"Not every beer is for everyone, but for everyone there is a beer." - Dana Knudson

I am a self proclaimed and and peer validated “beer geek”, or as others will call me “beer snob”.  I started drinking as most 40 somethings in the U.S., with light lagers and wine coolers. (Don’t deny it you drank them too!) Post college, when I had money to spend on “good” beer, I slowly expanded my horizons to some imports and the few craft beers I would come across. Up to this point I wasn't really into the hoppy beers, as I later understood them as India Pale Ales, or IPAs. However as with any one who drinks coffee will understand, typically you don't start drinking your coffee black. You kill the bitter with cream & sugar and as you become more adjusted to the flavor you eventually can get to a point when you drink it black. I feel the same holds true for hoppy beers. The more you become accustomed to the bitter, over time, the more hoppy you want your beers. But like with coffee, some people just enjoy their caramel white chocolate macchiato, and that's cool too.

I really started to come into bloom as a beer geek, when I started to brew my own beer. I eventually started to enter my beers into homebrew competitions and started judging beers in said homebrew competitions. At this point I wished I had payed more attention in biology and chemistry classes in school. I started to look at beer in a whole new way and began to appreciate the subtle nuances in crafting a good beer. The malts, the yeast, the hops all blended to create a variety of styles. For me, as with many, the IPA stood out as a favorite over time.

Sometime I get people who will ask me, “What kind of beer should I drink?”. I look at this in the same way as someone asking me, “What kind of person should I marry?”. How should I know? Do they like blondes or brunettes? Short hair or long hair? Tall or short? Skins color, intelligence, sense of humor? What does someone look for in a mate? There are just as many questions to ask when choosing a style beer that one enjoys. The same way I feel that someone should date several people before deciding on a mate, the same can be said for choosing the style of beer that suits your tastes.

What started this thought thread, was an article about the top IPAs in the country. The list of beers hand MANY that I have tasted and many more that I hope to one day taste. What got me was the comments that were posted. There were many negative comments about the tasters who judged and subsequently ranked the beers. As a beer judge I can say that every time I have judged beers I was surprised by the results. I found that I was able to appreciate beers for their style and quality, but they were not beers I would ever consider drinking. They may hit all the qualifications for a perfect example of a style that I enjoy and I still would prefer a different beer in that style, over that well crafted beer. Even when given a criteria in which to judge a beer we still all have our preferences to what we enjoy. You could almost say that the “flavor is in the mouth of the drinker”. So before you stand back and criticize someone for what beer they drink or rate over another, just remember my motto: “Not every beer is for everyone, but for everyone there is a beer”.

"If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you" or "We like to keep your hopes, up but its not going to happen."

Recently a mental thought spiral lead me to thinking about Miranda rights. Specifically the statement of “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you." I was in court for a speeding ticket once and there were other people there for non-traffic related offenses. A woman was being charged for some random act of disorderly conduct, or something, and the judge asked if she had a lawyer. When the woman responded that she didn't, the judge explained that “If you cannot afford a lawyer one will be provided to you”. The woman perked up a little when she realized she might get some help. Cool right? Wrong!

The court official showed here some paperwork indicating what her income had to be below to receive a court appointed lawyer. The woman quickly handed the court official back the paper. She stated that she made way more than that, and ended up having to represent herself. This got me thinking, how much do you have to make to receive a court appointed lawyer? I mean we hear it in movies/TV all the time and see people with court appointed lawyers, right?

So I did a little searching and found that you have to be poor as dirt to qualify for a court appointed attorney. You roughly need to make less than $15,000 a year. If you have dependents the amount goes up about $5,000 per dependent, but for the sake of discussion let’s just stick with a single individual.

What does an income of $15,000 a year mean? Simply, it’s having a job that pays you minimum wage, of $7.25 an hour, working 40 hours a week. Which is $15,080 before taxes. After taxes this individual would bring home roughly $191 a week.

