rivercityvibe   “Puerile, smutty, schoolboy nonsense” – My Mom

The drive for companies to produce something that “goes viral” has resulted in some genuinely funny stuff on the word wide interweb. This Bud Light commercial is one of them. It strikes a chord with me, having been in a similar situation to the protagonist more than once.

(Note: This does not count as an endorsement of Bud Light. Joe would not drink that nastiness. It’s like weak weasel piss).

I have a raging thirst which I shortly intend to slake (good word) by consuming an amount of beer that would kill a Canadian. Don’t be jealous. It’s just a skill I have. I’m not proud. Actually, I’m seeing a Buddhist* about it.

My weekend is going to be pretty HUGE. I’ll report back on Monday. In the meantime, word to all y’alls mothers. Something for the Weekend follows……

(* not just any Buddhist. His Holiness the Dalai Lama)

I generally get wine delivered by the case to Bones HQ. It is a system that can be automated, so I do not have to rely on my sundry minions to make choices for me. Thus I avoid the traumatic clusterfucks of the past (Chinese Sparkling Wine-Drink? I think not, Donald).

Occasionally, however, I am missing something from my cellar. A couple of days ago, it was noted by my Regular Thing that we had run out of Muscat which had been earmarked for “dessert” (we were giving dinner to some business magnates who had flown in, eager to hear my post-France report. They rely on me for updates on various matters of significance…..). When these situations arise there is only one person to see: Bernie, at Wine Warehouse, on Edgewood.

Now I love wine (and most other boozes). But I adore beer. That’s a fact. So, imagine my delight when my Regular Thing came back, not only with the required Muscat, but also with a beer I have never tried before. Now try and imagine my joy when it turned out to be DOUBLE AWESOME!

A Delicious Beverage

I would say, actually, that I enjoyed this Lagunitas IPA more than a Dogfish Head IPA (60, I mean. The others cannot be beat). I know that India Pale Ales are massively over-exposed at the moment, but I am excusing myself by simply stating that they are particularly delicious…….

Go and see Bernie and get half a dozen of these badgers. You won’t regret it.

If you like beer, and don’t mind jogging a little, these comedians could be for you. Describing themselves as a drinking club with a running problem, the Jacksonville Hash House Harriers meet every Wednesday evening, somewhere in Jacksonville, with the express intention of running cross country and drinking beer, simultaneously. I went out with them a month or so ago. It was quite a vibe………..

For a start, they all have noms de guerre which they refer to as “Hash Names”. You have to have “hashed” a certain number of times before you are awarded a “hash name” – before that you are know just by your “nerd name”. I was known as (and referred to throughout) as “Just Joe.” The seasoned “hashers” had names like “Preteen Spirit“, “Inflate-a-Date“, “Aunt Jemima” and (my favorite) “Brown Underpants.” Many of the names went for a puerile, pseudo sexual angle (which, I like ) “Senior Spitizen“, “Crash Test Dildo” and “Cock Jockey.” It might be childish, but it ain’t for kids……..

Their runs (called trails) follow a series of what I can only call runes marked on the sidewalk in chalk. Like this:

strange sigils, portents of doom?

Now I managed to decipher a number of these over our 3.5 mile jog/run. The one that looks like BN, means “Beer Near” and the one at the top, with two circles with dots in (that look like boobs) means “show your boobs” and applies to the female contingent.

And they do.

It appears to be compulsory

The trail is designed with plenty of false routes so that those who want to actually run can go off and identify the right way. Those who want to approach the trail in a more leisurely manner, can follow on behind. Quite smart really.

The whole deal ends with a ritual circle in which songs are sung and drinks are drunk. Crimes on trail include ‘boy scouting’ (helping others), “competitive behavior” (treating it like an excuse to get exercise, rather than an excuse to drink beer), and, I think the worst crime in the Hash Rulebook “wearing new shoes on trail”. All crimes are punished in the circle by the Master of Ritual and the Grand Master of the Hash.

