Frickin Firkin Fest

Wow, what a weekend. A weekend that I was happy to have, but it's a relief to finally have some time to rest. Crashing at 9pm last night definitely helped with the whole resting part.

There's a lot of walking and drinking that I'd like to talk about, but I don't think anybody really cares about the random beers I had, or how hard I suck. What do you want to hear about?

Well, Firkin Fest at the Happy Gnome, of course!

My friends and I arrived about 15 minutes before they opened the tent flap, and I was expecting the line to be down the street by that point. Fortunately, we just barely beat that rush and ended up 15 people or so behind the front of the line. In another 5 minutes we would have been at the end of the line, or as I like to call it "Minneapolis".

Not that it would've mattered, though, because once we were let in the door, we were greeted with the beautiful site of the guy checking IDs. But behind that guy was the beautiful site of the people taking tickets and selling(yes, selling) programs for $2. But behind all those people? Two huge rows of cask beer, one row to each side of a tent the size of a football field. It could make a grown man cry. Since I'm not a grown man, I giggled and danced a little jig instead. I also farted, too, because that's what men do, and in a tent this big, you can't really pinpoint exactly who it was that crapped their pants.

The deal with this fest was that you paid $5 to get in, each pour was worth one ticket, each ticket would cost you $1. On the surface it sounds like not too bad of a situation, especially considering the number of beers present, the 4 oz glass you received with the $5 admission, and that you could spend as little or as much money as you wanted. Considering that most beer festivals start at $45 and go up from there, this didn't seem too bad.

The reality of this fest, though, was that most pours were 1oz. One measly little ounce, and I even had some particularly light handed pourers(mostly volunteers, mind you) that had trouble giving even a ounce. Yeah, that works out to about $16 a pint if you're keeping track, which in my book is asinine and I, and a lot of people I talked to, felt like we were getting hosed pretty hard. That's because that is a pretty hard hosing.

I'm not sure if this was to keep down on the drunken fratboy shenanigans,a flat out cash grab, or if they were short on beer and didn't want to blow through all the casks right away, but it caused a few problems as far as enjoying the fest went, for me at least. More on the latter in a bit.

For one, the teensy pours made me not even want to try anything that I'd normally be able to obtain here in Minneapolis, and I leaned more to the big beers and stuff that made it worth my money. Like the guy that was giving 3oz pours of Avery Maharaja through a beer engine, and if I have to choose between that and a $1 1oz pour of something with a normal ABV, it's not too tough of a decision to make. I know that makes me sound like all I wanted to do was get ripped and chase tail*, but that's not the case at all. I just wanted to feel like I was getting my money's worth. And guess what--getting refill after refill of 13.6% Double Crooked Tree IPA from Darkhorse will get your drunk, as will Surly 16 Grit(thank you Surly beer engine puller lady!) in case you were wondering.

Second, the small pours don't really allow you to get a good idea of what you're drinking, let alone give you the time to enjoy it. I'm not asking for a half a pint, but 3oz of something definitely helps. You'd go up and get a beer, try it and then it was almost immediately on to the next beer. There was no time to sit down and enjoy it, or be able to talk to friends because it seemed my glass was always empty. They had tables in the middle of the tent, but that does no good when you're constantly in the quest for a refill.

The best part about the day was the weather, for sure. 65 degrees and sunny in the middle of March? So awesome. The worst part about that was that the only place to enjoy the sun was way back near the porto-biffs. I understand that the event coordinators really can't predict that it's going to be the absolute perfect day and allow for more outdoor space, so I didn't really hold this against them. For all they knew it would be 35 degrees and raining sideways.

If the small pours were due to them running out of beer, then whose grand idea was it to make the fest last so damn long? I stuck around far too long, but by the time we left at 8pm or so, they were out of plenty of the good beer, like Hopslam, and most everybody associated with the event just wanted it over and done with. They were going so far as selling glasses of beer, which I think were still only 12oz, for 5 tickets, just to get rid of the leftovers.

