I've had a bottle of Alaskan Smoked Porter in my fridge since Tuesday afternoon. I'm waiting for a night when I don't have to get up early. It's definitely a late-night beer.
Good thing I'm so close to the ocean.
There are 70-mph wind gusts here tonight.
My eyes tell you everything you need to know. But it's not enough for you to look. You also have to see. I wish you could see. I wish you would let yourself see.
(draft) Slightly hazy amber. Decent whitish head. Citrusy hoppy aroma. Hoppy flavor, but the finish is smooth. It's actually not too bad.
Out of sight, out of mind. This is my biggest fear now.
(draft) Hazy brown. White head that pulled a quick disappearing act. Mild aroma of roasted malts. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor surprisingly strong of roasted malts. A bit of a bitter hoppy finish. I disagree with this beer's classification, but not with its taste. Damn good.
A lot of people here look like somebody, but so far nobody is anybody.
I went out for a bit. Now I want to get back in my room, but the cleaning lady is there.
One of these times, she's going to say goodnight instead of simply
disappearing, and I'm going to die of a heart attack.
This one dude keeps scowling at me. I'd hate to get murdered my first night here.
The good thing is that people in this area know how to drive. The bad thing is that there are so many drivers that it doesn't matter how good they are.
HatGirl invited everyone on Earth, to my going-away party.
The problem with an official going-away party is that it means that I'm
officially going away, and I'm not ready to admit that yet.
Thinking about stupid timing again, and how much I hate it.
Accomplishing actual stuff today. Wonders never cease.
Bearno's for lunch. Keeping my fingers crossed about dinner.
Trying to get excited about Washington. It's not working.
At the casino, waiting for HatGirl. I'm excited!