And the award goes to…DR. FUNK DUNKEL

My Fellow Inebriates,

We have fallen off the wagon.

Not that wagon. That wagon has left town.

The writing wagon. First we went away for the holidays, then the computer needed a brain transplant, then my parents got super-busy…next thing you know this blog had become an afterthought—with the abysmal stats to show for it.stats Feb 2013

Not that it’s ever had great stats! Even after being Freshly Pressed (which turns out to be a bit like the Oscar curse), this space is less a blogging thoroughfare than some random, deviant alleyway into which a lapse in judgment might propel you. My stats suck so much, MFI, that I don’t even really look at them anymore.

So I couldn’t have been more surprised to receive a nomination this week.

Very Inspiring Blogger award

Egad, what the hell is that? Flattering, no doubt, but the majority of LBHQ’s inhabitants shudder  to think what sorts of activities this blog inspires. But we’ll take it, right?

The kind nomination came from ONCE A PERSON, NOW A PARENT (resonant, wouldn’t you say?). Even though I was never a person or a parent, it resonates with me—at least at the intersection of family life and alcohol (and there is one).

These awards come with rules, which my two neurons usually forget or mangle somehow, but the gist is you have to:

  1. Display the award.
  2. Link back to the person who nominated you.
  3. State 7 things about yourself.
  4. Nominate 15 bloggers for this award and notify them by linking to one of their posts.

Before I distort these rules, I should mention my neurons have been bathing in PHILLIPS DR. FUNK DUNKEL, a Bavarian dark lager my dad found this evening. After flagellating each other for a while, the two brain cells decided we would nominate 4 fellow bloggers so that we could spend some time explaining why they inspire us and still have time to flood ourselves with more DR. FUNK DUNKEL.

2742_drfunkWhich is to say we like it. Neurons 1 and 2 agree—it pours a dark but clear chocolate hue with tan froth that laces the glass generously and lingeringly while issuing agreeable caramel, malt, and coffee notes, plus some more basic roasty-toasty chords with perhaps a little metal. Victoria-based Phillips Brewing Company has a definite “house” tasting note, and while it’s present in DR. FUNK, it’s not amped up. Sniff this stuff and you’ll want more.

On the palate DR. FUNK is crisp and punchy with a delicious malty payoff: chocolate, coffee beans, and nuts with nicely balanced hops that linger pleasantly. The mouthfeel is creamy despite generous carbonation, creating the sort of equilibrium that couldn’t otherwise be communicated across my solitary synapse. This dunkel offers all sorts of interesting stuff without any big taste departures; it’s a pleaser without sucking up. And the ABV? At 5% DR. FUNK isn’t the creeper my brain cells and I favor, but as with our newfound award, we’ll take it.

7 things

Okay, so 7 things about yours truly. This is a toughie, because I want to share 7 new(ish) things, and let’s face it, I have bugger-all going on.

  1. I sleep with my eyes open, especially when Fluffy the possessed bear is nearby.
  2. The song “How Soon Is Now?” by the Smiths is often stuck in my head.
  3. One day I would like to visit the Creationist Museum and join one of its willfully fact-blind tours. Maybe I could ride one of the animatronic dinosaurs (the way people did 6000 years ago)… 😉
  4. The funniest book I read last year was “The Corrections” by Jonathan Franzen.
  5. I really hope my parents dissuade 7-year-old Miss P from joining Brownies. It seems to be all about conformity.
  6. Sometimes I like one of the kids better than the other, and just when I start feeling guilty about it, my preference shifts to the other.
  7. BONUS FACT!! I lack a functional anus.

And now for the nominations:

A Clown on Fire. All those things I should be doing with this blog, Le Clown is doing, and more. He has a hell of a community, a zillion comments per post, and too bad if you’re offended. Le Clown sets the bar for carnies like me.

Artstormer. Life without art would be almost as meaningless as life without alcohol. I never miss an Artstormer post.

Beerbecue. If you thought my reviews got a little tangential, check out beerbecue’s. The difference is, he brings everything into focus, PLUS he actually knows about beer. All while breathing the eucalyptus-and-gin kavorka of Barry the koala.

Cider Monger. Who knew what a multiplicity of ciders existed beyond my local booze shop? Cider has been badly neglected at LBHQ but reading Cider Monger will get us educated.

That’s it: 4 nominations. No matter how good your blog is and how much I admire it, my paws are tired of clicking on that little “link” icon. Besides which, nominating just 2 bloggers would make this shout-out sufficiently exponential, 4 ensures everyone everywhere will get a nomination even if they’re just standing around scratching their genitals, and 15…15 might collapse the whole goddamn universe.

