Saturday, April 30, 2011

Ohio's Twist-off Genius Gave Us Australia's Video

Here's reason for quaffing a cold one today.

On this date back in 1987, Fairfield, Ohio's John C. Henning applied for Patent No. 4,782,969: The Twist-off Bottle Cap!

Really, now, doesn't it seem as though this thing has been around longer than 24 years?

Aside from rendering useless that bottle-opener key chain, J.C. Henning spared us all the pain of watching guys attempting to pry open their longnecks with their teeth. Ptew!

Here's Australia's take on the invention.




Of course, there is sometimes a downside to these inventions. Beer snobs (read "craft beers") claim that twist-offs don't seal as well as the pry-off caps and can let oxygen into the bottle. Then, again, the pry-off cap technology is a lot more cost-effective for the smaller brewers.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Let's hear it for the G.I.Q.

For as long as I can remember (and that's often only about 45 minutes), the 40-ounce bottle of beer has been called a "G.I.Q." And there are some people who shoot me a strange look when I say that, only to laugh out loud when I tell them that's a "Giant Imperial Quart."

Well, quarts fans, here's the lowdown if you want to order a G.I.Q. for the wedding toast.

Whether or not you want to believe it, there is the U.S. quart of 32 fluid ounces, and there is the Imperial Quart of 40 fluid ounces.




Meanwhile, take note of this. Next time you see a shot of the G.I.C. (giant imperial couple), pay close attention to their eyes, nose, and liplines. Do they not look alike? Or am I seeing double without drinking doubles? It's enough to give you the willies. Oh, is that the Williams?

Thursday, April 28, 2011

GREAT CAESAR'S GHOST! Superman renounces American citizenship!!!

So, it has come to THIS: Superman, the alien who has hidden behind the name of Clark Kent, now stands for truth, justice, and . . . all that stuff.






 I'm thinking that he's lost it ever since phone booths gave way to the iPhoney.

And who wants to be more powerful than a locomotive when it's run by Amtrak?

Lois [the TV one named Terry Hatcher, not the movie one named Margot Kidder] give me a call.

Reality check . . .

Okay, so what's better than an OT win in Game 7?

Duh! A win in Game 6 that would have spared  you all that anxiety.

But while you are breathless from the President's escape from The Donnie's "silliness" (before jetting off to be with Oprah), or while you are seriously thinking of chugging a liter of Beefeater's for breakfast just to get into the festive spirit of tomorrow morning's relentess tv coverage of the Royal Puddin'heads, or if you're thinking that the Pats might draft Cam Newton tonight, I do wish that you would stop all that madness for at least sixty seconds right now.

In the event that there actually is anyone reading my usual nonsense, I do wish that you would take one minute from everything else you are doing today and give some thought to the folks who are being devastated by this week's storms, as well as to the families of those who are in your nation's armed services as you are reading this. 

Nearly 200 people died in storms during the past 24 hours, and 10 Americans were gunned down in Afghanistan. There are thousands of Americans this morning who are suddenly homeless. And there are fathers and mothers and sisters and brothers and neighbors and co-workers who find themselves without someone whom they always believed would return home, at least alive . . . if not in one piece. They all could use your support, and your prayers might help.

So, the Bruins won. Big deal. Same for Obama and Trump and Will and Kate and Will and Grace and Kate and Allie, plus Eight is Enough. 

Say a prayer for others, and thank God for whatever you might have.

And if you did read this, maybe you should pass it along. Or retweet or whatever it is you do.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

The secret ingredients in this morning's beer.

It's not salt; it's tears. 

Why so sad?

Well, it's because I saw on TV this morning at the Daily Planet a commercial for Bud Light's "write on" label. More dumbity from the folks who gave us the "born on" date. So, I thought, but I suppose it's just as sad that I am only now getting the news, eh?

“This new bottle is one of the many ways we can bring Bud Light’s fun personality to life,” said Mike Sundet, senior director, Bud Light. “Bud Light drinkers are always looking for fun, quirky ways to express themselves, and the My Bud Light bottle offers them a canvas to do just that.”

That's sad. The Bud Light drinker can't find much enjoyment IN his bottle or IN his beer, so he needs to find it on his label. [Note: I have purposely used the male pronoun here; women know better than to fall for all this crap. But, I digress.]

Just as sad as the fact that I had been so unaware of just how much fun scratching a beer label could be [Note: This is NOT the same as peeling off the label by scratching it with your thumbnail. That's true fun for a barfly with any longneck . . . except Rolling Rock's screened label. But, I digress, yet again], the real fun apparently pooped out a couple years back with the people at Solo, the disposable cup company.

HIGHLAND PARK, Ill., January 16, 2009 – Keeping track of your drink as you enjoy the big game with friends and family just got a little bit easier. Solo Cup Company, best known for creating the iconic red party cup, today announced its newest consumer product development:

It’s My Solo Cup, a customizable plastic cup, perfect for avoiding “cup confusion” at parties. With It’s My Solo Cup’s pre-attached label, party-goers can easily scratch their names or any creative design into their Solo cups. Identifying their cups is easy with more fun and less waste – all without the need for a messy permanent marker.

