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"Michael Jackson & Me-The Story" |
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"Michael Jackson & Me-The Story" |
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Okay, I know it's been a while but I'm just now getting around to filing this particular report of my life as a professional drinker. No names have been changed. It's pretty long, so be warned.
A couple of Saturdays ago, I interviewed Michael Jackson, the beer and Scotch guy. Here, my troubles begin.
At 10.00am, I force my friend Simon to open the Gingerman, my favorite beer bar in town, so I can use the joint as a photo background as well as a private drinking/interviewing lounge since the place doesn't officially open until noon. Simon's a good guy, so he not only opens the door, he opens the bar's 85 taps and tells me to help myself to whatever I want. As a hack beer writer, I'm kind of in awe of Jackson, so I figure a calming pint would be a good idea.
At 10.30, Jackson shows up. Photo session begins, so he goes 'round behind the bar and serves himself a pint of St. Arnold's cask-conditioned, and offers me one as well. For the next 3 hours, this is how it goes: we chat, we empty and refill our glasses. The interview goes brilliantly, and I'm feeling pretty damn good. I say my farewells to Jackson and go to meet my friends Dave and Rick, who will be accompanying me at the upcoming beer and Scotch tastings.
At 3.00pm, the tutored craft beer tasting begins. We taste the following beers: Helles Gold (Penn Brewing, Pittsburgh); Baderbrau Pilsener (Providence Brewery, Elmhurst, Illinois); Black Bavarian (Sprecher Brewing, Milwaukee); Parminator Bock (Parkbrauerie, Pirmasers, Germany); Red Tail Ale (Mendocino Brewing, Hopland, California); 1996 Christmas Ale (King & Barnes, Horsham, England); Belhaven Wee Heavy (Dunbar, Scotland); Old Nick Barleywine (Young's Brewery, London); Smoked Porter (Alaskan Brewing, Juneau); White Lambic (Timmerman's, Itterbeck, Belgium). A total of 11 beers. Most of them were pretty good.
After the beer tasting, we headed out into the hotel bar to get ready for the upcoming Scotch tasting, figuring that the best way to properly prepare our palettes would be to coat our tongues liberally with Bushmills. Good thinking.
At 7.00pm, the single-malt Scotch tasting begins. We have a shot of each of the following: Glenkinchie 10 YO; Royal Lochnager 12; Glendronach 15; Dalwhinnie 15; Cragganmore 12; Cardhu 12; Glenrothes 1979; Glen Ord 12; Scapa 12; Jura 10; and Laphroaig 10. A sampling of my notes from this tasting: Cardhu - "Writing is difficult now." Glenrothes - "At this point, I can't taste anything. They're all good, just different levels of good." Glendronach - "Stout Mofo. Lit my ass up." Jura - "I'm DRUNK. BWAAAH!!! PEAT!!! YURGH!!! SHIT!!!" Laphroaig - "Fuck me. Drinking this is like eating a tadpole." At one point, I tried to organize table races, where we'd all line up our shots and just slam them, one after the other, with the first table to finish winning a second round, but I was unsuccessful.
Following the Scotch tasting, I discovered I could neither speak nor walk properly, so I took a cab back to the Gingerman for some recovery beers. After three pints, I realize I must leave, so I go home.
I go home and order a pizza. It takes 15 minutes for me to finally get the pizza man to understand my slurred order. I eat half the pizza, call the GF (she's not home), and pass out. I wake up around 4.00am, dying of thirst. I notice the message light on the machine is blinking. I listen. It's the GF, telling me she's coming over and I need to leave the front door open. I check the door. Locked. Her car is in the driveway. I go out and check the car. She's nowhere to be found. This isn't good, I think, but I don't know what to do, so I piss on the side of my house and go back to bed.
I'm stunned to discover that the GF is in bed with me. Apparently, she came over, rang the doorbell, pounded the door, screamed at the door, then got fed up and broke in through the glass door leading to my bedroom and got in bed with me. And I slept through all of it. Luckily, she's drunk and thinks this is funny.
At 7.00am, the phone rings. It's Jaz and Leaf. I can't find what I did with the cordless phone's handset, so I can't answer. I pass out again.
Three days later, the hangover dissipated enough for me to walk. Thanks to Jaz and Leaf for calling, although I didn't answer, and to Kev for calling the night before while I was out, so I didn't talk to him either. Try again, folks. I promise to be civil, provided I can find the damned phone.
Dave
Bonehead for hire