$191 a week! How does someone live on that?!? Between rent and food you pretty much wouldn't have any money left. Buy some clothes, if you saved for a year. Go to a doctor? Only if you're about to die. Short of living on the street, I don’t think it is realistic in this day and age for anyone to live on less than $15,000 a year. (Children don’t count. They can be claimed and therefore fall under the families income.)

So what did I get out of this mental thought spiral? The “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.” is a complete joke. Unless you are a vagrant and in that case you really wouldn't care if you broke a law and were sent to jail. At least then you would have a roof over your head plus food and clothes provided to you at the expense of the tax payers. No wonder the jails are overcrowded.

(Side note: If you are ever feeling down about your life, go sit in on a municipal court session. You will instantly realize your life is awesome!)

Restroom Adventure

Last fall I was at a convention in a very nice hotel. How do I know its was a nice hotel? Because the stall doors in the restrooms are wood doors that go all the way to the floor. They are like your own little personal daily constitutional lounge. Fancy shmancy!

Normally I prefer to sit on the commode in the comfort of my own home or in my own hotel room, when away. That is unless I am at work, then there is nothing better then getting paid to "do ones business".

However, at this convention after having enjoyed my morning breakfast muffin, fruit cup and some tart cranberry juice, I figured I would enjoy the posh restroom facilities. I entered the restroom and walked to the isle of 4 wooded doors. The first door had a lovely little red sign that indicated that it was occupied. So I moved on to the next. The second door was slightly ajar, so I pushed the door open and started to walk in and quickly stepped back out. A bomb had evidently exploded in there and I don't mean a metaphorical stench bomb, I mean a literal shit bomb. There was crap all over the seat, the floor and even the walls. I didn't even want to think about what it would take to make this kind of mess. I know convention food can be hard on the system, but this excrement was on a whole different level.

I quickly stepped over to the third door which had a green indicator that it was vacant. At this point I was starting to reach the point where I need to go know or I may find out what it takes to make the kind of mess I just witnessed in stall two, so I open the stall door open to find a rotund black man sitting on the throne completely naked reading a magazine. Yes, completely naked reading a magazine! In unison we both let out a "Woa!" and I quickly step back out and close the door. As I am trying to stammer an apology I see the little vacancy indicator go from green to red with a loud click of the door being locked.

I was really starting to worry about what I would find behind door number four, but at this point I was hitting critical mass and had to go. Seeing that the vacancy indicator was green on stall number four, I did a quick knock on the door to verify I wasn't going to walk in on another patron in the middle of some satanic ritual or    some other act I was in no mood to deal with. Luckily the stall was vacant. Full roles of toilet tissue and crisp clean toilet seat covers in a dispenser on the wall. And to top it all off I could hear a lovely rendition of "The girl from Ipanema" playing from the speakers in the ceiling. Fancy shmancy!

15 years and counting...

Since tomorrow is our 15 year wedding anniversary, I thought I would share how the the Mrs. and I started dating. (I actually wrote this a a long time ago over several emails to a friend from college.)

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As for the wife... well I could lie and say I was at some hot party in the city, full of actors and models when I met her, but the truth is actually a better story. (Of course I also tell it better in person.) I have always wanted to type it out, so this is two birds with one stone. If this gets too drawn out I apologize...

Okay, first off, I was working the night shift in a warehouse. Social life pretty much bit. I was partying on the weekends and had some dates here and there but nothing to brag about. Well, every so often this girl would come out of the office at night and walk past, through the warehouse. A buddy of mine would just go crazy. "Man this chick is Hot!" And it was no lie. She had long blond hair, yellow eyes, and an awesome body with a pair of legs that just wouldn't quite. And she looked like she knew it too. I had dealt with girls like this in the past. I figured what's the point; she isn't going to take a second look at us anyway. Which she didn't. 

I found out more about her over the next couple of months. Her mom worked in the warehouse on days and very good looking for her age; good sign that the girl isn't going to lose her looks as she gets older. And come to find out the “Hotty” was a model. Couldn't figure out what she was doing in an office job. Didn't really put any more though into it and just went on with life.

