Beertime.

A new brewery and two new beers have appeared at the local pub (conveniently called The Pub).

Upslope began distributing this past fall and has just gotten over the Divide into Winter Park. One of my options was an IPA: not my style, so I went with the Craft Lager. Just a hint of hops, but a very basic lager-type beer. Certainly drinkable, but not highly differentiable from its like-colored-brothers. Well, at least it’s a break from the 1554 I’ve been drinking all week (one of my all-time favorite anytime beers).

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2 thoughts on “Beertime.

  1. When I was your age, I had two refinements of beer-drinking. I could distinguish Budweiser from all other beer, and I had had that entire bourgeois-authoritarian universe of discourse shattered by drinking German beer in Germany in a pub where perhaps they’d brewed it (in 1973) before they were bought out by Motorola. Is bourgeois culture necessarily authoritarian? Nobody cares what you think. For that to work to inspire a generation to go to law school and screw the living bejeezes out of their neighbor, it’s got to be backed up by the threat of physical force in turn backing up a strict syllabus, vocabulary, and even syntax. Any sentence with more than two clauses or fifteen words is prohibited, because it tends to extract the reader from his typical state-approved day-dream. The bottom line value in bourgeois authoritarianism is that death is the end, a vacuum of all value, and thus to be opposed with all vigor (and manliness, which I think is the root of “vigor”).
    Maybe I’m a bit gloomy because someone stole my recycling bin from the sidewalk, albeit I had neglected to lable it with my address–that’s a bit of contempt for the vitality of the universe that I don’t mind being chastened for. Someone left my landlord and good buddy a couch to dispose of, and someone took his bin, too, so things are getting more down-to-the-wire. Call for extras, dying skills a must.

  2. I had, perhaps in this space, disparaged the little old lady in her bungalow in Lincoln Park, Chicago, who heads the Israel lobby, bays at the moon, howls at her Arab-looking (as opposed to Semitic-looking) neighbors, and is currently painting slogans on smart bombs bound for Iran. She, too, is a wonderful human being. We need all those cobwebs in our belfries to keep the walls from closing in.
    One of these days soon she is going to forget to think, the walls will come right in, suddenly she will be out in her front yard, and she won’t be able to remember what she was trying to think.
    Then she will remember she is me.

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