I had so many tickets left at that time that I was harrassing the New Belgium guy for full pours of New Belgium La Folie Love for 2 or 3 tickets each. Too bad that I wasn't able to do that earlier in the day, if only to keep me from feel like I was looping in circles, from toilets to tent. ALL. DAY. LONG.

I know it sounds like I'm ragging on this fest, or that I had a terrible time, but that couldn't be more wrong. There was a lot about it that I liked. For example, even though the tent was ass-to-crotch by 3pm, I never once had to wait in a line for a beer. Not for Hopslam, not for 16 Grit, not for a single damn beer, which was a good thing considering that I was always on the prowl for another beer (zing!). Also pretty impressive, especially for an event this large.

Also, the bathroom situation was wonderful. I'm usually loathe to use outdoor toilets, but this was almost downright pleasant, if taking a wizz when that many people are enjoying the scents of spring immediately outside your biffy door can be a pleasant circumstance. Hand sanitizer and urinal cakes signifies spring for you, too, right? Thought so.

One thing I must mention, though--I've never had more people commend and simultaneously mock me for wearing my Camelbak. Granted, I was the lone guy that didn't ride a bike over, and was sucking out of a straw attached near his shoulder for much of the afternoon, but what do you expect? It's an outdoor beer festival, for fuck's sake! They're not going to just give you water. You're all just jealous of my forethought and unstupidity. While you were lamenting about your orange urine, I was peeing confidently and clearly all night long! HA! HA!

Suck on that, losers.

So, would I go back next year? Probably, but I wouldn't show up as early next time. Bah, who am I trying to kid? I'll camp overnight just to be first in line.

*If you've never been to a beer festival, I'm sure that joke went vwoop!, right over your head. If you have, you'll know that, even for a single guy(I'm not), there are no women there. Just dudes. For the most part, fat, disgusting beer dudes that do nothing but talk about beer. Oh joy. And the women that are there? Wives, girlfriends and sober-cab call-girls that are purchased for the day by these beer dudes to make it look like they're not so lonely.

Update time, HO! Hey, that motivated the Thundercats. I might as well try it.

The last time we saw our hero--yes, me--he was preparing for or just returning from Las Vegas, tired, dejected and also giddy. If you can tell me how all those things are supposed to work, let me know. I just called the feeling "pukey".

I don't actually remember when I last wrote and I'm too lazy to maneuver my mouse over the blogger link all the way up in my bookmarks toolbar to find out. I know it was in December, right after two advertisers had paid me, because I distinctly remember yelling "YOINK!" after getting paid and cashing out. I'd say they got their money's worth.

I'm typing this from my brand new Acer Aspire One 8'9" netbook. I'd attempt to throw a link in there, but since I can't do anything using our speedy T-1 line at work(except for Startribune.com, oh woe is me), I'm tethering my Pearl and using that as a modem, which is only slightly quicker than stapling my post to a crippled chicken and hoping it winds up on the internet somehow. Slightly. With any luck, you may read this in the year 2012.

I didn't really need a new computer, but as I'm getting older and my manual dexterity is decreasing, and my eyesight ain't what she used to be, I thought, why not? Why not buy the damn thing when I have to press my nose against the screen to see the font, and it takes 15 hours to type 1000 words because I'm constantly mistyping with the small keys, and when I go to backspace, I'm actually just hitting \\\\\ more than I should, and that means I have to hit backspace that much more.

Not functional, but by golly it is cute.

Is anyone else ready for Spring? Myself, I'm ready for Sprummer--that time in Minneapolis where all the patios open, but it's not so hot that you sweat balls just sitting there. And coming from someone that has overactive sweat glands, not sweating balls is an important determination in what I do.

Summer really can't get here soon enough, because you know what, people? I'm turning into fleshy, gooey outline of my former self. I used to laugh at people that blamed beer for their weight gain, and to some extent I still do; when those people are drinking light beer. I could drinking liters upon liters of light beer and not gain a damn pound, but ever since I decided to become an elitist beer prick and drink "good beer", I totally understand the weight gain thing. 8 beers at 200+ calories a piece? Lard-oh is me.