“Consumers who love our party cups have been writing their names on them for decades to avoid losing their drinks among the typical sea of red cups. They inspired this product,” said Kim Healy, vice president of consumer marketing at Solo. “For people who like to entertain, It’s My Solo Cup offers the host less clean-up and even a clever conversation starter for guests.”

WOW! I could have been pouring my PBR pounder into a My Solo Cup and elevating myself to the status of a clever conversationalist! What a wasted opportunity, not to mention a wasted life.

But, of course, the bullshit behind the Solo press release is not that their consumers "inspired this product." In truth (if I might take you into my confidence) is that the patent for all this wonder was applied for back on April 15 (Tax Day) of 1991 by Jeff and Claudia Griffin of Palo Alto. Yes, it IS important that the application was twenty years ago. They were granted the patent in October, 1992. First, they licensed their patent to a cup company call Etch-it; then, to Solo. 

As with Solo, Etch-it tried to take credit for the invention. Read their press release:


Orange County, CA (PRWEB) September 2, 2004 - California surfer Michael Marrin is starting to see the green with his patented invention. Now partygoers don't have to worry about misplacing their cup and spreading germs all they have to do is use Etch-It Party Cups!


Etch-it party cups are instant, fun and pen-less. To use, simply peel the cover then etch your name or cool design. Viola! Every cup becomes an individual master piece & the user will never lose their drink again. The specially formulated "magic wax" coating on every etch-it party cup name tag is guaranteed not to smear or stain like when writing on cups with marking pens. 


With Etch-it Party Cups Partiers will liven up an event by etching pictures or catchy slogans such as "Hi. I'm single." "Take Me Home" etc. Party Host report they save money and have less to clean up because of fewer abandoned drinks. 


Marrin's innovation hit the retail shelves of party, liquor and internet stores around 24 months ago. Over 3 million cups have been sold to date. In the cup world that's a small number but as people become "Etch-U-Cated" the demand is dramatically increasing. Available in RED, BLUE & FROST, Etch-It Party Cups retail from 15-22 cents each.


Future plans for Marrin's company Upardi Inc are to adapt the patented etch-it equipped technology to bottled waters and sport drinks. Just think about those concerned soccer moms when their child athlete runs on and off the field to re-hydrate. They recognize the need to identify a bottled beverage in a hurry. A sport drink or bottled water equipped with the etch-it I.D system is instant, fun and will not smear or wash off in an ice chest.


In theory as etch-it becomes more popular the product will save someone's life by preventing the spread of germs. Who knows with over 3 million cups sold a life may have already been saved.

Dude! Go buy yourself a Dell and Google US Patent 5154448, because it does not belong to the surfer Marrin or to his company. It was the property of the Griffins. I typed "was," because all patents have a lifespan of twenty years from the date of application. Then they expire if the maintenance fees are not maintained. 

So, it's not just coincidence that last week that patent expired, and now Bud Light is bringing its Write On Label into the marketplace.

Saddest of all, though, is that some beer drinkers will find this a reason to buy a Bud Light and maybe drink it. 

Then, they can write on the label: "I wish this were a PBR, or Schlitz, or Schaefer." Boo hoo hoo.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Surgical options: Tommy John v Elton John

My head is all aswirl this morning, and it has nada to do with anything I had to drink. It's all the fault of the TV screens at Planet Fitness this morning.

[Let me stop right here a minute. If Planet Fitness is supposed to be the "Judgement Free Zone," then why do their TV commercials depict some sort of clientele that PF does NOT want? Just wondering.]

But, I digress.

So, this morning, all the local newstwits were excited about the wedding this Friday, and each local station had its own girly anchor on the scene. As you know, I had all I could do to keep from fwowing up, so I tried to divert my attention to other screens.

On ESPN, someone mentioned "Tommy John surgery" not too much before another channel was showing some infomercial about a shampoo that clearly showed an improved "HMI."

No, I did not know that HMI was the abbreviation for "Hair Mass Index," and I also was unaware that it has its own little digitial readout meter that looks a lot like a pregnancy tester to me. Apparently, it could be used as an "Heir Mass Index," too.

So, when I got back here to my laptop, I Googled "hair mass index" and discovered that it's not just for shampoo, but also for so-called "hair restoration." Of course, they do not restore your old hair, because the old hair is gone. Poof! Vanished! Hair today, gone tomorrow! It's should be called "hair relocation," because they take it from your ears, your nose, and your back and stick it on your head.

[Which reminds me to ask this question: On the face of Wally the Green Monster, are those horizontal black things that stick out from the sides of his nose supposed to be eye black, nose hairs, or a pencil-thin moustache?]

Yet again, I have digressed.

According to www.forhair.com:

Hair mass transferred index is the total hairs transferred (THT) and mean hair volume index (MHVI).
HMTI = (THT) ( MHVI) 

The expected actual hair mass you have transferred (HMT) may be easily calculated based on any hair length. One simply multiplies the HMTI by the actual length of hair on the patient. Now one has the capacity to evaluate efficiency of their hair transplant. One can calculate the hair mass index in the recipient area and compare it to the actual HMT calculated at the time of surgery. This method allows one to evaluate efficiency on multiple regions of the scalp.

Who knew?

