Wedding Knocks Kenneth Hard Off The Wagon

 I talked myself into allowing myself to skip one day of the Dry January for a wedding I was attending. I allowed myself to take in input from people, knowing full well no one was going to say, "Stick with it!" No way. Everyone was saying, "Oh you got a babysitter overnight and a hotel? Just drink, man! And they just said what I needed to hear. 15 Miller Lites and a couple edibles later and I was hungover for 2.5 days. 

So, I'm back on that damn Chuck Wagon. 30 out of 31 days of the month still wouldn't be too bad. I intentionally bought and intentionally drank my first six pack of non alcoholic beer tonight. I just wanted to feel like a man with my beer in front of the TV for a must win Bulls game. I opted for Beck's non alcoholic skunktastic crappola slop. Wow. Mrs. Noisewater said to me, "You never go with a green bottle." Dang, she's right. Heineken, Becks, and Rolling Rock are all yucky. They taste green.

Green Hell

You know what else? 45-years-old feels old. The other night we were watching that Peacemaker show on HBO and that actor from Terminator 2 was in it, the T1000. Mrs. Noisewater was like, "Wow! He looks old." I told her, "Yeah, he is old. That came out in like 1991, and I was 14. You figure he was was like 30 then. And I'm 45 now, so he's gotta be . . . God damn, I'm 45? The T1000 is old and so am I. He can't run like that anymore and I never could.

T1000 vs the T45

But, I think this not drinking thing is going to be good for my health. There are even abdominal muscles trying to poke through. They're like, "Hey, there's no IPA and greasy hangover fat in here, now's our chance to shine!" Sorry abs, your asses are going right back into hiding in February when I go right back to my horrible patterns. Or will I? I just need to assess at the end of this month.

The family is good. Desi is a wild man still. We came home the day after that wedding to a freezing home. We went into panic that something was broken, but nope. That little two-year-old impish gremlin turned off the heat switch in the basement. Erik is still hilarious. Tonight when I was tucking him in the top bunk he was in was creaking like crazy. I said, "What is that?" He goes, "That's just my weight. I'm Lord Humongous." I love when my kids say goofy stuff back to me that I don't even realize I say. Lord Humongous is the big bad guy in "Road Warriors" who may or may not have been into some homosexual S&M stuff, but I think he got the name for having bulging muscles all over the place.

Just. Walk. Away. and Just. Go. To. Sleep, Erik Noisewater.

Okay, I'm out of here. Hoping to keep up these basement posts every few nights. I need your support, Seven Readers. Let's keep each other motivated. I'm off to do the rounds on the blog roll. Let me know if there's anyone else I should be reading. I've been out of the game too long and have lost tough. Bye.

Senseless Updates About Snow, Property, and Running

Snow Day:

I got a snow day off from work so I spent the day with Baby Noisewater. Chicago got around a foot of snow on Friday, and it's still coming down on Saturday. Not much on the agenda on a snow day other than a snow journey, so I bundled the little guy up and outside we went. It's hard for him to walk in boots, which led to him falling face first into snow. He didn't even cry. His freezing face didn't even effect his mood. In fact, he was greeting strangers on the street by saying, "Hi." and then warning them, "coooooold." That's his version of small-talk banter with the neighbors.

"Hi! Coooold!"

Condo

It looks like the Noisewaters will be closing on a condo very soon and staying in the fine city of Chicago. Not only will I be a homeowner for the first time, but I'm pretty excited about some things that often escape me in shitty apartments such as in an unit washer/dryer, a dishwasher, a spare bedroom, and my very own parking space. I know these amenities come standard to a lot of you, but this is some high class baller-ass shit to a guy like me. Scrubbing dishes all these years has made me very humble, and it's time to finally kick back and relax.

I told you all a few posts ago that we have been making an extra effort to save money, and one way we are doing this is to use a Google Docs spreadsheet to log in everything that we spend for a month. I highly recommend trying this out to make yourself more self-conscious of all the junk you buy that you don't need. When you find yourself in the checkout aisle eyeballing that Payday candy bar, you suddenly think, "Do I really want to log that $2.12 into the spreadsheet?" Also, you and your spouse will be keeping each other accountable. It's not uncommon after telling your spouse about an expenditure to hear in return, "Did you put in on the sheet?" It actually works. Try it out for a month and come on back to leave in the comments how it worked out for you.

