"No, silly! Hair of the dog is for alcoholics."
"Then what is it?"
"Red Bull."
"Sounds like booze to me."
"No, it's magic wake-up juice."
"Shut up, I'm not doing speed first thing in the morning, either."
"Chill, it's legal. OTC. You can get it at the more discriminating grocery stores. Huge in Europe. It's just caffeine and some random organic whatever."
"Horse piss."
"You're thinking of thousand-year eggs."
"Oh yeah."
Sunday, November 02, 2003
Beer! Beer! Beer!
Yesterday was Teach a Friend to Homebrew Day. Rick and I actually brought a friend to the homebrew club party/chili cookoff, but we were late so it was more like Teach A Friend He Wants To Learn To Homebrew So He Can Come To These Parties.
Much good beer was had, and tasty chili consumed. Not as social as it could have been, what with all the people adjourning to the garage to watch sports, but still good fun. More tantalizing tales of the club winter/Xmas party, December 18 this year (my calendar is marked).
And a drunken in-joke was born, always the sign of a good party. See, someone showed up with big clear plastic bags full of single-serving samples of gum in purple pouches. Everyone took a bunch. At one point, Rick, friend-being-taught-to-homebrew Craig, and I were tanking up at the kegs and some mention was made of someone having a pocket full of gum. To which I (or Craig? drinky drinky) replied, "They rally 'round the brewkeg! With a pocket full of gum!" Which was very, very funny for far too long. By the end of the night I was declaring it time to rally 'round the bed, with a pocket full of gotta-get-up-in-the-morning. My apologies to Rage Against the Machine and the original song ("Bulls on Parade," though no one could think of this last night.)
At some point, we found ourselves some of the last people there. It was dark. It was chilly; there was a fire. The host kindly made pasta and reminded us that dinner might be a nice idea. Both Rick and I fell asleep drooling while Craig chatted with the host's godfather. Host was also nice enough to hook us up with a ride home, as we'd walked the half hour to the party thinking we'd be coming back just a wee tad earlier.
And I met a female brewer. A real one, not "I brew or I'd never see my husband" or "I'm just here to drive him home!" She is a bartender at a certain pub in Santa Monica and explained why a Hoegaarden is $6 there. (Blame the distributors). This makes me feel better about the place, which was otherwise fine.
Less than three weeks til Eugene!
Yesterday was Teach a Friend to Homebrew Day. Rick and I actually brought a friend to the homebrew club party/chili cookoff, but we were late so it was more like Teach A Friend He Wants To Learn To Homebrew So He Can Come To These Parties.
Much good beer was had, and tasty chili consumed. Not as social as it could have been, what with all the people adjourning to the garage to watch sports, but still good fun. More tantalizing tales of the club winter/Xmas party, December 18 this year (my calendar is marked).
And a drunken in-joke was born, always the sign of a good party. See, someone showed up with big clear plastic bags full of single-serving samples of gum in purple pouches. Everyone took a bunch. At one point, Rick, friend-being-taught-to-homebrew Craig, and I were tanking up at the kegs and some mention was made of someone having a pocket full of gum. To which I (or Craig? drinky drinky) replied, "They rally 'round the brewkeg! With a pocket full of gum!" Which was very, very funny for far too long. By the end of the night I was declaring it time to rally 'round the bed, with a pocket full of gotta-get-up-in-the-morning. My apologies to Rage Against the Machine and the original song ("Bulls on Parade," though no one could think of this last night.)
At some point, we found ourselves some of the last people there. It was dark. It was chilly; there was a fire. The host kindly made pasta and reminded us that dinner might be a nice idea. Both Rick and I fell asleep drooling while Craig chatted with the host's godfather. Host was also nice enough to hook us up with a ride home, as we'd walked the half hour to the party thinking we'd be coming back just a wee tad earlier.
And I met a female brewer. A real one, not "I brew or I'd never see my husband" or "I'm just here to drive him home!" She is a bartender at a certain pub in Santa Monica and explained why a Hoegaarden is $6 there. (Blame the distributors). This makes me feel better about the place, which was otherwise fine.
Less than three weeks til Eugene!