So, now I am curious as to see just what Elton John's HMI will look like when he shows up at the wedding on Friday. And I am wondering if he has written yet another version of "Candle in the Wind" for the occasion. By my count, he wrote the song about Marilyn Monroe, then rewrote it for Ryan White. And then rewrote it for Princess Di. That's close to the record number of times that Paul Anka wrote new lyrics for "My Way." Then, again, Anka never wrote that song in the first place. He simply wrote English lyrics to the French song, "Comme d’habitude" (French for As Usual

See, my head's aswirl, and it just won't stop.

Monday, April 25, 2011

When life hands you lemons: the corollary.

When life hands you hard-boiled eggs, make pickled eggs!

Face it, there's only so much egg salad you can consume in the days after Easter, so why not make the holiday seem to last forever and ever? (Amen!)

Yes, fellow barflys, I really am talking pickled eggs, just like the ones that sit in that big glass jar behind the bar. Sure, you can have a pig's foot, too, if you want. But today we're talking about pickling all those eggs that the kids hauled in from the lawn yesterday. (Let's hope you didn't put down that Scott's Step 1 too soon this year; that's tough with the late holiday.)

But, I digress.

You can find tons of variations to the recipe on Al Gore's world wide web, but the best two are the basic, old-fashioned remedy, as well as the one with hot peppers. (Try to avoid the ones with the beets or the Vienna sausages. Otherwise, your teeth turn purple. And those little wienies pale in comparison to a Slim Jim.)

While we're at it. Did someone finally pull the plug on that stupid notion of hanging plastic eggs from a tree in the yard? Sure hope so. This year I did not see a single such dippy display.

And another thing. Easter candy is a chocolate rabbit, hollow or otherwise. Okay, it might be a Peep or two, but it is NOT just another bag of year-round chocolate with a holiday wrapping. Take note of that Hershey and M&M. Every holiday is entitled to its own candy, not just some color change in coating or wrapper.

So, while you're sitting around waiting for your eggs to pickle, you might want to pop another beer and work on your self-pickling. Takes one to know one, they say. Hoist a $2 pint somewhere to the Boston teams that made the weekend worth forgetting that Tom Brady wears Uggs. (Ugh!) And then have another for the Sixers' win over the Heat.

Last one in's a rotten . . . No, make that a pickled egg!

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Peace and pints!

Well, doesn't look as though the Easter Bunny made it to my lawn this morning. No eggs, and just a few empties. Must have been Harvey celebrating that Bruins double OT win.

And it seems a bit dank for the so-called sunrise service at West Dennis Beach. I'm up, but the sun's not.

This is a BIG day in Iowa! Really. You might have heard about the editor of a weekly newspaper who took to drinking (and "eating") nothing but beer for Lent. Good for him. But most of the coverage on the Lohan/Sheen networks was about the quirkiness and not about the full reasons for his fast. (I've been on a half-fast diet.) So, I suggest that you take a look at his full blog for the past 40 days and 40 nights at:


There, he writes this final entry:

"Maybe I didn’t get all the nutrients I needed these last few weeks, protein especially, but for a short burst of fast-induced focus, proved that one could not only survive, but thrive, on a simple diet of beer and water. Somebody call Myth Busters.

"We are capable of more than we will ever fully realize. I walk away alive, well and with a stronger understanding of discipline, focus and priorities. This journey ends, but it’s a stepping off point for what comes next. If I have the good sense to apply it to my life.

"Thanks for being a part of the journey.

"Peace and Pints!"

Okay, let's go hunt for eggs. Better yet, let's go hunt for quahaugs. (Tomorrow, all Easter candy will be half price ! ! !)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Esposito scores on the rebound!



In the event that you did not know (and why the hell should you?), I must confess that I truly am an ordained minister, and I do have my own church: The Church of the Mass Redemption. In lieu of donations, I do accept your returnables. So, just look for the Mass Redemption signs throughout your neighborhood.

As you can see, I am in my full holy mood on this weekend, and I was thinking of maybe hitting the 28 Club this afternoon to catch some Bruins action; between periods, I was going to browse through Benny's to see if I could find a wedding gift for Bill & Kathy (I've had it up to HERE with William & Kate!). But then I realized that the game's tonight, so I'll probably stay in and watch The Ten Commandments on TV. (Religious humor there.)

I was also reminded of the vintage Jesus Saves sign that once hung outside a lot of churches, not the least of which was the Triple Rock Baptist Church, where James Brown blessed Elwood and Jake on their "mission from God." The standard line for Bruins fans from the late 1960s into the mid 1970s was: "Jesus Saves! Esposito scores on the rebound!" In fact, you can still find those t-shirts for sale on the 'net.

Friday, April 22, 2011

"Jesus H. Tap-Dancing Christ! I have seen the light!" - Jake E. Blues


Being Good Friday, let's get some old-time religion started right now. 

On this night in 1978, Elwood J. Blues and his brother, "Joliet" Jake E. Blues first appeared on NBC's "Saturday Night," where they sang Floyd Dixon's "Hey Bartender." Officially, they are The Blues Brothers’ Show Band and Revue.
 
 
I said, "Hey Bartender!
Hey man, looka here.
Draw one, draw two,
Draw three, four glasses of beer."
Elwood!

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Mayday! Already?

No, today is NOT the first of May.