A few months pass, and the warehouse is going through inventory. So a lot of the office employees are out with us warehouse grunts counting parts. I get stationed on the second floor. The floor is a grate that you can see to the first floor. Well low and behold little miss hotty is working right below me. Another guy and I are just cutting it up while we are working and we try to get her to talk, but she just stays cold and ignores us. I guess she didn't like the "Heart Breaker" reference or something.

A short time later I get an offer to go to days and work in Customer Service. Now I can get my life into a normal routine again. Not the night owl sleeping all day thing. Well I start making some new friends in the office and start to find out more about the "The Hotty". Come to find out she works as a Buyer dealing with the UK and France. And she has a boyfriend in England. How can you compete with that? Definitely out of my league. 

Every so often, on my way to lunch I would pass her on the way to my car. Never getting much eye contact and she pretty much just kept to herself. Often I would see her standing at the FAX machine and find myself thinking, "Just once, and I could die a happy man." I happened to mention this to a guy who was training me for a new position, that I had just been promoted to, and he agreed. Turns out he'd been after her for years, but she won’t go out with him. She does talk to him though and they seem on friendly terms.

After starting the new position, I began to have more contact with the rest of the office, including "The Hotty". I realized I was never going to get anywhere with her, but I figured maybe she has some hot Model friends. So I start to work in some moderate chitchat during work issue conversations. I noticed she has pictures of her cat at her desk, so I add something at the end of an e-mail including her cat. She started to warm up to me and we started e-mailing back and forth about personal stuff more than work related things. This continued on for a couple of months but nothing more than that.

Now that I an working days my social life had picked up. I would head into the city to see my buddies to party, and even had a couple girlfriends come and go. Still nothing to rave about (Matter a fact pretty scary, but let’s not go there.) By this point in time I had taken a part time gig tending bar on the weekends and had my own apartment. (two blocks from the bar I worked at no doubt.) I ran into "The Hotty" one night out at another local bar. Where I actually had to be the stand in Boyfriend for her to get some guys to leave her alone. Old "Mister Nice Guy" comes to the rescue again. Always the nice guy, never "The" guy. Oh well.

Then one Friday out of the blue, “The Hotty” asks me to come out with her and some of her friends. Work friends mind you, no models. My theory about her having good looking friends fell through the floor. Oh well. But I had to work that night so I had to decline. The next Friday she asked me again, but I was scheduled to work again. A couple weeks pass and “The Hotty” says that they are all going out on Friday again. Finally I have the night off and say that I will meet up with them. Well, I am not walking into some club all by myself, so I call up one of my buds to go with. That way at least I have a wing man if I feel out of place. 

We meet up at this club called "Cody's". It's your typical suburb night club: pretty big dance floor, two huge bars, pool tables and the big screen TV's on the walls. I show up and know a couple of the girls from work, and meet their boyfriends. No luck on anything unattached or attractive for that matter. Of course “The Hotty” is by herself since her boyfriend lives in the UK. Well the music starts getting pretty good and a bunch of us head out to the dance floor. “The Hotty” is a great dancer and we move well together, which is driving me crazy. I keep my distance (at least 2"), because I don't want her to get the wrong idea and get pissed off at me. But damn is it hard. Especially when Nine Inch Nails, "I want to fuck you like an animal" is playing. Damn, this was just too much. The girl knows how to move.

Later we are all sitting at some tables talking in a group as the bar is calling last call. By this time I am watching "Clash of the Titans" on one of the big screens. Not ignoring the group or anything, but I just love that movie. So as everybody is getting ready to leave, I mention that I am going to go home and watch the rest of the movie. “The Hotty” says that’s a good idea, and that she is going to do that same. I hadn't noticed she had been watching it too, but on the screen behind me to the left. Not thinking that she would, I offered that she could come over to my place and watch it with me. To my surprise, she says, "Sure, I'll follow you." I had to ask her again because I wasn't sure that I heard her correctly. She said she's loved this movie since she was a kid, and it was better to watch it with someone, then by herself. Needless to say she got in her car and followed me home.