Marathon:

I also let you guys know a few posts ago that I was signing up for the Chicago Marathon that will take place in October. Actually, it's 238 days, 19 hours, 42 minutes, and 10 seconds away. Well, I got in! No backing out now. This will be my second one, and I'm a hell of a lot older now. I'm sort of training early, helping my buddy Night Train who has his first marathon in the Spring in California. His program calls for a long slow run every Sunday, which is perfect because I'm slower than he is. This Sunday is supposed to be a 12-miler, but with this snow we might go with the treadmills. It's pretty boring on the machines, but you can watch basketball, talk to your partner next to you, and the ones we use have courses with little TV screens showing you running your route in different locations complete with little facts along the way. Last week I chose running up and down the Haleakalā volcano in Hawaii because I sort of did that in Hawaii on my Honeymoon. Some dudes picked us up in a van at like 4AM to drive us up the volcano, we watched the sun come up appearing to be coming up through the mouth of the volcano like it was giving birth to the sun , and then we coasted down on bikes. Then we had the whole day beginning having already done all that awesome shit. It was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. Watching on the little screen at the gym wasn't quite as amazing, but at least it reminded me of a good time.

Hey, that's all I got, friends. Sorry nothing mind-blowing or eye-opening today. Just updates on the little life I lead. Leave a comment if you gave this a read and maybe I'll say something super in return.

Beer For the Runners

First let me get this out of the way. My son was eating chili with his hands and got it all over his sweatpants. I thought Chili Sweatpants might be a good band name, or perhaps a good album title. Mrs. Noisewater thought that should go on the blog, so there it is. Chili Sweatpants on that ass.

In other news . . .

I got an email about volunteering for the Chicago Marathon, and I saw it as a sign because I always told myself I needed to do that some day. When I ran my one and only full marathon years ago I had no one supporting me. I was so thankful for all the volunteers and random people along the way cheering my name (I had my name written on my chest, which I highly recommend for this reason). I saw this email as a good opportunity to make good on my promise to give back.

After registering online the confirmation email gave me my assignment: It said I would be giving out the free beer to the runners. Oh hell yes. I was made for this job.

When I got there the row of taps on the sunny side were all taken, and very few of the early finishing runners were coming to the dark side. Zero of the wheelchair participants (who have the early start time) came our way, and the few really competitive guys, mostly Kenyans, that came through didn't want the beer anyway. Here is a rough estimate of beer consumption based on levels of performance.

2 hour finishers: 1 out of 10 drink the beer. They all look like their entire body has gone into shock, and some are close to throwing up. One guy was wretching, and while I felt odd offering a gagging person a beer, I felt it my duty to put it out there to everyone. To be honest, some of them were so out of it after what they put their bodies through that they didn't even notice there was free beer to be had. I haven't reached the level of exhaustion where I don't notice free beer, but maybe I'm just not working hard enough. Or maybe I'm just a drunk.

3 hour finishers: 3 out of 10 drink the beer. There are fewer Kenyans now, and a few more beer swillers.

4 hour finishers: 6 out of 10 drink the beer. Now we're having some fun. I basically never have to stop pouring by this time. It's a waterfall.

5 hour finishers: Somewhere between 8 and 9 out of 10 drink the beer. And every 10 minutes someone asks if it's okay to drink two. I usually would say, "No, sir. We are not allowed to do that," as I winked at him and handed him his second. Other times I would say, "Sure, to hell with it. What are they going to do, fire me? I'm a volunteer! Drink up!" Like I said, I was made for this job.

I noticed that the maintenance guys going around to check on the kegs, replace them, and pour more ice were drinking the whole time. I didn't believe in drinking on the job myself, especially during the morning. However, we reached a point where my shift was officially over and there were still runners coming through. I couldn't just pack it in and leave after all these hard-working, albeit slower, marathoners were still trickling through the finish and every bit in need of beer as their speedier cohorts. There was no way I was leaving my post. However, since my shift time was officially over and since it was beyond noon, I figured now was an excellent time to drink on the job.

It got a lot more fun at this point. One for you, one for me. I remember one guy saying, "Can I get one more beer for my wife?" I said to him, "You don't need a story, sir. I remember on Halloween asking for one more Snickers for my little brother. I didn't have a little brother. Still don't. Here's your second beer, sir. For your knees."

I was getting a bit of a buzz on and no longer had to be jealous of them getting to drink while I had to "work," but here's the thing: I had to admit that I was a little jealous of them running the race. That feeling started for me on the train ride downtown. I was thinking back to the nerves I had the morning of the race and the fantastic playlists I made to push me through.

So I decided to sign up for next year's Chicago Marathon. I think my plan will be to run it every other year with the alternating years tapping those kegs of Goose Island 312 wheat beer and handing cups of it out to the athletes with a smile on my face all day long. It will be a fine pattern for me every fall.

