Three days late and four dollars short ! ! !

Sweet Jesus, what on earth has come over me?

Today being the last month of my own birthmonth, I somehow have overlooked one of history's most essential birth dates: the 28th of March, which was . . .  ummmmmm . . . three days ago. For some reason, I was too busy to write anything more than a dumb joke, when I ought to have written this:

Johann Gottlieb Friedrich Pabst was born in the Kingdom of Prussia on this date in 1836. In 1848. In Chicago, Frederick and his father worked as waiters and busboys. Because the boy had enjoyed his trans-Atlantic voyage to America, he decided to become a cabin-boy on a Lake Michigan steamer. By the time he was 21, Pabst had earned his pilot's license, and was captain of one of these vessels. In this capacity, he met a German named Phillip Best, who was the owner of a small but brewery founded in Milwaukee. Pabst married Best's daughter, Maria, on March 25, 1862. (Write down that date, too!)

For the next year and a half, Pabst plied the waters of Lake Michigan as a ship's captain, until a December accident in 1863 led to a change in career. While trying to bring his craft into Milwaukee harbor, Pabst's ship ran aground. A short while later, Pabst purchased half of Best's brewing company. In that case, perhaps his ship had come in.

Happy belated birthday, Fred. How can I ever make it up?

Oh, I know. Beertender, a round of PBR for the house!

Fascinating napkin math

Apparently, last evening Harvey and I were having a tough time with the concepts of a "Million," a "a Billion," and a "Trillion" of anything, whether it's the national debt, some company's profits, or the odds of winning the lottery.

You know how it is.

And there's always some clown on TV that thinks we can understand it better if we try to imagine that if all that money were stacked in [name your favorite denomination] dollar bills, it would reach as far as [name your favorite celestial body]. Bottom line: whoosh! Understanding the difference is still above our heads.

So, we tried converting the numbers to time.

60 seconds/min X 60 minutes/hr X 24 hours/day = 86,400 seconds/day.

1,000,000 (a Million) seconds divided by 86,400 seconds/day = 11.57 days.

1,000,000,000 (a Billion) seconds divided by 86,400 seconds/day = 11,574. days or 31.7 years.

We are beginning to sense a difference between a Million something and a Billion something: 11 days vs 31 years.

1,000,000,000 (a Trillion) seconds divided by 86,400 seconds/day =  11574074.0 days or 31,709.79 years.

Ouch! My hair begins to hurt just thinking about it. Gimme a beer. NOW!

So, next time someone tosses around one of those numbers that sort of sounds alike, ask your bartender for a pencil and work out the math on a napkin. 

Fascinating.

In Search Of: The Ultimate Dive Bar

This piece comes from Ike Hill at the KCDrinker.com, but we must soon begin our search for The Ultimate Dive Bar of the Cape & Islands! 

 

"So you think you know what a Dive bar is. I'm sure our readers do, but most people simply assume that a Dive bar is just that nasty dark bar you drive by and never think of entering. And those people are right. They should never enter our sacred dive bars. If the idea of going inside a dank dark watering hole is terrifying to you, STAY OUT! You are not welcome inside, and you will have a terrible time. 

"Because as scary as you think we are, we are far more frightened of you and your suburban ways.

"These little drunken treasures are only for the strong of liver, the lushes of liquor, and the true drinkers of our time. The Dive bar serves a purpose greater then just being an establishment for refreshments. They are there to help regular drinkers escape away from the harsh reality of the sober world. Most people go to a bar to have a drink and unwind. But what if you are naturally unwound? What if beer is your morning vitamin? Where can you go to relax and get away from it all? A dive bar, that's where. But how do you really tell a bar from a Dive bar? That's what we're here to do right now. 

 

Far More Than Filth

 
"To the uneducated, a Dive bar is simply defined as a filthy little rat hole full of drunks. And most of the time, that's true, but it's far more than filth that defines a Dive bar. There are, in fact, clean well maintained Dive bars. By clean I mean the trash is mostly off the floor, and by maintained I mean you have less than a 50% chance of getting a splinter in your ass while relaxing. A certain amount of filth is necessary, but there are differences between Dive bars and filthy little rat holes full of drunks. The rat holes are just dirty; they do not have the years of muck and crap accumulated like a good Dive bar. The filth from a Dive bar is built with blood, sweat and bile from years of liver abuse. Any place can simply be nasty, but it takes years of controlled offensiveness to achieve Divedom. 

A Well-trained Bartender
 

"Dive bar bartenders need to fit in like the furniture surrounding them. It is important that they don't stand out, it is important that they are ever so slightly broken down, and most of all that they will likely kill you if they are treated poorly. There is nothing worse than having to break in a new bartender. It takes time to bond and eventually learn how to manipulate the bearer of good booze. The mixologist of a dive bar will never do fancy bottle tricks for you. They will never be caught putting little umbrellas in your drink, hell you'll be lucky to get a garnish at all. And if you order things like "sex on the beach," prepare to die. But they will be glad to bring you a ice cold draft, pour you a shot, and if you're really liked, they'll forget to charge you for the shot. 