But today is THE day that Sam "Mayday" Malone made his first major league appearance when he faced the Yankees on this date in 1972. Wearing #16, Malone sported the number of Jim Lonborg, who had played with the Sox until 1971. The given middle name of the Sudbury-born hurler was not "Mayday," but is Adams: Sam Adams Malone. Luckily, Malone did not have to deal with the "Sam Adams brewer or patriot?" debate when he later owned the bar named Cheers.

In real life, though, the Yanks-Sox game on this date in '72 was started by Ray Culp (1-1), who had a 4-3 lead when Bill Lee (1) took over in the top of the seventh. Final score: 5-4, Sox. That put both teams in third place, three-and-a-half games out.

Cheers!

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

What the Sox won't tell you

Let me be the next to mention that it was 99 years ago today that -- after two days of rain delays -- America's most beloved ballpark finally opened. 

John Henry's beautiful people have just announced in the past half hour their new website: http://mlb.mlb.com/bos/fenwaypark100. Starting next week, though, you can pay JH to have your name etched on a brick at Fenway for with $250 or $475. (I'm guessing it's much more memorable to write out your name in beer piss in the bleachers. It's cheaper, and it will attract a lot more attention.)

I've already looked at the site, and here's what John Hank's BPs don't even mention. Remember, you got this from me when you begin peeing and moaning at the bar today.

In that first Fenway opening, Sox beat NY Highlanders 7-6 on a Tris Speaker RBI in the eleventh. There had been two days of postponements due to rain. JFK's grandfather, Mayor "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald threw out Fenway's very first pitch before a sellout crowd of 27,000.

Fenway's first starting pitcher for the Sox was a righthanded spitballer from Brockton named Thomas Joseph O'Brien. They called him "Buck." In extra innings, the game was carried by another righty (does that make him a northpaw? looks like I justed invented that one) named "Sea Lion" Hall, who's often called baseball's original relief pitcher. And he was called "Sea Lion" because he had a loud, raspy voice that sounded like a walrus. But Charley Hall's real name is Carlos Clolo. (This is sort of like "Rocky Raccoon," ain't it? "Her name was McGill/And she called herself "Lil"/But everyone knew her as "Nancy.")

But, I digress.

Just remember, send John Henry your money.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Miller High Life: The Shampoo of Bottled Beers

Despite the fact that recollections are lousy benchmarks for a life, I can't recall the last time I had a Miller High Life, the so-called Champagne of Bottled Beers. But now I recall that it was this afternoon at the Cabby Shack in Plymouth. Harvey had called shotgun for a roadtrip to the Buzzards Bay Tavern, but we somehow found ourselves in the Grossman's Bargain Outlet looking at windows. Before we knew it, there we were in Cabby's. Two dollar pints of shampoo.

Until then, I'm thinking that the last time I tasted that stuff was during the pre-war years at Wesleyan and before the invention of Miller Lite. High Life tended to give me a headache with the very first swig. And that was often the very last swig. Until the very next one.

But I digress. 

As a smart ass college kid, I thought I could make some pocket change working weekends at a Hartford radio station. Essentially, the gig was reading sports scores sponsored by -- you guessed it -- Miller High Life: The Champagne of Bottled Beers. You know where this is headed.

From the get go, I was calling the sponsor "The Shampoo of Bottled Beers." The weekend jock thought it was hilarious, but not so the program director. He was (and still is) Dickie Robinson, founder of Connecticut School of Broadcasting. I never went to that school, and I never got paid for my afternoon of work. But the recollection of the job left a better taste in my mouth than did Miller High Life.

But today I gave the Miller folks a second chance. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I'll give them two bucks for a clean, empty glass. Even better, give me one of those Cisco pint glasses and fill it up with the glassware's namesake! Ahh, Plymouth fog's not as salty as the Gray Lady's, but the Cisco's good anywhere.


Harvey says, "Sometimes, you get what you pay for."

Monday, April 18, 2011

Listen my children, and you shall hear . . .

Of the midnight case
Of diarrhea!

Ha! Ha! Ha! Gotta love those poems from the third grade!

Anyway, Happy Freakin' Patriots Day to all of my compatriots throughout the Commonwealth who are forced to go to work today just the same.

Yes, it was on this date in 1985 that Jim Koch and his partners introduced the world to Samuel Adams Boston Lager.

More importantly, though, it was on this date that Paul Revere and William Dawes headed off on their midnight ride to warn Sam Adams and John Hancock that the British were coming.

While John Hancock had absolutely nothing to do with either writing insurance policies, or lighting signs above the Fenway bleachers, Sam Adams indeed was a brewer; however, he was not very good at it. His father, Sam the elder, had been a brewer of sorts, and they went into business together after Sam the younger had graduated from Harvud. After Sam the elder became Sam the deceased, Sam the younger became Sam the only. His brewery struggled, and then it folded. And so it goes.

Still planning today to visit Johnny's gravesite out at Quivett Neck, then dropping in to the Lost Dog. Never tell your real name. Never ask what others do. Always pay your bar tab!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Da do ron ron? Or da doo ron not?

I thought about it Sunday
But my feet stood still.
Day do not run.
Day do not run.
They never ran a road race
And they never will.
Day do not run.
No, day do not run.

Rather than run tomorrow, I am taking the day to drink it over and to recall what little interest or connection I have ever had with the Boston Marathon.