Man Night

I have some friends coming over in a bit for one of our Man Nights (no wives, kids, or girlfriends aloud). After spinning records and sampling a few craft beers at my place, we're going to go down the street to a nice restaurant that I've been meaning to try. Going to dinner with just dudes was not something I did in my twenties. Back then the dinner might be a slice of pizza chased down with something in the neighborhood of 30 beers. As a matter of fact, if 20's Ken just heard 30's Ken's nerdy agenda for the night, he would makes an excuse to blow off 30's Ken and never call him again.

However, right about now, being with a collection of some of the best friends I've ever had with great music and tasty beer sounds perfect. Here is some of the stuff that will be going down so that you, my beloved readers, can feel like you're here with us. For the virtual version of the party, all are welcome (women, children, and members of the animal kingdom included).

I got this on hand. It's one of my favorite beers ever. This is not my house in the pic. I can prove it because Mrs. Noisewater and I have no fireplace. We would like one, but not as much as we would like a dishwasher.

And let's not forget the vinyl that will be spinning:

Bought this one for $0.99 over a year ago, and I haven't found the occasion to throw it on. The soundtrack to a buddy cop show is the perfect accompinanet to a buddy's night, I think. And Crocket and Tubbs would surely agree. 

I haven't played Vol 4 or Masters of Reality in a helluva long time, so I decided to just play them both. Maybe what I'll do is pick the best side of each, and play each of those sides. That's a diplomatic and time efficient solution. Thanks for pointing me in that direction, beloved readers.

I have a warped version of Santana's first album that is TWICE as bad as this one, and the thing is that despite the fact that the needle raises over an inch up and down as it spins, it plays perfectly! There are some jams on this one, such as "Jingo," but mostly I just want to show my buddies how it wobbles away and plays just fine. Looks like the less warped record in this picture is a Beatles one based on the big apple, don't you think?

I do enjoy a good cheese spread, and hopefully they offer a good one at the fancy-pants restaurant tonight. Someone told me recently that cheese has addictive qualities like drugs. I for sure suffer from this affliction because if there is a fancy cheese in the fridge, I will go to town on it when I come home drunk or during the day when I'm not even hungry. I may have a problem, but tonight I'm going to feed the cheese beast what he wants, and that's a lovely Gruyere, or whatever the fuck.

Then we will go to a few bars and possibly end up at the infamous Liars Club. At that point all classiness will come to a screeching halt, and we will be reverting back to the 20's versions of ourselves, dancing our faces off to goofy stuff like Britney Spears immediately followed by moshing around to Suicidal Tendencies. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time my buddy was taking a pee there and felt something dripping on his bare feet (he was wearing flip-flops)? It was his own pee dripping through a hole in the urinal. Now, you know a place has a certain cache' if we continue to go back there when there are disgusting health code violations such as that. I wouldn't try their cheese tray, let's put it that way.

Thanks for joining the party, readers. Hope you are also having a fantastic weekend.

New Beer Vendor Hated By Wrigley's 500 Level Seats

I took my good friend, Beatnik, to a Chicago Cubs baseball game last night in my season ticket seats.  My Cubbies are on a roll, by the way, having won 11 of their last 12 games including last nights defeat of the Milwaukee Brewers.  But you can look statistics like that up elsewhere.  What you come here for is the minutia of meaningless and hopefully funny observations of everyday life of your good friend, Dr. Kenneth Noisewater.

Myself and the three other buddies in our season tickets package have a beer vendor in our section that we dislike and don't buy from anymore as a result.  He made one off-handed comment in response to a simple clarification question we had about what inning/time they stopped selling beer that was something to the effect of "What is this your first game?"  We didn't take kindly to it, and over the years we have built up an irrational hatred and talk about things we would like to do to the man we call Walt Disney (due to a slight resemblance), such as curb stomp him like in "American History X."  Would we ever do such a thing?  Of course not.  It's just our sense of humor to grossly exaggerate and crack each other up when we're texting each other when one of us can't be at the game live.

("That's right, Bambi!  Bite that prick's shoulder off!")

Now, not buying from Walt is really something silly we like to maintain as tradition and superstition. Our hatred for a new beer vendor in our section is quite genuine and shared by our entire section.  This new guy is an overweight older gentleman who refuses to walk up the few steps into the 500 level sections.  He will, however, walk downwards a few steps into the more expensive 400 level seats, which to me goes beyond laziness and into some sort of class debate, showing preferential treatment to those more fortunate.  It could very well turn into a working class rebellion by the time the playoffs arrive, but only time will tell.

