le clown

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.

LOST SOULS CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN PORTER—What would you sell for it?

I threw down the hairy paw (read: gauntlet) this morning in a challenge toward the only human in the mostly estrogenic LBHQ capable of taking it on.

“Dude, you have less than two weeks to get your stache on.”

I was addressing my dad of course. Despite the ongoing flirtation peri-menopause is having with my mother, a decent moustache is well out of reach for her…this year. So it’s up to my dad and me to be Bloggers for Movember.

Poor Dad. Only rarely has he ever tried to grow a stache—each time a failure! Some guys look great with facial hair, and my dad can pull off five o’clock shadow, but an honest-to-goodness moustache? Ha! My dad looks like a tool with a moustache, which I suspect is why he said it’s “not gonna happen” this November.

He even cited his work regulations—apparently the very large company he works for regulates facial hair. OMG!

If you’re wondering why I’m so confident about winning this would-be throwdown against my dad, consider that I already have a moustache. I just have to shave 95% of myself and leave a bit of fur under my nose. Voilà!

This was pretty much my path today. The razors were in the bathroom. It’s much easier to get that little plastic tab off a Daisy razor head than it is to open a bottle of wine, let me tell you. There I was, poised to sculpt my latent moustache, when three little girls came screaming into the bathroom wearing Disney princess dresses. The youngest immediately dropped drawers to deposit solids in the toilet. The others went into a flurry of clothing exchange, obscuring Miss V’s plops with their 4-KHz exuberance. My ears exploded and the razor skittered off into the sink, from which my mother sternly retrieved it. There would be no bear shaving on her watch, she said, particularly in front of her two daughters and their playdate witness.

“P and V are used to shit like this,” I remonstrated. “They like it.”

“No they don’t,” she said. “They’d rather put makeup on you, which would be almost as difficult to undo, so make yourself scarce.”

“But I need a moustache. I’ve already committed to Bloggers for Movember. I’ve liked the Facebook page already. And I have only recently garnered the attention of Le Clown, whose charitable fundraising effort this is. If you thwart my moustache you’re basically endorsing prostate cancer. You’re telling prostate cancer to go forth and multiply.”

“That’s a bit strong, LB.”

“Speaking of strong, do you recall the alcohol percentage of LOST SOULS CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN PORTER?” (This is what is called a gratuitous segue.) “I think it was 6.5%. Do you remember?”

“Why?”

“Because at a respectable ABV it would address my DTs in short order, and one could settle for drinking it slowly; moreover, with its moderate level of fine carbonation it wouldn’t interfere too much with one’s moustache. Assuming one was allowed to groom oneself a moustache.”

I don’t recall my mother ever calling any of her other children a douchebag.

Fact is, and I’m not even going to save this for the final punch, LOST SOULS CHOCOLATE PUMPKIN PORTER is the best beer I’ve had all year. With its comic-book-style Grim Reaper label and scary moniker, it’s freaky not just for its Halloween theme but because—holy crap, people—it won’t be here for very long. In fact, when we returned a second time to the liquor store for more, it was all sold out.

Let’s break it down, my fellow inebriates:

LOST SOULS is an inky cola color with a tan head. Across the room you might take it for a Guinness, but then you’d be surprised by its snappy carbonation. Aromas of sweet malt, espresso-touched chocolate, subtle spices and just-perceptible pumpkin waft from the glass. On the palate LOST SOULS delivers a rich baker’s-chocolate wave of toasty malt and mild pumpkin, reaching into you like a succubus and stealing your very soul. Yes, guard your soul, people, if you’re lucky enough to sample this Parallel 49 product before it evaporates into post-Halloween nonexistence. With its bewitching flavor palate and satisfying viscosity, LOST SOULS will own you. (Maybe eternally.) I would sell my soul for another, people. And don’t tell Le Clown, but I would probably sell my nascent moustache for it too. Except I won’t; damn it, I’m growing that fucker.

Visit Le Clown for full details (click the picture).