For starters, I did go to Wesleyan with two guys who won that most prestigious of running events. (I know. Everything has its own "prestigious event.") Amby Burfoot won the thing in 1968, and Bill Rodgers won it four times (and twice broke the record). Yawn. Bill lived a floor or two above me in Clark Hall. Double yawn.

And then there's Johnny Kelley, the bow-legged guy who ran the damn thing 61(!) times and won it twice. His obit in the Boston Globe recounts that he finished second "a record seven times" and placed in the top ten for 18 of his runs to Boston. The same piece goes on to say: "Kelley was a Boston sports hero in the mold of Ted Williams, Bill Russell, Larry Bird and Bobby Orr, but of that illustrious group the only one home grown and the only amateur. He ran perhaps 1,500 races, including 112 marathons, and won 22 diamond rings, 118 watches, one refrigerator and no money."

During a running of the Johnny Kelley Half-Marathon in Hyannis one year, I was riding in the back of an open pace Jeep with Johnny so close behind that I could hear him swearing at us to get out of his way. Apparently, the exhaust fumes were driving him nuts, but there's nothing the driver could do about that. Johnny's only choice was to suck it up or to drop back in the pack. Needless to say, he sucked it up and sputtered at me for most of the 13 miles. Cough!

Johnny's buried out at the Quivet Neck Cemetery, so I'm thinking of stopping by tomorrow to pay my respects and to offer my belated apologies. Then, again, I wasn't the driver or the race coordinator.

Good excuse head over to the Lost Dog in East Dennis afterward to hoist one in his honor. Beats watching the damn thing on TV. Wanna bet what the so-called "lead story" will be among Boston broadcasters tomorrow? Think they'll each be wearing some cheesey windbreaker with the station's logo? Better make that TWO beers.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Smoke From A Distant Fire

The way that I sometimes carry on about the hapless sox (no longer deserving of any uppercase spelling), you'd think that I really gave a rat's ass about the team. The fun disappeared once they won the World Series after all those years. Now, though, they're just a bunch of mercenaries hired by J. Henry to entertain and amuse the Beautiful People. To them, baseball is not a pastime, but a bottom line: merchandise is more important than the game. And the game's just a promotional gimmick to attract you to the advertising.

After all, if the sox uniform is a blue cap, why do we need all those variations? Fashionistas, baby! Even worse, Maxxinistas! Where you can buy the official crap (with the hologram) cheap! And does anyone wear even ONE red sock? Gone are the days when dads could afford to take their kid(s) to a game and show them how to keep score. (Careful you don't spill salsa on that thing.) Crackerjacks? ha ha ha ha!

While we're on it, why do I tend to fwow up in my mouth whenever I hear "Sweet Caroline?" You know why. If they MUST sing Neil Effin Diamond, why not "Cracklin' Rose"? We could drink Lancer's and the Beautiful People could sip chablis. 

Oh, looky! A jumbotron!

Puh-leez. The sox are sucking, so let's truck in The New Kids on the Block to be introduced by Ben Affleck. Which reminds me, how's that Papelbon jig thing going over these days? And the Dropkick Murphys? Sure wish I had me one of them REAL duckboats from Vịnh Cam Ranh. We could tear up the infield and start the season anew. Better yet, we could burn down the house!

All of which brings me to the true topic of the day, which is my homage to Christian Friedrich (or Frederick) Wilhelm von der Ahe, the St. Louis saloon owner who built himself a ballpark in order to sell more beer. This was the first ballpark ever to serve suds, adding even more glory to America's pastime. God bless you, Chris.

Sadly, though, it was on this day in 1898 when his Sportsman's Park burnt to the ground after someone in the stands dropped a lighted cigar somewhere below the seats during the second game of the season. The St. Louis Browns were hosting Chicago when the fire began sometime in the second inning. As people were standing up to avoid the smoke and flames, others were yelling for them to "Sit down, yer blocking the view!"

When flames erupted, the umpires decided to halt the game in the second inning, and some players went into the stands to help people out onto the field. When all was said and done, about a hundred people had been hospitalized; three had broken legs from leaping to safety. Serious as some burns had proven to be, no one succombed to the injuries. Financially, though, von der Ahe was done. His beer venue had burned to the ground, along with his saloon and most of his financial dealings.

So, when you hear someone today bother to even mention Ye Olde Towne Team, explain to them that things could be a lot worse. After all, the chablis might not be chilled.

Whew! Got all THAT out of my system and now I can enjoy the rest of the day. Let's go get a PBR.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Things to celebrate, as well as to keep in mind.

Also always, every day on your barstool has some occasion to celebrate.
 
So, let's start with the birth on this day in 1815 of Georg August Krug, who founded Milwaukee's August Krug Brewery, which later evolved in the Joseph Schlitz Brewing Company. 
 
Ahhh, yessss!
 
Not only was Schlitz "the beer that made Milwaukee famous," but also the one they promoted as: "Schlitz, one beautiful beer." So, on this day, remember that "you only go around once in life, so grab all the gusto that you can!" Or was that "gusto in a can"? Find yourself a Schlitz and hoist a cold one to Gus on his birthday.
 
