Just a little post-humpday diversion via your pals at EBONY. Last week Kyle showed me my new guilty pleasure, www.textsfromlastnight.com. This is even better than F My Life and has come up in coversation at least 3 times since Sunday. This got me to thinking, what are the best texts I've recieved in the last couple of weeks. Here's the list:
"Fascist" - Subject A
"To mother russia. End of may. Get in or get out" - Subject A
"Blow that shit" - Subject B*
"Jesus Larissa tomei ok wrestler is amazing" - Subject C
"Making out with some sjamk I, Awesome" - Subject C
"So drunk. Ended up at Berlin mao" - Subject C
"Old people at the DMV...Shoot them" - Subject C
"How many 22 oz-ers do you think i can drink in 4 hours at the airport" - Subject D
"He also either sweat through the covers or pissed himself. I slept on the floor..." - Subject C
"And that's saying something since I sucked from 17-24" - Subject C
"Holy fuck did I eat shit" - Subject C
"Thax is on the blue line with me" - Subject D
"Pink tacos" - Subject A
"My mom just showed up in the people you may know window" - Subject D
"Happy birthday rose!!!:) love breee!" - Subject B*
"What did I eat last night? I shit out a fetus" - Subject C
*Note, Subject B seems to think I'm some chick named Rose as I get a few texts every week telling me which bar he/she is at, what time we're meeting at the pool, and where do want to go to dinner. I haven't replied yet, but I may.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
taste's like beer and grape juice
April has been quite foolish to us as we've been slacking a bit. We tackled our tenth bar (well tenth inside the radius, we've been to at least an additional 7 outside) of the month which brings us well below the 15 per month quota we set for ourselves. Fortunately we started at a blistering pace that Jim Akita couldn't even hang with and so far have 76 crossed off the list. Once again the link to the right has the full list and now includes all the bars we've visited outside the mile radius as well - this total is approaching the 200 mark.
Saturday marked the only bar we tackled when Annie and us met up at Roadhouse 66 before the White Sox game. The Roadhouse is basically a Texas saloon on the tip of Wrigelyville. We were the only patrons in the bar and huddled in the corner watching the Penn Relays on ESPN. After a few minutes the bartender was nice enough to put the Penn Relays on all the TV's and have the sound for the meet going for us. I think he was quite puzzled as we were immersed watching each event and spouting names that unless you ran 4 years in college or are a complete running geek, you would be left completely clueless and puzzled. The highlight of the meet was the 75+ year old 100m. dash. Those old dudes could roll. The peak of this amazement was the old man in the full sweat suit and gloves in the 80 degree heat in lane 1. The greatest part of the Penn Relays every year is in the Steeplechase. The whole crowd gets in a chant of "Fall, Fall, Fall" at the water pit and somehow every year someone bites the dust, see the video below for this years fatality. After a couple Red Hook IPAs we headed down to Bridgeport for the Sox game.
Saturday marked the only bar we tackled when Annie and us met up at Roadhouse 66 before the White Sox game. The Roadhouse is basically a Texas saloon on the tip of Wrigelyville. We were the only patrons in the bar and huddled in the corner watching the Penn Relays on ESPN. After a few minutes the bartender was nice enough to put the Penn Relays on all the TV's and have the sound for the meet going for us. I think he was quite puzzled as we were immersed watching each event and spouting names that unless you ran 4 years in college or are a complete running geek, you would be left completely clueless and puzzled. The highlight of the meet was the 75+ year old 100m. dash. Those old dudes could roll. The peak of this amazement was the old man in the full sweat suit and gloves in the 80 degree heat in lane 1. The greatest part of the Penn Relays every year is in the Steeplechase. The whole crowd gets in a chant of "Fall, Fall, Fall" at the water pit and somehow every year someone bites the dust, see the video below for this years fatality. After a couple Red Hook IPAs we headed down to Bridgeport for the Sox game.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Roller Coaster By The Sea
The best part about hanging out in Boston for unofficial EBONY events that really have nothing to do with the mission of this blog? That I don't have to bother remembering the exact names of every place we visit so they can be checked off the list. Over 4 days of vacation I had a drink in some 13 different places -- philly airport, mj o'connors, uno pizzeria (wtf), boston beer works, fenway park, some bar at 40k on the marathon course, the bar at the copley square mariott, hotel 140, solas on boylston, grafton street in harvard, some dive bar in cambridge, the boston airport bar, american airlines flight 1081.