I am not saying he won't sell to us, but he will only do so by passing beers and exchanging money right up the seats.  I have never seen this done.  You see, a beer vendor can go up or down and aisle and pass things down a row.  That is fine, and that is how it has always been done.  This lazy son of a gun doesn't use any rows or aisles.  What he does, in effect, is instead of just disrupting one row of people, he makes up to ten rows stop what they're doing to pass a beer upwards, awkwardly reaching behind and passing over shoulders.  Lots of beer can be spilled that way, and that's perhaps the biggest tragedy of this guy's horrible technique.  It's really ticking off not only other customers but other beer vendors have shot me looks in agreement when I show frustration as if to say, "You believe this guy?"

(Even in Japan they pass down the aisles, not up the seats.  And check out that Samurai cup scabbard!)

Beyond just not buying his beer, where do I go from here?  I was thinking I could take to Twitter and start lambasting the guy on there to raise awareness.  Any other thoughts on how to get this guy fired or at the very least demoted to hot dog vending?  

"Good Game"

A bunch of us went to the "American Beer Classic" at Soldier Field (where the Chicago Bears play) where you pay $65 to sample as many beers as you want all day long.  There were two sessions so we were heading in for the 3:30PM session just as the 11:30AM session was getting out.  Giant hoards of people were filing out of there in the opposite direction completely wasted before noon.

It was then that I feel a couple gentle pats on my ass and fat man who was around 6'4 and 280 pounds saying "good game" to me.  I looked up to him to see him staring right back at me.  So, I said what just about any man would say at that point: "What the fuck!?!?"  He said, "It's not gay if you say 'good game.'"  To which I exclaimed as I walked away, "Well, it's a little gay, isn't it?"

I think this guy was looking for a fight or something because if he kept doing that, I would say he would be likely to find someone ready to fight.  I'm not homophobic, but it turns out I really don't like gentle pats on my ass from strangers.  I guess I never knew that until someone did it to me.  He said "good game," and that statement goes along with one slap with decent force.  That I might have been put off by too, but I wouldn't have felt . . . violated.

These guys both thought he had a good game.

I guess for a moment there I understood how women feel powerless when they are harassed by men, to an extent, because what were my options here?  It's not worth fighting this guy, getting arrested, and losing the chance to drink all that beer.  Also, the guy was enormous so a fight might not have went well for me  Then again, he was completely drunk and I was stone sober, so I might have done okay.  But probably not.  I'm a drinker, not a fighter.

So into the beer festival, feeling a little icky, but after a few samples I had forgotten all about the man-on-man sexual harassment I had encountered moments before.

If there are any lessons here they might be as follows:

1. Don't pat the rear ends of anyone you don't know.  If you have developed a bond with someone new and you just shared a victory in a sporting even or even watched one on television, then maybe, but still no.  Saying good game and doing an ass pat on someone you never met and shared no experiences with is just weird and creepy, so don't do it.

2. Try the Chocolate Peanut Butter Porter by Horny Goat Brewing Company.  It's absolutely delicious and helps you forget things.

Good game, readers.

I Guess I'm Mad Max?

I got this late night hamburger joint with awesome burgers, and it's right by my house.  During a long night of drinking, Auto Pilot Dr. Ken directs his taxi cab driver to pull right up to that place.  I then grab my sack of burgers, walk home, and find a good movie to watch on Netflix.

The other night I went in there with Mrs. Noisewater, and the lady at the counter said, "Oh, hey Mad Max!"  Evidently I was in there one night telling her that I was going to watch a "Mad Max" film that night whilst consuming burgers.  I was astonished that she had never heard of the one and only Mad Max, post apocalyptic hero in a world fighting over precious oil.  I didn't ask much more about our conversation that night because Mad Max (that's me) was a little embarrassed.  

I never understood how those marauders in the Mad Max films found oil such a precious and dwindling commodity, yet they built giant V8 monstrosities and just went around cruising, looking for trouble in their S & M outfits.  You would think they would only drive somewhere when they absolutely had to.  I guess the more I think about it, marauding S & M types wouldn't likely be conservationists.

Anyway, I really do have to slow down on the drinking and late night eating.  All those burgers and beer are rough on the waist line, and the alcohol could make my mind slower.  What I'm trying to say is that if the apocalypse goes down I'll need to have my mind sharp and look sexy in my leather bondage outfit.

My outfit will likely be like the one second from the left.

The other night I met a friend of mine out for an adult pizza party with adult beverages, and I excused myself to use the little boys' room to wash my hands.  After getting done washing my hands I was thinking . . .

"Shit, just got done washing my hands, but now I gotta pee.  Terrible.  Okay, let's get it done.  Okay, done.  Do I really need to wash my hands if I just washed them a second ago?  Yeah, I do because I just handled my pecker.  You can't walk out there with dirty-dick hands and start man-handling all that pizza like a damn savage.  What's wrong with you, Ken?  Okay, we'll just wash 'em again."

