Brew Years Eve

And tonight we celebrate the 75th anniversary of the repeal of prohibition! What better reason to crack open a Hercules Double IPA and toast to your health, wealth, stealth, and, wow, nothing else rhymes with that. But you'll drink to it anyway, or at least I will. In any case, I encourage you to sit back and thank your local governing officials for not taking beer away again this year! And if you don't drink, thank them for not taking beer away from me.

Mmmm, the first sniff of this one is like a floral smack across the face...a sun-drenched prairie of tempting wickedness. It begs me to frolic as an inmate just moments off the asylum.

Mmmm...yes. The bewilderment of wide open spaces brings excitement and giddiness as I engage the blue sky with the limits of my dexterity. I swipe the long, sagging arms of the weeping willow and grasp at billowing clouds in wonderment before rolling through the bright wildflowers brushing against my flailing limbs. This is the moment. This is the time of times. I am freer than a bird, above the great wide open, comfortably exhilarated. If only these moments could be captured somehow, placed in a jar, or sealed in one of those clothing storage vacuum bags so they don't take up much space.

The soft cushion of vegetation pads my naked back as I flip down the steep grade of the valley and onto the sandy beach. The glistening stream rages, its beauty intoxicating. It does not resist. I approach carefully and dip a toe. Brisk. It soon cascades over my neck and back. This is it. Millions of droplets fly skyward and in every conceivable direction as I engage nature to its fullest. The small white paper cups have always disappeared so quickly; the finger dipped and then cautiously flicked. The impossible dream was at hand. This was my moment. I smashed the endless waves in hysterical relief after the wanting decades.

Away barking! Time is far too precious for the hounds now! I will not let them win. Not for the next ten seconds. These are my seconds! I raise my fists and scream to the great white engorged Jiffy Pop pan in the sky: "You haven't won these seconds! Not these seconds! HAHAHAHA! I have them right here in my bloody fists and I'm never letting go!" This one would not have a silver lining.

I would probably write that on the scoresheet too, if they gave us time. But they don't. They don't give us enough space for accurate tasting descriptions either. So, I usually just use the standard vocabulary of beer terms to describe the various entries. "Ample citrus hop aroma with some melanoidin nuttyness and a substantial malt backbone." Backbone...ha.

Last night in a lovely social gathering I said I had no backbone. Well, I actually said "it's difficult to go through life with small balls," referring to the size of bocce balls, but trying to allude to the fact that, as an introvert, I am seldom as forthcoming as I should be. But, having "balls" is not a measurable attribute. You either have them or you don't. (Anyone can have "balls," male or female.) Their size doesn't correlate to the amount of courage in any way. You would never say "man, it takes pretty huge balls to say something like that." No. You would say..."that guy's got balls." So, what came out actually meant "I am disappointed with the inferior size of my testicals." Which must have sounded rather odd and out of place. Nothing I'm not familiar with in excruciating detail (the situation, not my ball size). But, a fun story to blog about.

Woah. Well, after a couple hearty beers it looks like it's already past midnight. I will have to do better next year, although I am perpetually reminded why I should affix a locking breathalyser widget to my laptop to prevent the inevitable post that went too far. Oh, I know one of these days it will get there, just a matter of when...