[2005.12.31 - 00:00 P.M.] NEW YEAR'S EVE
The last day of 2005 is upon us!!! Ah, 2005. What can I say about you? You were good to me. You brought me a house, you gave me continued job stability and even a small promotion, and you bestowed countless little moments of joy and happiness upon Tracy and I. Alas, you weren't so good to the country, as our soldiers continued dying in Bush's needless war of choice, the rich, abetted by the GOP and spineless Democrats, screwed the poor and middle class more lustily than ever before, and our besieged planet Earth, tired of decades of abuse, threw a few haymakers our way to remind us who's boss.
Note to 2006: Try to spread the wealth a little better than your predecessor.
Mrs. Toast and I are planning a quiet night of debauchery here by ourselves at our manor in the Shire. She will be breaking in the new wok I got her for X-Mas. We're going to play a little backgammon. We'd like to polish off the remaining egg nog and Captain before the holiday season officially expires. We're going to have our first "real" fire (i.e. non-Duraflame) going in the fireplace. And we've got champagne ready to chill for when the ball drops (not sure which show we'll watch, but I'm personally leaning towards Anderson Cooper).
Tomorrow, football and beer and not much else. (Well, OK, I have to finish the last Halo mission on X-Box.)
Monday... ugh. Monday. Cleaning, start taking down decorations, dial back the food and drink, and start psychologically preparing for the two-month heart of Winter (ha ha! I have a leg up - this week I installed a new programmable thermostat and started sealing some drafty windows.)
But back to the matter at hand. New Year's Eve.
Let me just take this moment to wish all of you -- wherever you may be, whatever you may be doing -- the happiest of New Years. When the clock strikes twelve, hoist a glass for me, and I'll do the same for you.
[2005.12.30 - 09:30 A.M.] STUPID SHIT THAT ANNOYS ME - ITEM 12
Oh my. Someone's got the pants on this morning -- those being the Cranky Pants -- and I believe that someone is me. Been in a foul mood since my feet hit the floor. Foggy head, screwed up my knee trying a new stretching routine yesterday, coffee tastes like shit. So what better thing to do than to return to the SSTAM series?
With the next business day being in 2006, I decided that now would be a good time to call and find out where the hell our new health insurance cards are. So it was that, for the first time, I had to navigate my company's new voice-activated phone tree. Oh, man, do I hate voice-activated phone trees. I have a fucking keypad on my phone, OK? Give me buttons to push. Don't insult me by making me "talk" to a goddamned computer.
Now, mind you, I am not a Luddite. There are applications where voice recognition makes perfect sense. For example, I absolutely love the voice dial feature on my cell phone. Saves me a ton of grief. But an insurance company phone tree that runs a hundred branches deep? Thanks, but I'll pass on having a conversation of that complexity and duration with the ship's computer. Buttons! I want buttons! I'll even settle for one of those hybrid "Press or Say" affairs. But nooooooo. After the initial options that route you to the right department, our new system is voice only.
Check this out: I'm sitting here smoldering, clenching my teeth as this thing says to me:
"Are you calling about medical benefits, pharmacy benefits, dental benefits, ID cards or questions about your plan options?"
To which I quite guilelessly responded:
"Yes"
I mean, I'm dealing with a computer. I gave it a literal answer to its question. Didn't like it though. Wanted me to state which one of those things I was calling about.
Hey, Hotshot: If you're so friggin' smart now that you want to have a conversation instead of the more primitive interaction we both know you're suited for, then why not just ask me "What do you want?" To which I would respond "Where the hell are my new ID cards?" After which you would access your voluminous data files and respond "They were mailed on Tuesday." What? Too hard for you? Then just give me my damned buttons. Better yet, connect me to a human being. No sense in this fine mood being wasted on a wanna-be intelligence like yourself.
(sigh)
It's Dancing Paperclip Syndrome. You know, Microsoft's famous Dancing Paperclip that they use as the interface to their applications' Help systems? Stupid, right? Type your question in plain English and let me, the Dancing Paperclip, go find a list of completely unrelated "answers" for you, because FSM forbid you look something up in an index. It's a form of technological over-reach and what bugs me about it is that it's completely unnecessary. Computers aren't smart enough for us to interact with them like people yet. Creating interfaces that pretend they are -- and doing so with the ridiculous pretension that it's making things "easier" for the user -- is just bad design.
[2005.12.25 - 06:00 P.M.] X-MAS BEER BLOGGING!!!
