I tried a new beer on Tuesday night. Well, it's not really new -- the company's been around for 17 years -- but new to me. I realize that it doesn't seem like a blogworthy event but you have to remember that for many fellows, trying a new beer is like seeing a new piece of art or reading a new book; we walk away from the experience feeling better about ourselves.
Actually, beer is better than books or art. "The Sun Also Rises" is a pretty good book, I think, but it's going to start to lose a little something on its 100th read. But my 100th Guinness, whenever that occurred, was just as tasty as the first.
The beer I bought Tuesday is from Canada, which makes me especially well-cultured (beer from another country -- oooooh!). Ingesting beer from other places is like traveling on the cheap. Recently, Curly was saying that when he travels, he likes to experience a place from a more local perspective. What could be more local than to drink from area streams, rivers and lakes? That's where the water for beer comes from. So, I have metaphorically dipped my hand into bodies of water all over the world; and by doing it via beer, I have never once suffered cryptosporidium.
You know that map that everyone has put on their blog at one time or another showing all the countries they've been to? Off the top of my head, this is what my beer travel map looks like -- the red identifies the places from which I have had beer.
Beer is great.
Beer is candy for men. Every time I go to the liquor store on the corner, I find myself standing along the wall of beer coolers, hand on chin, pondering my beer purchase as if it were a major life decision:
What state or country do I want to go to now? What kind of commitment do I want to make to that place -- a six-pack or 12-pack or just a one-off single-bottle jaunt?
And I'm not the only one. There are always other guys doing the same thing; strolling from the quality domestics over to the cheap mass-produced stuff and back, and peering through the glass at the beers as if trying to read the lie of a golf course.
My wife refuses to go to the liquor store with me because, she says, I take too long to pick things out. She clearly doesn't like to travel.
Oh, man. The cat's out of the bag. I suppose it's only a matter of time before people make the link between this blog and Estonia's foreign policy.
According to this story, women appreciate humor more because they don't expect a punchline. Huh?
"The funnier the cartoon the more the reward center in the women's brain responded, unlike men who seemed to expect the cartoons to be funny from the beginning," the story says.
I suppose the pessimist could say that women are more used to disappointment.
But, wait. Detroit really is a city of abandoned buildings, desolate neighborhoods and burned-out cars.
Oh, Kansas. You make me sad.