New Feature: Book Review!

Yeah, yeah -- I haven't blogged in a while. Sue me. Truth be told, I've been working, brewing, and hanging out with my family. And that leaves little time for blogging. However, I've also been reading, and I thought I'd share my thoughts about a new book on craft brewing.

If, like myself, you are a fan of beer that has not been brewed by the idiots at most, if not all, American macrobreweries, you'll enjoy The Naked Pint, a new book from Christina Perozzi and Hallie Beaune, the self-named "Beer Chicks". This book provides a wealth of information on the various styles, attitudes, and opinions about craft-brewed beers, all the while challenging the overused cliche that wine be for women, beer be for blokes, and never the twain shall meet. Much space in the book is devoted to educating readers about how beer is categorized and the criteria to use when distinguishing the good from the Bud...oops...bad, with a smattering of humor to keep everything very lighthearted. So, if you're a fan of good beer (a note to Bud, Miller, and Coors drinkers: this does not include you), pick up a copy at Amazon.com and start reading. You'll learn a lot.

If you'd like even more info, you can visit Christina Perozzi's blog: Beer For Chicks. In addition to giving the latest news on all things related to beer, she also provides info on beer events in the Los Angeles area. Given I'm from Chicago, that doesn't help me a whole lot, but I'm happy to pass along the recommendation to me readers. Both of you. :)

Now, for any brewers out there, I'll also recommend a recipe to try. It's an American Pale Ale called "Tongue Splitter". Despite what the name may infer, the bitterness of this beer is softened somewhat by the significant amount of Cascade hops used in the process. As a result, this strong pale ale has a very citrusy, grapefruity aroma and taste which really makes this beer a winner! Recipes courtesy of Northern Brewer: Extract or All-Grain. I'll be brewing my second batch of this beer on Thursday, so photos of the process are coming soon!

There. Blog done. Now go brew some beer!

BAH!

Not a long post today...just need to vent.

http://www.chicagobreakingnews.com/2009/10/barack-obama-arrives-in-copenhagen.html

Yeah. So much for Chicago's bid for the 2016 Olympic Games. Evidently, Rio and Madrid are still in the running, but who cares? Let's be honest, folks -- the major buzz over the news media during this campaign was all about Chicago. And why? Because everyone knew in their hearts that it made sense. But the yahoos on the IOC disagreed, apparently. The scuttlebutt was that the Chicago presentation "lacked focus" and "without the Obamas, it was nothing."

Oh, yeah? Nothing? Having the president and first lady of one of the most powerful nations on the planet showing up to back their city's bid isn't enough to make an impact? Wow -- you're a cynical lot. I'd be willing to be you'd even give Robert Mapplethorpe a run for his money in the desensitization marathon. It makes you wonder about the standards you set for your holiday party caterers. "Sorry, Julio -- we liked the hand-stacked cous cous, and the individually-wrapped caviar was a nice touch, but we at the IOC expect a higher level of excellence."

Arrogant bastards.

But it's cool -- I actually don't mind all that much. Remember that these idiots hail from the same countries that think the U.S. should adopt the metric system and start watching soccer. Nice try, guys, but it's not gonna happen. Whatever the final vote ends up being, the media's already delivered their verdict.

We all agree that you suck.

Anyone STILL think criminals are smart?

Just a quick post today. In checking the headlines, I noticed that a young woman in Florida carjacked a driver, drove the car to a local RV dealership, and attempted to rob the place before she was subdued by the store's employees. The interesting point: she did it all while wearing nothing but a bikini (hence the media's decision to dub her the "Bikini Bandit."

Now, I'm not going to claim that there's a dress code that your average modern criminal has deviated...rather, I'm going to point out something that underscores the title of this post. Allow me to clarify. The "Bikini Bandit" threatened a driver, stole her car, and attempted to rob a store...all while claiming to have a gun (which she didn't have)...and wearing a bikini.

Let me highlight the main idea here, for those of you who might be a little slow -- she claimed to have a gun, WHILE WEARING A BIKINI!!