Ho, Ho, HO!!! It's X-Mas Beer Blogging Time! Admit it. You were worried I wouldn't be here to hook you up this weekend, that I'd be too busy entertaining, too distracted by the joy and mirth and and and... Come on, now. Did you think I'd let you down? You? My peeps? Of course not. So here is a little X-Mas brew sampling. Let me take you through my day in beer, as it were.
First up, Allagash Brewing out of Portland Maine brings us Dubbel Ale, which they describe as a "dark amber Belgian Style" ale. They've got the dark amber part mostly right (see below - I'd call it a brown) but the "Belgian Style" thing, eh, not so much.
The body on this beer is the weight of a typical brown ale, and in fact if you take a brown ale as a starting point and pace off about a quarter of the distance towards an abbey ale, that's where you'll find Dubbel. Very malty first impression, with a bit of a nutty flavor (again, like a brown ale). A slight, slight trace of hops can be ascertained if you concentrate, but nothing assertive. Carbonation is fine-grained, as you'd expect, but a bit too prominent for anything that styles itself a Belgian. I will say that something about the overall mouth-feel has just a hint of the headiness you'd be waiting for -- not much of a nod, but certainly welcome. Alcohol content comes in at a smooth 7%, but you don't taste it quite as much as you'd like to. All of which is not to say that this is a bad beer. It's actually quite tasty and I recommend giving it a whirl if you like, say, Newcastle. Just understand that, labeling aside, this is no more a Belgian-Style ale than Sam Adams Cherry Lambic is a true lambic.
Rating: 5.5
OK, time to air a pet peeve of mine about "flavored" beers. Wait, you say, What's the beer that occasions this X-Mas rant? It's Sea Dog Brewing's Riverdriver Porter Hazelnut Ale. Not a terrible beer. In fact, because I generally like Sea Dog and am fond of their brewpub up in beautiful Camden, Maine, I'm going to go easy on them with the rating. But still...
Here's the thing. You walk a fine line when you decide to flavor a beer. I'm a Master Drunkard, not a Master Brewer, so I don't know where the art lies. What I know is that, if you're going to try to produce a beer that has a non-beer flavor woven into it, you have to somehow make the flavor arise organically. It's not enough to craft a beer of a particular type and then just "add flavor" like you would with, say, a flavored coffee.
Riverdriver has a typical porter base to it. Very heavy body, almost pitch black in color, and a somewhat chocolaty bouquet. Chewy, too. Pleasant in all respects as porters go, but then there's the hazelnut. It tastes like they just went to the supermarket, found some hazelnut extract, and added it in after the fact. D'Oh!!! You can't do it like that. It's too obvious. It hits you over the head. No, if you want to add in hazelnut flavor you have to weave it in to the core. When I sip this, I shouldn't think "porter... chocolate... HEY! Hazelnut!" The added flavor should feel immediate and intrinsic to the beer.
Anyhow. Just something I want to get out there. This is aimed mainly at American microbreweries too. It's like some of them, in the quest to expand their offerings, take a recipe they already have on the shelf and then toss a flavor in. Not good enough, guys. Not givin' those novelty beers the love they need.
Rating: 4.5
Ah, yes. The great meal is through. The turkey and stuffing are in the belly. You're sitting and watching a little football and letting the day settle in. Nothing like finishing off X-Mas night with a good friend.
Mmmmm... Smoky. Chewy. Dark and silky and... hey, my old buddy Sam Smith's Oatmeal Stout. I haven't had this since I was a senior at RPI and I was spending every spare dollar I had down at Holmes & Watson's in Troy, NY expanding my beer repertoire. It's still the sly devil of a beer I remember. Worth every dollar of the $10 a four-pack you'll be charged. Sam's Oatmeal Stout is darker than pitch, smoky like a fireplace on X-Mas day (hmmmm...), slightly bitter, and it sticks to the roof of your mouth in an altogether desirable way, lingering like a friend who doesn't really want to go home. It's a heavy beer -- be warned -- like a 10W/30 at least. But I could not recommend it more warmly.
Rating: 8.5
(Update: Wow, reading that last one really illustrates the inverse relationship between blood alcohol content and writing ability. I think I'll leave it up there unedited as a reminder to myself.)
[2005.12.23 - 08:50 P.M.] HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!