It was then that I realized I wasn't thinking that stuff.  I had said it all out loud.  And there was a closed stall with shoes down there who belonged to a guy who heard my whole hand washing and penis touching conversation with myself.

Quit touching yourself, Blog Buddies, and get commenting.  How is everyone doing this fine evening?  

Bottomless Beers and Exploding Tomato Paste

I had this dream last night set at the supermarket in the town where I grew up, and I was chatting with a guy I hadn't met before who seemed to be the manager or owner.  He was drinking a can of Busch Light and offered me one, and as he did so, he was explaining to me that it didn't look like it was 24 ounces but was, somehow.  He was right.  It looked like a normal sized beer but it said 24 ounces at the bottom of the can, and while I was marveling at the beer that he gave me, he pulled out a gun and yelled at a shoplifter to freeze.  Manager guy fired a shot at the thief, missing him, but he did magnificently explode a can of tomato paste all over the place.  Everyone in the store screamed and ran for the exits, including me, which was odd because the gun wielding manager/owner seemed quite chummy with me just a moment before.

"If you're cool, I'll give you a beer, but if you steal, so help me, I will blow your fricking head clean off."

Running towards the door, I ran past the lady at the register and reached into my wallet to find I had a five dollar bill and a one (which is actually what I have in cash in my wallet now - so dreams are smart sometimes).  Without stopping, I plunked down the five, told her to keep the change, and ran out with my deceptively fathomless can of beer.  As I went through the exit doors, there were a bunch of young men pushing the carts but mostly just hanging out, and as I took a pull from my Busch Light, they all seemed happy to see me and we knew all knew each other for some reason.  Walking to my car, now seemingly safe from the fire fight that continued inside, I heard one of them say to another "Dude, I bet Dr. Ken was just like you back in the day."

"Now with more splatter!"

It's hard to say if that youngster meant that in a good or bad one, but I like to think he was implying that it's cool to take a swig from a beer as you casually head for the door with bullets whizzing by and exploding tomato paste all around, splattering the aisles and aisles of packaged goods . . .

Godforsaken Updates . . .

- I had way too much to drink Friday and Saturday, and then I had some more on Superbowl Sunday.  That 3rd day in a row is always the one that catches up with you during the work week, and I know this, but you're not not going to drink for the Superbowl, right?  They need to move that darn game to a Saturday.  I was over at my sister's place and her piss poor neighbors all went home at halftime, and I started falling asleep after 4 or 5 Guinness.  Then her really fun neighbor came over with a bottle of Mike Ditka wine, so I had to try some wine made by "Da Coach."  I didn't have to drink from the next bottle of wine opened, but I did.

- I'm going to Austin, Texas later this month for the first time with LSD, who is finishing up school out in Los Angeles, in case you're a new reader or forgot.  We get together once a month in one of our cities or a neutral one, and this is one I'm really excited about.  The really fun neighbor I mentioned a minute ago heard that I was going there and said, "Ooh!  That's where they have all the bats!"  She is convinced that it is a city overrun with wild bats.  You would think I would have heard about that by now . . .

- My sister and I made fun of her, but it turns out she's right.  Just look at all those bats!

Questions Like These Are Why They Didn't Invite Dr. Ken to the Town Forum Debate

The last time I was at the dentist, the massage therapist wasn't on duty.  That's the whole reason I go to that dentist.  Can you crack down on some bullshit like that?

Can you make a line at the Starbucks for people who don't want fancy drinks with 9 specifications?  Those people suck, right?

Can we get back to the 1980's where a white guy could so easily adopt a Black kid with a growth defect like Webster and Arnold?

Are any of you worried that with the increase in Guitar Hero, that rock bands in 20 years will only be able to play songs that play an entire fret and not individual notes?

What are you going to do to improve implant titty technology?  They still look like bowling balls behind stretched skin and feel like rubber.  

Are either of you going to have a deadbeat, shit heal, drunk-ass brother to make fun of like Billy Carter?

Tasty Beers and Random-Ass Conversation

My good friend, LaFontaine, and I stopped into a new Brewery to review their beers.  Actually, he has knowledge of beers and has a site where he rates them, and my specialty is more in the area of engaging and notating the "Random Conversation" where I will relay to you what goofy things were discussed at the time we drank each one.  I'll give my "Impressions" of the beers too, but you'll want to go by Lafontaine's page for a more in depth analysis of that sort of thing if you are a beer enthusiast.