Yard Beers
 

"Don't go expecting to get a Zima. In fact, you should expect a severe beating just for thinking of ordering that damned foul drink. A draft of PBR or a can of Schlitz should be the desired thirst quencher. Want a martini? I hope bottom-shelf booze that far down gets you excited. There shouldn't be any damn Grey Goose or Stoli here! The drinking preferences are reserved for low cost high octane beverages only. 

Regulars That Are Irregular
 

"Looking to pick up chicks? Hey if toothless with leather-like dried skin is what you are into . . . go crazy! Don't get the picture wrong, there will always be a few exotic (tattoos and piercing) men and women about. Maybe even a really drunk college kid who strayed away from the normal comfort zone of roofie-infested drinks at the dance club. But for the most part we are talking rough characters: people who strive to one day end up recorded in history books as World Class Drinkers. 

Conclusion
 
"By now you either get it, or you don't. If you are still a little cloudy on the issue of Dive bars, you should read this again. In fact keep reading it over and over again. But for those of you who know exactly what's going on, well, we'll see you at the Beach later!

Question: What’s even better than a barfly with a good joke?

Answer: A barfly with a good bar trick. In this case, “good” = “free beer.”

It all begins as a casual challenge to the person on the stool next to you. And the simple wager is this: “I’ll bet you a beer that I can drink TWO beers before you can drink a single shot of anything you like . . . as long as you give me a one-beer head start.”

The other part of the agreement is that he can’t touch your glass, you can’t touch his,  AND he can’t start drinking until you’ve put your first glass back down on the bar. You can ask the bartender to witness the agreement, or you can just shake on it.

It’s just that simple.

If the challenge is accepted, then you can drink your first beer as fast or as slow as you wish. 

And when you’re finished with that first beer, just tip your emptied beer glass upside down and place it over his shot glass. You might want to remind him that you’ve both agreed not to touch each other’s glass. So, that means he can't drink his shot without touching your glass.

Tastes like free beer to me.

Just keep in mind that you simply cannot do bar tricks every time that you’re in a bar, or else you’ll become a royal pain in the ass (rather than the most fascinating one in the bar). And you can’t do the same trick ever again in the same bar. You just need to know these kinds of things and to keep them in the back of your mind for when the opportunity best arises.

Surely, we've got a million of THESE!

This guy rushes into the bar and says to the bartender: “Gimme shot of the very best stuff you’ve got.”

So, the bartender sets down a shot glass and pours out a full dose.

Before he can barely finish, though, the guy tosses back the drink and slams the shot glass back down on the bar.

“Make that a double!” he barks, and the bartender pours out another.

Once again, the guy gulps down the drink and slams the shot glass back on the back.

“Hit me again,” he says, but the bartender balks.

“You need to slow down a bit, pal,” he says.

But the guy looks the bartender directly in the eye and says, “Believe me, friend, you’d drink like this, too, if you found out that you’ve got what I’ve got.”

“Oh,” the bartender said with a genuine air of concern. “What have you got?”

“Only seventy-five cents,” said the guy, reaching into his coat pocket. He dropped the three quarters onto the bar, then rushed out even faster than he had come in.

The Beer Hunter was born on this date.

Mark this down on your calendar. On this date in 1942 was born Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “Beer Hunter” and “Whiskey Chaser.” By the time he passed away some 65 years later, Michael had reviewed thousands of brews, had written hundreds of articles, and had published scores of books: all on the subjects most dear to the heart of any barfly. His “Beer Hunter” television series is available on DVD, and his books are all in print.

So, if you are looking for a reason to seek out a bar today and hoist a brew or two, I suggest that you do what Michael Jackson would have done. (No, not get another nose job, dammit. Order up a beer!)

Having written yesterday about oysters and beer and such, I think it’s appropriate to add here a few lines from the Beer Hunter’s column “Heaven Sent - Downing Oysters by the Pint.”

Bushy's Oyster Stout revives a tasty tradition
 
Being a stickler for ritual, I have been looking for a beer with which to greet the return of an "r" to the month. After some thought, the answer is obvious: an oyster stout. It might be thought that such a powerful beer would drown the shellfish, but it is a marriage made in heaven. I believe such a brew should actually contain oysters. This is true of the oyster stout just introduced on the Isle of Man, a traditional home of such brews.
 
