Denver, CO

Wow.

That....that was a terrible way to start a new patch of internetz.  Two piss-poor posts... aaaaaaannd I’m out.  I mean, I don’t even have half the links working.   Like, what if you want to find out what people have frequently asked me, or you want to clicky that little RSS button?  Well, until now, Piss Off! (Editor's note-buttons still not fixed)  I think the combo of trying to cram my brain through a literary Plah-doh Fun Factory for what amounts to little more than a cheap, ripped-off gimmick, along with the social pace of a Honduran sweatshop left me a bit impotent of the written word.  But I’ve finally gone to the doc, gots me a script, and now I’m ready to pop some virtual Viagra.  So much like Ike Turner with a raging digital boner, I swear baby, this time is gonna be differents.  Come back to me again.  I ain’t gonna hit you no more.   Promise.

Because it is October.  

October is my favorite page of the 12-Month Cookbook.  It’s like a perfect pie- crisp on the outside, gooey on the inside, and filled with...stuff.  Apple slices of Baseball postseason, Football in full swing, My birthday (not that I don’t spend the other eleven months celebrating the piss outta life...), and Hallo-muthafuckin-ween.  A couple of weddings, the Cleveland Wine Opener, and Shelf Night IV bubble over this year like a caramel topping that’s been liberally applied.  But the bacon-lattice top crust for the second year in a row is Cleveland Beer Week, the now annual craft-beer (birthday) party/orgy that this fair city has decided to throw (for me).  

Last year, LN and I attended the Avery Experience at Bier Markt, which unlike the pure gluttony that’s planned for the Experience this year, was a low-key, small crowd affair of slinging beers and stories with Adam Avery.  A super nice-guy and charismatic speaker, Adam brought with him a huge twelve-beer slice of his brewery’s catalog, and and an appropriately sized hangover for the next day.  But anything worth doing is worth overdoing, right?  Yeah it is.  So this year, Mr. Avery is sneaking in three extra beers and Beer Engine is pairing each brew with a dish.  Or as it should be called Inducing a Food Coma You Are Likely Not To Recover From.  Which means I’ll probably be there.  Should be a helluva night.

But the Monster of Cleveland Beer Week, the Party to End the Parties, is Brewzilla.  Serving as Last Call for the week, Brewzilla raises its big gnarly head on Saturday, the Twenty Third at The Arcade.  Want Details?  Brewzilla is: 80 craft breweries.  Shit-tons of food.  Enough fun to make a public intox arrest well worth it.  What, you need more info than that to check it out?  Click one of the several links peppered through out here.  (They do a better job of explaining the details.  I kinda stopped reading after “Beer”.)  Oh, you’re still hemming and hawing about whether or not to go?  Are you under house arrest already?  Are you six years old?  Are you Jordan Shipley and you still don’t know where you’re at?  If those three things don’t apply to you, Capt. Picky Pants, then you probably should just put on your big boy/girl/thing undergarments and go.

And to help you share in a birthday hangover with me, I’ve lucked/bribed my way into Eddie Money status as I have Two Tickets to Paradise/Brewzilla  to give out.  That’s right, I want to ply for your affections with a cheap and shameless gift in the hopes that you can forget about all the abusive times we’ve spent together.  Think of them as Beer Roses.  Ya want ‘em?  Entering this little giveaway is easy:  Leave your name and a method of contact in the comments.  That’s it.  That’s all you have to do.  (Winning will be more difficult: Next Wednesday, I’ll take everybody’s name and write it on the bottom of a dog food can.   Whichever can my friend’s dog/giant retard Deiter picks for dinner that night will be the winner.)  Even if your can of Beef & Liver with Gravy doesn’t make it on the menu next week, you can still get come hang out with a Dude in a Suit (and a bunch of other people too) because tickets are a completely reasonable $50 (or you can do it right and hit the VIP circuit for $75).  

So start wishing Deiter Bon Appetit!

(So...this ish is way more broken than I thought it was.  Maintenance request has been sent.)