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on the way to work, not long after the miata broke traction in a lurid slide onto route 7, i was thinking about immortality. how i don't want it, but would like to selectively forfeit certain days in order to get a refund at a later date. the kind of day i'm considering is the type where you mentally shut down, anyway, and take a nice long nap... effectively doing the same thing, i suppose. this was one of those. kind of like when a guitarist starts in on a solo and can't find his way. it starts off sounding like crap, but there's no way to back out of it... yet he keeps on going until the right time comes to fade out. sounds about right. it was skewed before i woke up, and tilted its way to this point. eh... what the fuck. now, i'm daydreaming about the end of the night trip, and the contents of grandma's old refrigerator... now, it's my beer safe. there's some dark SanMiguel in there... a sure cure to stutter the cadence back to a more sensible flow. gotta be better than this. now, if there's a more alcoholic means of reasoning than that, i'd be surprised. let's now stream-of-consciousness further into the subject of beer (and golfwidow, i'll meet you halfway, anytime), and beer reviews. i understand the logic of describing flavor so others can understand... like "fruity" and "malty" and "cashews." what i cannot fathom is how the following description can cause anyone to desire a BelgianAle: "The nose is sweet and earthy. There is malt, candy sugar, musty basement and moldy rag in the nose. Absolutely wonderful taste! More malt, some barnyard notes, wheat and yeast, flowers, light spice and many more that I can't describe." took the words right out of my mouth. hot damn, gimme some more of that "moldy rag and musty basement." and"barnyard"... all of which translates as "puke," in my estimation. mmmm... yummy. |
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