$12 Beer.
I’m in Margaret River, WA at the moment, where you can’t stumble over without landing in some fantastic winery or brewery’s car park, so I’m finding lots of great local beers. And also spending too much money in the name of beer snobbery. Please, make my “efforts” worthwhile and go check the latest.
When I was at uni, my friends (cruelly) dared me to strike up a conversation with a fellow bar patron. They identified him from across the crowded room as the man with the highest blood-alcohol content and, presently, the least dignity.
“Hey, you look familiar,” I said. “Do we have a class together?”
Through the haze of his intoxication, he had some difficulty recognizing that he didn’t recognize me. “Yeahhh,” he slurred. “Yeah. Friday mornings?” Continue reading
The best kind of cornered. With Dot, Freddy, and B Bins.
The Crab’s Claw Inn. An institution. -al establishment. I’ve been familiar with the Claw for years, but I only began to properly cherish it this past summer, while working next door at Shaded Vision. (An institution.)
On Friday, the Claw re-opened its door to the public for the first time since Superslut –storm Sandy. When I arrived at 10 p.m., the place was packed with jubilant patrons, doling out hugs and high fives by the hundreds, downing Winter Ales and Yuenglings, and, mostly, smiling. So much smiling.
Houses have been flattened, gutted, renovated, rebuilt. The Heights opened its streets to… everyone. Park residents were allowed to go home. Cheese balls were served. But this? This felt like a real milestone. It felt like the mail man and the boutique owner and the bar owner and your mom’s friend and the pro surfer and the restorer were able, maybe, to feel almost normal again. Maybe. They saw each other with drinks in their hands again, in a place to which they all pledged allegiance, a long time ago, without ever saying a word.
You see, the Claw is like our Central Perk. It’s where we go after work and spend our hard-earned dollars on deliciously unpretentious fare prepared and delivered by people with heart. Where plans are made and friends are met. Where we replenish ourselves after hours in the sea. And remind ourselves that we’ll be in the sea in just hours. We go to eat dinner. Or to skip dinner. We sing and dance, talk story, talk shit, aggrandize waves and fish and babes. Everybody probably doesn’t know your name, but I’d bet that everybody knows your face. It’s where we go when we don’t want to go home, or when we can’t go home. It is a sort of home.
I know how this sounds. It’s not that we’re a bunch of alcoholic bar flies. Because the Claw isn’t really just a bar. It’s an institution. And it’s back.
While I was up in the hinterlands (Maine), I acquired a few exceptional new beers for the Yankee List. My favorite was Sunday River Brew Pub’s Alpine Porter, which tastes like pine trees. Seriously. It’s weird but amazing. Portland, M.E.’s Allagash Black (which I’d never seen before) is fantastic, as well.
Anddd I realize this is kind of annoying, but I’ve also added a very small-batch beer that you’re unlikely to come across… I feel it deserves a spot on the list: The Maple Brown Sugar Cranberry Xmas Ale was created by my friend Josh Hahn. Josh is probably not related to those Hahn brewers in Oz, but he has equal (if not greater) brewmaster skills. Thanks, Josh!
If you click on that link up there, you can see the entire list. As always, discourse is encouraged.
Click me.
Like riding a bike? Not so much. Maybe. A little.
Now, for some height.
12 Things I Learned in 2012:
Around this time last year, I was on this pro-fate, anti-resolution kick. After listening to me prattle on for a couple of days, my housemate suggested that I read The Secret. Matty mentioned something about the Law of Attraction. I’m not sure what, exactly (and I still haven’t finished the book), but he went on to tell me that he’d made a list one year–simply written down things that he’d wanted to accomplish in the upcoming year–and forgotten all about it. When he went back to the list a year later, he’d accomplished almost everything on it. The good, old Law of Attraction. I think. I seem to remember him explaining that in expressing his desires in a concrete way, he gave them some kind of power. My interest (skepticism?) was piqued. So, I wrote my own list of non-resolutions for 2012 somewhere in the middle of my leatherbound notebook, folded down the page’s corner, moved on.
A few days ago, I remembered the non-resolutions and confessed to my friend, Megan, that although I couldn’t remember exactly what I’d written down, I was pretty sure I hadn’t accomplished any of it. Shrug.
Alas, mere moments ago, I dug the notebook out of my over-stuffed bookcase and unearthed “My 2012 List (of Goals).” There are eight items on it. Some of them are embarrassing, so I will not be divulging them here. But as it turns out, I did every single one of them. Sometimes in the strictly literal sense, and occasionally, on a very temporary basis: I visited Yudi in Bondi; not Indo. I got a new board from California; not the board I’d intended to retrieve. I guess, like most things, it’s all about perspective.
I haven’t yet decided if I’m making a list for 2013. If I do, it certainly will not be called “2013 Resolutions.”
Water, Water Everywhere And Not A Drop To Drink 
More quality spam.
Oh, you’re very welcome, Mr. Sexdate. Thank you. And may I just say what a lovely and unusual first name you have.