Well, it's X-Mas Eve Eve, and things are in full swing. The wonderful Mrs. Toast is downstairs baking penuche, a pizza is on it's way to our house, and the spirits are flowin'. Tomorrow is gift-wrapping day, then off to Tracy's aunt's house for a gift exchange. And then, Sunday, Tracy and I will host our first X-Mas dinner in our new home here in the Shire. People, let me tell ya, this is like living in a postcard. It's so perfect it borders on corny.
Anyhow, I just wanted to wish all of you Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, Joyous Kwanzaa (I still consider this a fake holiday, but what the fuck), and most importantly, a rockin' and drunken Saturnalia. To my friends in the "real" world, warmest wishes and a sincere hope that our paths cross soon. To my friends in the blogosphere, a special thanks for expanding and enriching my life these last few years. And to all of you, may the holiday season bring you everything your heart desires.
Finally, without further ado, my gift to you: A little top ten list a friend of mine sent me many years ago. (Um, if there are Christians in the audience, please take this in the humorous spirit with which it is intended.)
Top Ten Reasons Beer Is Better Than Jesus
10. No one will kill you for not drinking Beer.
9. Beer doesn't tell you how to have sex.
8. Beer has never caused a major war.
7. They don't force Beer on minors who can't think for themselves.
6. When you have a Beer, you don't knock on people's doors trying to give it away.
5. Nobody's ever been burned at the stake, hanged, or tortured over his or her brand of Beer.
4. You don't have to wait 2000+ years for a second Beer.
3. There are laws saying Beer labels can't lie to you.
2. You can prove there is a beer.
... And the number 1 reason Beer is better than Jesus... (drum roll)...
1. If you've devoted your life to Beer, there are groups to help you stop.
[2005.12.18 - 07:00 P.M.] WEEKEND BEER BLOGGING
Per my friend Paul's recommendation, I decided to check out Victory Brewing's Hop Wallop Ale. Now, I like well-hopped beer, believe me. But nothing prepared me for the first mouthful of this brew. Hop Wallop truly does wallop you with hops. I mean -- BOOM! -- bitter sensors all over the tongue lighting up and informing the central nervous system that, HEY, this is a BITTER BEER. (Meanwhile, as I'm processing this, I'm thinking to myself, hmmmmm, are those hops or did someone put marijuana in this? The two are not dissimilar in their pungent immediacy.) So, yes, Victory, you've made your point. You own the Hoppy Crown. You can hop a beer like nobody's business. Hell, this beer could sail around the world 10 times and never go bad it's so well preserved. But is it good?
Tough call. Let me put it this way: You really need to be in the mood for this one. The recipe makes no pretense towards being balanced. The texture is a little rough and the malt is undetectable. This beer is about one thing and one thing only, and that is kicking you in the mouth with a hop-tipped boot. If you like bitter -- if you're an IPA guy and you can handle this sort of thing -- then I say go for it, just for the novelty if nothing else. I'd be hard-pressed, however, to picture anyone stocking up on this by the case. It's just a little too much of a good thing. (In the "Credit Where It's Due" category, this sucker clocks in at a relatively whopping 8.5% alcohol by volume, so the drinker is certainly rewarded for his or her efforts.)
Rating: 4.5
Our second contestant this week is a fine Belgian-Style Abbey Ale from the brew monks at Brewery Ommegang in Cooperstown, New York. Angelos and Maurinsky (on behalf of Mr. Maurinsky) both recommended this one, so when I ran across it at the CT Beverage Center, I had to scoop some up.
They should rename this stuff Omygod. Because that's what I said when I got my first taste of it. Ho ho ho ho is this good beer.
Dark cherry brown in color. Offers a nice, foamy head when served at room temperature, slightly less so if you cool it down for half an hour in the fridge (not a beer that you drink cold). Serve it in a goblet or other wide-mouthed glass, something that lets you stick your nose down in there. Mmmmmmm. Nice, heady aroma. Then the taste. Big sweet hit on the tip of the tongue to start, then a slow savory flavor burn as you swish it around, and finally a short aftertaste that's part cherry liqueur, part tobacco (in a good way). The body is rich without being syrupy or overbearing. Good alcohol bite to it, but nothing that will scare anyone away. This is definitely a keeper.
Rating: 9.0
[2005.12.18 - 06:00 P.M.] HOW DO I LOATHE HERM? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS.