There’s generally some more boob flashing a this stage, too. Though the standard (of boobs) varied, I think the general feeling was that they were all welcome.

Ritual Circle and a 'punishment'

Since I started writing this I have googled “Hash House Harriers” and been BLOWN AWAY by what a HUGE DEAL it is, worldwide. They’re even on Wikipedia. Apparently our local group is the tip of the iceberg and Hash House Harriers trace their origins back to British Colonial Malaya:

Hashing began in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, in 1938, when a casual group of British
colonial officers and expatriates began meeting on Monday evenings to
run…… to rid themselves of the excesses of the previous weekend. This
original group consisted of four members: Cecil Lee, Frederick “Horse”
Thomson, Ronald “Torch” Bennett, and Albert Stephen (A.S.) Ignacious
“G” Gispert. J…..

After meeting for some months…….  A.S. Gispert suggested the name “Hash House Harriers” in homage to the Selangor Club
Annex, where the men were billeted, so named the “Hash House” for its
notoriously monotonous food. The final word, “Harriers,” refers to the
role of those in the chase, where the “hare”
was given a head start to blaze a trail and mark his path with shreds
of paper, and then pursued by a shouting pack of “harriers.” Apart from
the excitement of chasing the hare and finding the “true” path,
harriers reaching the end of the trail would be rewarded with beer, ginger beer, and cigarettes.

God, I like it even more now. Everyone should try it once. Like cross-dressing.  Visit www.jaxh3.com.

Following on from the hilarious Heineken ad posted recently, a keen eyed member of the rivercityvibe faithful sent in the following worthwhile piece of commercial/viral advertising, from the good folks in Dublin, who make the black stuff:

Share your beer with friend? Not likely.

I often, when considering even the most mundane courses of action, apply the Principles of War, as espoused by that one guy, Carl Von Clausewitz (he’s a Prussian, which is a type of German).

Only this weekend, I used them to evaluate how robust my decision-making was in relation to the  effective routing of the bamboo pipes in my new Home Permaculture Project, which is designed to free me from bondage to the water barons at JEA.

One of these principles which often looms large in my mind, is the Maintenance of Morale. This might be my favorite. My friend, The Hog, prefers Economy of Effort, but I have to say, in all things, I consider the maintenance of morale probably the most important factor in any plan. That’s why my plans generally have a beer component.

Yet another long and obscure introduction to a clip, which, to my mind, illustrates the principle perfectly:

Watch it again and look at the guys’ faces. Very funny.

As you may know, I am a big fan of craft beers, particularly traditional beers from the British Isles.

Beer that has not been ruined by the (German) lagering process, basically.

That’s why I am delighted to read that a bar franchise in Britain has announced that it will beat the recession by reducing the price of its beer to “99 Pence” a pint. Apparently, a pence is like a cent, and this works out at  today’s exchange rate at $1.43 or thereabouts. Not bad, when one considers the last time I was in London, a pint cost me close to seven bucks.

But the thing that makes this a real winner for English drinkers is the fact that “a pint” over there is 20 ozs, compared with 16 ozs here. Check out the usual source.

The pint is an English unit of volume or capacity in the imperial system and United States Customary Units. The imperial version is 20 imperial fluid ounces and is equivalent to 568 mL, while the U.S. version is 16 U.S. fluid ounces and is equivalent to 473 mL.

(Not many people know that.  Welcome to the ranks of the cognoscenti….)

Like beer, but about ten times better

Also, you only have to be eighteen to drink over there. Which avoids our own ludicrous situation whereby you can be a marine sniper engaged in combat operations in Iraq,  and be arrested for having a beer to celebrate your safe return home…….

This guy, from some weird Yankee college, performs a feat of athleticism we can all respect. Check out the four beer simultaneous chug:

Is it me or does this athlete bear an uncanny resemblance to Senator Blutarsky?