MJ O'Connor's, an Irish bar downtown, found me watching the Bruins with some old Russian men who were drinking Jager (wtf?).
The Uno Pizzeria was lunch after running the inaugural Boston pre-marathon 5k, where my lying friend Jason may or may not have run a 15:30 and finished 7th or 8th. Technically it was a Sunday and they weren't supposed to serve us beer until after Noon, but we charmed our russian-immigrant Law & Order-loving waitress and her manager. Beers made their way to our table by 11:15.
Boston Beer Works is on Yawkey right next to Fenway and they've got a great assortment of their own brews. People seemed unusually fascinated by the forever diving & rising blueberries.
Our seats at Fenway were nearly obstructed by a pole. Lester pitched a gem, lowering his ERA from somewhere north of 8.5 to the lower 5's. Good times at the ball park.
Heading back to Boston Beer Works we tried to determine if these two kids were on a date or not. Jason eavesdrops.
Marathon Monday finds Rick, Annie and I at the 40k mark, just West of Fenway Park & Kenmore station, at a bar we never got the name of. Here's the marathon course outside the window.
We watch on television as Ryan Hall and Kara Goucher put forth admirable efforts on the New England roads. We head outside in time to see them both run by, along with the rest of the well performing elites.
The bar attempts to charge us a $10 cover for our return, and this was probably where I started to get on the surly bus. No cover was paid. Another beer down, then more watching of our friends as they begin their parade past our vantage point.
Moving downtown we congratulate the friends we can find, have a beer at the Mariott and Hotel 140, then head back up to Boylston to see the last of the finishers and to grab a couple more beers at yet another Irish bar. Two people wearing their marathon medals step outside for cigarettes. Surly levels escalate.
A T-trip to Harvard takes us to Grafton Street for a post-marathon dinner. I can't speak for everyone else, but the oysters, clam chowder, cuban sandwich & slice of flatbread pizza I had were delicious.
Looking to celebrate even more, Zach takes us to a dive bar around the corner where things progressed quickly, especially after Jason ordered 17 irish car bombs. Somehow Toto comes up on the jukebox twice. I only dropped one girl while dancing. We closed the place down like you'd expect out of our marathoner friends.
Tuesday...the Boston Airport bar in the B terminal only has microbrews, and this angers at least 5 people I heard attempt to order Sam Adams. My 4th 22 ouncer is paid for by a 40-something married republican woman from Texas who's father is a Pentecostal Pastor. She proclaims to have been "saved" multiple times in her life. Aside from not caring what others have to think about you there aren't many things we agree on.
Flight 1081, despite being several hours behind schedule, was actually pretty damn fun. One more beer is finished on the flight as the conversation in our row (me, my new Chicago Trader friend, and the 100% Irish woman) covers everything from My Blue Heaven to surprise birthday parties to $6 premium nuts. We're briefly joined by prolific reader Jules from 8 rows up, who probably didn't say 'Hi' to her Mom like I told her to.
I get home at 1:45am...96 hours after I started packing for the trip.
MJ O'Connor's, an Irish bar downtown, found me watching the Bruins with some old Russian men who were drinking Jager (wtf?).
The Uno Pizzeria was lunch after running the inaugural Boston pre-marathon 5k, where my lying friend Jason may or may not have run a 15:30 and finished 7th or 8th. Technically it was a Sunday and they weren't supposed to serve us beer until after Noon, but we charmed our russian-immigrant Law & Order-loving waitress and her manager. Beers made their way to our table by 11:15.
Boston Beer Works is on Yawkey right next to Fenway and they've got a great assortment of their own brews. People seemed unusually fascinated by the forever diving & rising blueberries.
Our seats at Fenway were nearly obstructed by a pole. Lester pitched a gem, lowering his ERA from somewhere north of 8.5 to the lower 5's. Good times at the ball park.
Heading back to Boston Beer Works we tried to determine if these two kids were on a date or not. Jason eavesdrops.
Marathon Monday finds Rick, Annie and I at the 40k mark, just West of Fenway Park & Kenmore station, at a bar we never got the name of. Here's the marathon course outside the window.
We watch on television as Ryan Hall and Kara Goucher put forth admirable efforts on the New England roads. We head outside in time to see them both run by, along with the rest of the well performing elites.