The earthy intensity of stout is a perfect foil for the gamey brineyness of oysters. Disraeli once wrote of an election celebration: "I dined at the Carkon, on oysters, Guinness and boiled bone..." In the early Victorian period, porters and stouts were everyday beers, and oysters a bar snack as commonplace as peanuts today. Porter dates from the early to mid-1700s, and is characterised by the use of highly kilned malts. Its name is said to have derived from its popularity as a restorative among porters in the markets of London, though I am not so sure. Until the industrial revolution. a brewery typically served a single pub. With the canal era, breweries began to deliver their beers farther afield. Perhaps porter had something to do with its being carried. In the early to mid-1800s, some of the bigger-bodied porters gained the epithet "stout".
 
The rest of this article can be read online: http://www.beerhunter.com/documents/19133-000740.html
 
An interview with the Beer Hunter can be viewed online: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLohwMW7qjU

Don’t Shoot Me! I’m Just the Oysterman.

For starters, the person who invented the oyster shooter should be shot! After that, off the guy who first suggested eating a Rocky Mountain oyster. There, I said it, and I digressed from the opening shot.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch: it’s been a tough day. On the ride home from Sagamore late yesterday afternoon, I got a call from my neighbor, who said that a mutual friend in Chatham had discovered a hidden oyster bed in Stage Harbor. The oysters, he said, were big and they were plentiful. So, we knew what was going to be on today’s agenda.

Low tide in Stage Harbor was at 11:53 this morning, and when we left West Dennis around 10:30, the temperature was only 31. Yes, it IS spring on the Cape, but that’s a lot of crap. Add the reported winds at 9k out of the WNW, and the temp reportedly felt like 29. Yeah, right. Sure didn’t feel like the sweltering 31 that the lying thermometer claimed. Definitely felt two degrees effin’ colder. But then, the wind was more like 20k than 9. Bottom line: COLD! EFFIN’ COLD.

As we drove down to Stage Harbor, I told my friend that I’d take him to the Red Nun for a cold beer afterward ($2 for a 16-oz draft). That was enough to see us through the cold.

The fact that I am telling you that we went to Battlefield Road means one of two things: either I am lying, or there were not any oysters to be found. Believe me, the Town of Chatham has one of the best shellfisheries around. We out-of-towners pay $80 for a shellfish license, but that is one of the best deals anywhere. It’s year-round and seven-days-a-week. Our Town of Dennis, on the other hand, is a joke, and not a very funny one at that. As a native-born Wharf Rat, I love Dennis; however, that does not mean life here is perfect. (Dennis: Far from perfect, close to normal.)

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Layer upon layer of clothing, then a hoodie, then a jacket, then the waders, then the shoulder-length gloves (accented by a single strand of pearls) and a ten-gallon bucket with a flotation collar. Finally, my beloved Ribb Rake. (Not just Made in the USofA, but on Cape Cod. Thanks, Ron.)

Two hours later. Maybe a dozen oysters, but fully a bucket of kwayhogz. Spelled just the way that it sounds. (NOT!)

We took a side trip over to the Morris Island causeway, but there weren’t more than a handful of oysters there, either. Whatever. The rest of the season has been bountiful, so I am not complaining.

Let’s get a beer.

So, we finally got to the Red Nun. Grabbed a bowl of free popcorn on our way through the front door, ordered a round of beer, along with a couple of the Nun’s great burgers.

We bemoaned the fact that our hunt for the wicked oysters had proven to be fruitless, and we both agreed that oyster shooters we just plain dumb.

And while we sat there quacking about all things dumb, my friend related his tale of how he had visited with friends the night before, because their oldest boy was shipping out to Kabul. He had joined the Guard, and not he found himself headed to Iraq via Indiana, where he was being versed in how to deal with people in the Middle East, friend and foe alike. We recalled how it used to be that the National Guard served right here at home, and we bitched how they were being deployed (more than once) to faraway places with strange-sounding names. Moreover, we bitched that few folks in the news business bother to remind us of the thousands of American men and women serving overseas. Do we really need to hear any more of Charlie Sheen or Lindsay Lohan or Michael Jackson’s doctor going on trial?

You know the answer to that one. So, drink up and let’s go home. The tab’s already been paid.

Payday = the Café

This is one of those days when it’s most appropriate to say a few words about Barfly Etiquette, both a term AND a category that I've just invented as I typed this out. [Note: Just can’t wait for the day when this category first appears on Jeopardy! “I’ll take Barfly Etiquette for 500, Alex.” DAILY DOUBLE!]

I digress, sorry.

As I was saying, this is one of those days: the calendar claims that it’s spring, but the thermometer insists that it’s winter. Surely, it must be four o’clock somewhere, and I am thinking that this afternoon would be a good day to hit someplace subtle, like the Canal Café.