As if I needed more reasons to detest Herm Edwards, I've now got 500 fresh ones. That's how many dollars I would have won today if the Jets had beaten the Dolphins. For those keeping score at home, it's week 15 of the NFL season and my sole opponent and I are still grinding it out in the Last Man Standing pool. So, this week, I took the Panthers over the Saints (win) and he took the Dolphins over the Jets. Carolina won easily. Meanwhile, Tracy and I are sitting in Hooters watching the Jets game, and things are getting interesting.
The Jets had been trailing 10-0 when we came in, and I immediately wrote the game off. But then Bollinger starts lighting things up, moving the offense. They went into halftime tied at 10. Second Jets drive of the second half, Bollinger tosses a bomb to Doug Jolley for a long touchdown. Jets 17, Dolphins 10. I visualize the $500 payout check being endorsed to me. But then, fourth quarter, the momentum swings completely over to the 'Phins. Two TD's. The Jets D is giving up huge chunks of yardage. OK, so the pool will go on for yet another week. (sigh) Wait, here come the Jets with a field goal to make it a four-point game. OK, OK, if we can just stuff Miami here... yup! We've got the ball back. Two minute warning approaching. Jets facing 4th and long. Bollinger throws deep and... pass interference! Four more downs! Jets moving now. Couple more completions. Miami penalty. Minute and change left and we've got first and five at the Miami 15 yard line. I'm jumping out of the booth. I'm going to finally win this damned thing.
Pass... incomplete.
Pass... incomplete.
Pass... incomplete.
Pass... incomplete.
Game over.
Fuckin' Herm fuckin' Edwards. The only man in the universe who calls four straight pass plays starting from a first and five situation in the red zone. Not a run to be seen.
It was actually very similar to the shit he pulled against Jacksonville back in October, giving away a sure win against a quality opponent. I'm sorry, but the man doesn't know how to coach football. Might be a nice guy, but he sucks gargantuan quantities of ass come game time. Stole $500 bucks right of my pocket today too. Fuckin' fucker.
I soooooo hope he's gone next year.
[2005.12.17 - 11:20 A.M.] OFF WE GO
Tracy and I are off to the Obnoxious Sports Fan Capital of the World (aka "Boston") for the annual Toast Family X-Mas Gift Exchange. Should be a good time, assuming there's no drama.
Something we started doing last year that's a lot of fun is the Yankee Swap. It's like a grab, in that you get a group of people together and everyone buys one gift. After that, it gets crazy. Everyone draws a number, which is the order that you get to choose a gift in. The person with number 1 then goes and takes a gift and opens it in front of everyone. Then, the person with number 2 goes and picks a gift and does the same. If they like it, they can keep it. If they don't, they can exchange it with person 1's gift. The swap proceeds like this through all the participants, with each participant having the option to swap a gift with anyone who went before them. It gets chaotic in a hurry, and if last year was any indication, tempers may even flare as people are deprived of "choice" gifts. Perfect recipe for holiday fun.
Anyhow, have a great weekend everyone. We should be home early enough for me to do Beer Blogging tomorrow.
UPDATE: In the shower just now, listening to the radio, and It's The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year comes on. Heard it a million times, but for some reason, lately, I've been noticing lyrics in songs that I previously kind of tuned out. So out of nowhere, I suddenly pick up on this line:
There'll be scary ghost stories
And tales of the glories
Of Christmases long, long ago
Um, who the fuck tells ghost stories at their Christmas parties? Hmmmm?
[2005.12.13 - 09:00 A.M.] THE COLBERT CODE
Last night, Tracy and I were watching last Thursday's Colbert Report on DVR. His guest for that episode -- Wait, would you call them "episodes" or "editions"? "Installments"? -- was erstwhile Bush Worshipper Peggy Noonan, who has been making the rounds promoting her hagiography of the Pope (on bookstore shelves now! don't wait!). As Colbert ran over to take his seat at the interview table, he did his usual schtick, basking in the applause of the audience, hands raised, and in that moment I broke the Colbert Code:
The amount of time Colbert spends basking in adulation prior to sitting down with his guest is inversely proportional to the amount of respect he has for the guest. Or:
Tb ∝ 1 / Rg
A couple of weeks ago, you might remember, he had former terrorism czar Richard Clarke on. I was shocked to see that instead of bowing and preening as usual, Stephen trotted right over to the interview table without so much as a glance in the crowd's direction and sat down.
Contrast that with Noonan's appearance. He ran out, jumped around, smiling at the audience, took a bow and then a few steps towards the table and then - psyche! - turned back around and spent several more seconds pumping himself up with applause, then another bow, all while Noonan sat there waiting. You had to love it. (Unless, maybe, you were Peggy Noonan.)