The bar attempts to charge us a $10 cover for our return, and this was probably where I started to get on the surly bus. No cover was paid. Another beer down, then more watching of our friends as they begin their parade past our vantage point.
Moving downtown we congratulate the friends we can find, have a beer at the Mariott and Hotel 140, then head back up to Boylston to see the last of the finishers and to grab a couple more beers at yet another Irish bar. Two people wearing their marathon medals step outside for cigarettes. Surly levels escalate.
A T-trip to Harvard takes us to Grafton Street for a post-marathon dinner. I can't speak for everyone else, but the oysters, clam chowder, cuban sandwich & slice of flatbread pizza I had were delicious.
Looking to celebrate even more, Zach takes us to a dive bar around the corner where things progressed quickly, especially after Jason ordered 17 irish car bombs. Somehow Toto comes up on the jukebox twice. I only dropped one girl while dancing. We closed the place down like you'd expect out of our marathoner friends.
Tuesday...the Boston Airport bar in the B terminal only has microbrews, and this angers at least 5 people I heard attempt to order Sam Adams. My 4th 22 ouncer is paid for by a 40-something married republican woman from Texas who's father is a Pentecostal Pastor. She proclaims to have been "saved" multiple times in her life. Aside from not caring what others have to think about you there aren't many things we agree on.
Flight 1081, despite being several hours behind schedule, was actually pretty damn fun. One more beer is finished on the flight as the conversation in our row (me, my new Chicago Trader friend, and the 100% Irish woman) covers everything from My Blue Heaven to surprise birthday parties to $6 premium nuts. We're briefly joined by prolific reader Jules from 8 rows up, who probably didn't say 'Hi' to her Mom like I told her to.
I get home at 1:45am...96 hours after I started packing for the trip.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Limbo
Brief vaca update...
Killing time between Chicago and Boston - in Philly - I stop in a crowded Jet Rock airport bar to catch the end of NBA playoffs round 1 game between, you guessed it, Chicago and Boston. This bar has roughly 40+ beers on tap, I just order the one in front of me. Joakim Noah commits a STUPID foul which leads to the game heading into OT. There don't seem to be any Boston fans here, and there's a vocalcrowd of bulls backers scattered throughout.
The philly airport has some sweet rocking chairs scattered throughout the concourse, I'm happy I left the comfort of that chair to catch the end of this game. 35 minutes til I board... Hopefully this Sam Adams Summertime helps me sleep the rest of the way to Boston.
I do have 3.5 National Geographics and 2 Wireds to read up on. I have a habit of only reading magazines when I'm travelling, perhaps this trip will get me caught up. Hopefully this game and my beer are finished soon because the bar has started playing the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and I'm afraid my ears will start bleeding.
Killing time between Chicago and Boston - in Philly - I stop in a crowded Jet Rock airport bar to catch the end of NBA playoffs round 1 game between, you guessed it, Chicago and Boston. This bar has roughly 40+ beers on tap, I just order the one in front of me. Joakim Noah commits a STUPID foul which leads to the game heading into OT. There don't seem to be any Boston fans here, and there's a vocalcrowd of bulls backers scattered throughout.
The philly airport has some sweet rocking chairs scattered throughout the concourse, I'm happy I left the comfort of that chair to catch the end of this game. 35 minutes til I board... Hopefully this Sam Adams Summertime helps me sleep the rest of the way to Boston.
I do have 3.5 National Geographics and 2 Wireds to read up on. I have a habit of only reading magazines when I'm travelling, perhaps this trip will get me caught up. Hopefully this game and my beer are finished soon because the bar has started playing the Red Hot Chilli Peppers and I'm afraid my ears will start bleeding.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Saturate, fill me up; Liquidate, empty my cup
Just a few notes from our brief Saturday mid-afternoon 2-bar-crawl before I take off for 4 days in Boston.
Our discussion at Clark Street Bar involved some mathematical heavy lifting. We wondered if after the shared numbers of 2, 3 & 5 would the Prime Numbers ever again pass the Fibonacci Sequence? My guess is no...just through 9 digits Prime Numbers are only up to 23, while Fibonacci has already reached 89. The 1,000th Prime Number is something like 7,179, and at this point Fibonacci has reached a number with more digits than my excel spreadsheet at work was willing to display, no matter how wide I stretched the column and how small of a font I used. So theoretically I suppose it's possible that Prime's could eventually catch up, but it'd be pretty difficult and I'm sure the Prime Numbers that reach that far haven't yet been discovered.
