Brewing, a Curious Hobby

On new years eve I embarked on the labor intensive, yet sometimes rewarding folly of brewing. Results have been mixed. Eight months in, I've had as many batches go foul as I've had go through my kidneys. The act of brewing my own beer has the same appeal for me as catching a fish I will later eat, or maintaining a garden. It's some strange survivalist hold over from the days when man was not blessed with McDonald's or adult onset diabetes. It's an ambition I've been milling over since the lakes thawed this spring and I got the itch to throw a line in the water. This itch has gotten itchier with age. Having grown up on what was once the premier walleye lake in the state I had ample opportunity to take the outdoors for granted for the bulk of my formative years. Now, sitting in the suburbs getting puffy on homebrew, I understand why all those city folks were beating a path to the northwoods every weekend. It's the same drive the keeps me boiling wort long into the night like some modern day Friar Tuck. Only his malted barley came from god, and mine is from Northernbrewer.com

Vocal Adventures

I began "hosting" a fantasy football podcast last week (www.fantasynoise.com). Though I have been playing FF for three seasons, and I did win my league last year, I have as much business speaking publicly about it as Billy Mays had speaking publicly about NA. I've been to the meetings, but I haven't quite committed. I was graciously asked by a couple of work friends who have booked thousands of hours mock-drafting. They speak of such things as "ADPs" and "Late round fliers." My relevance to the project lies in my experience in the voice over booth, and my relative ability to crack a joke once in a while. It's a great opportunity for an untrained improv fan to test test his mettle in a semi-familiar topic. Have a listen won't you? My hosting, like a fine wine, will get better before it turns to vinegar. When it starts to go funky, just pour it on some spring greens.

The fall of the human race.

I'm fairly certain that in three weeks or so, when martians come down and study our ashy remains they will quickly conclude that the cause of our demise can be traced back to a lack of what I laughingly refer to as "basic humanity." Things like holding a door for someone. Making an attempt to grasp the situation before jumping to a conclusion. Allowing them to finish speaking before blurting in with a half-baked, I-Am-Sam level question that was already being answered when the attention center of your brain sensed a lack of stimulus and told your mouth to say whatever sentence fragment you could muster, lest you look like someone who could actually pay attention.

(deep breath)

These are the kinds of things that are slowly crushing my soul. What is it that compels a person to refuse to return phone calls in a business setting for weeks, or months on end? What is it that makes others who grace the unwashed masses by answering their phones cut us off before we've even explained the reason we've called? Is everyone really that busy? If so, are you hiring? The country could use a few more jobs.

This must all boil down to the fact that we're all rushing around trying our damnedest to acquire as much stuff as we can before the day a lump of plaque falls off our arterial wall and gets lodged in our stress-narrowed left ventricle. I guess the part I don't get is, what strategic advantage is there in the cosmic rat race to proactively ignoring the rest of "humanity"? And also, why do you still have a job when I've been leaving you messages for the past three months and you've refused to return even one call? Have you been rightfully fired and your boss just forgot to check your voice mail? If so, why does he still have a job? Or was he on his way when your ineptitude finally dislodged that plaque of his?

When slow work pain strikes...

...you release your frustration by writing it somewhere no one will ever read it.

I've been meaning to begin writing something for a while and have even started a few times, but I always get distracted by a shiny object or the realization that no one cares what I think. Today I make yet another stab at self-medicating through written ventilation. I give you... Consequences of a Slow Work Day. In english!*

* may include some gibberish