drinking

The History of Beer

I read a great article about the history of beer and thought I would share it with you. Go read it when you have a few minutes. It’s very interesting. Now we know who to blame for the taxation of beer. That bitch, Cleopatra, needed more money for her wars so she decided to tax it. Thanks.

Anyway, Flavio and I were outside talking about this, and I began wondering who the first person was to ever drink beer. How cool would that be? But if the Sumerians were the first to brew it, we’re talking thousands and thousands of years ago! So my theory developed pretty quickly, because I was concerned about why anyone would try such a thing. Surely he must have brewed it by accident. So here’s my thinking:

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Not That Kind of Pool

A buddy of mine and I were shooting pool last night. We were sharing a table with some lovely ladies we meet there quite often. I guess you could call them pool friends. Anyway, I was on my way to the restroom and walked by the foose ball table. There wasn’t anyone around it. But one of the handles was pushed all the way in on the far side, which made the long steel piece stick all the way out on the side I was walking by. I was about to run into it. So I reached out and slapped it in on my way by. So I wouldn’t impale myself on the foose ball table, you see.

And I hear this, “what the hell!” really loud. I looked over, still walking, of course, and see a guy standing there with his hands out. “Oh, sorry, chief. Didn’t know you guys were playing,” I said, and went into the lav. After I finished I returned to my pool table. And after about three minutes, I’m leaning over the table, about to make a four-rail bank shot on the nine. And dude walks up and makes a big show of scattering all the balls on the table, then stands there with his hands out again. Staring at me.

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The Dredge House Chronicles, Vol 6

Final Edition

Well I’m going to wrap up these here Chronicles, as I think I’ve told most of the good stories that happened in the Dredge House. So to recap, you know it was a party house. Someone was always drunk, having sex (even surprise sex), getting drunk, getting ready to have sex, getting into a fight, or playing nintendo. A lot of our Fry Street Friends would come by after long nights of drinking and having sex on Fry Street and hang out for a while to drink and possibly have sex at my house. Old Guy was somehow always cool with it. He never complained. And our dirt driveway always had plenty of room for more cars.

So one time I brought a girl home with me. She was a lovely little thing, cute and petite. She looked a little young, but that didn’t really catch my attention too much, because I had seen her buy cigarettes. She was at least eighteen. She came over and we turned off all the lights in the living room. I sent Wil to my room because some other couple was sleeping in there, and I was stuck on the couch. TJ’s room was occupied as well. Well this young lady I brought home wanted to hear the Lost Boys soundtrack while we discussed magic and drank popsicle juice. So I put it on. It got through Cry Little Sister and she told me to play it again. So I set the CD player on repeat track, and away we went. Well I won’t bore you with the details of our expedient congregation. But it lasted a while. Seriously. When we got done with all the uh – whatever I called it up above – the index on the CD player said 23. It had played Cry Little Sister, an almost seven-minute song, 23 times. I was pretty sick of it. But I hadn’t wanted to stop long enough to turn off the repeat mode.

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And a Happy New Year…

Looks like we made it into another century. I don’t even know what that means. I heard a sports commentator the other night during the football game talking about Testeverde, and how if he played for one more year, he would have played in four centuries. Centuries? Really? Last I checked, that still meant one hundred years. Right? I guess he meant decades. But if Vinnie’s thrown a ball in the 70s, 80s, 90s and these here the oughts, he’s already made that mark. Either way, it cracked me up quite a bit.

We celebrated last night by going over to a buddy’s house and drinking, listening to music and throwing the Frisbee. In the garage. Seriously. While we stood out in the garage with beers and cigarettes in our hands, we started tossing around the Frisbee. It was actually quite entertaining. We made up rules as we went along. “Now you can only use your left hand.” “Now you can only throw over-hand.” Stuff like that. Then we got bored with the Frisbee and nailed up a piece of plywood and began throwing knives at it to see if we could get them to stick. Our parties.

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Let’s recap the weekend.

It was quite a busy one. You probably know by now that I didn’t get a tattoo on Friday, so that won’t be included here. So let’s start with Saturday. I ran out to Shift’s place to catch some college football and a few Cold Ones. The Ones are always Cold at Shift’s place.

