It was tough to leave you this morning. You looked so cozy and warm, that all I could think about was nuzzling up next to you and falling back asleep. It's breaking my heart, but I'll be forced to count the minutes--nay, seconds--until I can see you again tonight, but I'll live--for you.

Plus, my kitchen floor is filthy, and the buckets in which you'll be residing for the next two weeks are cold and uninviting.

How does one go about professing his love to his homebrew? My heart weighs heavy with that decision right now.

So, uh, yeah, I currently have 4 different beers--5 gallons each--bub, bub, bubbling away in my apartment. 20 gallons of malty, hoppy goodness, just waiting for me to turn it to pee. The epitome of an unselfish lover. To say that I've been taken over by this "hobby" is an understatement. If I were the type of person to use the phrase "it consumes me", I'd say that right now. But, I'm not, so I won't.

In fact, I consume it. Nyuck nyuck.

(Oh god, I'm so unfunny and forced sometimes that it's surprising I don't get less site traffic, even though that's almost an impossibility.)

Next on the plan is to build a kegerator out of a chest freezer, 3 packs of Dubble Bubble, and with the help of a miniature sherpa named Yerba. Yerba the sherpa. Hey, I didn't name him. Since I've started making my own beer, I've ordered the Department of the Treasury to reallocate money from the "Bar Fund", to the "Homebrew Fund", and while I know you're saying; Hey, Chad, you're still spending all that money on alcohol! While that is technically the truth(pffft, truth), the key distinction is that I'm not spending all that extra money on tips to bubbly, overtly flirtatious bartenders(that's just the dudes!) and an outrageous alcohol tax.

So, that's a plus for me in the win column of life, I guess. Thus ends my update on beer.

Oh, wait, one more thing! I just learned yesterday that there's a bar in Chicago, on Hoyne Ave N, called The Map Room. If you don't understand why I'm so fucking freaked out right now, then you don't know me well enough. Personally, just between you and me here, folks, if I thought my car would've made it down to Chicago without bursting into flames or losing an entire axel, I would've driven down there last night so I could be there by this morn at 6:30am.

It's all to beautiful too be mere coincidence.

Last weekend Molly and I went to the North Shore (of Minnesota, not Oahu, unfortunately) to experience some pretty, pretty dying leaves. Mother Nature obviously didn't get the memo that enjoying the scenery requires an unobstructed view , because when we peaked the hill overlooking Duluth, we were met with a thick blanket of fog. That sadistic bitch.

That made it tough to see anything from the many scenic overlooks on the drive. Instead, I just closed my eyes and pretended I was staring over beautifully massive Lake Superior, while Molly closed her and made-believe that I was Emil Hirsch.

Whatever.

Even with the damp weather, I was determined to go hiking. Sunday was, by far, the best day for hiking, but it wasn't pouring on Saturday when we arrived at the resort, so of course we donned the clothes that absorbed the most moisture, and started the short hike to Poplar Falls.


The picture doesn't really do justice to the massive amounts of water going over the falls, nor does it detail the number of feet that it actually dropped, but suffice it to say, had Molly pushed me in like I'm sure she wanted to, the force of the water would've pushed me to the UP, and I would've screamed "Weeeee! Here I come, Michigan!" Either that or I would've hit my head on a rock and drowned before I hit calmer waters. It was 50/50.


Me: Hi, I'm the Smug Hiker! Her: Tell me when you're going to take...[click]



What does this picture say about me? I think I'm Ansel-fucking-Adams. You can never have too much black and white photography.

Things I learned this weekend--

--Baby salamanders love the comfort of a warm hotel room just as much as we do. I tried to take a photograph of the little bugger, but I was drunk, and have a tough enough time operating cameras when I'm sober. And I suck at photography.

--Even if the hotel room has a whirlpool bathtub doesn't mean that a man should take a bath in it . Things float in a completely unnatural and wholly unattractive way. No pictures, you're just going to have to trust me on this one.

--Large amounts of rainfall means many, many waterfalls due to the terrain, and waterfalls are pretty. That is, until they're flowing over the road and we don't notice until we should've slowed down 15 seconds ago. And there is nothing more embarrassing than telling people you were blindsided by a waterfall.