[2005.12.12 - 05:00 P.M.] DUNKIN DREADNOUGHTS?
Oh, please please please please NO.
From the Washington Post via Josh Marshall:
"The Carlyle Group is among the final bidders for the Dunkin' Donuts and Baskin-Robbins restaurant chains, in what would be the first U.S. consumer retail investment for a company built around its expertise in defense, aerospace and telecommunications."
Noooooooooooo-oooooooooooooooo... (whimper)
Can't you fuckers keep your dirty mitts off of anything? I mean, Dunkin Donuts -- purveyors of the universe's best coffee and donuts -- being acquired by a world-wide energy & arms consortium run by the Bush Family Evil Empire? That's despicable. This cannot be allowed to happen.
[2005.12.10 - 02:45 P.M.] PERPETUAL PUTRIDITY? HMMMMMM...
Reading Bill Simmons' NFL column for this week, right? Here's how he leads off:
In the past two decades, the NFL has slowly been inching toward Paul Tagliabue's dream of perpetual parity. Whether it was expansion, the salary cap, revenue sharing or yearly schedules favoring weaker teams, the message has always remained the same: We like it when everyone has an equal chance to win. Everything crested in January of 2000, when St. Louis and Tennessee battled in Super Bowl XXXIV as casual fans asked questions like, "Wait, this is the NFL, right?" and "Is this the warm-up game for the Broncos and Niners?"
Of course, the 2005 season marked the beginning of a new era for the NFL: perpetual putridity.
So lemme get this straight. Simmons is saying that "parity" was reached in 2000 when we got to the point where pretty much any old franchise could get to the Super Bowl. Now, in 2005, he says that we've reached the point of "perpetual putridity". No argument here on either count.
Now what else happened over that five-year span in the NFL?
Anybody? Anybody? Bueller?
Hey, I'm just sayin'...
UPDATE: Holy shit is Simmons wrong. Wrong wrong wrong.
Look, I love this guy, he's my favorite sportswriter, period. But the danger of a sportswriter who mixes in pop culture references is that you are occasionally exposed to bouts of wrong-headedness that are awe-inspiring. I should have seen this coming when Simmons dissed Lewis Black as being unfunny. How fuckin' wrong is that?
Anyhow, here he is in his column making an analogy between the NFL's slide and the music industry:
The eventual outcome of perpetual parity IS perpetual putridity. For example, after the magical run of alternative and hip-hop music from 1991-1995, everyone was so worn out from quality music that we allowed one-word crappy bands like Creed and Live to become..
Whoa, stop right there: Live is a fucking great band and Creed absolutely blows. Lumping them together? What the fuck?
..famous, as well as untalented rappers like Diddy and Ja Rule, eventually leading to the inexplicable boom in hacky pop music, boy bands and that metal rock miasma. Just watch the SNL reruns from the bulk of the Will Ferrell era -- it's a musical apocalypse.
My theory for this: Everyone was so distracted by the unexpected Internet boon, as well as the copious amounts of suddenly free porn, that four or five years passed before we realized that the music industry was headed straight to hell. And it kept getting worse and worse and worse -- culminating in Andrew K's selling out NBA-sized arenas..
If you're talking about Andrew W.K., dude, just go fuck yourself.
..and everyone unwittingly allowing the complete bastardization of the music industry -- before the Strokes, Eminem and the White Stripes burst onto the scene and everyone remembered, "Hey, music can be popular and good! Wow!" And now we're knee-deep into another iPod-fueled renaissance.
Here's the point: if you allow things to slip away, you can go from Nirvana to Smashing Pumpkins to Foo Fighters to Creed to Hanson in the matter of milliseconds.
That's not a linear progression. Foo Fighters at their best are superior to Nirvana. And the jump from Foo to Creed would take pages upon pages of bands to properly fill in.
Anyhow. Great sportswriter. At least now I know not to take him seriously about music.
[2005.12.10 - 10:25 A.M.] WAR ON christMAS
Ruth Marcus has a great little piece in the Post today skewering the ridiculous War that Wasn't:
I've been hearing about this "War on Christmas," so I headed to the Heritage Foundation the other day for a briefing from one of the defending army's generals: Fox News anchor John Gibson, author of "The War on Christmas: How the Liberal Plot to Ban the Sacred Christian Holiday Is Worse Than You Thought." Gibson -- and Bill O'Reilly, his comrade in the Fox-hole -- see this as a two-front war: Assaulting Christmas from the government end, they say, are pusillanimous school principals, politically corrected city managers and their ilk, bullied by the ACLU types into extirpating any trace of Christmas from the public square. Battering the holiday from the private sector are infidel retailers such as Target and Wal-Mart, which balk at using the C-word in their advertising in favor of such secularist slogans as "Happy Holidays."