At the time I lived in an old house that had been chunked up in to little apartments. My living room was an addition to the house at one time. You could tell by the fact that old windows on the brick wall had been filled in with book shelves. It had character. Once we get to my place I open the door, flipped the lights on, turned on the TV and offered to get something to drink. She asked if it was safe to use the bathroom. I asked what she meant by “safe”, and she replied that she had been to some other guy friends apartments and that the bathroom was not always cleaned very well. In other words "not safe". I said I think you'll be fine. She came out with this huge look of surprise. I asked what was wrong. "It's so clean", she says. She even commented on that the whole apartment was clean. She then accused me of cleaning up before I went out just in case I brought someone home with me. I let her know that I am a little anal about my stuff and that I like to keep my apartment clean. Needless to say she was very surprised.

We sat and half watched the remainder of the movie, but tended to talk about this and that. Mind you, we sat at opposite ends of the couch. She had a boyfriend, and I was not about to make a pass at her and ruin the nice friendship we were building. Next came my turn to be surprised.

After the movie we continued to talk. She noticed that on my shelves I had several "Star Wars" books. She proceeded to tell me that she was a huge Star Wars fan. When she was a kid she had her whole room wallpapered with Star Wars cards and had every action figure they made. Later on I found she liked comic books and video games as well. Okay, at this point it’s getting weird. She is the coolest female I have ever met in my life, and the hottest to boot. Major problem, she has a boyfriend.

We continued to talk till about 5 in the morning, and then she headed home. I went to bed loving life and cursing it at the same time. We continue to have our little chit chats at work that week, with a little more flirtation on both ends. I had to work the next Friday, but “The Hotty” came over on Saturday night about 11 p.m. after she had been out with her friends. We then sat up talking till about 7 a.m. The sun was coming up when she left to go home. We had talk about so many things, and found that we had a lot in common. Found out that we had both grown up about the same, single parent and scrapping to get by. We both had the same desire to be more than how we grew up. After she walked out the door, I looked in the mirror and told myself that I was in trouble. I was falling for this girl hard. The closest I had come to touching her was rubbing her neck for a few minutes because she had a headache. The sexual tension was becoming more than I could handle.

The next week the flirting became even more intense, and she revealed that she hadn't been seeing the guy in England for some time. She had been using him as a front so people wouldn't bother her about going out with her. Well, needless to say the relationship rose to the next level not long after. From then on we pretty much spent all our free time together. 

About 8 months later my mom made a comment about how much time we spent together and asked me if I was going to do anything about it. I knew what she was talking about and it hadn't even crossed my mind till then. It didn't really take much thought though. I always said that if I was with someone and didn't find myself looking at other girls, then I had found the one. My time table was a little off. Here I was 23 and didn't plan on getting married till at least 30. But I knew if I didn't marry this girl I would be kicking myself for the rest of my life.

So off I went to find a ring, and a short time later I popped the question. (During the X-files while eating Chinese food, with a Barbie doll wearing a wedding dress wrapped in a Victoria Secret's box. She thought I was giving her snow boots.) She cried, she said yes, and life was good. 11 months later we had a huge ceremony and the "Hotty" and I said, "I do."

Engagement photo

Passion of the beer

Before I get started... no, there are no religious overtones in this blog. Any similarities of turning water into beer are purely coincidental and not related to any historical or mythological events.

Earlier this year  I took up the hobby of brewing my own beer. This is something that I had been wanting to do for a long time. My wife had hinted at picking me up a Mr. Beer kit any number of times for a holiday or birthday gift, but I always said "Nah, I'm not ready yet." And I knew that if I was going to try brewing, I didn't want to do the simplified commercial brew in a box (Not that there is anything wrong with that). I wanted to go as authentic as I could. That is partially why I had waited so long, because I had built up in my mind the cost, storage space and time it would take for the whole process.

