Beer

I'm out of beer. In Hovelhouse, that's not something that's usually said. It's not entirely true, either. In the fridge there are a few castoffs from gatherings past, such as that lone Heineken Light that inexplicably showed up here with a few others once. Next to it, resting it's laurels against an old jar of jelly, is a can of Keystone Light that I can attribute to at least one fellow reveler, He Who Drinks the Keystone by the Case. Why it's still in there is beyond me. Just a bottle away is an abandoned Red Stripe that has probably sat in there for the better part of two years. The last of a case, I'd chosen not to drink any more of that brand about half way through. It reminds me why and I hope it never leaves the fridge. Then there's that bizarre Christmas Ale that showed up from some recent dropoff. I recall it being popular 15-odd years ago. I wonder if it's actually that old or not. I don't aim to find out. There is a fine bottle of New Glarus Moon Man, a Wisconsin drink that I'm waiting for a specific time to quaff, as it is my last New Glarus of any type until March of 2012, provided the world doesn't crack in half. New Glarus if a great brewery and should be sampled by all traveling through Cheesehead country. Way back, behind the old ketchup that needs to be tossed is the fine pairing of Seagrams Blue Something-or-other, a girly drink purchased around six (yes, SIX) years ago for, well, the girls. I wonder if it feels just as unwanted as the Smirnoff Raspberry Ice it's been mated to for the better part of four years.

Yes, there is no beer of worth in Hovelhouse at the moment. There is plenty of Woodchuck Cider though, which I have already consumed in twos. I need to, you see. I need to make room for the beer to come. There is, after all, a holiday weekend on the horizon.

Skol!