Time was when Yolanda Sorrenti would tend to her little bar, where Adams Street meets the Cranberry Highway in Sagamore. With her gray hair pinned up in a tight bun, she'd perch herself upon a vinyl-cushioned kitchen chair, sit patiently, and tend to your every order. In between, she’d tell you stories, like when the Sagamore Bridge was being erected. God bless her soul, as well as all the souls that went into the digging of the Canal and the construction of the bridges, as well as into the ebb and flow of the relentless current. (Had the Belzikians conceived of that ghastly windmill any earlier than they did, then the toll of souls most certainly would have been even greater!)

Since the passing of that beloved proprietor, the Canal Café has still hung onto its charm (yes, it IS charm). For starters, there’s not only a jukebox, BUT you get four songs played for a dollar. And there is bumper pool. It remains the sort of place that Jack’s Lounge in Hyannis and The Yardarm in Orleans once had been: a local bar. In this case, local CORNER bar.
 
Moreover, the beer is cold, the barshelves are well-stocked, and the prices are very good. The menu is more expanded than Yolanda Sorrenti ever might have imagined or could have handled, but the place is still small and cozy. By five o’clock today, it will start to become crowded; by six, be crowded.

Thus, this afternoon’s a good one for a little road trip. Put on my heavy jacket, drive the Jeep to the corner of Adams, and sit myself down at Yolanda's place. As I await the arrival of Harvey, the barkeep will probably ask, “What can I get you?” Or something to that effect.

Barfly Etiquette Rule #1: Your response to any bartender’s opening question should always be (with a smile): “I want it all, and I want it now.” The expression on the bartender’s face will reveal just how good (or bad) your next hour or so is going to be.

And if you really want it all and want it now, then you’ve got to find yourself a stool at the Canal Café. Grab yourself a Quick Pick for tonight's MegaMillions, but consider yourself lucky if you can find a seat at the bar. (Even luckier if you could get a Pickwick Ale, but that's a story for another day of Ale Tales.)

Gotta scoot.

(Goodnight, Yolanda, wherever you are.)

How's THIS for openers?

One of my all-time favorite schoolyard jokes way back then was to walk around saying that " it looks like they won't be serving 'Gansett at Fenway this season."

And when someone would ask why, I'd say, "Because the Sox lost the opener!"

Get it? Sox lost "the opener." HA! HA! HA! HA!

Of course, that was back when Narragansett Beer tasted good, when there were no pop-top cans, and the Sox ALWAYS lost the opener. (Can I mention those double-headers, twi-night or otherwise?)

But now comes word out via this morning's Boston Herald that America's most beloved ballpark hopes to install two (big deal) "Bottoms-Up" beer dispensers in time for opening day. While this is truly one of the most brilliant ideas since Joe Owades invented diet beer ("Here, drink this, fatso!"), it won't take me out to the old ball game for nachos, sushi, or Legal Seafood chowder. ("What happened? Did someone get a hit?")

If Amrhein's in Southie can boast the oldest bartap in the Hub, who throughout the Cape & Islands will be the first to install this baby? [Note: The GrinOn company will be marketing a home version in 2013; also, this is not an original idea. Scotsman Trufill was out there two years ago.]

As Ned Martin would have said, "Mercy."

Red Sox draft beer server

Greg Turner/Boston Herald

A high-speed beer dispenser that’s delighting suds drinkers at sports arenas nationwide could be more of a hit than incoming sluggers Adrian Gonzalez and Carl Crawford at Fenway this season.

Red Sox concessionaire Aramark signed a deal to bring a pair of “Bottoms Up” beer dispensers to Boston by Opening Day. The aptly named system fills a special cup from the bottom up in just a few seconds, vastly outpouring typical tap setups and keeping those aggravating alcohol lines moving.

“It’s another reason for fans to get excited,” said Aramark spokesman David Freireich. “We think people will be lining up and stopping by even if they aren’t planning on buying a beer, just to see how it works.”

Bottoms Up works its magic thanks to a thin magnetic disk in the cup bottom that flips up when the cup is placed on the system and beer flows in, and then flips back down and seals when the pour is finished. A four-cup Bottoms Up station can pour as many as 44 beers per minute.

  

The complete article can be found: http://www.bostonherald.com/business/general/view.bg?articleid=1325675

There, but for the grace of God, go we . . .

Even though I’m an ordained minister in the Church of Mass. Redemption, I don’t like to preach at all. I’d rather just perform weddings.

That said, though, there are times when we barflies must remind the members of the congregation that our mission is not to get drunk, but to have a good conversation at the bar and to enjoy a beer or two. And maybe some food.

To that end, these days there are more than a few applications for your phones that actually track your blood alcohol content at the bar in real time. And though Harvey laughs out loud at me when I start keeping track of my intake, I really do make every attempt to drink responsibly.

So, here are five apps you might want to check out.