Our other discussion while at Clark St? On the Sox broadcast they mentioned Bartolo Colon was the 7th winningest active pitcher in the bigs. So who were the top six? Thanks to a text from Trivia Wunderkind, Vh1 World Series of Pop Culture Champion, and pop culture blog Intensities in Ten Suburbs author Andrew we now know.
#1 - Tom Glavine (although he has since hinted at retirement)
#2 - The Big Unit
#3 - Jamie Moyer
#4 - Andy Petite
#5 - John Smoltz
#6 - Tim Wakefield
#7 - Bartolo the fat toad
Pedro, when he eventually signs, will enter the list behind Petite.
While watching the Duke-UV Lacrosse game at Kirkwood we noted their field could use the assistance of The Sodfather Roger Bossard.
Adam texts us (from 10 feet away), "There's A Dream And I Live It". Rick and I both shake our heads in disagreement.
During one of the televised horse races Rick goes with Poltergeist and I choose Danger2Society. Winner gets $1. After running in 3rd most of the race, D2S drops to last and Rick pockets a buck.
Adam, before we left: "If the Pickup Artist were here right now would he be disappointed in us?" Only with you, Adam. Only with you.
As mentioned up-post and in Rick's most recent writings, we're headed to Boston for 4 days to cheer on a few of our friends in the Boston Marathon and to generally cause trouble. A full report will follow.
Recent audio addictions:
We Were Promised Jetpacks - "Quiet Little Voices" (Thanks Bill)
The new Thermals Album - Now We Can See (they're playing The Bottom Lounge on 4/29.
Like a kitten versus rain.
Our discussion at Clark Street Bar involved some mathematical heavy lifting. We wondered if after the shared numbers of 2, 3 & 5 would the Prime Numbers ever again pass the Fibonacci Sequence? My guess is no...just through 9 digits Prime Numbers are only up to 23, while Fibonacci has already reached 89. The 1,000th Prime Number is something like 7,179, and at this point Fibonacci has reached a number with more digits than my excel spreadsheet at work was willing to display, no matter how wide I stretched the column and how small of a font I used. So theoretically I suppose it's possible that Prime's could eventually catch up, but it'd be pretty difficult and I'm sure the Prime Numbers that reach that far haven't yet been discovered.
Our other discussion while at Clark St? On the Sox broadcast they mentioned Bartolo Colon was the 7th winningest active pitcher in the bigs. So who were the top six? Thanks to a text from Trivia Wunderkind, Vh1 World Series of Pop Culture Champion, and pop culture blog Intensities in Ten Suburbs author Andrew we now know.
#1 - Tom Glavine (although he has since hinted at retirement)
#2 - The Big Unit
#3 - Jamie Moyer
#4 - Andy Petite
#5 - John Smoltz
#6 - Tim Wakefield
#7 - Bartolo the fat toad
Pedro, when he eventually signs, will enter the list behind Petite.
While watching the Duke-UV Lacrosse game at Kirkwood we noted their field could use the assistance of The Sodfather Roger Bossard.
Adam texts us (from 10 feet away), "There's A Dream And I Live It". Rick and I both shake our heads in disagreement.
During one of the televised horse races Rick goes with Poltergeist and I choose Danger2Society. Winner gets $1. After running in 3rd most of the race, D2S drops to last and Rick pockets a buck.
Adam, before we left: "If the Pickup Artist were here right now would he be disappointed in us?" Only with you, Adam. Only with you.
As mentioned up-post and in Rick's most recent writings, we're headed to Boston for 4 days to cheer on a few of our friends in the Boston Marathon and to generally cause trouble. A full report will follow.
Recent audio addictions:
We Were Promised Jetpacks - "Quiet Little Voices" (Thanks Bill)
The new Thermals Album - Now We Can See (they're playing The Bottom Lounge on 4/29.
Like a kitten versus rain.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
We Were Born to Sin
The prior weekend was a quiet one for us, but we did tackle 2 more bars in the neighborhood. Saturday started off at Clark Street Bar where we enjoyed our overpriced hot dog and fries, and extremely cheap pitcher of 312 while watching our White Sox take on the Twinkies. I guess you can consider this a dive bar/dive eatery all in one. It’s no Hoagie Hut though, which we were truly spoiled by when we resided at the 907. The Hoagie Hut was pretty much our go to hangover joint. We have yet to find one of these places in our new neighborhood; The Bagel had a good run, but ever since Intelligentsia increased the price of their coffee by 50%, my rendezvous down to Broadway has been limited.
