Insane Love

As many of you know, San Adams is my all-time favorite beer…actually more of a love affair. (As seen Here and Here)

Anyway…I was on TweetDeck and decided to do a search for Sam Adams…to see if I was alone in my obsession.

HOLY SHIT!!!!! I am not alone…not the crazy bastard that I thought I was.

Below are about a dozen tweets that I pulled (as they came in):

wish I had some beer STOP complaining! BEER BEER YUMMY BEER! SAM ADAMS ALL THE WAY!

oooh I had some sam adams summer whilst in chi and it twas delightful.

currently drinking Sam Adams seasonal and watching the NBA. In theory running a training session

$2 pints at the fox & the hound. Sam Adams here I come!

Is it wrong to drink an ice cold Sam Adams Lager for your recovery drink after a 35 mile ride? You know what i don't really care. mmmmm yum!

Cold Sam Adams- Penguins in the finals- Life is good.

Enjoying a Sam Adams with my bride.

6 pieces of ravioli with tomato sauce and a sam adams cherry wheat ale

Sam Adams Summer Ale. Yes we are double wristing it.

Yankees. Red Sox. Sam Adams. It's all good!

Cracking a Sam Adams to go with my from-scratch clam chowdah. Wicked good.

Case of Sam Adams cherry wheat for the game. Slightly more excited for the beer.

Need me a Sam Adams.

Eating at a sports bar. Appetizer combo and a sam adams beer. Yum.

Does anyone know where in Kazoo to get Sam Adams Black Lager?

How bad is it to ditch the post-work run in favor of potato chips with Sam Adams? Probably pretty bad . . . crunch crunch crunch

So…if you have never tried Sam Adams…put down whatever it is that you are doing and go to the fucking store. It is worth it. My favorite is the regular Sam Adams Lager.

**To Any and all Sam Adams PR, Marketing, Operations, Management and Executives…PLEASE KNOW THAT I AM OPEN, READY AND WILLING TO CONDUCT TASTE TESTING, REVIEWS, COMMERCIALS, OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT YOUR HIENESS WOULD ASK OF ME.

‘Normal’ childhood? - Part Three - The Bat and the Broom

Be sure to read part one and part two before this one

At the ripe age of about 9, and after causing some sort of stink at the dinner table, I was sent to my room while everyone else finished their dinner and had their ice cream.

Now, we lived in an old Victorian house and my room, the one that I shared with B1 was on the top floor …the converted attic.

Sitting up there sulking on the edge of my bed, wondering if I could coerce B2 to sneak me up some ice cream after dinner, I was startled by a freaking bird flying right through my open window. As it zipped back and forth around my room, spinning in circles, seemingly very disoriented, this ‘bird’ swooped down and got its feet caught in my hair.

Pause for image of said hair. (and maybe a bit of laughter)

Completely freaking out, running in circles, yelling for my mother and flinging my arms up to try to dislodge this hair intruder….I hear my mother yelling up the stairs, “I told you to be quiet up there…or you’ll stay up there all night!”

Continuing my cries for help, my mother stormed her way up to my room, cursing me enough so that I did not know who to be more scared of…this beast clawing at my head…or the one about to bust through my bedroom door with a belt.

A second later my mother burst though my door, with belt in hand and a lung full of air to scream at me. Upon seeing the flapping, tangled mess that was once my head, she screamed, “BAT!” and swiftly ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Shocked that A. It was a bat in my hair and not a bird…and B. that my mother would run out and just leave me there. I continued screaming and running around the room. A minute or so later she barged back into my room…armed with a broom. She march straight at me and began bashing me on the head with the broom…worried more so about hitting the bat than the structural integrity of my cranium. Once she successfully knocked the bat loose from my hair she dragged my whimpering body out of the room (as if I were a wounded soldier being saved by a war hero) and slammed the door once again.

After pleading with the man that lived next door, the bat was evicted from my room. The story ends with a haircut appointment for me early the next morning.

As the stories are seemingly endless…I’ll continue with another next time – Military Training

‘Normal’ childhood? – Part Two - Fork Dinner

Be sure to read part one before this one

We were all sitting around our gi-freaking-normous dinner table one night and B1 and S2 were sitting at the head and the foot of the table. It was the usual banter, bickering and chaos that it had always been and our parents had grown fond of eating their dinner at the kitchen bar.

At the table, something B1 said to S2 made her pissed. I, to this day do not know what it was but she was furious. The tone between them became more like Carrie and Freddy Kruger going at it and the rest of us just sat there staring at the two of them…it was actually getting pretty good….until, out of nowhere, S2 picked up her fork and (as if she’d been secretly studying with Ninjas) threw her fork across the table with such precision that it stuck, squarely in my brother’s forehead. (The fork mind you, sticking straight out of his head, was about an inch above but directly between his eyebrows)…held there by the 3 prongs that neatly wedged themselves ever so slightly into his forehead.

All of us just sat there …mouths on the floor, eyes open wide with amazement…but nobody said a word…not even the two of them. Our parents, not hearing any more yelling, instantly KNEW something had gone awry, came running in to see what had happened. Both of them stopped abruptly when the saw the fork, that was protruding from B1’s head, drop to the table with a loud clanking sound.

They then ran to him and checked his head and proceeded to load him into the car and off to the emergency room.

After all was said and done, and my brother had no serious injury (except for the line of three dots in the middle of his forehead that were visible for about a year) that story has been told by us all, parents included, with a smile.