To the "Bikini Bandit" -- you're an idiot. Sooner or later, someone would have asked to see the gun. And I really doubt you would have instilled much fear by pointing your finger at them.

To the employees of the RV dealership -- well done. Congratulations on using your smarts.

To the woman whose car was stolen -- I'm sorry, but you're an idiot, too. Unless you're blind (and if this is the case, the fact that you were driving around only serves as further evidence of your idiocy), I think it would have been pretty plain that she didn't have a gun. And, based on the photos I saw, you could have easily taken her out.

Thus, the score so far: "Bikini Bandit": 0, RV store employees: 1.

Driver of the stolen car: -1 car. I hope you learned your lesson.

The King is Dead!!

Alright, folks -- after an extended hiatus, I'm back. Life has been exceedingly busy, but I can't stand mutely on the sidelines while the current drama unfolds in front of us. We're on an express train to Crazyville, guys, and things are definitely going to get much, much worse unless we can take steps to reverse direction.

First things first, however. Yes, Michael Jackson is dead, and yes, that is tragic (especially given he has young children and he was only a couple months shy of his 51st birthday). None will deny that he was talented, nor will you be able to find a single claim that his mark on the music industry will be anything short of indelible. Nonetheless, at the risk of offending the thousands of Jackofans out there, I will state for the record that he was also one messed up freak of nature, whose personal habits and favorite hobbies were so deplorable that to bring them up in dinner conversation would make even Dr. Moreau shift uncomfortably in his seat.

I'm not going to mince words, here. To all the superfans out there, it's time to own up to the crazy! You cannot take the good without the bad! Thomas Jefferson was one of our greatest presidents, but he also owned slaves (and, oh yeah, there was that Sally Hemmings thing, too). Edgar Allen Poe was an exceptional American author and poet...but he was also a raging alcoholic. Do I need to bring up Mozart? The fact is, no matter how much you would like to focus exclusively on the pre-crazy Mikey and his musical accomplishments, it's not going to happen. And that, dear readers, is the true heart of the tragedy. MJ may have made his mark on the world, but think of how much more positive that mark may have been, if he hadn't been such a freakshow!

I'll be honest -- I'm not a fan of his music. But what I dislike even more is the fact that this world is more interested in sweeping his perverse personal life under the rug than admit the truth. To all the parents out there who actually believe he has never acted inappropriately with minors -- can you honestly claim that you would have willingly let your kids spend the night with Jacko at Neverland? Of course not! The courts may not have been able to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt, but that doesn't mean you cast your kids into a veritable lion's den! Wake up! The world is full of messed-up people...and at least one of them was disguised in a Sergeant Pepper jacket and a sparkly white glove.

To be fair, I really don't hate Mr. Jackson. Rather, I hate what drove him to this point. Take several talented children, add one obsessive father, a massive record deal and numerous gold and platinum records, then toss in throngs of screaming fans, and you'll have an amoral bouillabaisse capable of drowning even Sir Galahad. The heart attack may have done him in, but it was his family, fame, and fortune that set the events in motion.

For that, MJ is to be pitied. Not deified...not revered...not emulated. Pitied.

The King is dead. And it's time for all of us to grow up and recognize the warning signs so we don't breed another one.

White Christmas....?

I'd like to beat Bing Crosby with a sack of doorknobs for singing that dumb song. Oh, wait. He's dead. No matter...I'd beat him senseless anyway. Just to set the record straight, I don't dream of white Christmases -- I'm a midwesterner.

Yesterday, I was kicking back on the couch, watching "Monsters, Inc." with my wife and two daughters (hee hee...I have two daughters, now), when I was distracted by a rush of wind that blew a quarter-ton of snow off my roof and onto my front porch, all but blocking the front sidewalk completely. Normally, I wouldn't let that bother me. However, given that it's Christmas season, I feel it's pretty durn vital for Mr. McFeeley (bonus points to anyone who gets the reference) to reach the front door. Thus, I was stuck...I had to clear the snow.