Give me another two years and I'll be the fat guy that shows up in Vegas and goes buffet hopping instead of bar hopping. Wheeeeeze.

Molly and I are currently in the slow, slow process of finding another place to live, and that's always fun and not stressful in the least. She might tell you differently, but the only redeeming factors in our place now is that the rent (for a decently sized 2 bedroom) is less than I paid in my downtown 1 bedroom, and the location. Other than that it's a complete and utter shit hole.

I'd like to be able to brew, but after many failed attempts at stovetop brewing, even though I'd want to brew outside, I've learned that our stove can't boil one fucking gallon of water, let alone the 6 gallons I want to brew. I went so far as to take apart a burner, but I got water inside the damn thing and it took two days of worrying and "Don't use that burner!" with not explanation the the girlfriend as to why, before the damn thing finally fired up. Yeah, fun times.

So, yeah, moving. Great. If any of my friendly readers, or just people reading this, want to help me lift a couch with two recliners in it, I've got plenty of beer.

(My god, is this what my blog really was? Lame updates on my life that nobody will, or should, care about? Amazing that I didn't quit sooner!)

Phew. Now that I've finally recovered from last weekend, you want me to do what? Go to Vegas? Are you mental?

Oh, right, you are. I know you people.

Last weekend was fun, though the drive up and back--8+ hours, total--is the most draining part. Well, up isn't so bad. We stopped at Fitger's Brewhouse and were able to break up the drive with a pint(IPA for me, pale for the lady), some lunch and a growler or two for the road. Not a bad way to start the trip.

Saturday night, for me, was hilarious. I sat at the back for the bar all night, watching a room full of guys try to hit on a band full of lesbians. I'm not sure what it is deep inside the male brain that says "Hey, I could change her", but it was there ten-fold on Saturday night.

Listen, guys, I understand that general idea behind hitting on an attractive girl--a girl that just so happens to enjoy being uvula deep in box--is sound, in principle. I also understand that there's some fucked-up badge-of-honor in being the Great White Lesbian-Converting Hope, but do you have any idea what you'd be getting yourself into should you do the unthinkable and dream that impossible dream? I contest that you do not.

Let's imagine for a second that you have this incredible gift--a gift that no man before you has ever possessed--that allows you to change a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the lesbian militia into a non-lesbian, or hell, even half lesbian. That's great, but now what? Whatever shall you do with this girl, a girl that, in her past has willingly entered a relationship that effectively doubles the amount of estrogen(or as I like to call it "crazy juice") in a room at any given time? You do not want that kind or amount of crazy in your life. What would cause you to do that to yourself?

Oh, right, booze and poon. Never mind. I guess I can only do so much. Consider this your one and only warning.

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The drive home from Lutsen, in a nutshell, sucked. Not only did I want to shoot an RPG through every billboard along I35 proclaiming "Even your idiot child is a blessing!", or "Life begins when two morons get drunk and fuck!"(I might be paraphrasing, but close enough), but it also started snowing just south of Duluth.

Oof dah.

Even the most measly of snowstorms gives a Minnesohtan the right to proclaim that they know how to drive in said snowstorm, when the exact opposite is true.

"SLOW DOWN", they say.

Fuck those people. Those people are the same people that haven't bought new tires in 5 years, then wonder why they're sliding all over the freaking road, and then have the audacity to believe that someone going over 45mph are the ones being unsafe. Fuck 'em in the ear! Sorry, I digress.

This trip to Vegas could not come at a better time for me. Not that I need a vacation, seeing as I just got back from one, but it's supposed to be 1°F here today. I need to get out of Minnesota.

I arrive at 11:06pm on Thursday night, and I fully expect the welcoming committee to be propped at the Geisha bar when I check in. True, I'm sure the same people would be camped there regardless of my time of arrival, or even if I was going to Vegas, but please just let me believe they're waiting for me.