Meanwhile, on this date in 1896, the "Anheuser-Busch Brewing Association" first began use of the name "Michelob" for its "draught beer for connoisseurs." Michelob is the name of a village near Saaz, Bohemia, which is now the Czech Republic. The Saaz region is famous for its hops, which are used in Pilsener (pilsner, pils) pale lagers. So, after you find yourself a Schlitz, grab a Michelob.
 
I'm thinking, a GIQ of Schlitz at Cranberry Liquors in Harwich Port, then stopping into the Hot Stove right next door for a Michelob draft from Peggy. Gotta have some of those nachos, too.
 
And then, you'll need to play 42 sometime today in some lottery or Keno. All of MLB will be celebrating "Jackie Robinson Day" TONIGHT, and some entire teams will be sporting that number. So, don't think you're seeing double. (Even though you might be.)
 
Regrettably, though, know this about your Olde Towne Team in Fenway. TOMORROW marks the anniversary of the day that the Red Sox held a tryout for Jackie behind closed doors at America's most-beloved ballpark. Though attendance was very limited, Jackie was heckled so much that he left the park in utter humiliation. Needless to say, the Red Sox did not sign him. And to add insult to injury, the team was the LAST in MLB to sign any black player to its roster . . . TWELVE YEARS LATER. Yes, that was Pumpsie Green.
 
Nonetheless, let's recall Jackie Robinson for the pioneer that he remains, along with the Brooklyn Dodgers.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

"Never drink alone; never drink cologne." - Dr. Jake Quimby

Sure, you CAN quote me on that. 

I find it hard to imagine how it might be sitting on a curb by yourself with an empty bottle of Hai Karate staring right back atcha.

So, that's why the good Lord sent down Haffenreffer Private Stock, the enduring 6.87 malt liquor packaged in that handy 64-oz green bottle, then topped it off with a cap that offered up a rebus to keep you puzzled throughout the rest of the day.

It's a wonder that the folks at Aqua Velva didn't think of putting that puzzle under their caps.

As I have said, though: Never drink alone; never drink cologne.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Pour me.

On this day way back in 1748, was born Joseph Bramah. He's the guy who invented the beer pump. Beer pumps were used for ale casks, not beer kegs. Ale is naturally fermented in the cask. Beer in the keg has carbonation added.

Hoist a brew tonight for Joe and a job well done! Whatever will they think of next?

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Something to celebrate today

On this date in 1933, Dewitt Simpson was all excited about his patent application for a pointed-end can opener that we would all come to know and love as the "Church Key." Truly, this is one of the world's greatest inventions, for it also pries open the hinge of a reluctant oyster.

Thanks, Dewey. This one's for you!

Monday, April 11, 2011

HA HA HA

A man walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a PBR. 

As he sips his beer, he hears a soothing voice say, "Nice hat!" 

Looking around, he notices that there's no one else in the bar other than the bartender, and he's at the other end of the bar. 

A few sips later, the guy hears a voice say, "Great hoodie. Go Pats!"

A bit shaken, he shouts out to the bartender. "I must be losing my mind," says he. "I keep hearing voices saying nice things to me, but I don't see anyone else in there's here except you."

"It's the pretzels," replies the bartender.

"Huh?"

"I said that it's the pretzels," says the bartender. "They're complimentary."

Sunday, April 10, 2011

From the Barfly's X Flies

Harvey and I were enjoying a cold one yesterday afternoon while “America’s pastime” was being broadcast live from “America’s most beloved ballpark” on free TV. Rather than driving the distance to gnosh on sushi and swill well drinks beneath the grandstands, we were content to bask in the shade of the 28 Club and discuss some of the pressing issues of the day.

For starters, we were curious as to why in baseball parlance the past tense of the intransitive verb “to fly” is not “flew,” but “flied.” As in, “Big Papi is 0 for 2 so far in this came. He struck out in the first and he FLIED out to right in the fifth . . .” Modern aviation technology aside, Big Papi apparently is too big to get off the ground; hence, we cannot say “he FLEW out to right field.”

That sort of discussion naturally led to our wondering whether or not anyone had yet to spy the first fly of the season. Why must it always be the first robin of spring that gets all the good PR, but nothing much is ever said about spying the first fly?

And that, eventually, led to the time-honored discussion of just how a fly manages to land upon the ceiling. Assuming that it is flying right-side up/feet-side down, what maneuver gets those feet up into landing position?

Two obvious options: (a) perform a barrel roll, or (b) execute a back flip. (Yes, other options might involve a front flip/somersault, or maybe some exotic loop-the-loop, but . . .)

It’s a little known fact that Natural History magazine explained all of this back in 1958 and that Eastman Kodak even filmed the action in high-speed/freeze-frame/slow motion. Sadly, though, you cannot find THAT anywhere on the internet.

Apparently, though, the answer is this: Just before landing, the fly extends its forward legs over its head, makes contact with the first two of its six sticky feet, then uses all the momentum from its flight to hoist its body and other four feet up to the ceiling. So, it’s more like Bart Conner than Chuck Yeager.

Oh, looky. Someone else with Red Sox just flied out!

Beertender, Kruegers all around.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Mayday Sam Malone

Aside from being one of America's most beloved bartenders, as well as the proprietor of a Boston bar named Cheers, Sam (Mayday) Malone was also a renowned pitcher for the Boston Red Sox. Clearly, the Sox could use him now.