I had been steadily avoiding shoveling for some time, now, but with the way things were going, my choices were few: clear the snow now, or wait for it all to melt come April. As much as I detest shoveling, I knew the right option. Still, I'm happy to say that I managed to broker a deal with my neighbor. Who owns a snowblower. Basically, I told her I'd clear her driveway and sidewalk if she'd let me use the machine to clear my own property. Ahhhhhhh....still hard work, of course, but it could've been worse!

So, I proceeded out to get the job(s) done. It went well, with the sole exception of that very thing that caused me to go outside in the first place...the wind. Do you know what happens when you try to move a couple dozen cubic yards of powdery snow with a commercial-grade snowblower when the wind is powerful enough to knock over Rosie O'Donnell after three hours at the Golden Corral buffet? I'll sum it up in one simple phrase: Frosty the SnowDan. Despite my best efforts, a respectable fraction of the snow I was attempting to move ended up encrusting my wool-draped form, dropping my core temp to the point where I was forced to do a less-then-stellar job and flee inside for warmth.

But hey -- at least I was able to finish the job! Or, so I thought. I woke up this morning to find a new pile of the white crud all over my sidewalk, driveway, and front porch. Oh, well. I'm leaving it there.

But first I'm rounding up every recording of "White Christmas" I can find and disposing of it. In a snowbank. My only fear is that its composition (being 87% pure evil) will melt the snow around it. But that's not gonna stop me. Bing's not getting out of this one.

Bah! Hospitals!

It's three o'clock in the morning. I'm sitting on a somewhat hard couch, feeling exhausted but energetic at the same time. My wife is sitting upright in bed, singing softly to our little girl. Or, should I say, our new little girl. Less than 36 hours ago, we welcomed a new member of the family into the world. Eve Lorraine was born at 6:36pm on Friday, December 19, weighing in at 8 pounds, 10 ounces, and measuring a stringbean-esque 22 inches long! We're pretty stoked about the whole thing. In fact, here's a photo of the little cutie:



See? She even looks pretty when she's glaring at me for slapping a santa hat on her head after her latest feeding!

Of course, I wouldn't be me if I didn't find something to complain about. After all, I wouldn't want you to think I'm losing my edge. So, here goes: it's too cold in this room.

I know - that's pretty lame, but give me a paragraph or two...I'm just getting warmed up. (ba-dum tsssh). Seriously, our room in the hospital was nice enough to include a private bathroom, adjustable bed, TV, DVD player, and all the usual amenities, but the couch they provided was right under a bank of six windows. In the summertime, that might be considered lovely. During a Chicago winter, however, it's downright miserable. Nice job, guys! How about next time you provide me with a space heater or, failing that, a hospital-grade barrel to burn stuff in?

Here I sit, shivering beneath blankets so thin that they would have been rejected by the quality control department of Shawshank prison, feeling a draft so strong that I keep looking over my shoulder to see if the grim reaper is standing behind me like that scene from A Christmas Carol. Yes, I am cold. I, a man who prefers autumn to summer, a man who drinks ice cold beer after coming in from shoveling snow, a man whose internal body temperature routinely drives doctors to recheck their instruments (and, in one instance, sprint for the lead x-ray apron for fear I would spontaneously combust right there on the spot). It's hard to believe, but it's true.

I don't know what it is about hospitals, but I'm never comfortable there. Even when I'm there for a happy occasion (such as the birth of my second daughter, for one not-so-randomly-selected example), I'd rather be somewhere else. But then, I suppose no one is comfortable in hospitals. If they were, there'd be no motivation to heal. Go on -- tell me there's never been a time in your life when you struggled to get out of the hospital/doctor's office/etc. purely to extricate yourself from a particularly unpleasant caregiver. You see? We all think we're iconoclasts, but at the end of the day, we're all cut from the same oak.

