i don't buy beer, don't really drink beer – i don't really even like beer. but when my buddy jim asked if i wanted to go to the beer festival, it seemed like a good adventure.
the weather on sunday was terrible. it was cloudy most of the morning, and early in the afternoon, it started to rain lightly which obviously put a dampener on the prospects for the day. and then what really sent me over the edge was the gatekeepers!! it was pissy and raining, and these idiots were getting us to wait in line, after buying $25 tickets, line up a hundred people deep, while they sent other people who hadn't bought their tickets straight in!!! WTF.
alright. anyways – here's the reason that we were all there – beer. beer is apparently one of the oldest alcoholic beverages, appearing in recorded history in egypt and mesopotamia. but at the beerfest, the order of the day is what is newest and freshest, as opposed to the historical aspects of beer making.
the way this worked is that you get a single 4oz plastic cup that you use throughout the day (four 4oz plastic cups make a pint), but the downside of having small servings is that it's harder to keep track as the number of little drinks gets higher. so i concocted a plan to keep track of what i was drinking. at each booth, every time i ordered a new beer, i took a picture of the booth, so that i could review after the fact (read: hangover) what it was that i had had. so here it is, without further ado:
my buddy jim is a chick-magnet. but somehow, he got "turd fergusen" on his nametag from the blondie budweiser chick, and i got "so sexy hawte"… so, george 1- turd fergusen 0!
and as you can well imagine, there's nothing nastier than the port-a-potties at a beerfest. spending almost five hours there, a trip to the bathroom was a virtual inevitability. i can't understand why people aren't more considerate about what they do in there – considering they might be the next person in the potty next time around after some idiot messes the whole thing up. animals.
perhaps the worst thing about having a few thousand people drinking out of doors with whistles in their hands is that it makes for very loudy parties. after a few hours, we were all pretty keen to grab one out of the hands of a screaming whistling lunatic and smash that sucker into the ground. and finally, we got to make it happen. so that was kind of like a baby dream come true.
we went to the Bar Wellington where i was finally able to have a proper drink or three. a bunch of us got refused service (although somehow i did not), there was a flip-flop sandal malfunction, many email addresses were swapped, and one plate of nachos fed like 12 of us.
so at the bitter end of the evening, around 9:30 or so, we all split up and head home. well, most of us did. jim and his brother tom and i wandered towards home, but stopped off at the wheat sheaf for some unknown reason to have more to drink. but not before stopping at this lady's house to pick a fight. apparently, this is a jim and tom party favourite, to go up to this lady's house and beg to get the hose sprayed on them for being beligerent. ah… boys will be boys! good times.
and so, after the equivalent of four or five pints of beer samples, 3 vodka martinis and a pint of guinness, i took my leave of the schwartz boys and headed home for a few hours of rest and to prepare myself for what i was certain would be the king of all hangovers.
i was not to be disappointed!