Atlas Golden Ale
Impressions: "Is this one flat?"
Random Conversation: LaFontaine and I were talking about a professional wrestling party that I am throwing soon, and he had to admit that, due to being a Black guy, he will have to go as Junkyard Dog with a giant chain around his neck and "thump" written on his ass.  We also decided that girls would need a whole other theme because we couldn't have 14 Miss Elizabeth's walking around up in that piece.

Demeter Belgian Wheat
Impressions: "I always like the wheaty ones better."

Random Conversation: I pointed out that LaFontaine didn't notice that I had grown out stupid-looking mutton chops this summer.  He said that he noticed them, but he didn't think I was looking for commentary on them.

Brother Mauro
Impressions: "This one says it has lychee aromas in it.  Who could give a beer a sniff and discern that it smells like a fruit I've barely heard of?"

Random Conversation: The men's gymnastics were on in the Olympics, and LaFontaine and I decided that if you show us a man who is good at the pommel horse, we will show you a man who has racked his craw dads horribly and painfully over-and-over again when he started doing it.  

Nalad Summer Belgian IPA
Impressions: "Citrusy!  Sunny Delight should make a beer.  Maybe it could come in the same bottle shape, only a 12 oz version!"

Random Conversation: I was telling LaFontaine how I had a dream that my girlfriend and I were staying at a hotel in Idaho for whatever reason, and she killed a couple people.  I remember that she had her reasons, and while I thought killing them was a little drastic, I was on board for helping her get away with it.  We paid with a credit card, which had me worried that if they found the bodies, police would have our names to use as a list of suspects.  Then I was trying to convince her that we should drive our asses to Mexico.  I asked LaFontaine what this dream might mean, but he said he stopped listening midway through and again marveled at how those gymnastics kids don't bang their testicles on that pommel horse.  

Diversey Pale Ale
Impressions: "Creamy!  Remember Creamsicles?  Was there a difference between those and Dreamsicles?"

Random Conversation: At this point LaFontaine and I were trying to decide which bar to watch The Bears this football season.  For me, whether or not they played "Bear Down" after a touchdown was a biggy, while beer selection was a deciding factor for him.  I'm confident that through perseverance, we can come to a peaceful resolution.  I have a dream - sicle . . . 

Hyperion Double IPA
Impressions: "I hate the hoppy ones, but shouldn't this be hoppier if it's double the IPA because IPA's are always the hoppy as heck ones that dry my whole mouth out?"

Random Conversation: I pointed out that LaFontaine's stuffy nose didn't sound as bad as when he came in, and we were thinking that if beer cured the common cold, Chicagoans would never have the slightest sniffle.  

Deep End Stout
Impressions: "This one is like drinking a steak!"  

Random Conversation: We were talking about DSL's, which is a crude acronym for women's lips, if you must know, and he was trying to convince me that NFL sideline reporter, Pam Oliver, was fine as hell in the 1980's and had some really nice DSL's.  I looked it up, and it wasn't easy to find a picture back far enough to convince me, but ultimately, he's right!  Thank you, google images.  

1871 Smoked Porter
Impressions: "I didn't care for this one at first, but the more I drink, the more it's my favorite one.  It's a grower, not a shower."  

Random Conversation: LaFontaine at this time mixed 2/3 of the Deep End Stout with 1/3 of the Double IPA, and we both loved it.  Two of the guys who worked there dug it too, and one of them had to admit, "I think you guys just discovered our best beer . . ."  Yes!  We are alchemists.  I then got a whole pint of the LaFontaine Blend, and then "sampled" (read "chugged") way too many Bud Lights with my buddy, Oates.  

------------------------------------------------

Again, swing by LaFontaine's page if you're curious what all these things actually tasted like, and I did another one of these called Night of the Horrendous Beer Tasting with my other good friend, The Locust, where we drank some of the most vile winter brews under the sun.  

What do you think, readers?  Any beer you could recommend?  Any ones that you would pass up even on the worst Friday of work of your life? 

2012 Cubs Game Damn Shame Game Two

Who Went: The Uncle, Southie, and LaFontaine.  This turned out to be quite a solid crew of funny men.  I like to be challenged by dudes as funny as me, and this day didn't disappoint.   

What I Drank: Let's see here . . . A crappy blue moon variation, a skunky rolling rock, a bunch of microbrews, and a host of watery domestics.

Who Won: My Cubbies won on a walk-off walk in 11th inning.

Today's Revelation: The four of us all agreed that there is no comedy sequel that is better than the original.  The only ones that come even close are the second "Austin Powers," the second "Naked Gun," and perhaps the best is "Christmas Vacation" due to its staying power in that a lot of people watch it every year.