Yeah, Chad, now who's being delusional?

Still me?

That is correct.

The only plan for me so far is to hit up the Yardhouse on Friday afternoon. Right now I've got a definitely in from Drizz, and a probably from DP. That's cool, I don't need you people anyhow. Hold on, I have something in my eyegina.

I thought about playing in the tourney on Saturday, but the last time I tried that I crashed before the 1st break and afterward I felt terrible because I'd just wasted $65 when I knew I was too hungover/tired to play. So, even though I have the money now (thank you, advertisers) I'm much more than content to railbird while enjoying a refreshing Fiji; the bottled water of the Gods of bottled water.

The best thing about these Vegas trips for me? There is so much stuff to choose from, but nobody is offended if you just want to rage solo for awhile. I intend to do some of that this trip.

I'll see you fuckers in 36 hours.

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker!

The WBCOOP is an online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers.

Registration code: 224820

Has it been a year since I was kicked in the balls during the WBCOOP last year? Seems like only yesterday. I wish I could play in all the pre-Big Show tournaments, but on the 15th I'll be coming back from Vegas(Boo.), and on the 19th I'll be touring the Surly brewery with Drizz(teehee). At least I can still play in the Hi/Lo and NL Hold 'em Freerolls.

Oh happy day.

9 days, my friends. 9 days. Giddyup and giggity all at the same time.

Where to begin? How about some poker content? The hell I say! And we're off...

I deposited $50 way back in September with no false hope that I could turn that into a brazillion canadabucks. My 'bankroll' since that time has fluctuated between a mythical $10 and $250, and thank the lord almighty, our savior jesus christ for rakebake, because that's the only thing that's been keeping me afloat.

I can't say that I'm totally, IDK, BFF with poker again, but I can't say that I hate it. I can, however, say that I wish fantasy football would die in a fire. My entire season came down to--count them--one, two, three, four yards. What a waste of $50.

On Saturday night I had exactly $17 in my Full Tilt account. I also had about 10 beers in my belly, but that's not that important in the story. Or maybe it is. At any rate, there you go. I played a few mini buy-in tournaments without anything happening. I busted out 4th in a 1800pt Tier One SNG. After that I finished in the top three of another Tier One tourney, earning myself a pretty little peep.

There wasn't enough time left in the night to play a large MTT(I probably would've passed out in the 3rd hour), so I made what was a stupid drunken decision and turned that peep into a $410 win in a $26 45 person SNG. (I am indeed results oriented. So what?)

Yes. Me. I took first in a tournament. I realize that it was only a small SNG, but stop shitting in my cereal, would you? I deserve to be happy. Let me be happy. One note of poker advice from dear unkie Chad--it's so much easier to win a tournament when you're dealt AA heads up when the other person thinks their A10o is a monster. I shit you not.

Even though I'm so flush with cash now, I probably won't be playing poker in Vegas. Have you seen the kind of people that touch those casino chips? At the IP of all places? I'd almost rather roll around naked in a daycare during flu season than play poker at the IP.

Almost. (Fine, I'll take a seat over there. Now what?)

This Friday Molly and I are taking the long drive up to Lutsen, with a quick pit stop at Fitger's in Duluth on the way. Mmmmm...growley beer, winding, deserted roads after sunset--my favorite!

I'm a little disappointed, though, that I won't be snowboarding even one run while up at the largest "mountain" in the midwest. I may be stupid, but a $58 lift ticket for a resort that is only 25% open is ridiculous? Pass.

Friday night will be a little subdued, with just Molly, a jug of IPA, and I hanging out all night around a 20" tv and a gas fireplace. That's fine, because Saturday night is likely to get a wee stupid. You see, Molly has this sister. Said sister is a lesbian. Lesbians are crazy. Molly's sister is in a crazy lesbian band. Crazy lesbian band(Sick of Sarah--aw man, I just linked to a Myspace page. Kill me now) is playing at the bar/venue at Lutsen.