Needless to say I took the leap this year, starting with some online research (http://www.howtobrew.com), followed up with me walking into my first home brewing supply store (http://www.beernecessities.com). The proprietor, Bob, set me up with a kit for my introductory brewing supplies and first batch of ingredients for a Brown Ale. Nothing fancy, just a bag of Dry Malt Extract, a can of Liquid Malt Extract with infused hops and a packet of dry yeast. Brewed, fermented, bottled and three weeks later I had my first home brew. Not bad. A little dark, but tasty. The wanna be artist in me had to whip up a label and thus Trouble Brewing Smug B@st@rd Brown Ale was born. 

If thou brews it, thou must drink it.

SMUG B@ST@RD

I realized pretty quick that even though I was not using a brew in a box  method, I am still in the infancy stages of brewing. Or better know as extract brewing or partial extract brewing (depending on the recipe).  I have a long way to go and more equipment to buy before I make the big leap to all grain brewing. But the journey makes the adventure.

Now the bug had bitten and it was time for batch number 2. This time I want to try an Amber Ale, and after 4 weeks I came home one night and cracked one open. Mmmmm tasty. Little darker then I wanted, or more to the point cloudy (a.k.a. chill haze). Opened a second... don't remember opening the 3rd or 4th, and vaguely remember pouring out half of the 5th before I poured myself into bed. One foot on the floor to stop the room from spinning, mind you. Woke up with a hangover I haven't felt since my early twenties. Four and a half beers??? Thus the brew was named Feaky Snucker, because if you don't pay attention it will sneak up behind you and kick you in the ass.

FEAKY SNUCKER

Batch three was a slight variation of Feaky Snucker, but a little less potent. Still getting chill haze even though I added some Irish Moss to the boil as a clearing agent. Still tasty, but a little heavy for summer consumption. I am hoping the long it conditions in the bottle the better it will be in the weeks to come.

So I moved onto brew number 4, an American Wheat. I purchased an Erlenmeyer Flask to get my yeast started in before pitching it to the wort (unfermented beer). Because of the change in my process the yeast was nice and active before I added it to the fermenting bucket. Normally I would check on the fermentation process the morning after brewing, to make sure everything is okay. During this batch however I didnt get around to checking on it till the second morning after. I was greeted with a surprise. The lid on the bucket was bowed up and the airlock was crusted over (I guess I really did get the yeast nice and activated!). I carefully removed the air-lock from the bunghole (bunghole (n.) The hole in a cask, keg, or barrel through which liquid is poured in or drained out), and CO2 came rushing out. I later learned I was luck that the lid didn't explode or that when I removed the air-lock that beer and yeast didn't spew everywhere. After the experience I felt it was only natural to name the brew Crusty Bunghole. This has been the favorite so far by my guinea pigs taste testers at work. Still hazy, but clears up nice when it reaches room temperature again.

CRUSTY BUNGHOLE

I really needed to kick this chill haze issue. After brewing I had been cooling the wort in an ice-bath, but I wasn't getting the temperature down fast enough to cause a "cold break" (Sounds like an 80's spy movie). The answer was I needed to get an immersion chiller to drop the temperature down to about 70 degrees in about 10 to 15 minutes. The ice bath was taking 45 minutes to an hour to drop the temperature. I could have just ordered one, but where's the fun in that? So I picked up some copper pipping, fittings and a soldering torch. Process should have only taken an hour, two at most. Needless to say, a day and a half later my wort chiller was water tight and ready for prime time. (At least now I know how to solder copper pipping, right?)

Wort Chiller or Mystery Science Theater 3000 reject

I decided to go with a simple Pale Ale recipe for the inauguration of my wort chiller. Everything went pretty smooth and they should be ready for consumption in another week or two. (Cheeky name yet to be determined... hmmm... Cheeky Pale Ale?)

Wort Chiller in action!

As all this has been going on I have found answers to most of my questions from reading web sites, forums and picking the brains of the guys at the brew supply store. I share with my coworkers the exploits of by brewing and they find it interesting.  My loving wife, whom doesn't like beer (yes, I still love her), listens and appreciates my interest (hence, why I love her), but its not really her thing.

So who can I share my passion with?