Even a sunny hour or two watching the Sox (on FREE tv!) at the 28 Club is a good way to pass away the time. But who the heck were those Fox baseball bush-league announcers? Was this not the Yanks v Sox?

Thank God that Benny's is open.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Three Words: Celtics and Bruins

It's a little-known fact that baseball is the only sport wherein the defense has possession of the ball.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

586 Bistro/Hyannis: Won’t Get Fooled Again

Okay, so Harvey paid 25 bucks to a local radio station in exchange for a certificate good for $50 at the 586 Bistro in Hyannis. Neither one of us had been in that location since it once had been Roobar. We’d each gone to the old place on our own, and nothing drew us back. Clearly, it was more of a nightspot than a bar, which is fine. Just not our cup of tea.

Anyway, the appeal of this new incarnation was their advertised half-price pizzas on Monday and Tuesday, as well as FREE appetizers at the bar from 4-7 on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. If we were to go on a Tuesday, then odds were in our favor that this might be a good deal. For Harvey’s 25 bucks, there could be a couple of $12 pizzas for only $12, plus some free apps, plus some paid upscale beers. [Quick math: $50 certificate minus $12 = $38 of beer (divided by two)] then pay tax and tip.

Only five restrictions were printed on the certificate: (1) No cash back, (2) Dine in only, (3) No early birds, (4) tax and gratuity not included, and (5) certificate expires one year from date of purchase.

So, we appeared there at 4:45p, and we were the only patrons other than some dude sipping a beer at the bar. The cook was at work in the open kitchen, the wood was burning in the oven, and the bartender welcomed us as we sat down at the bar. “Pizzas are half price tonight,” were the first words out of his mouth.

We ordered a couple of upscale brews (Stella and a Noble Pils) for starters, looked at the menu, and began to chirp away. This was not a place for nachos, skins, onion rings, wings, or pickled eggs. So, we went for an order of calamari (those fuckers eat submarines!), a margarita pizza, as well as a pepper, sausage, onion combo. All of these were stated on the menu, so we were not deviating from their suggestions.

Another round, but I went to a Bud Light, because they had no PBR.

Didn’t see any free apps or business people or anyone else.

Squid came and it was very good. Lightly floured, crisp, and with a (dare I type this) remoulade which was delicious. Yes, a barfly CAN have exquisite taste, and we told the bartender (AND yelled out to Dave) how great it was. (We yelled to Dave that he had to make certain he got his share of our 5% tip! Ha ha ha)

Another round.

Pizzas are here. Though they were 14” crusts, there was barely any crust at all. “Thin” does not begin to describe the crust, but that’s not a problem. The pizzas, too, were great. We stated that. In a league of their own, but not very filling.

Could have used a free app here. A beer nut. A Cheez-it. How about a pretzel stick? Wasn’t OUR idea. But we said nothing about their not being evident.

We yapped with the bartender, reminisced about bars long gone from Main Street in Hyannis, and inspected some bottles of the bubblegum Stoli behind the bar. Brooklyn Vodka is a Stoli limited edition by Spike Lee. Said to taste like apples and ginger. Good for girly drinks, I supposed.

Another round, perhaps, and a request for the tab.

Harvey produces the certificate and the barkeep announces “That doesn’t cover half-price pizzas.” We did not argue, but we imagined it also did not cover the free appetizers.

We did note that the certificate did not state that restriction, and we also went online with a cell phone to show to the bartender the website that heralds the pizza price and the free apps. Politely, we explained that it was not OUR idea to determine those prices and to advertise them.

Now, a wise businessman would have said, “You’re right. Let’s take $12 off the tab.”

Did I mention that the tab had come to $71 and change?

Well, it did. We paid that. We tipped 20 percent of the pre-tax tab, and we told them how good the food was.

We did not bother to break down the price of the beers, but it was hefty. Harvey did notice, though, that the other guy at the bar had conveniently disappeared during our polite discussion of their view of their own promotion. We suspect he might be the owner.

Bottom line is that the radio station notes that 100 of these things were purchased for the Bistro, and that means there are 99 others out there with a big surprise in store.

Moreover, just remember that the Bistro is an upscale restaurant that happens to have a bar with high margin drinks.

Lemme see: Duck Inn Pub, Elbow Room, Nineteenth Hole, Kian N Rylee’s, Jack’s Lounge are all much better deals.

Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice, shame on us. Won’t get fooled again.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

"Harvey and I have things to do . . .

" . . . We sit in the bars . . . have a drink or two . . . play the jukebox. 

"Very soon the faces of all the other people turn towards me and they smile. They say: 'We don't know your name, mister, but you're a very nice fellow.' 

"Harvey and I warm ourselves in these golden moments. We came as strangers. Soon we have friends. 

"They come over. They sit with us. They drink with us. They talk to us. They tell us about the great big terrible things they've done and the great big wonderful things they're going to do. Their hopes; their regrets. Their loves; their hates. All very large, because nobody ever brings anything small into a bar. 

"Then I introduce them to Harvey, and he's bigger and grander than anything they can offer me. 

"And when they leave, they leave impressed. 

"The same people seldom come back, but that's — that's envy, my dear. There's a little bit of envy in the best of us. 

"That's too bad, isn't it?"
— Elwood P. Dowd

Monday, April 4, 2011

What's in YOUR beer glass?