1 - Blood Alcohol Content Calculator
Estimate just how little alcohol it takes to put someone on the "wrong side of the law".
- Simple calculator has list of common drink types
- Advanced BAC calculator can cover all types of drinks.
- Click on "Menu" to add more or other drinks
- Added support for multiple drinks

2 - Alco Droid
Discover how much alcohol you really drink!
- With AlcoDroid, you can easily log each alcoholic drink you consume and keep your alcohol diary. Keep track of your consumption and watch how it develops in long term.
- AlcoDroid also displays your instant blood alcohol content and plots your BAC development in a chart.
- AlcoDroid tells you when your BAC gets below your legal limit or back to zero or how long you have been sober for.
- Display and export daily, weekly and monthly alcohol consumption statistics.
- View and edit your drink logbook.
- Setup your own list of "drink presets" to log your drinks fast.

3 - Blood Alcohol Tracker
- Real time blood alcohol tracker.
- Calculate and track real time blood alcohol content based on customizable drinks and the physical characteristics of the drinker (weight, height, sex).
- Based on formula often used by legal agencies.

4 - Alcohol Checker
- A tool to calculate the concentration of alcohol in breath and blood alcohol concentration after drinking.
- Do you have a look at the extent of his drunk now, or you can look like that is completely missing for hours after drinking if I want to drive the next day.

5- U'Drunk
Are you sober enough to drive ?
Test your friends sobriety with this pub or club game!
Blood Alcohol Content calculator included as well as mini skill games for testing your mental clarity.
Drink responsibly and have fun!

Researchers seek to tap bartenders at VFW canteens

At some point, I would have gotten around to writing about bartenders and about vets, as well as about bartenders AND vets, but this morning's USA Today has this great piece by Gregg Zoroya, and it's much better than anything I was planning to write about today.

So, here's the first few paragraphs of Gregg's story, and it's worth reading the complete piece. When you're done reading, be sure to tip your bartender, to hug the nearest veteran, and to take the time to pray for those serving in the armed forces at home and abroad.

Vietnam War veteran Steve Miller is helped through a doorway, past the sign that says "NO profanity allowed" and to a corner stool of the Veterans of Foreign Wars bar. Other vets in the canteen surge forward to slap him on the back or shake his hand.

Miller, who lost his eyesight and his left hand to a mine in 1969, is a minor celebrity in these parts for his veterans work. But the bartender, Charlena "Charley" Wolfe, 49 — a blur of motion behind the bar preparing drinks on this busy day — treats Miller like everyone else, although she does have his favorite drink, a Bud Light, waiting.

"She's a friend. She's a buddy," says Miller, 60, after the fussing settles down a bit. "I talk with Charley any chance I get."

Researchers here in Ohio are seizing on this almost-familial link that VFW bartenders, many of them women, have with veterans.

In a pilot study released last year titled The Healing Tonic, Ohio State University researchers surveyed VFW bartenders about their interactions with veterans and whether they could, especially with a little training, notice signs of illnesses such as post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Bartenders have naturally been thought of as these de facto counselors over time. So people often tell their troubles to bartenders," says Keith Anderson, lead author and an assistant professor of social work at Ohio State. "What we found, as anticipated, was that (VFW) bartenders were very close to the veterans, often referring to them as similar to family."

[The remainder of this copyrighted article can be read online: http://www.usatoday.com/news/military/2011-03-22-bartender22_ST_N.htm?loc=interstitialskip] © 2011 USA TODAY, a division of Gannett Co. Inc.

And they call this the Vernal Equinox, I guess

And then, there are some who call it the first day of spring.

For anyone reading this off-Cape, it is snowing, and we need something happy this hour!

Looks like some time at the Hot Stove could be warming.

Tomorrow, though, I need to tell you about some more free apps that we are trying today.



Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.

The Piano Has Been Drinking

So, here it is tonight already, and I have been looking forward to watching the induction ceremonies for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. If it weren’t going to be on one of the usual TV networks, then I thought it might be on something like VH1. Or maybe even MTV. Boy, am I out of touch on this subject.

After all, isn’t MTV supposed to be the home of rock music on TV? Or MTV2? Or VH1?

Apparently not. Guess there’s no room for music with all those dopey so-called reality shows.

So, I assume that you already knew that the R&R Hall of Fame has an exclusive deal with Fuse TV to broadcast these things.

What’s that? You never heard of Fuse either? They claim to be the home of such stars as Britney Spears and Lady Gagme. So, I need to wonder why they would broadcast a ceremony for inductees that had to be old just to qualify for induction and had to be beyond any recognition by their target audience.

Bottom line: I won’t be watching Tom Waits or Leon Russell being honored. (You Sox fans can have my seat for the Neil Diamond portion of the program  . . . Here’s hoping you have an obstructed view!)

Meanwhile, here’s a link to Waits singing “The Piano Has Been Drinking” on “Fernwood 2Nite” with Barth Gimble and Jerry Hubbard. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_0E7x3Nqys

Free Apps for EVERY Barfly with a Cell Phone ! ! !

