Friday, December 11, 2009


I figure I might as well update/blog about something other than toys and...well, more toys. So I've got a running theme going on! No harm in that, right? Too bad, though, that this theme paints me as a thirty year old pervert typing out mini-essays on everything a thirty year old pervert might write about to perv it up with pre-teens. I suffer for my art.

Today on our list is beer. Good ol' beer.

I'm not gonna pretend to be the world's coolest alcoholic, but I can get down with some booze. There's no way I can smoothly order anything from the bar without pointing at it and going, "that one!" first, and I certainly won't be drinking something that smells like a mixture of gasoline and battery acid. Yeah, I'm a pussy. Anything that comes in a shot, bomb or you're-not-going-to-survive-this, I'm probably going to pass. Can't blame a guy for wanting to keep his guts and his most personal, disgusting secrets on the inside.

But beer! Glorious, delicious beer! How can you go wrong with that? It's sometimes smooth, sometimes skunky and yet it's always guaranteed to put a buzz on your brain and a smile on your face.

Now, let's get this straight, though. I don't drink swill. I refuse to drink anything even remotely reminiscent of Budweiser, and the whole Pabst Blue Ribbon/Miller High Life crew, after all that it's given to me and my blooming, glassy-eyed social life, can pretty much suck it these days. I don't think of it as being a snob, I think of how I'd rather spend a few bucks more when paying to damage my liver. Good beer is better beer, and piss-water rarely qualifies as something I'm gonna gonna enjoy now and enjoy later. Probably gag now, puke later. I prefer less gagging. Puking's still alright, though.

But like I said, I ain't no afficionado when it comes to the stuff. The only and greatest times to drink, for me, is right after playing a show. One might assume it to be of celebratory nature, but it's more economical (and sinister!) than that. After sweating all major liquids from my body for forty-five minutes straight, one pint of booze can really pack a punch. You're usually down and out after that, smoothly sailing the dull-eyed, speech slurring train for the rest of the night. Yeah, so one drink is all I'm sayin'. One measley drink! You get all that, March, 2010 east coast tour? See you at the bar!

Anyways, I'm a fan of a beer called Kiltlifter. Minus the fact the below photo is not Kiltlifter (sue me!) it's made in Tempe, AZ and is most delicious.

Now, there's not a chance I can describe its taste. It's like asking me what lies beyond space and time, or how a car works. Shit's way over my head. But if I HAD to describe it...I'd say nutty. Kinda hopsy. Brewed to perfection. Perfect head, with a slight, woodsy tone. Buzz-words and cliche phrases, anyone? Thank you, Sam Adams commercials!

If you check out, you can see what all the hub-bub is about. Four Peaks doubles as a brewery, which makes and sells a whole line of other, fun named beers, and a really cool restaraunt that somehow manages to stay packed on every single day of the week it drives me mad why can't I find a place to sit. I'm destined to forever stand near the entrance looking confused, or sitting next to the woman who, in our hot, desert wasteland, absolutely prefers to keep the outdoor heating lamp on and above eight-thousand degrees. You gotta learn to roll with the punches. And the midday heatstrokes.

Another cool thing about Kiltlifter/Four Peaks is that it's a local company (well, to me it is) so you won't feel like such a corporate tool when drinking it. You'll only feel a little wobbly and more inclined to tell everyone how you're in love with them when drinking it.

Have fun!