Forget the CapitalOne commercial that asks: "What's in your wallet?"

More importantly: "What's in your beer glass?"

For starters, there'd better not be any milk in there. [Note: Soy milk is NOT milk. It's juice! A soy plant has no breasts!] Pouring milk into a beer glass will forever sully that container, and it must be disposed of under federal guidelines. [cf. the U.S. Sullied Glass Act of 1952]

Second, there must be no lipstick traces whatsoever around the rim, especially if your bartender has placed it empty upon the bar. [cf. Lindsay Lohan, plaintiff v Moe Szyslak, defendant]

Third, beer must be the primary ingredient. Other acceptable enhancements include: 1.5 oz. of whisk(e)y or tequila; under extreme conditions, no more than three ice cubes; and, on occasion, a dash of salt.

Finally, there should be absolutely no fruit or vegetable of any species or form whatsoever. No lime, no cucumber, no broccoli rabe, no pepper sauce. By the same token, there should be not even any such reference on the label of the container of origin; i.e., NO blueberry, pumpkin, cranberry, etc.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

START THE PRESSES ! ! !

Is it me or do the so-called "news" organizations all believe that no real news happens over the weekend?

Case in point: The Sunday Cape Cod Times.

Now, let's have a show of hands here. How many were shocked, no SHOCKED to read the front page "investigative news" report in this morning's Cape Cod Times that revealed that most season ticket holders for Fenway Park and the Whatever-It's-Called Garden are held by corporations with luxury suites and topnotch seats elsewhere throughout the park?

I said, "Let's have a show of hands." Anybody? Hello?

Yes, I thought so. This ain't news to anyone here on this barstool either. Apparently, though, while you and I were sleeping soundly last night, the investigative team was hard at work pounding out all the details on this late-breaking story so that the guy without a muffler in that beat-up jalopy could come roarin' down your street before sunrise to drop the first edition at your doorstep. Oh, wait. There's only ONE edition, and that appears to have been written last Wednesday.

As you might have suspected, I haven't been to a Sox game since Tom Brunansky roamed right field.. . the first time. And I haven't felt like buying a Pats ticket since they blew up Schaefer Stadium. Of all the owners of New England sports teams, none ranks higher on my list than the Kraft family, but I have the best owners' box right here beneath my butt. Still, it's not news to read that tickets prices soar and are held only by corporations. (Just wait until the President learns about THOSE demons!)

But I digress. Bottom line is that newspapers are folding, because they serve no current purpose. It's bad enough when the internet can post the news right now, but these papers become their own worst enemy when they set their front pages days before.

Goodnight, Chet. Goodnight, David. Goodnight, John Boy. And let's put the lights out altogether on the Times Sunday edition.

Let's grab a beer while the sun's still shining.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

What will they think of next? (Shhhhh. I don't wanna know.)

See, Harvey, I told you (3/24): "No beer in Fenway this season, because the Sox lost the opener!"

So what if they lost another opener on April 1st, it’s still a great joke (almost as great a joke as the Sox themselves). 


Oh, lighten up and admit that you loved the Olde Town team much better when they always found some way not to win. Today, they’re just a mob of mercenaries passing through town on their way to the bank, rather than the Hall of Fame. And is there any mercenary who looks any goofier than John Henry does in the stupid hat? When I was a kid, we all knew that “John Henry was a steel drivin’ man, Oh Lord. John Henry was a steel drivin’ man.” But this John Goof Henry is a certifiable chardonnay sippin', brie munchin’ goof: essentially, John Forbes Kerry without the hair.

All of which brings me back to the topic of the lost opener. [Note: Never judge a barfly by the joke s/he tells; only judge a barfly by the joke s/he tells more than once.] Lost opener or not, now John G. Henry now wants to sell mixed drinks throughout Fenway (and not just in the snob boxes). Apparently, they want to begin with next week’s home opener (just in case they lose that one, too).

According to the Boston Globe, “At the hearing last week, Red Sox officials said the mixed drinks available to fans in general seating areas would contain no more alcohol than the beer that is currently sold.” That, of course, should raise an alarm for every consumer, barfly or not. It reminds me of the retort by the honorable Moe Szyslak, proprietor of Moe’s Tavern. Whenever anyone orders a “scotch and water,” Moe feels compelled to note: “My scotch IS scotch and water.”

So, what might we expect from John G. Henry now? Some sort of bastardized bubble gum booze for the masses fully ordained by Ben Affleck (and what a national treasure he is, right)? Raspberry mojitos? Banana banshees? Brandy Alexanders? Grasshoppers? Sombreros? Or will it be a limited list: Tangueray and tonic, Jack and Coke, or Finlandia with a splash of Cranberry? Surely, life will be so simple. And the price is sure to be cheap. Be certain to tip your waiters and waitresses.

Face it, the only kind of mixed drink that ought to be serving at Fenway is a boilermaker. And if they won’t serve you that, then at least the goons ought to refrain from frisking you in search that hip flask full of Four Roses. (Let the goons buy their own!)

As for me, I’ll take some peanuts and one of these Haffenreffers brewed at the old JP brewery.


For closers, consider this: What would Lou Gorman drink?

a. Wildroot Cream Oil
b. Sterno
c. Vanilla extract
d. All of the above