If you're my kind of barfly, then you get excited whenever the phrase "free apps" means a piece of Kraft cheese on a Ritz cracker.

But the 21st-century barfly now has his (or her) own concept of "free apps," and these are truly the greatest things since the invention of Tang ("the official orange drink of astronauts," not to mention the only other ingredient in Tango. I digress.)

These apps have nothing to do with dating or with mixology, and they ought to be on the phone of every barfly across the Cape and beyond:

1 - BAR FINDER: Bar Finder enables you to find bars or pubs in the world with convenience.
You can not only search for bars through [My Location], [Search] but also gain easy access by registering bars of your interest on [My Favorite]. https://market.android.com/details?id=com.uknowapps.android.barfinder

2 - ANDROID BEER GUIDE: Useful beer guide at bars when you need it. Browse by name, brewery, country, or type. Rate and review beers. List of highest rated and most popular. Add favorite beers to tasting room. New beers added daily. Great conversation starter while sipping a cold Schaefer. https://market.android.co/details?id=com.AKTmedia.beerDirectory

3. - HANGOVER CURES: A true barfly never has a hangover, so this is for when your friends are hungover as hell and they just need that remedy to fix their heads! From common-sense to old wives tales! Try one for your hangover it may just work! https://market.android.com/details?id=com.blundell.hangovercures.free

4. - BEER LIST:  Keep track of your beer tasting notes and ratings. Have a history of your favorite beers on your phone at all times. Track which beers you drink the most. Scan the bottle barcode to simplify data entry. https://market.android.com/details?id=com.metosphere.beerfree

5. - CHEAP BOOZE: Need a beer in emergency but can't afford the draft at the bar around the corner? Then, check Cheap Booze for the cheapest beer around. Know of a favorite place for passing the time with a fistful of nickels? Add it to the app so others might enjoy it as well. https://market.android.com/details?id=com.aperos

The morning (and afternoon) after St Paddy's Day

ROAD TRIP!

Yes, after eschewing most of the common nonsense associated with yesterday's so-called holiday, we're gonna take a hike up to the Buzzards Bay Tavern for some of their onion rings, handcut fries, and beer. If the winds settle down and the temps rise, we might even pop the top off the Jeep! (No, there are no cabbage farts on this day.)

Lots to talk about today at the bar.

For one thing, yesterday I received an e-mail supposedly from UN envoy who has arrived in Nigeria to settle the dispute over my pending $10.3M ATM card! Talk about the luck of the Amish! I'm about to promote "Lifestyles of the Rich & Amish"!

The other thing we need to discuss, though, is the proper celebration of some of the lesser-known saints. After all, why should Patrick get all the fuss?

Here are ten you might have overlooked:

10. St Gertrude of Nivelles, Patron Saint of the Fear of Mice (suriphobia)

Saint Gertrude was the younger daughter of Blessed Pepin I of Landen and Blessed Ida of Nivelles; she was the sister of Saint Begga. She became devoted to religious life from an early age, and turned down a noble marriage to pursue the religious life. On the death of Pepin in 639, and on the advice of Saint Amand of Maastricht, Ida built a double monastery at Nivelles where both she and her daughter retired. Gertrude became abbess about age 20. She was known for her hospitality to pilgrims and aid to Irish missionary monks. She gave land to Saint Foillan, on which he built the monastery of Fosses. Helped Saint Ultan in his evangelization. In 656, Gertrude resigned her office in favor of her niece, Saint Wilfetrudis, and spent the rest of her days studying Scripture and doing penance.
9. St Scholastica, Patron Saint of Convulsive Children
St. Scholastica, sister of St. Benedict, consecrated her life to God from her earliest youth. After her brother went to Monte Cassino, where he established his famous monastery, she took up her abode in the neighborhood at Plombariola, where she founded and governed a monastery of nuns, about five miles from that of St. Benedict, who, it appears, also directed his sister and her nuns. She died about the year 543, and St. Benedict followed her soon after. Her feast day is February 10th.

8. St Hubert of Liege, Patron Saint of Mad Dogs

Saint Hubert was the grandson of Charibert, King of Toulouse and the eldest son of Bertrand, Duke of Aquitaine. Hubert was passionately devoted to hunting. While hunting a stag on a Good Friday morning, he received a vision of a crucifix between its antlers. When his wife died soon after this incident, Hubert renounced all his worldy positions, titles and wealth, handed his patrimony, and the care of his son, to his brother, and studied for the priesthood. He was highly revered in the Middle Ages, there were several military orders named in his honor. His association with the hunt led to his patronage of furriers and trappers, and against rabies and bad behavior in dogs, primarily hunting dogs.

