There's Something Not Right With Me

"How was I supposed to know?" Well, I sure found out the hard way during my trip to to Rehoboth Beach the other weekend. The extra long weekend started Thursday night with some Phillies action at Mr. Steve's fine place with the usual cast of the T.N.S.C. and then jumped to some Hellen Keller Pils (A beer so good even she can see that!) at the Fox on Friday night, where I picked up 3 cases of cans for the hard working folks at Fins Fish House. Saturday morning brought Parkerford Brewing, Pookie De Hand and Steve and his lovely extortioner wife Joy to The Station Bistro for a very fine breakfast. With everybody full, we were off to the land of Dogfish and my other good friends at Fins. The ride down was a breeze and it was partly cloudy and surprisingly warm once we got there. We took a nice stroll down to the ocean to check out the wave action and we then began our quest for what bar to hit first. The Iguana Grill won as a quick moving shower forced us to the bar. Okay, forced may not be entirely true, but for us, it hits pretty close to the truth. After the rain let up and our glasses dry, we took a walk to our next stop, Fins. This has become my second home down here next to Dogfish. Great people and food and damn good beer. Me and Mr. Chris (one of the owners) took a walk across the street to get the cases and he filled me in on some of the fun stuff coming up. One of the most surprising things was the Lager tap will soon be replaced by Troegs and in the near future even the BMC taps will be gone and replaced with more craft beer. The website will also get a new look. Damn, I need to move back here I said to myself. This sure isn't the Rehoboth of my younger days. (T-Rex, Fred Flintstone) The boys and girls were bellied up at the bar and eating and drinking away. After a couple of hours, we drugged ourselves away to go to the evil empire for dinner. With impeccable timing a couple of seats opened up at the bar front and center. First on the thirst parade was the much talked about Piston Honda. Made with fresh Japanese hops and coming in at 4.5% and 25 IBU'S, it was as good as a beer I had this year. Is Sam going session on us? Well the Palo quickly answered that. At 11% it will put an hurting for certain on ya. I had a few Honda's and oldie but the original goody Shelter Pale Ale. We hung out and watched the rest of the Penn State game and then I went up to the room to watch the rest of the World Series. My eyelids told me different however and I went to sleep after Joe Blanton smacked a home run. The best part of this trip is just about over.

Sunday morning started off just fine as we went and had a late breakfast and I ended up going back to the room to take care of some "business". Afterwards I sat on the bed and had some juice and water when a strange feeling started coming over me. My whole body was tingling from my toes to my ears and my heart sounded like me and Scarface just did a kilo of blow. I figured I was just low on fluids, but it wasn't helping and neither was my slow breathing attempts. After about 20 minutes of this craziness, I called 911 and the real fun began. The Emt's came and said my BP was 200 over 100 and my pulse was around 120. I may not be a doctor, but even I know that ain't good. Since neither one seem to be coming down, we all decided to make that trip to the ER. Folks, there is nothing better than spending your Sunday afternoon in the ER. It was the quickest 5 plus hours I ever spent, I kid you not. I got x-rays, urine samples and they sucked more blood out of me than on the show True Blood. I was hooked up to an EKG and God knows what else. They put some beta blockers in me to help calm my heart rate down and by 6pm my BP was a more stable 136 over 95 and my heart rate was down to under 90. Their findings, I was healthy as could be except for this episode which they classified as tachycardia. What caused this outbreak? Alcohol and caffeine. What caused the tachycardia? We will find out soon enough.

Not So Happy Jack (UPDATED)

So the local beer world has been pondering this question, where the hell has Jack been? Waiting patiently Saturday at UJ's for him to show up (though some people were using my cell phone to text him!) we all started wondering what was up, once we (somewhat) sobered up. Well, the question got answered when his partner Rob Davis (from his other blog, Mermaids) posted that Jack's appendix burst over the weekend and that my friends will cut back on your drinking in a big way. He is fine now (for Jack) so lets all wish him a speedy recovery. Get moving and grooving, Helen Keller is calling your name. Talked to Mr. Curtin last night while the doctors were probing him, sounded pretty good for a guy who hasn't eat or had anything to drink in six days. Hopes to be home this weekend. Thanks to Mr. Parkerford and The Other One for extra details.

Stuck Inside Union Jacks With The Lost Abbey Blues Again

A man needs to know his limitations. A man should know his limitations. I know when my libations ran out by 7:30 pm, my limitations waited for me at home where it quickly bopped me upside my head. Such is life when you spend 6 hours drinking some of the left coast's better breweries Port and The Lost Abbey last Saturday night at Union Jacks.







A right smart turnout on a beautiful fall day, I met up with some of the regions best drinkers for this battle. Trust me, we all lost.
The main reason TND didn't have a web site for so long.






All in all I give it two thumbs way up!

You Gotta Stay Positive

Now that I got another bad memory from life stored away in the deep dark recesses of what is left of my mind, let us concentrate on the happier things in life. Or as Monty Python would say, "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life". This Saturday at Three'O Clock, Union Jacks on the mighty Manatawny (creek) presents the Port Brewing and Lost Abbey draught event. To say these beers are rare on tap around here would be an understatement, so this should be a right smart time. I just hope I don't trip over David and Sarah's sleeping bag like the last time.

One Moment In Hell And A Lifetime Of Guilt

This post was going to be all about what a great Saturday I had. My trip to the Victory Fall Fest and another fine time at TJ's with a crazy bunch of folks watching the Phils win and drinking some rare beers. Instead it's about man's worst enemy, his guilt and how to deal with it. The night ended just like any other night. I dropped Mr. Steve off at his house and decided to go straight home. I usually go the back way from his house to avoid the traffic on Ridge Pike. And from now on when I hear the phrase "it happened so fast I didn't know what was going on." I won't be saying "yeah right." Out of the corner of my eye I saw something shoot across the road right in front of me and then hit my truck. I barely had time to stop when I saw something move just as fast to the other side of the road and into the night. As someone who has driven a lot of miles in the woods of this area, having something hit my automobile is nothing new. Not by a long shot. Rabbits, possums, raccoons, squirrels, birds and even our old friend Bambi has made contact with me over the years. So I did what I usually do. I started going home. But I started having a small pang of guilt. What if it was something else? What if Steve's dog got lose or something? So I called Steve, figuring he be there laughing at me for my stupid question. When he didn't answer, my stomach was starting to feel like a load of cement was just dropped into it. When I got home I called him back and asked how Jake was. He said he was dead. I said don't kid around, I am serious. He said he wouldn't kid about something like that. I then told him what happen and I said it had to be me. He blamed him self for the accident. Yes, I know the first part of this tragedy wasn't anybodies fault. I just can't see the second part that way. I ran over my friends dog and didn't even take 30 seconds to get my fat ass out of the truck to see what happened. 30 damn seconds just to get out and look around to see what I hit. I left his dog there to die and for him to deal with it. Friends don't do that. They just don't. Everybody has forgiven me, but I can't forgive myself for that part. I never will. I am not looking for a giant pity party or a bunch of e-mails and phone calls of support. Just let me crawl back under my rock for few days and I'll be fine. Guilt is one tough muther. It's a hard one to beat.