After watching a couple innings of the game, we headed down Wellington to meet up with Adam, Sonny and Jorge (amongst many others in their posse) at Kirkwood. They claimed they were there to watch the Masters, but it seemed to us they were more preoccupied with the surroundings of the bar (especially Adam who was trying his hardest to bring out his ‘A’ game). We stayed through the end of the Sox game and progressed our beer intake by enjoying a couple Fat Tires and then finally a Delerium Nocturnum. I am pretty sure this is the earliest in the day I have ever had a Delerium – needless to say, I had a solid buzz going for a couple hours even though I was sans drinking. There were also a handful of idiots within Kirkwood, which I guess is expected on a Saturday afternoon. One especially that sticks out was sitting at the table with Adam. He got to be known as “Sunglass Dude” since he kept his shades on while he was INSIDE the bar the whole time. Seriously why do people do this, I don’t get it? What is even worse are visors, do dudes still wear those? If they do, they should be stoned (like in Biblical times, not with a joint). Anyway, Sunglass Dude is the epitome of Wrigleyville/LP d-bag. I hope he’s reading this (as we gave him a business card) so he can straighten his life together, you can thank us later SD. Adam claimed he wasn’t his friend, but a friend-of-a-friend. Okay Adam, okay. The biggest chuckle of my day came when Jorge was looking at the beer menu and told me how much he enjoyed Kalibur. I debated if I should tell him or not that a Kalibur is a N/A beer. He’ll learn someday.
Kyle and I split ways after this, I met with Annie and we dominated some damn good BBQ at Smoque. Kyle went to a beer tasting and eventually down to Guthrie’s to play some Battleship and Connect Four. We planned on meeting them at Guthries, but it took us a good 2 hours to get home from Smoque because the Addison bus apparently doesn’t run after 8 and there no cabs in sight. So we relied on the CTA and ended up taking 3 buses to get back to her place (Pulaski to Belmont to Halsted). At this point we were beat and bailed on Kyle. I do look forward to Guthries in the near future and taking down my opponent in Scrabble.
On Sunday we headed down to Bridgeport for the White Sox game. So far we’ve been to 2 of the 6 games and my goal is to go to 1 game of every home series. We’re well on pace. We’ll be MIA next weekend as EBONY is heading out to Boston to cheer on our peeps in the Boston Marathon (and celebrate afterwards). Keep your eyes pealed though as we’ll keep the blog rolling with our exploits in Beantown. Peace.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Hope Springs Eternal -- One Proclamation; One Eulogy
There's a certain fever that catches most parts of the country this time of year and hopefully sticks around for half of the year. It's the good fever, not associated with congestion, night sweats or issues relating to the bowels. 
It's the fever that keeps you happily delerious, like that first inhalation of too much barbecue sauce. Things that are green return to the world and no longer exist in conversation only as an ethos. The ballparks open up, the daylight hours stretch and for several weeks the powerful sunlight blinds those of us with east/west workday commutes.
Eventually the street festivals appear, outdoor concerts and day drinking satiates our weekend appetites. The workday confinement we embraced through the harshest months quickly turns into a workday confinement we despise and find ever increasing reasons to avoid.
Spring springs, all seems right with the world, and the Chicago lakefront begins its crowded ascent towards the late summer oppressive critical mass of the Air & Water Show. Obviously you can tell I've already started attending baseball games this season...
Today while spending a ridiculous amount of time driving around the suburbs trying to serve my second vice (fast food), a handful of individuals reminded me of those things that winter shields us from...most notably: The Crazies.
Warm weather brings the loonies out of the woodwork. Crime escalates along with the mercury. As the heat climbs, the shortness of one's fuse shrinks. I remind anyone who will listen that "I hate people but I love gatherings" (with a nod to Dante Hicks and Randall Graves).