7. St Monica. Patron Saint of Alcoholics

Saint Monica was the mother of Saint Augustine of Hippo, whose writings about her are the primary source of our information. A Christian from birth, she was given in marriage to a bad-tempered, pagan named Patricius. She prayed constantly for the conversion of her husband (who converted on his death bed), and of her son (who converted after a wild life). She was the spiritual student of Saint Ambrose of Milan and was, herself, a reformed alcoholic – hence her patronage of alcoholics.

6. St Dominic Savio, Patron Saint of Juvenile Delinquents

St Dominic Savio was one of ten children of a blacksmith and seamstress. He was a protege of Saint John Bosco and an altar boy at age 5. At 12 he entered the Oratory School preparatory to becoming a priest. He was well-liked and pius, but his health forced him to give up his dream of the priesthood. He died at age 15 – his dying words: “What beautiful things I see!"

5. St Isidore of Seville, Patron Saint of the Internet

St Isidore was the Archbishop of Seville ca. 601, succeeding his brother to the position. He was a teacher, founder, and reformer. He was a prolific writer whose works include a dictionary, an encyclopedia, a history of Goths, and a history of the world beginning with creation. He completed the Mozarabic liturgy which is still in use in Toledo, Spain and presided at the Second Council of Seville, and the Fourth Council of Toledo. He also introduced the works of Aristotle to Spain. He was proclaimed Doctor of the Church by Pope Benedict XIV in 1722, and became the leading candidate for patron of computer users and the Internet in 1999.

4. St Brendan the Navigator. Patron Saint of Whales

St Brenadan was the brother of Saint Briga. He was educated by Saint Ita of Killeedy and Saint Erc of Kerry and was a friend of Saint Columba and Saint Brendan of Birr, Saint Brigid, and Saint Enda of Arran. He was ordained in 512 and built monastic cells at Ardfert, Shankeel, Aleth, Plouaret, Inchquin Island, and Annaghdown. The legend which lead to his patronage of whales is as follows: Brendan and his brothers figure in Brendan’s Voyage, a tale of monks travelling the high seas of the Atlantic, evangelizing to the islands, possibly reaching the Americas in the 6th century. At one point they stop on a small island, celebrate Easter Mass, light a fire – and then learn the island is an enormous whale!

3. St Rene Goupil, Patron Saint of Anesthesiologists

St Rene Goupil studied medicine, and in 1639 offered to work as a medic for the Jesuit missionaries in America. Missionary to the Hurons, working as a donné, a layman who worked without pay. He worked in a hospital in Quebec, Canada in 1640 and was assistant to Saint Isaac Jogues on his missionary travels. He was Captured and tortured by Iroquois, enemies of the Huron, for making the sign of the cross over a child’s head. While they were in captivity, Father Isaac received Rene into the Jesuits as a religious brother. He is the first North American martyr and his death by tomahawk in the head led to his patronage of people who work with or receive anasthesia.

2. St Polycarp, Patron Saint against Dysentery

Saint Polycarp was an associate of, converted by, and disciple of Saint John the Apostle. He was also a friend of Saint Ignatius of Antioch. He fought against Gnosticism and became the Bishop of Smyrna (modern Izmir, Turkey). He was a revered Christian leader during the first half of the second century. The Asia Minor churches recognized Polycarp’s leadership and chose him to be representative to Pope Anicetus on the question of the date of the Easter celebration. Only one of the many letters written by Polycarp has survived, the one he wrote to the Church of Philippi, Macedonia. At 86, Polycarp was to be burned alive in a stadium in Smyrna; the flames did not harm him and he was finally killed by a dagger, and his body burned. The “Acts” of Polycarp’s martyrdom are the earliest preserved reliable account of a Christian martyr’s death.

1. St Fiacre. Patron Saint of Sexually Transmitted Disease

Saint Fiacre was raised in an Irish monastery, which in the 7th century were great repositories of learning, including the use of healing herbs, a skill studied by Fiacre. His knowledge and holiness caused followers to flock to him, which destroyed the holy isolation he sought. Fleeing to France, he established a hermitage in a cave near a spring, and was given land for his hermitage by Saint Faro of Meaux, who was bishop at the time. Saint Fiacre is also the patron saint of gardeners and taxi drivers.

It's not easy drinking green . . . beer.

Happy Evacuation Day in Southie!

Package stores in South Boston today will close at 4p (EDT) and bahs will close at 7:30p (EDT).

So what does this all mean? It means the spirit of Southie is sort of soiled by those who swarm there and think they're behaving like proud Irishman. But if you were born down on A Street and raised up on B Street, you'd know that all the other days of the year the packies and bahs don't shut down at those times. Let the amateurs swill down a Guinness or two at Amrhein's (home of the "oldest hand carved bar in America and . . . the first Draft Beer pump in Boston) while they savor "the quality cuisine." At home, though, you can chow down the corned beef and cabbage, along with a few pints of Murphy's Stout. And no one (else) will puke on your shoes!
And one more thing. Neither stout, nor ale, nor lager, nor pilsner is green. Green beer is about as natural as "light" beer. Ugh! Call me when the unicorns have left the building.