Miscellaneous: We met over at Yankee's place because it's right in between all of our places, and it was already raining.  Then while we were there, a thunderstorm started, delaying the game.  Looking at the radar, it was not looking like there would be any baseball.  So, while we were holed up in there, we drank beers, watched the NBA Playoffs, and spun records (most notably a couple great Clash ones).  We then made it over to LaFontaine's local bar, and when we looked up at the television, the game was on after hours of delays!  We decided to walk up to the park, but Southie had to bow out because he wanted to get home by 5 (something that certainly would have happened had it started on time).

The remaining three walked into the park for one inning, and we were able to get a couple rows back because hardly anyone had waited out the long delay.  We then went to two more bars to watch the finish. 

We also decided that there's nothing wrong with Kate Upton dancing in her underpants.

Drunken Weekend Wrap-Up

Friday Night:

I wanted to stay in to save money and avoid too much boozing, so I settled in with a bottle of wine and some NBA basketball. Just when I was so bored that I couldn't even take it anymore, Oats called me up and told me he was in a cab down the street from my house.

He had some friends in town, and they were a good time. We ended up at a 4AM bar, getting hammered, ordering beef sandwiches at Brothers Beef and watching "Glory."

Saturday Night

I watched my 10-year-old nephew crush in his basketball game. I'm proud of the little ginger.  Kid can ball, son! He's aggressive as hell, like on of the Bad Boys on the '88 Pistons. Then we played Pictionary with the whole family, and it was me, grandpa, and 10-year-old versus sister, grandma, and 6-year-old. We blew a huge lead, largely due to the fact that I couldn't draw a convincing enough bum.

My buddy Guile was in town from the suburbs, so he and I met over at HLP's place for cocktailing and dubstep music, a form of music that I need to get my hands on for workouts. Turns out it's also good boozing music.

The idiots dancing outside the liquor store in this clip are dancing to dubstep stuff.

Anyone ever use the autotone application on their iPhone where you can make stupid T-Pain songs from any phrase you say into the phone, picking from various background music? I made a song called "Does it smell like fish?" based on a now famous statement from an East St. Louis stripper who was smoking a cigarette on stage. And not with her mouth . . .

Then we went to Liars Club where I moshed around the room to the Misfits in a Randy "Macho Man" Savage mask that was inexplicably but thankfully at the bar.

Then back at Oats place with Brothers Beef again, only this time watching "28 Days Later," my favorite art house zombie flick, Oats heeded a 4AM booty call. He came home the next morning, already late for work, to find me sleeping in his bed with my shoes on.

Sunday

I stayed in all day and watched City of God with two Italian beef sandwiches, and it only just now dawned on me that they were my 3rd and 4th of the weekend, not to mention like 25 beers. I need some of that dubstep shit and a heavy workout today . . .

My FIrst Marathon Highlights.

1. My playlist was killer. Just before the race was going to start, I hit play and heard "The Final Countdown" by Europe. I also entitled the playlist, "Chicago Marathon. You Can Do It," so the little voice in my headphones told me that when I selected that playlist. Sometimes I name lists with swears just to make the guy say them. Anyway, the race took me a little longer than I thought so I had to skip through to a couple songs to hear them twice. Songs heard twice: "Back That Ass Up," "Train in Vain," and "Just Like Heaven" to name a few. Major props to Kyuss for having two full albums on my list. I recommend them to anyone who works out or beats people up.

2. The signs people had were great. I saw one that said "Worst Parade Ever," which I thought was hilarious until I saw two more. However, the third one had the pic of the comic book store guy from "The Simpsons," which was a nice touch. Another said "Don't poop" (in big letters) and then "out" in small letters. Another said, "While you're out, can you pick up some bread and milk? We're all out." Turns out it was a friend of a friend with that sign. Another said "Run, total stranger!" These signs made me laugh, which is huge when you're running. Other signs were inspiring, if even just for 5 seconds.

3. People give you cheers and high fives as well, and it's even better if you have your name on your shirt so they say, "All right, Dr. Ken!" High fives from little kids kept me smiling. One lady had a sign that said "free hugs," and I really considered it. Another guy had a sign that said "free beer for runners," and he was giving out tiny cans of beer. I saw one lady with a sign that said "shortcut to free beer" with an arrow pointing the way everyone was running anyway. I only got a quarter through my free beer at the end of the race. It tasted amazing (Goose Island's 312, a great Chicago beer), but it just wouldn't go down.

4. I had plenty of beer after getting home and taking a nap. The last bar we stopped at had a drunk sweaty Black guy doing Thai Chi for the whole bar, for some reason. He was quite pleased with himself, but I was more impressed with the sweat coverage on his shit, which was thicker than anyone in the race that afternoon.