Then we walked over to the Blue Note to catch the Tech game, where we sat across the bar from a bunch of losers rooting for Mizzou. Wrong state, assholes. Since I was at the bar already, and Shine lives in the area, I figured I’d call her and get her to join us there for a little football action. So she showed up in her costume (she was on her way to a costume party), which was an autograph book. She was the autograph book. Clever, eh? So I grabbed a marker from the bunch and found the only blank spot left on her shirt by that time, as you can see in this first picture.

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I could stop if I would…

Well I’ve added a few new writers to the roster, I’m sure you’ll be seeing some of their work pop up here pretty soon. With traffic going steadily up to ridiculous levels, I reckon the more writers we have on staff, the more the likelihood of having something fresh on the top of the blog list. We’ll see what happens. You can check out their profiles on the writers page.

This weekend Roger and I went out on the boat for a few hours with his lovely fiancee and a buddy of his, and his CopperHound, Spud. Being out in the sun and feeling rather good, I began to imbibe the thick heady golden liquid I love so well. We were anchored and tied up to another boat in the party cove, and I was in the water with my feet between the arms of a life vest, just floating there, throwing the football with a group of guys I’d never met.

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SpaceBurned

Well after a busy ass weekend such as this last one, I'm about ready to collapse. Thursday night: I was off Friday, so Thursday became a perfectly legitimate drinking night. Went to Pop's house, swam, drank. Friday night - went to watch H24's girls play volleyball. Went out with Ashley, Tami, Tracy, Harmon and Kyle to Sneaky Pete's afterwards. And drank. You know what's great about the morning after eating a pile of nachos with about eighty jalapenos on them? Nothing. Saturday, Stout and I went swimming, threw darts, drank beer. Sunday during the day, we went to a water park. I'm redder than an angry Indian in a blood bath. And last night, being the Cowboy game, Jason and I sat at my bar and watched every play. And drank. I'm just about ready for a little break from the drinking. I think I'll take off from it for…

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The Great Dove Hunt of 2007

My Pop and I packed up and headed out early Friday morning, the last day of August, heading west. We followed my buddy Stout and his brother David out to the deer lease for opening day of dove season. Wait, that should be capitalized. Opening Day of Dove Season.

So we got out there Friday night and got everything unpacked and settled in at the lake house. We then sat out on the patio and tossed washers for about two hours while drinking beers like we were in a contest. The point of all this was to do as little as possible. To get away for a weekend out into the country – to do as little as possible… To disconnect. To unwind. It was so nice to be able to become one with nature. And the birds. The boids.

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Wrestlemania!

I went to my first wrestling match Saturday night! Well, that is to say I went to see a match for the first time. I didn’t participate in one. I’m not a wrestler. I mean – I wrestle with my four sisters and whatnot, but that’s not the point.

I live next door to this guy. We spend a lot of time sitting in his garage or by his pool, drinking and shooting the shoot. I’ve been wanting to go see him wrestle for a while, but our nights usually end up canceling out, as my band is usually playing somewhere. But I finally got to go check it out. I have to go through the entire night with you so you’ll get a feel of the atmosphere.

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There are no women in football.

Friday night my better half spent the evening (well into Saturday morning) at her sister’s house watching girly movies with their legs curled up on the sofa. What this meant to me was that I should immediately round up the fellas for a Friday-night barbecue and beer fest. So I called Stout and Trip and Boogie (yes that’s what we call him) and Minnesota Steve, and Stout called David The Great, Trip called Showboat and Arnie and Boogie called Tina. So they all came over and – wait… Who the hell invited the broad?

Have you ever had this happen on guys’ night out? Isn’t this more than just a simple party foul? When I made the initial phone call, I said the special code sentence that alerts the individual that he is to immediately report to drinking duty. I said, “Hey Name, tonight the beer flows like wine. SpacePlace at twenty hundred hours.” And that means (to you lay folk out there) that we’re drinking tonight, and to be at my place at eight o’clock. So since when are chicks invited to guys’ night out? Since when do the women drink like men? We have shit to talk about, you see. Namely women. And you can’t well do that when there are women present. Even women as neato as Tina.

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