Okay, real quick like.  Just a little, you know...


So right now I'm across the street, holding down Narm's fort at White-Collar Redneck while he does his best to reinforce the Stupid Lazy American stereotype while trying to invade Italy's underpants for a couple of weeks.  So go read it.  Because I'm basically Tommy Boy with a dinner roll.  So naughty.  And then remember to read it again when he gets back, because he's funnier and beardier than me.

Second piece of officialness is belatedly announcing the winner of my Obscenity Contest...which was Kelly and Jose.  But really, after using the term pussy snot in reference to my liver...I don't think I really had much of a choice.

(other than, you know, drinking away the pain of my disgusting liver tears...)

As much I would like to just talk about rag-tag circus punk marching bands, Neko Case's forearm tattoos and the raging gorilla-strong desire I have to make babies with her, my exit strategy from The Cleve, and the drunken ballyhoo of kicking buildings, throwing shoes, and hiding out in The Open, I have a little bit of business to attend to here on my slice of Internet Pie, something that's not easy for me to do.

Turns out when you have a reputation as a booze hound and a bloggy blog with the word Beer in the title, you tend to attract certain peoples attention- such as that of the presumably good people that are organizing the International Beer Fest out at the IX Center. So they propositioned me like you would any low miles, low morals hussy: If I wouldn't mind doing a little promo work, they'd provide me with a pair of tickets to disperse to one of the 5, possibly 6 peoples that actually read this thing. (Ed. Note- I'm not really sure what I'm getting out of this whole deal, because it sure as fuck isn't a free pair of tickets for myself... Much like a low-rent whore, I am fucked again.)

So here it is: Time to line up for a shot at a pair of GA tickets to any one of the sessions over three days. Your chance to head to beautiful Brookpark and sample several of the approximately 1,645 different beers that'll be on hand (Ed. Note- Here is where I'm legally-ish obligated to state that “1,645” equals “about 800”). The opportunity of a weekend to pretend you're me on a Wednesday and wake up with a pretty decent hangover. As planned, it should be an absolutely massive event with enough beer and people to make you pleasantly drunk and annoyed with strangers.

An event that I have no intentions of going to.

(This would be the point where the presumably good people that are organizing the International Beer Fest are probably less than enthused with me.)

BUT. I have some serious concerns pertaining to the event. Not necessarily in order of anger-induction, they are:

The list of beers being poured. Now, I will admit: It looks about a bazillion times (Ed. Note- not even an exaggeration) better than when they initially released it. But that's like saying a piece of chuck steak from your local grocery store looks better than a piece of roadkill that's been rotting out in the street for the past week until the August sun. But the fact that there are an ungodly amount of Macros on the list is an inconsiderate gloved slap to the face of my/your good senses. Like, do you really want a three ounces sample of Bud Light? (Ed. Note- For every person that gets a sample of Bud Anything, I'm going to step on a kitten. And yes, I'll know if you did. Trust me.) Or are you looking to savor the metallic notes found it Old Milwaukee? Maybe it's the nostalgia of some Colt .45 hitting the back of your throat that you're really looking for. Okay, yes, I know that it says International in the title, not Craft, or Micro brew, or Good. And yes, I know that the Macros are the Two Ton Rhinoceros of the scene, horning their way into whatever the fuck they want to, like a drunk Div I-A linebacker that stumbles into your Scrabble game. But what is this, a Beer Fest, or a Fermented GMO Corn Juice Sipping Party? Yes, there's a ton of good beers that are gonna be poured. For every can of swill being slopped around, there's a Big John from Goose Island or an Abita Turbo Dog getting poured, putting a big, fat smile on Somebody's face. But me, I just can't get past the taste of Rhino Piss. I'm hung up on it like I was on Winnie Cooper in 7th grade. I won't let it go until I get a very stern talking to from the principle at school...

The Venue. Now, maybe I'm underestimating how big this thing really is, like how far LolCats has spread, or how many people really think that I'm just a functioning alcoholic. But c'mon, the IX Center? That's like me renting out The Jake for a bar-league softball game. And the IX Center has all of the warmth, comfort, and personality of a dead hooker's vagina. It'd almost be better if they just held it on the east bank of the Flats. Or on the Valley View bridge.  Or out in the middle of the lake.  (Ed. Note- Hey, if you can't figure out my feelings- I think the IX Shitter fucking sucks.)

The list of beers being poured. Okay, maybe not what's on the list, but how it got on the list. One of the biggest faults I have with any event that is produced in association with the distribution network lording over Ohio is the tourniquet that cuts off any creativity from the brewers. What they don't tell you at events like this is that it is against Club (I.e.-Ohio) rules to pour any beers that haven't been approved by the Ohio Liquor Commission for sale. So that means that any beer you can have here, you can just go buy at the corner store (provided your corner store decides to carry it.) There's no surprises. No one-offs, no special brews, no...excitement. Avery can't bring in any of the Demon Series. Bell's can't uncap a few bottles of Batch 10,000. Dogfish Head can bring a cask of whatever wacky shit they decided to make only for the brewpub. And without being overly wordy like I usually am...that sucks. Yes, there might be a few tables that pour a few bottles of bootleg hooch, like brewing Seal Team 6. And yes, because of the rules, the Ohio brewers might have some special/rare shit on tap. But other than that, most of it will be hauled in from a warehouse, diverting it's fate from being delivered to a supermarket to being delivered to the IX Center for three days.  (Ed. Note- I lied.  Now is where they're certainly unhappy with me...)


You should probably go. You really should. There really is going to be a lot of good beer being poured by happy people to happy people. Happy people having a lot of fun. And you're not me. You don't have that elitist beer snob living inside of you; the one shrunk into the corner of my belly, hording the growler of Pliny the Younger and a pointy stick, prodding me sharply in the liver whenever it sees Sam Adams' Cherry Wheat.  So don't listen to the cynical ravings of a man with an angry gnome living in his stomach. Besides, you and a friend of your choosing are gonna go for free. So go. And tell me how it was. (Ed. Note- besides, I think I'm out of town that weekend...

The Contest:

You've gotta leave a comment, either here or on the Twitters (@buildingjason, use #contest) saying...

I dunno.

Oh! Leave your favorite curse word/exclamation. Vulgar. Biblical. Something you heard your grandmother say once. Whatever. Come Saturday at noon, I'll pick my favorite phrase of damnation and one Potty Face will be hooked up with a pair of tickets (via the presumably good peoples that organized the International Beer Fest) and a bar of soap

So let's get inappropriate.