What Am I Doing in New Jersey?

I watched the Mark Twain Prize for Humor show this evening. In 2008, the Prize was awarded to George Carlin. Unfortunately, Carlin died before he could collect the prize. I've been a fan of Carlin pretty much since I figured out how to speak. He's the first comedian I ever remember seeing (on HBO). He's definitely the first comedian I ever saw in person and has always been one of my heroes.

The show aired on PBS, specifically WHYY. Since George had died, it was more or less a clip show. The comedians who introduced the clips were Carlin's peers, and they had some wonderful, funny and touching anecdotes about him. The clips themselves were great, and highlighted Carlin's funniest stuff. Of course, that meant that somehow, some way, the Seven Dirty Words would have to be addressed. And they were, in a clip that was, I think, from an HBO special, with a long, long intro about bad words, without referring to the bad words. The best part was that the intro included a list of words that can be used more than one way. Ass, for instance. "You've made a perfect ass of yourself" is allowed on TV, but "Let's go out and get some ass!" is not. Amazingly enough, the second use of "ass" was actually bleeped out. I broke up laughing. From beyond the grave, Carlin got one more joke in about our own hypocrisy.

The comedian after that clip, Lewis Black, almost lost it. Sure, that's his schtick, but he really almost lost it. It wasn't clear to the television audience, but apparently the words were bleeped out even at the Kennedy Center. In a room full of adults, as Black pointed out. Sure, you can't say it on television, but in a room full of adults? Unbelievable.

Things about which I am unreasonably excited

For work, I went to New York City yesterday morning. I'm a total dork about the Big Apple. For most of my life, I lived within easy bus, train and car distance of the City. There's a peculiar energy I feel when standing on a Manhattan corner, a vibration like nowhere else in the world.

When I step out of Penn Station, I play Gershwin on my iPod. It just so happens that the walk from the top of the steps to the revolving door at my client's takes the same 16:20 that it took Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops to perform Rhapsody in Blue. And I walk by the Flatiron building on the way!

Later, in the afternoon, I walked back from the office to Penn. Strolling through the concourse, I saw a couple of cops walking my way. The officer on the left was dressed in New York Cop standard: Jacket, puffed out by the vest and various other layers underneath. But his buddy was wearing a pea coat, wooly, extending down below his hips. And on the front? Two rows of big, brass buttons. No kidding. I wanted him to swing his nightstick around while whistling a tune. At any moment, he might tell me "Get off the 'king corner, will ya, Johnny?" The brass on the coat made his silver badge pop out all the more. I came this close to asking him if he spoke with a brogue. No joke. I was that excited.

It would have totally been worth the ass-kicking I was sure to receive in response.

Bottles of beer on the floor

I may have a drinking problem.

64 bottles of beer. I have 64 bottles of beer in my basement. Actually, I have 70 bottles of beer, but 6 of those bottles are the big 750ml/1 liter style. In total, I might have something on the order of three cases of beer in the house, especially if you count the fridge (4 bottles of beer). That's *after* I got rid of 7 bottles of beer (from when I went to Thanksgiving at Mike and Kathy's; no, not in 2008). And who's the majority beer drinker at the house? Me. I've gotta work through 3 cases of beer. Good beer. (Ok, 4 Coronas in there, but *otherwise* good beer.) (And really, Corona's not all that bad, provided it's July and 90 degrees.) And some of them weren't stouts or porters. Quite the exercise in variety, as far as I'm concerned.

Truthfully, I have about 63-and-a-half bottles of beer. I'm drinking a Bell's Pale Ale right now. First beer I've had from Bell's. Tasty. Goes well with the week-old dip I'm polishing off. Should I perish, now you know why. Dead by champagne dip gone bad. Gone wrong. At least he enjoyed a nice Bell's Pale Ale before he shuffled off this mortal coil. Pale ales that are smooth, that don't over-hop, I like. Dogfish Head's effort to create a 240 minute IPA is impressive, but really, a bit unnecessary. If I want to, I can just eat some hops directly.

So I've got these 64, no, 63-and-a...third bottles of beer. If I hadn't been in DC this weekend, visitng my brother-in-law, I wouldn't have this problem. I'd have... well, 40-odd bottles of beer. But there was a Total Wine off of 395 in Alexandria. And they had two big aisles of beer. Big, long, aisles. With some foreign stuff, but a good variety of Americans. Wandering around, I more or less lost track of time, and it wasn't like Eli was throwing touchdowns anyway. An hour later, I came out of the fog with $75 worth of beer, stuffed into a case box. And a bottle of wine for my wife. Covering my bases.

