Back from the dead? No Schlitz?

Okay, okay, I get it. Bad joke. Anyhoo...rumors over the last year or so have trumpeted the return of the original Schlitz formula. Not the once humorous malt-likka-bulls but plain, old fashioned beer. This relic of American brewing effectively died out in the 1970's so the authors really have no clue what to expect once it makes more than a regional impact(as of today's post, the new/old Schlitz is only being sold in select cities) but along with the long dormant and now resurgent, beloved Lowenbrau, I do plan on trying it for shits and giggles. Hopefully Pabst's designs on bringing Schlitz back to the modern drinker will not disappoint.

Given the disgraceful state of American beermaking...what with traditional powers being sold to overseas interests, it is fine to see some patriotism returning to the macrobrew game. Apparently the recent incarnation of Schlitz was the result of interviewing old brewers and employees of the original brewery, although this writer is firmly convinced it also involved bribes, animal husbandry, and sorcery.

By the way, the model in the advert there looks somewhat like Scarlett...provided that the reader buys into the evident farce that she is pouring beer, rather than guzzling it down her drinkhole.

A great swell of pity

Lately, I have had a few conversations with Tag and Mackey about finding a beer that is your number one...you know, the single beer you could take with you anywhere you go and drink anytime. Think of the tired example of being marooned...what one person, one book, etc would you want?

For the three of us, it happens to be IPA. Not just any IPA, but the one that currently sits in Mackey's well-explored kegerator.

How many of you see people in their prime adult life slide into a bar where fine drafts are available, kitschy bottled beers, superbeers, barley wines or somesuch only to watch said adults lamely get a Bud Light or Miller Lite? Awful. I mean, I am not talking about college kids or recent grads that are still trying to find their niche in the beerswilling world, but job or career holding assholes that simply haven't branched out from the tired and blue rather than tried and true.

When I was in my early 20's if you wanted anything other than macrobrew American lagers or pilsners, you pretty much had to get a Killians or a Sam. Slowly, you could see Shiners make their way into rotation. It's been a slow ride to get to my beloved IPA, but definitely worth the wait. Plenty of those strong assed bastards left to crush. Along the way I've lived the High Life, knocked back Pabst Blue Ribbon, and recently welcomed back Lowenbrau into the fold. Not bad, but compared to IPA, or even an Alt or Brown Ale there is no choice. Thousand times out of a thousand it will be microbrewed booze.

His lordship counts himself fortunate to have had this catharsis relatively early on...what a pisser it would be to discover "the beer of one's life" with a mere handful of years left. Very Hobbesian. In fact...nasty, brutish, and short seems an apt description for most macrobrewed sheisse.

Monday Hangover

Well another weekend gone by means another Monday Hangover, and this was a good one. As you have already seen we paid a visit to Marie’s for what I’d like to call Olde Timey Fun. We had a grande time and I didn’t even mind the reunion with some olde friends: PBR tallboys. Usually I’d scoff at that shitty frat beer but “When in Rome you do as the fucking Romans do” or something like that. This was only the first half of the night, and the only half I remember, so I’ll share my favorite aspect of the bar and move on. The Elvis décor really sets the atmosphere at Marie’s:

So we roll out the door and head to the next bar. The first thing we do upon arrival is order shots. Then another round of shots. And that is all I remember, aside from the dirty look from the bartender as he realized I am falling-down-drunk. Well not exactly at this point but soon after, as I was informed on Saturday that I had indeed fallen down. Twice. At the bar. In front of everybody. Somehow I made it home – and no, I didn’t drive, so fuck off.

Normally I wouldn’t return to the very bar I was cut-off from the previous night. But since I blacked out and had no idea I’d fallen down I was unaware of my transgressions. So for the next hour or so the bar staff had the unexpected joy of ripping me to shreds for being such an idiotic drunk the night before. I deserved it, but denied any accountability and eased into some modest beer drinking the rest of the night. That is until our group (Lord von Lord, King Randall The Insufferable, Tag B, and others) were set upon by the youth faction at our bar talking shit. Then he stepped in it by challenging us to a drinking contest. We’ll get into this more when the time is right, but for now we’re all licking our chops waiting for the opportunity to drink these pussies under the table. I envision it something like this:
But it will more likely be something like this:

Sunday was mild for the second week in a row. Early evening drinks at Tags. Then went out for just a couple more to send LVL on his way to Hawaii, which I’m sure we’ll all have to hear about over and over after he returns. Of course KRTI was there so we had to do some shots, Jager this time. Then again. You see how this goes…