On March 17, 1901, the Mayor of Boston declared a new city holiday. It was the 125^th anniversary of the day in 1776 that General Washington forced the British to end their occupation of Boston.

To commemorate the first Evacuation Day, 100,000 special medals were presented to the city's children. Municipal workers had a paid day off and schools were closed. The fact that March 17^th also happened to be St. Patrick's Day was not lost on anyone, and in Boston the two holidays have been observed together ever since.

Of course, St. Patrick's Day predated 1776. Long considered the patron saint of Ireland, St. Patrick came to Boston with the earliest Irish immigrants. There is no hard documentation, but according to tradition, the first formal St. Patrick's Day celebration in the New World was held in Boston in 1737.

In one version of the story, a group of wealthy Protestant gentlemen and merchants who had recently emigrated from Northern Ireland gathered for a festive dinner on March 17^th. In another, a meeting of the recently formed Charitable Irish Society happened to be held in a local tavern on that date; the meeting spilled over into the street and an impromptu procession constituted America's first St. Patrick's Day parade.

The custom of parades on St. Patrick's Day was well established in Boston by the time the British Army occupied the city in the 1760s. Irish soldiers in the British army celebrated St. Patrick's Day with marching, feasting, and dancing. On March 17, 1775, 70 Redcoats, most likely from Irish battalions, paraded through the streets of Boston in regimental form.

Within a year, things had changed. After the Battle of Lexington and Concord, British troops had retreated to Boston where the Continental Army held them besieged for 11 months. Finally General Knox arrived with 55 captured cannon from Fort Ticonderoga. By mid-March, Washington's troops had positioned the cannon on Dorchester Heights overlooking the city. The British would occupy Boston for only a few more days.

Generals Howe and Washington reached an agreement. If the British would not burn the town, the Americans would allow the Redcoats and their fleet safe passage out of the harbor. On March 17, 1776, with Continental soldiers watching from Dorchester Heights, the British Army and 1,100 Loyalist civilians boarded ships and sailed for Nova Scotia.

Washington was well aware that the liberation of Boston occurred on St. Patrick's Day. A number of the men on his command staff were of Irish descent. The General Orders he issued that day specified that anyone wishing to pass through Continental lines would give the password "Boston," to which the reply would be "St. Patrick." It is said that as the British troops departed, an American band played "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning."

Forcing the hated British Army out of Boston was Washington's first victory and a much-needed boost for American morale. As the 100^th anniversary neared, an effort was made to recognize the significance of the event. But it was not until 1901 that Evacuation Day became a legal holiday in Boston. The next year, on March 17^th, the city dedicated the Dorchester Heights monument. Located in predominantly Irish South Boston, Dorchester Heights has been the scene of St. Patrick's Day celebrations ever since.

Barfly 101: An introduction to the rules . . . and then some,

Sometimes, before your hook gets baited, the line will drop into the water. And, as fate will have it, there’s some bottom-feeding creature that’s ready and willing to bite on anything. Apparently, the same is true with a blog. There's someone waiting to comment on anything.

So it was yesterday after I had set up this blog for a dry run, then headed off to Planck’s Tavern to rid myself of some the dryness. Silly me. I should have made clear to the world that being a “barfly” is not the same as being a drunk, let alone an alcoholic. In fact, for a barfly the drinking part is often something to do while the conversation is flowing. Often, the drinking helps to animate the discussion. But the drinking is NOT the be-all and end-all of being a barfly. For that reason alone, the unstated Rule #5 should read: “There is no barf in being a barfly.”

A case in point might be the fact that the very first topic of conversation amongst the bartenders, Harvey, and myself was my insistence that I not be served any of those 20-oz schooners of PBR, but only those of the 16-oz variety. And that I not be served any more than three of those. After all, I have become a lightweight even in the lager class, and 48 ounces in the course of 90 minutes is more than enough to get me into trouble these days and afternoons. So, let’s just underscore that the drinking was of no greater importance than the eating and the talking.

For eating, we were there for the half-price apps: onion rings and Monterey jack potato skins, both of which are tripworthy to Planck’s, as is the price of the PBR on tap. [#6: The quest for thrift must always ride shotgun to the driving quench of thirst.]

Meanwhile, the main topic for the rest of afternoon from 4:15p (DST) on was whether or not a landlord should allow a tenant to bring an animal into a rental property. RESOLVED: That no pets should be allowed on the premises. Sadly, there was no real debate, because no one was willing to argue in favor of allowing beasts inside the landlord’s house. Slam dunk! Bartender, another round!

It's ALWAYS two bells somewhere.

A true barfly will always live by these four rules. Never tell your real name. Never ask what others do. Always pay your tab. And never forget that buzz driving IS drunk driving.