Stay tuned for the next glimpse into my childhood… The Bat and the Broom

‘Normal’ childhood? - Part One - The Mini Hulk

When I look back on my childhood, I think of it as a happy, ‘normal’ childhood…just like everyone else who was growing up in the 70s and 80s. We had everything that we needed and parents who loved us and tended to us the way parents should.

Recently I’ve found myself telling wild stories from my childhood, that lead me to believe that we were anything but normal.

Growing up with 5 siblings (3 sisters and 2 brothers) there was always a lot going on and there were always rifts springing up between sets of us. For the most part, our parents just sat back (and now reflecting on it were most likely cracking the fuck up) and letting us sort things out ourselves…as learning experiences.

M=Adoptive Mother
F=Step Father
S1=sister (older by 2 years)
S2=sister (younger by 4 years)
S3=step-sister (younger by 6 years)
B1=brother (younger by 2 years)
B2=step-brother (younger by 4 years)

I will summarize a few of the questionable stories for you over the next week or so. Then you can tell me if my childhood sounds normal to you or not.

‘Normal’ childhood? - The Mini Hulk

I was a bit of an instigator (still am) and would make it a point to pick on (almost to the point of crying) B2. Now being 4 years younger, he knew that standing his ground with me would be a drastic error in judgment…so he never did…until one day. It was right after school and I was mentally jabbing at him and making him feel as close to a pile of dog shit as I could. Then something happened…the boy freaked. His eyes changed. His skin flared up in a deep red and he screamed, “I HAVE HAD IT!” I responded with some bully-ish retort that sent him flying over the edge. With that, he, moving faster than I’d ever seen him move, ran past the wood stove, snatching up the large iron fire poker and proceeded to chase me around the house…swinging at will trying to silence my banter. Realizing how serious he was, by the trail of broken vases and lamps in his wake and the near miss to the back of my head, I found the only lockable room in the house (my parents) and securely locked the door behind me. Sitting on the edge of their bed, listening to his threats of violence…I figured that the homicidal rage would soon subside and we could all go about our day as per the norm.

All of the sudden, my thoughts were interrupted by the crashing sound of the fire poker connecting with the door knob that was currently saving both of us from a great deal of pain. I watched as the knob became looser and looser, heard wood of the door cracking and I knew that it would be any minute that mini Hulk would come crashing through the door.

I took that as a sign that he was not in a frame of mind to calm down and that I should seek refuge elsewhere. I scrambled over to the window and lowered myself as far as a 12 year old could and jumped the remainder of the two story drop…then bolted (with a slight limp) over to a neighbor’s house until my parents got home.

Come back to read the next installment…Fork Dinner

Determination

Finding the truth within oneself
Like climbing a mountain of gravel with no footing to be found
Many get stuck, more get scared - yet we go on
Ledges are loved ones and loose sand our enemies
We must choose the right path
repel and try again until we get it right
Reaching the top is a long hard journey

But once it’s done, it’ll be easy to see
Determination and a good heart is all that you need

all for a carton of smokes

As many of you know…or can tell…I have not had what most would refer to as a ‘normal’ life.

This is a story that changed a lot within me and will never be forgotten.

From early in the day, the cellblock was busier but quieter than usual. This always happens when something big is coming. The quiet before the storm. The Black and Latino gangs seemed to have more distance between them than usual. As the day drifted on there was a lot of quick meetings and whispering happening within the gangs. The rec yard and mess hall were tense, yet uneventful, which was far from typical. Looking down from the third floor balcony, the common room looked like a pair of hypnotic eyeglasses, swirling groups of people on either side and a few misplaced guards in between.

Gangs in lock up are simple yet complex. They can be quite large but only the top three have any say on what happens that day. Many have no interest in being in a gang, or taking part in the insane schemes, yet protection…a family is an unavoidable need.

It was about 8PM when there seemed to be a lot more scampering around. The volume on the TV was turned up as the Latino leader and his 2 under-bosses emerged from their “office.” Simple gestures by him sent the Latino soldiers on their missions. As a group of about 15 men all converged on the level one balcony, the lookouts began signaling. There seemed to instantly 2 dozen Black soldiers surrounding the Latinos. At first there was just a lot of tough looks, talk and pushing going on. The tension was high, it felt as if it were 100 degrees on the block. The looks on everyone’s faces were looks of fear and confusion mix with honor and duty – reminiscent of soldiers on a battlefield. With another nod from the leader everything seemed to start moving in slow motion. 3 men entered a cell. Outside it was like a scrimmage line on a football field. Hitting and pushing with nobody gaining ground. Moving nearer, There were glimpses of a fellow block-mate backing into the corner of his cell, with his comrades unable to help him. The sight was frightening, even though he was the enemy.

As the muffled calls for help emerged from the cell, it was clear to everyone that his time had come. There seemed to be a slight pause before the view of stabbing motions filled the cell. All watched quietly as the victors emerged from the cell with blood-soaked hands. Quickly, with tear-glazed eyes, the sight of people running, weapons disappearing and smiles from the balcony were seen. It was clear that many involved were filled with hidden emotions. Beneath the smiles and cheers, it was easy to see the fear and sadness. Returning to the cells, hearing the jingling of keys on the guards’ belts as they ran into the block, everyone laid in their bunks, closed their eyes…all this for a carton of smokes.