So, Saturday night it will be me, my girlfriend, and about 90 of her closest lesbian friends. I know you all want to be me, but I assure you that you do not.

I dislike poker again.

What a stupid, stupid, lucky game. I've started lumping it along with fantasy football in the "inane pastimes" section of my life. The only pursuit I have right now that has anything resembling a consistent payout is beer, and that's only because I haven't produced an infected batch in the year I've been homebrewing, and it makes me all smiley and drunk. Now that I've said it, though, the infected wort is coming. I'm sure of it.

I feel like Iggy when I say that I sit down in front of the computer and want to write an uber epic blog post(possibly tonight, I swear. This time for real!), a post for the ages, and then...squadoosh. Nothing. The only reason I want to write between now and December 11th is that hopefully, by some miracle, my one advertiser will renew and I'll have an extra few clams in my pocket for Vegas. That would be nice. But, I'm not holding my breath on that one.

Speaking of Vegas, my only plan is to hit YardHouse (down by the airport) for happy hour on Friday from 3-6pm. Please won't you join me? So many beers that I haven't tried that I'm getting a little bit moist just thinking about it. That reminds me--must turn down thermostat in office.

Other than that, I have no real plans. I also don't have a poker bankroll, so sitting down at the MGM, or may God have mercy on our souls, the IP of all places, probably won't be happening. I suppose that also works well with my goal of not returning home with the Cold of Death, "Vegas Pneumonia", this trip. I can chalk that up as a win.

What else, what else. Oh!

The best thing I can say about Tuesday being over and done with, is the lack of tv commercials bashing an opponent. Thank god, because I'm a moron and almost fell for the ad about the time Franken ripped the head off a baby and drop-kicked the torso through the uprights at the Metrodome, resulting in a buzzer to go off, the crowd to go wild, and Abe Vigoda to finally die. A smart man knows that Abe Vigoda will never die.

The one that really got to me is the ad about Coleman starring in a Czech DVDA video, as the starlet. I mean, come on--how is that even possible?! His accent is not even close to eastern European, for fuck's sake!

This is going to come out as all kinds of fucked--partially because I'm still hungover from Monday Night Football, and partially because it is, indeed, fucked up--but, I love poker!

Yes, I do. I know what you're saying, though. You're saying, "wha-wha-whaaaaaaaaaaaaa?"

And you'd be right. It's not like me at all to extol about the beauty of a game that has depressed more people than Debbie Downer. I am, though.

I've been playing plenty of poker, just not necessarily online. A little, yeah, but mostly at my very own home game. The main reason I can say nary a bad word about poker is because I fleeced my friends for 10+ buy-ins a few weeks back. That helps. You'd be lying if you said that wouldn't make you happy, too. A thief and a liar.

But it also seems that the game is picking back up in the area, and I've started adding people to a list of people that I can invite on any given Friday night, and that helps. It's always been so tough to get any kind of game going in the past, so much so that I just gave up on trying.

Now that I've stated, on the internet no less, that I host a home game, the MPD will bust it because we're dropping Hamiltons like we're Aaron Burr.

Sorry, that's so stupid that I can do nothing but laugh.

And the best thing about all this? Even with years and years worth of poker knowledge readily available online, bad players still abound. It's comical, really.

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In other news, I haven't brewed since late May, mostly due to certain things that my apartment lacks, like a stove with the ability to boil 5 gallons of wort. That makes me said.

Fret not, concerned reader, because I think I finally figured out a way to make it all work. Hopefully I'll ramp up my brewing again this weekend with a recipe I've never tried brewing before--a bourbon vanilla imperial porter.

You just said yum-o, and I'm not going to hold that against you.

Also, I'd like to buy a keg of Sierra Nevada Celebration when it comes out. If any of you have a hook up of any kind? That would be awesome.

Damn, no wonder why my liver hurts constantly.