The assault, Gibson told the Heritage crowd, has reached a "shocking level this year."
After the lecture, I wandered over to Union Station to check out a retail battlefield. Inside and out, the station was festooned with giant You Know What wreaths. A huge You Know What tree, with presents wrapped in red and green underneath, stood in the main hall, near a placard announcing "Norwegian Christmas at Union Station." A high-tech player piano was playing "Go Tell It on the Mountain," proclaiming the birth of You Know Who; the next selection was You Know Who Else Is Coming to Town. The most generic element was a small sign reading "Happy Holidays," but even then the words were bracketed by reindeer -- and let's just say, they weren't eating latkes. It was beginning to look a lot like You Know What.
Go read the rest. It's short and it's good.
[2005.12.10 - 10:00 A.M.] LIEBERTWIT
So here I am, still in my bathrobe, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, a tad hung over, trying to mentally steel myself for a busy weekend of gift buying. I pull up the Post and what's the first headline that greets me?
Lieberman Wins GOP Friends
Ugh.
There's no disputing it: Connecticut's own Joe Lieberman is the stupidest shit-dick on our side of the Senate aisle.
Please, Mr. Weicker, rescue us from this insipid twit.
(Yawn)
Sorry I've been away from the blog all week. The last five days have been non-stop meetings at work. Not much time to surf, keep up with what's going on in the world, or jot down a few thoughts. Actually, with the holidays coming up -- you know, Hanukkah, Kwanza, Saturnalia, New Years, and, um, that other one (can't think of the name) -- posting will probably be slow for a while. Busy busy busy.
UPDATE: Oh, it gets worse. Slate has a piece up titled:
Joe Republican? Why President Bush loves Sen. Lieberman.
I'm going to throw an excerpt at you but, fair warning, make sure your stomach is settled and you haven't got anything in your mouth, OK? Here you go (emphasis mine):
George Bush can't stop talking about Sen. Joe Lieberman. For the last two weeks, the president has been citing the Connecticut Democrat in his major speeches about the war in Iraq. Bush has quoted Lieberman as saying that we have made progress in Iraq and have a strategy for winning, then he declared: "Sen. Lieberman is right."
Vice President Dick Cheney also quoted Lieberman approvingly this week. Republican National Chairman Ken Mehlman and White House spokesman Scott McClellan name-checked Lieberman, too. Last January, George Bush gave Lieberman a kiss on the cheek before the State of the Union. The way things are going, this January Bush might give him a back rub.
(Shudder)
Coming soon to a theater near you: Broke Brain Mountain, starring George W. Bush and Joe Lieberman as themselves.
[2005.12.04 - 05:00 P.M.] WEEKEND BEER BLOGGING
The neck label on Long Trail Brewing's Double Bag Ale reads:
"This full-bodied double alt is also known as "Stickebier" -- German slang for "secret brew". The secret is that this brew is so smooth you'd never believe it has an alcohol content of 7.2%!!!"
Well, score one for truth in advertising. This beer is easy to drink. Absolutely nothing about it screams "I'm Kicking Your Ass!!!" It's more of a "killing 'em softly" kind of vibe.
Double Bag is dark tan in color with a slightly-heavier-than-medium body. The taste is a hair to the hoppy side of dead center on the spectrum. In fact, "well balanced" is what best describes this beer. It's got a fair amount going on, but everything seems to offset each other. The result is a flavor that hints at intensity but ultimately holds back, like the brewers didn't want to risk offending you. This eager-to-please "play nice" personality would normally leave me unimpressed, but the knowledge that it's being used to sneak ass-loads of alcohol into one's system... well, I have to respect that.
Rating: 6.0
Ever have a friend that you're really, truly fond of, but for some reason you never seem to find the time to get together? That's how I am with McEwan's Scotch Ale. Seriously, if a stranger walked up to me in the street and asked me to name my top five beers, McEwan's would be on there, and yet I think it's been at least five years since I've bought it. True, the $10-per-six-pack price tag might have something to do with that, but money shouldn't come between true friends, right?
A review? You want a review? Here you go: McEwan's Scotch Ale is a stupidly good beer.