Personally, I think it's really the lack of the faithful icon, the archetypal healer, Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy. I miss the guy, I truly do. But then, I think we all need a doctor who's willing to set bedside manner aside for a moment and tell you, point-blank, that you're being a complete wuss for refusing to let him stick a needle the size of Lurch Adams' femur into your spinal column. Because, you know you're gonna feel loads better after he's done, not to mention foolish and stupid for questioning his judgment. He's a doctor, dammit - so get better before he utters a raspy "He's dead, Jim." over your bed right before the lights go out forever.

Okay, so I'm being overly dramatic. But I think you get my point. Bedside manner is fine right up to the moment where you're the one in the Siemens-Medical adjustable bed trying to get a straight answer out of a guy who's just called your family out into the hall to discuss their "options". When that happens, I want Bones McCoy. Give it to me straight, doc, and cut right to the chase...if things are really as bad as I think they are, I'm not interested in wasting time listening to you try to find a phrase that makes "Eastern Ugumbonian Swamp Fever" sound like a trip to Chuck-e-cheese's. Oh, and get me another blanket, while you're up, Trapper John...cold kills people the same as germs, ok? Brrrr.

There...how was that? Back to my old self? Good. Now leave me alone...I've got a wife to care for and a new baby daughter to spoil.

Halloween Survey

Halloween Survey

Okay...my wife just posted a Halloween survey and tagged me to contribute. Thus, I offer the following. Enjoy!

1. What was your favorite Halloween/Fall Festival costume as a child?
Hmmm...I went as a stormtrooper one year, a costume which consisted of a store-bought mask and a white shirt and pants. We didn't exactly splurge on costumes in our family. Not that I minded...the store-bought costumes of the day were twice as stupid -- you know, the spiderman mask and plastic smock that said "spiderman" on it. It's like an outfit for a superhero with no short-term memory.

2. Least favorite costume to wear?

I went as a robot one year...it was a cool costume constructed of cardboard and knobs and wires. It was also very hot and the wires poked me. At least I got candy, though.

3. Favorite candy?

Definitely Three Musketeers...loved nougat, hated peanuts! Now, I like Twizzlers, though. Still hate Mounds and Almond Joy. Coconut...bah!

4. Favorite fall treat that you baked?

Baked? We didn't do any baking! My sister and I were hyper enough after consuming a bag full of candy, and my parents were not about to contribute to the insanity.

5. What age do you think one should stop trick-or-treating?

I think my folks put a stop to it when I was twelve...probably a good idea. When you're young, it's cute to dress up as a hobo and ask for candy. When you're 17, it's just pathetic (and probably against local neighborhood ordinances).

6. What is the lamest treat you received?

A toothbrush. From a dentist. Seriously, what's up with that? More cavities mean more business for them! If you disagree with the holiday, leave your house and go see a movie before the trick or treaters arrive. Otherwise, make with the Mars bars, Dr. Highbrow!

7. Any other traditions on Oct. 31?

We always carved jack-o-lanterns. Normally, we got to scoop out the guts and Dad handled the knife, and the designs were always pretty simple, but lately, we've been going to a friend's house and carving more intricate designs (last year, I did Homestarrunner). Lots of fun!

8. What costumes will be present in your family this fall?

My daughter is going as a chick (thanks to the awesome sewing skills of my wife), and I'm going to run to Kinko's and blow up a copy of my latest 401k statement to drape across my chest. That's the scariest thing I can think of. Well, unless Em dresses up as Sarah Palin and I go as the supreme court justice swearing her in as president. That oughta freak a few people out. ;)

9. Favorite Halloween or fall movie?

Gotta go with the Simpsons Treehouse of Horror (any one from the early years of the series)...those were classic!

10. Any funny Halloween stories?

My wife wanted me to give this one...when I was a little kid (say, 7 or 8 years old), I was walking down the street and I saw this older kid with a really stupid costume. I walked up to him and told him how dumb I thought his costume was, and he responded by knocking one of my front teeth out. These days, I can admit that my action was thoughtless. However, depending on the age of the other kid, I'm forced to wonder why my folks didn't press charges. Maybe the kid was bigger than my dad. Scary.