ASTROLIQUOR for Feb. 8–14—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, it’s not an Absinthe-induced hallucination: someone you once briefly groped in a public restroom wants to see you again—years later. This may gratify your ego, but it should also remind you to have a wash. You can’t marinate in sambuca for a decade and expect that it won’t erupt from your fur pores. More importantly, after all this time you don’t know anything about your old fling. OMG, what star sign are you dealing with? Start creeping on Facebook and learn whatever you can; your reunion is in March.

Taurus, you usually figure out when someone’s going to prank you, but this week you have your head up your ass and miss the cues. That’s what comes of a headful of rum/Amaretto/Jagermeister, but it sure is worth it, although like Aries, you may want to investigate the bathtub a little more often. Not that I’d blame you if you didn’t—but the stars are calling for “hook-ups on public transit” this week.

Take extra precautions this week, Gemini, in terms of both the banal (eat “healthy”) and the exotic (stay out of lightning storms). Translation: no cream in your Kahlua/no naked streaking through a stormy field. Further translation: the stars aren’t going to let you do shit this week. The small consolation is that, if you end up getting hit by a car, the driver will be attractive.

Cancer, if a Scorpio offers you help with a project, accept it. Scorpios are shrewder than Cancers, even if they don’t have the patience to mix a  chocolate martini. You might be the exception, but then again you might not, so take the help because it will pay off big-time, and the stars aren’t doing anything for you with the lottery.

Leo, you get political this week, which is a refreshing change for the friends who’ve had to watch you lurch around on a whisky-and-chartreuse bender. Find a cause and pursue it, but don’t expect too many people to follow you; they’re not used to you being able to walk straight, never mind leading a movement. Make sure you ignore all criticism this week.

Virgo, your mission this week is to bar-hop until you find some interesting new friends. Choose the most superficial people you can find; you’ll have more fun that way, and they’ll be open-minded about rum-and-vodka breakfasts. Remember: it all starts with getting out of bed. If you don’t get out of your jammies, you won’t have any fun this week, and you might end up watching a bunch of philosophy lectures on YouTube.

Libra, although you feel social this week, you don’t feel like being honest. This won’t improve your standing with friends—they’ll know perfectly well you’re talking a load of vodka-fueled crap and cast you out of their circle for douchebaggery. Maybe you should stick to large groups of relative strangers and talk about neutral topics rather than poisoning existing friendships. Or you could just create some kind of internet identity and talk crap that way. (OMG! who would do that?)

Your relationship is feeling very serious, Scorpio. Right now it seems impervious to sexual rivalry—not just because your partner’s devoted to you, but because you have eyes for no other. But look out; you know how the stars like to mess with that shit. A Cancer will need your help with a project (finding the perfect proportion of Bacardi Peach and Southern Comfort, perhaps), and although this Cancer isn’t very smart, he/she will make your knees weak. So look out, Scorpio—by Sunday night all your stuff could be on the lawn.

Sagittarius, some heavy shit happens to your relationship and/or finances and you have to live outside for a while. You’ll have to read this horoscope at the library (don’t forget!), and you may want to invest in a flask or portable bar. Before you get kicked out of your home, make sure you grab some triple sec, vodka, and grenadine. Go out with class.

Pressure is building in your head, Capricorn, so make sure you go apeshit on the weekend with some tropical drinks. Think Malibu, Captain Morgan, Kahlua, and a bucket of pina colada mix. Then you’ll need to go outside, possibly naked, and find new friends. Your body will appreciate being unfettered by pent-up hostility and clothing.

Aquarius, this is the perfect week to redecorate and make your home more comfy. Be sure to shop for furnishings before you slam a blenderful of spiced rum, Blue Curacao, and Bacardi 151, though—your taste in home decor is markedly different when you’re not slurring your words, and you’ll end up spending less money. Bonus: the IKEA staff won’t have to call the police.

Pisces, a personal problem distracts you this week from helping others. Friends think you’re being a dick, but you’re really just mooning over an impossible crush. If you let this consume you, you won’t be able to help a dear friend who really needs you right now. Of course you’re not that useful anyway when you’re full-to-the-eyeballs with dark rum and Frangelico.

“Like that’ll ever happen,” said Dolly…

Not the first time Dolly has been hurtful. A certifiable furvert, she has historically been willing to slum it with me on Valentine’s Day.

How many Valentine's Days ago was this? Dolly says she can't remember it ever having happened, and that I have "mad Photoshop skills."

How many Valentine’s Days ago was this? Of this photo Dolly says, “LB, you have mad Photoshop skills.”

Say what she will, Dolly has occasionally gone in for some snuggles. But lately so many new bears have entered the house that my chances of winning her back are nil. Even the elementary school is sending home bears for sleepovers…big bears who are really furry—not “matted, mangy, and alcoholic” and who “don’t smell like liver failure.”

So my Valentine’s Day wish is a little less romantic now.

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But still hopeful.