Dark brown color with red hues when you hold it up to the light. Nice thick body with the kind of subtle carbonation you usually only find in a barley wine. Oh, and the flavor. Sweet maltiness with hints of caramel and a nice hard alcohol aftertaste that warms you up inside and lets you know that this beer means business. Mmmmmmm, tasty. So tasty. Make friends with a six-pack of McEwans, readers. You will not regret it.
Rating: 9.5
[2005.12.04 - 11:00 A.M.] IO, SATURNALIA!
The Times has a pretty good editorial today discussing the crass and ugly "Christmas Under Siege" campaign being led by cock-gobbling shithead and self-appointed King of Christmas Bill O'Reilly (pictured at right).
The editorial gives a us a short and handy historical overview of the origins of the Winter holiday, telling the familiar story of how Christians co-opted existing pagan solstice celebrations, turning these gregarious food-and-drink-centered festivals into yet another opportunity to worship the Baby Jeebus. It tells how Christmas was not always accepted even by some early American Christians, such as the Puritans, and how our cultural tradition of religious pluralism has led to a long history of non-Christians trying to broaden the definition of the holiday season to be more inclusive. Most importantly, the piece points out the spite-filled hypocrisy of the Christmas Warriors:
The Christmas that Mr. O'Reilly and his allies are promoting - one closely aligned with retailers, with a smack-down attitude toward nonobservers - fits with their campaign to make America more like a theocracy, with Christian displays on public property and Christian prayer in public schools.
It does not, however, appear to be catching on with the public. That may be because most Americans do not recognize this commercialized, mean-spirited Christmas as their own. Of course, it's not even clear the campaign's leaders really believe in it. Just a few days ago, Fox News's online store was promoting its "Holiday Collection" for shoppers. Among the items offered to put under a "holiday tree" was "The O'Reilly Factor Holiday Ornament." After bloggers pointed this out, Fox changed the "holidays" to "Christmases."
Hey, let me tell ya, an O'Reilly Factor Christmas Ornament by any other name would still be just as hideous an eyesore.
So is this an honest-to-god Crusade, or is it just a bunch of shameless, pathetic whores trying to rile up the rubes and boost ratings? You jaded cynics out there might be leaning towards the latter explanation, but seriously, have you been tracking the increasing insanity of O'Reilly's antics lately? Calling for terrorists to attack San Francisco? Babbling on about anti-Christian conspiracies? Paranoia and megalomania. Nice mix. Of course, sooner or later the stress of walking around with a giant turd on your head would get to anyone, I guess.
[2005.12.03 - 06:00 P.M.] TREE!
The X-Mas tree is up! We have officially kicked off our first holiday season in our new home. And I gotta say, nothing makes a home more warm and fuzzy than an X-Mas tree. Ah, the lights. Can't wait to curl up on the couch with my love and only the X-Mas tree lights to illuminate us. Ah... (sigh).
Uh oh.
Methinks the Rum Ninjas are creeping around me circulatory system. I'm sure they're up to no good.
(What? Can't trim a tree without egg nog and Captain Morgan's in your tank. I mean, seriously.)
UPDATE: Do you know how many calories are in a half-gallon carton of egg nog? 2,880 calories, that's how many. Do you know how much egg nog is left in the carton Tracy and I opened three hours ago? Not a lot, that's how much. I am going to weigh a million pounds Monday morning.
[2005.12.02 - 05:30 P.M.] WHAT HAVE I DONE?
Near the end of Star Trek III: The Search For Spock, there's a scene where Kirk and McCoy are standing on a promontory on the rapidly-disintegrating Genesis planet. Kirk looks up into the sky as the remains of the Enterprise, which he has just caused to self-destruct, burn up in the atmosphere. He turns to his companion and says:
"My God, Bones. What have I done?"
To which McCoy responds:
"What you had to do. What you always do. Turn death into a fighting chance to live."
Shortly thereafter, Kirk commandeers a Klingon Bird of Prey -- a ship built and crewed by his most hated enemy, and previously captained by the man who killed Kirk's son -- and uses it to deliver his friends to safety.
This is a pretty tight analogy to the situation I find myself in this week in my Last Man Standing football pool.
The LMS is one of those "suicide" or "eliminator" pools where you pick a single team to win -- straight up, not against the spread -- every week. If they win, you advance. If they don't, you're out. Last man standing at the end wins all the money in the pool (in our case, five hundred bucks). Oh, and you cannot pick the same team twice.