The answer came in the form of an email from a guy I know at work with a link to the Chicken City Ale Raisers home brewing club (http://www.ccarhomebrewclub.com).

Last night I attended my first meeting. It was frikkin awesome! Beer, food made with beer, beer, talking about brewing, and more beer. The group has several guys at my experience level, but most of the members have been brewing for decades. Its a veritable cornucopia of brew experience and passion for beer.  I am happy to say that I am looking forward to the next CCAR event and many more to follow.

Having a passion for a hobby is great, but being able to congregate with others who equally share you passion is priceless.

(Any similarities to credit card commercials... intended.)

It feels just like yesterday...

I would guess that over the years I have probably interacted with around 3000 people through school, work and social life. I have probably interacted with twice that many if you count people I have talked to whether its a clerk, waiter or sales person. These are just facts that we interact with people every day, most times only once and never see them again.

Supposedly with social media I have around 300 or so active "friends". Which I can say that a third of them I have never met outside of my computer. And most of the others I haven't seen in years, but its fun to see them on-line. I would really classify most of them more as acquaintances then friends, not saying that as a bad thing, just that I really don't connect with most of them other then passing comments. And I am sure they would say the same of me.

The term friend can be looked at is so many varying degrees. From someone you just met while having a beer; to people you have know since you were a child. There are probably just as many degrees of friendship as there are the amount of people you call friend. Most are really just acquaintances and not really true friends. It has become so common to call anyone that you know, and don't dislike, as a friend.

That being said... I have a test, or rather a qualification, that I have used over the years to gauge in my mind whom I would really call a true friend. It isn't something that can be used for people you see every day. It only works when a long amount of time has gone by since the last time you have seen or communicated with a person. (i.e. phone, email or god forbid a written letter.) No mater the amount of time that has passed since last  time you interacted with the person; it doesn't feel like a day has gone by. It feels like it was just  yesterday that you saw them and you pick right up with your relationship as if you have been talking to each other every day for years.

Just last week I had the pleasure of reuniting with a friend that I went to grade school and graduated from high school with. We hadn't seen each other in 20 years. People go off to school, move to other parts of the country/world, get married and start new lives; these things happen. But when it been 20 years since you have seen someone and you get together to hang out and then proceed to talk for 6 straight hours laughing and having a great time, just like you always did. Those are the  people in my life that I truly call friend and mean it from the core of my soul.

I feel lucky to say that I have had many people in my life that I can call true friends, because when I see them it feels just like yesterday that I saw them.

Everyone is Stupid

I think stating that "everyone is stupid" is a rhetorical comment, but it is this concept that usually gets me through the day. Don't get me wrong; I am just as stupid as everyone else. I surely don't feel that I am above doing stupid things. When I state "everyone is stupid", the emphasis is equally on "everyone" and "stupid".

Now my reason for this introspection has nothing to do with the stupid things people do, but more with understanding that people are, and will do stupid things. Understanding and accepting that everyone is stupid takes away the aggravation and frustration of trying to figure out how someone could be so stupid to do something stupid. Easy . . . they are stupid. The shock and awe of the situation will disappear quickly, allowing you to move on to more important things that you can change and deal with. The concept of trying to understand why someone is stupid is a complete and utter waste of time, because the number of reason why someone is stupid or has done something stupid equals the number of stars in the sky or the grains of sand in the desert. And trying to figure out which one reason caused someone to do the stupid thing in question is statistically impossible to figure out. Or more to the point . . . stupid.

I find that once I have reminded myself that "everyone is stupid" and that there is no use in getting upset by it; because everyone is stupid and I nor anyone else can change it, I move on to more important things. (That may be the best run on sentence I have every written in my life. It works in my head, but just rambles when written).

This is by no means an easy concept to master. Because as sure as people are stupid, they will find more interesting and confounded ways to do something even more stupid than the last stupid thing they did. You may be able to accept the stupidity of the situation but the outcome of the stupidity may be more than your mind can handle at one time. For this I usually require a crutch to get me through the stupidity until my mind can move on.

Did I mention I brew my own beer?