Thankfully, I'm down to 63 bottles of beer. Somehow, I'll survive. But I've given Andre permission to warn me off from buying any more until stocks have depleted.

Library addict

I went to the library to get a book. One book. I was going to be alone for lunch, and I wanted something to entertain me. So, I'll get a book. Just in, out, with a book.


Yeah, I kinda failed.

The problem is that when I go to the library, I always remember a few of the books I've been intending to read. Inevitably, they're next to other, interesting books. The funny thing is that I've been on a heavy non-fiction kick lately. Non-fiction is simple: choose a topic of preference. Even if there isn't an interesting topic at hand, just wander down the aisle a bit, something will present itself. Fiction presents a more difficult issue. Sure, there are genres, but beyond that, problems arise. Will this be a good mystery? Creative sci-fi? An interesting drama?

Bad enough that I'm attempting to read at a volume above my capacity. But I've got a project, a secret project, coming up soon, which will involve quite a bit of reading. And it won't involve reading any of these books. Which means I have, conservatively, three weeks to finish 6 books. I suppose I could say that I'm in training....

Beer run, vol. 1: Bags Packed Porter

After an afternoon of shopping with my wife and her parents, we stopped in at Teresa's Next Door for a late lunch and some alcoholic relief. Though I guess it was only her Dad and I who needed the relief.

(Why doesn't TND have a website? If they do have a website, are they just awful at search engine optimization? When I open my bar, I'm going to have a big ol' nerdtacular website, which will track the open taps in real time.)

Taking a look at the Book of Beer, I saw that they had Victory's Bags Packed Porter on cask. I'm nuts for a good porter or stout. And on cask? Oooooo... pinch me. I once had Victory's Storm King Stout on cask at Victory's brewery. I think I left part of my soul there, it was so good. But, back to where the rest of my soul (and my wife, and my in-laws) sat. The porter was delightful, dark brown with just the right consistency. It had a finish that was different from most porters, and I was trying to put my finger on what I liked about it. While I like my beer, I'm not like the fancy tasters over at Beer Advocate. I read a couple of reviews and it came to me: the usual "roasted" finish to a porter (or, more often, a stout) was balanced out by... something. I don't know if it was the sweetness of the malts, some of the hops, whatever. It had a different finish, and I liked it. I'll have to find it again.

We dined on lunchy fare. I went with a steak sandwich, sans onions. Very tasty. For my second beer, I had the St. Druon, which was a Belgian-style blonde ale. Very smooth, very tasty. The sort you could drink all night and not notice until you tried to get off the stool. Not that it's very alcoholic (6%). Just goes down really easy. I think it would have been overwhelmed by the steak sandwich I had, but it was a nice stand-alone beer. I'd definitely pick up a six-pack if I saw it somewhere.

I sampled two other beers while I was there, both very interesting experiences. The first sample was the Einbecker Mai-Ur Bock. This is traditionally a spring beer, made in May. It had a distinct flavor of honey to it. Fun to try, but I don't know that I'd like a whole glass. Maybe in the spring. But it's a little sweet and light for winter.

Just as we were finishing, the latest version of the Book of Beer came out, hot off the presses. A couple of kegs had kicked over lunch (I swear, not my fault!), so they updated their tome on-the-fly. There on the list was a... peculiar beer: Southern Tier's Creme Brulee Stout. (No direct linkage to the actual desc of the beer, boo!) It just sounded fascinating. So I asked for a sampler. The glass showed up, with inky, thick liquid, and a head that took up half the space. I let it settle a little, and then brough it up for a taste. And I was assaulted by a breakfasty smell. Not even a proper creme brulee smell. One of the reviewers said it was like pure butterscotch, and that's not far off the mark. It was just... wrong. Weird, and wrong. I tried a little taste, and was thankful for free samples. It was definitely of creme brulee, and not much else. I think that the combination (esp. in a milk stout) could be interesting, but they have to dial back on the dessert. Certainly, a unique experience. One I'm not going to repeat.

Returned home to enjoy a lovely nap. Midday beer naps are a wonderful invention, and I think they should be rolled out to the general populace at the earliest opportunity.