Well, friends, it's week 13, and the pool, which started with 50 players, is down to me and one other guy. I have been, in a word, awesome. Getting through the first four weeks of this mind-bogglingly unpredictable season was the toughest part. After that I was locked in. I could look at the games for the upcoming week and, with a preternatural certainty approaching clairvoyance, identify the Sure Thing on the board. I have been completely In The Zone.
So try to imagine the ulcer I got when I took a peek at this week's games and, after eliminating all of the teams I had previously selected, was left with only One. Sure. Thing.
The fucking Patriots.
Over my poor, sad-sack Jets.
I almost couldn't do it. I actually laid awake last night trying to convince myself to go with the Dolphins over the Bills instead. But, taking a look at the lines this morning, I saw that Vegas only had Miami as a 4 1/2-point favorite, while the Patriots are giving up 10 points to the Jets. I had to come to grips with the fact that the hated, scum-sucking Patriots were indeed my surest conveyance to the Promised Land. And so, with desolation in my heart and a sense of shame clinging to me like the muck of Hell's own outhouse, I let the pick stand.
As my buddy Angelos said to me, First Law of Gambling: No emotion.
He's right, of course. And 500 bucks is 500 bucks.
Yet I cannot help but picture myself on the couch this Sunday as I turn to my wife and whisper:
"My God, Honey. What have I done?"
[2005.12.02 - 05:00 P.M.] THE MOTHER OF ALL FALSE EQUIVALENCIES?
False equivalencies in American political journalism are an obsession of mine. You know the sort of thing I'm talking about. A schmuck journo, deeply in thrall to the "Both Sides Are The Same" meme that infects the mainstream press, takes a GOP atrocity (e.g. The DeLay/Scanlon/Abramoff Crime Syndicate; Lying about Saddam's WMD program) and tries to draw an analogy to some small-time, tame, and ultimately benign Democratic misdeed (e.g. Speaker Jim Wright's book deal; Lying about a blowjob). Well, yesterday, Slate Magazine (surprise) gave us a False Equivalency for the Ages.
John Dickerson, writing about John Kerry's recent criticisms of Bush's Iraq policy, believes that Kerry goes too far in claiming that Bush is unaware of the effect our troops are having as a catalyst for the insurgency. Dickerson thinks Kerry is being unfair and duplicitous:
The criticism cleverly paints Bush as hopelessly clueless. It aligns Kerry with the fighting man: He's not cutting and running when he calls for a speed-up of troop withdrawal, he's just listening to Gen. Casey, unlike Bush himself. Kerry is leveraging Bush's reputation for stubbornness and lack of candor and turning it into a deadly flaw.
Like most clever feints in Washington, it's also not entirely honest. True: Bush doesn't admit that the presence of large numbers of U.S. soldiers inspires insurgents. He probably never will. But that's a lack of candor, not a hole in the military strategy. Kerry wants to make what Bush doesn't say proof of what Bush doesn't know.
Now, I happen to think Dickerson extends Bush too much credit. It is entirely possible that Bush does not believe our troops are fueling the insurgency. Why suppose otherwise about a man who believed the Iraqis would greet us as liberators and that the insurgents are attacking us because they "hate freedom"? Still, Dickerson's welcome to his take, and if we assume, as he does, that Bush is tactically knowledgable about the overall situation in Iraq, then the author's criticism of Kerry is somewhat valid.
What is not valid is the outrageous title that Dickerson (or perhaps Slate) chose for the article:
"Kerry Swift-Boats Bush"
Yes, you read that right. Dickerson would have you believe that Kerry's claiming that Bush is unaware of one of the tactical dimensions of the Iraq war when Bush is (ostensibly) merely unwilling to talk about it is just like a bought-and-paid-for group of lying, bitter, Vietnam veterans launching a protracted smear campaign against Kerry that claims he deliberately shot himself, lied about his service, didn't deserve his medals, and betrayed his fellow soldiers.
What, you don't see the similarity?
I'd almost prefer to believe that this was a case of deliberate sensationalism intended to lure in readers, but I think I know better. It's really just further proof of how there are no standards, no perspective, no sense whatsoever of the relative importance of events in the political analysis that the mainstream media spoons out to us. Mountains and molehills are treated exactly the same. First degree murder is breathlessly compared to cutting in line at the supermarket.
False equivalency. It's what you get when you mix journalism with moral idiocy.
I first discovered 