I pulled up to Taco Bell today, this being after I drove past one costumed Statue of Liberty (outside of the Tax joint on Ogden) and two costumed easter bunnies (one outside of Burger King, the other outside of Connie's Pizza)...anyway I pull up to Taco Bell and there's a nutcase of a woman wildly waving her arms around, giving the finger to four drivers (of which I was one), and generally disrupting traffic. She yelled at me that I came to close to hitting her -- 5 feet --, to which I rolled down my window and replied, "I can't park in the fucking street, what the hell are you doing?" Someone taking the time to respond seemed to create alarm and she accidentally dropped her cigarette, increasing her rage at the world. Before I lost sight of Lady Wrath she had kicked the side of another car and flicked off three more drivers.
I could only think that were it another 15 degrees colder out today the world would've been spared encountering this devilwoman. Maybe this is why Canada seems so tame and violent crime-free?
Other benefits of the cold? It burns fat much faster. If the overweight memebers of American Society (I suppose that's, like, most of you now, right?) kept their heaters set 10 degrees cooler through the wintertime imagine how much healthier we'd be as a country.
So while I truly cherish the crowded warm summer in my city of love, I'll be missing the quiet solitude and peaceful serenity of the cold introverted winter. Time marches on, and until Rick and I finish building our own Primer machines we have no choice but to embrace it.
Clearly I'm not writing about bars in this post because we haven't actually visited any within a mile of home since late last Saturday night/Sunday morning. Beer Related: Binny's now sells these 650ml bottles of Goose Island Reserve Brews (Matilda, Sofia, etc) and I'm looking forward to tackling these few purchases I've made over the weekend while watching golf & baseball.
Happy religious holiday to any of you readers that follow that stuff. Hope everyone has a great and wonderful weekend.
It's the fever that keeps you happily delerious, like that first inhalation of too much barbecue sauce. Things that are green return to the world and no longer exist in conversation only as an ethos. The ballparks open up, the daylight hours stretch and for several weeks the powerful sunlight blinds those of us with east/west workday commutes.Eventually the street festivals appear, outdoor concerts and day drinking satiates our weekend appetites. The workday confinement we embraced through the harshest months quickly turns into a workday confinement we despise and find ever increasing reasons to avoid.
Spring springs, all seems right with the world, and the Chicago lakefront begins its crowded ascent towards the late summer oppressive critical mass of the Air & Water Show. Obviously you can tell I've already started attending baseball games this season...
Today while spending a ridiculous amount of time driving around the suburbs trying to serve my second vice (fast food), a handful of individuals reminded me of those things that winter shields us from...most notably: The Crazies.
Warm weather brings the loonies out of the woodwork. Crime escalates along with the mercury. As the heat climbs, the shortness of one's fuse shrinks. I remind anyone who will listen that "I hate people but I love gatherings" (with a nod to Dante Hicks and Randall Graves).
I pulled up to Taco Bell today, this being after I drove past one costumed Statue of Liberty (outside of the Tax joint on Ogden) and two costumed easter bunnies (one outside of Burger King, the other outside of Connie's Pizza)...anyway I pull up to Taco Bell and there's a nutcase of a woman wildly waving her arms around, giving the finger to four drivers (of which I was one), and generally disrupting traffic. She yelled at me that I came to close to hitting her -- 5 feet --, to which I rolled down my window and replied, "I can't park in the fucking street, what the hell are you doing?" Someone taking the time to respond seemed to create alarm and she accidentally dropped her cigarette, increasing her rage at the world. Before I lost sight of Lady Wrath she had kicked the side of another car and flicked off three more drivers.
I could only think that were it another 15 degrees colder out today the world would've been spared encountering this devilwoman. Maybe this is why Canada seems so tame and violent crime-free?
Other benefits of the cold? It burns fat much faster. If the overweight memebers of American Society (I suppose that's, like, most of you now, right?) kept their heaters set 10 degrees cooler through the wintertime imagine how much healthier we'd be as a country.
So while I truly cherish the crowded warm summer in my city of love, I'll be missing the quiet solitude and peaceful serenity of the cold introverted winter. Time marches on, and until Rick and I finish building our own Primer machines we have no choice but to embrace it.
Clearly I'm not writing about bars in this post because we haven't actually visited any within a mile of home since late last Saturday night/Sunday morning. Beer Related: Binny's now sells these 650ml bottles of Goose Island Reserve Brews (Matilda, Sofia, etc) and I'm looking forward to tackling these few purchases I've made over the weekend while watching golf & baseball.
Happy religious holiday to any of you readers that follow that stuff. Hope everyone has a great and wonderful weekend.
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