5. I was running a couple miles with a friend of mine until she stopped to pee at a point I didn't have to, and as we were approaching the gay neighborhood of Chicago, Boys Town, where there were male cheerleaders and all sorts of fun stuff, I said to her, "I can feel the gayness." And she said, "What? You can smell the anus?" I laughed and said, "No, that's not what I said, but I wish I had because it's fricking hilarious . . ."

6. On a serious note, I wore a ribbon with my buddy Gung Ho's mother's name who just died of cancer. I had it on my back, so I would periodically check it it was still there through out the race. She made it the whole way!

7. Was I in pain? Yes. At one point people were handing out Ben Gay type stuff in packets, and I damn near squirted in my mouth before I heard someone yell, "No! Don't eat it!" Wait, it gets dumber. After putting it in my hand, I rubbed it all over my knees and took a pee, touching my wang with the stuff. I'm not going to say it hurt, but it did just feel super weird, and it was all I could think about for a whole mile.

Old Style Beer and the Old Style of Peeing

Wrigley Field announced that it will stop carrying Old Style and replace it with, rumor has it, Coors Light. This is a tragedy. Yes, Old Style tastes like liquid ass, but it's a man's beer - it tastes like a beer. Bitter, gross, and like diesel fuel - it tastes like when your dad gave you a sip of beer when you were seven and you wanted to puke.

Now, Old Style used to be a quarter or fifty cents cheaper, but then it became the same price. Once it became the same amount of money, the only time one opted for the Dog Pile (as it's sometimes known as) is when the Bud beer vendor hadn't been to your section in a while. It's not like I'm going to miss the taste of the beer too much, but taking away Old Style is kind of like taking away tradition. A nasty, skunky tradition that I treasured and something that has been a part of the ballpark for as long as I can remember.

If you're anything like me, and I hope for your sake you're not, this is making you worry that they will take away other mainstays, like the trough-style urinals. I started a Facebook group to keep the troughs in Wrigley around a year ago, and we have built a robust number of seven people who are willing to put their name on a movement to keep peeing in something horses eat out of.

With your help, we can get over 10 people . . .

Click these words to join the movement.

The Night of the Horrendous Beer Tasting

A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine, The Locust, went out to Delilah's here in Chicago to celebrate the birthday of The Uncle, who is not my uncle, but my Heterosexual Life Partner's (HLP) Uncle. <----- That's sounds confusing, but trust me: It all makes perfect sense.

We got there really early because The Uncle and his buddies had around 3 other stops before they were going to get there, so The Locust and I decided to do an impromptu beer tasting of a few of the 100 winter beers that they were featuring. When we asked the bartender which ones were good, he told us that he is not a fan of winter brews, and we should have taken that as a warning to try something else. Instead, we suffered through some of the crappiest pints of dark, demon piss we have ever had to wince through and choke down in all our storied years of beer drinking. We needed a spitoon, or at least we could have had the good sense not to finish them all. But, sadly, he and I both have a problem with leaving unfinished pints on the bar. Here are the results, complete with a rating on a scale of 10:

Anchor Christmas, 2003:

- Dr. Ken's Rating: one.

- The Locust's Rating: one.

Comments: "It tasted a bit like a vinegary ass."

Bells Christmas Ale, 2010

- Dr. Ken's Rating: initially I rated it a four, but then after tasting how bad the other ones were, I gave it a seven.

- The Locust's Rating: 8

Comments: "This one was sort of refreshing after suffering through all those weird ones, but it's still not all that great."

Lakefront Holiday Spice, 2010

- Dr. Ken's Rating: 4

- The Locust's Rating: 5.5

Comments: "Don't ever get a beer with "spice" anywhere in the title. Is that curry in there? Holy hell, is that ever bad!?"

Winterkoninske, 2006

- Dr Ken's Rating: 3

- The Locust's Rating: 3

Comments: "This one had a beautiful winter scene on the bottle, but it tasted anything but beautiful. It leaned toward that vinegar taste of the previous one, but not quite as ass-like; but still pretty awful."

Newholland Ichabad Crane, 2010

- Dr. Ken's Rating: 4

- The Locust's Rating: 3

Comments: "This one was on tap, and it was incredibly flat, which ordinarily would be a problem. However, after all these horribly strange-tasting brews, a flat one was just fine."

Pabst Blue Ribbon, 2010 but won the Blue Ribbon a million years ago in 1893.

- Dr. Ken's Rating: 10!

- The Locust's Rating: 10!

Comments

: "I have never been so happy to have a beer that tastes like a beer, even if it's still not all that good. Wow. Best two bucks I ever spent!"

Epilogue: Winter brews are not good and a little evil, actually, but stepping into a cozy and warm hole in the wall on a cold and blustery Chicago night is always a good idea.