Yeah.

So MixedSignalGirl got married yesterday.

That is all.

Well, fuck.

UPDATE: Never mind.

You ever find yourself at an airport with some time to kill, so you just sit around watching people?

Yeah, me too.

You ever see a guy in purple parachute-pants, a yellow wife-beater shirt, and the name "Adrian" tattooed on his arm, and say to yourself, "Self, there goes the gayest guy on Earth?"

Yeah, me too.

Then did you ever turn your head at a squishy/slurpy sound, and see a guy walking down through the airport with four dicks in his mouth? And then did you say to yourself, "Self, you were totally wrong before. That's the gayest guy on Earth, right there."

Yeah, me too.

---

Anyway, I'm back home now.

This sucks.

I don't want to go. But I also know that, once I get about halfway there, I'll start to get excited.

And then I'll probably have some fucking fun or something. It'll be like I'm being unfaithful to my regular life, seeing another life behind its back. And then I'll feel guilty about it.

Anyway, I guess I'm leaving now. Gotta stop and get some cash before I go to the airport.

I'll try to update this thing while I'm gone.

This sucks. I don't want to go. Alone.

I think it's cute that she falls asleep.

Tomorrow, I have to go to Atlanta.

I don't want to go.

They're making me.

Also, HatGirl is lucky.

I was up to Saturday night with these ramblings, and then I stopped. I don't know why I stopped. Because, after all, absolutely nothing happened Saturday night. I myself stayed home and made gift baskets for orphans all night long.

If you think that anything happened Saturday night, then you're clearly smoking crack and you should seek professional help.

---

So then Sunday I ended up going to Don Pablo's for dinner. I got to see NotHideousGirl for the first time in a million years, and I got to eat yummy food. So there.

Then I went across the street to Hooters and had some Newcastles (10008) and talked to this one dude I went to school with.

You may notice that I passed 10,000 ounces of Newcastle. This doesn't count, though, because I was supposed to save that occasion for AlliDay. I screwed up, and it was only because AlliGirl is so nice that I was given a do-over.

---

Let's see, Monday night I had one of the new beers that I'd bought Saturday at Barley Island.

Barley Island Bourbon Barrel-Aged Oatmeal Stout

(bottle) Black with thin tan head. Mild aroma of bourbon. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor more intense and bourbony that the aroma had hinted. As an oatmeal stout, there isn't much flavor except for the bourbon. Pretty good, though gimmicky.

Then yesterday after work I had another new beer for me.

Victory Golden Monkey

(draft) Pours clear and golden with a large long-lasting head. Nice aroma of apple peels and malts. Smooth and creamy mouthfeel. Flavor more malty than most tripels, maybe some caramel in there that coats the mouth. Quite damn good.

---

And then today, for AlliDay, I had my official 10,000th ounce of Newcastle (10028). There was a big party with balloons and dancing girls. It was fantastic.

Okay, what really happened was that AlliGirl bought my beer for me and gave me a hug. Still pretty damn cool, though.

---

The dude I talked to Sunday reminded me that my high school reunion is approaching in less than three weeks. I guess I don't care. I had originally planned to go, but I don't want to go by myself.

So, basically, waaaaah!

---

Tomorrow I go to Atlanta. It might be fun, but I doubt that I'll find myself in Atlanta, either.

I feel pretty good about myself tonight.

Weird, I know.

At first I thought that I might be having a stroke, but nope, it's actual satisfaction that I'm feeling. Towards myself of all people.

I was actually useful to someone who's very important to me. And I was actually appreciated.

Wow.

Of all of the mysteries that have plagued mankind since the beginning of time, there's never been one as vexing as this:

How much money will a Rich O's growler hold, when filled to the top with random coins?

One hundred ninety-six dollars and seventy-four cents, that's how much.

Next up, I'll cure cancer.

Now, where was I?

Oh yeah, at the stupid depressing park.

I'd gone there, as I'd gone to Polly's Freeze earlier, looking for myself.

I wasn't at either place. I remember running into myself once a long time ago. At Rich O's of all places. That was nice, but that was also the last time.

Anyway, by the time I'd returned home from the floodwall park, it was clear to me that there was a 0% chance that anything good would happen Friday night. Understandable, but of course disappointing. Because of this, I saw no reason to bother leaving my house at all. So that's precisely what I didn't do at all. Instead, I sat on my swing and I glared at my phone and I had three yummy bottles of Delirium Nocturnum (157), and that was it.

Then by Saturday at around noon, I'd once again gleaned that there was a 0% chance of anything good happening. Still understandable, still disappointing. But whereas on Friday that 0% had caused me to lose all motivation, on Saturday I couldn't run out the door and jump into my truck fast enough.

Luckily, I always carry a spare pair of pants in my truck, for times such as that. When I don't want to waste time putting on pants before I leave my house.

What I did, and this really was a spur of the moment decision, was I drove up to Noblesville, Indiana. To the Barley Island brewpub, specifically. Just something to do, really. I might just as well have picked Oaken Barrel, as it's slightly closer to home, but I had Barley Island on my mind because LaptopGirl had been raving about their Barfly IPA.

The drive up took a couple of hours. It was uneventful, though I felt bad because I kept getting emails but I was driving and couldn't type my responses very well. I managed to survive the drive* though. I even managed to respond to some of the emails, when the traffic and the rain let up enough.

The first thing I noticed, upon entering the brewpub, was that it was really dark. Like being inside a cave at midnight with my eyes closed and a bag over my head. But then my eyes started to adjust, and I was able to grope and stumble my way, around a bunch of empty tables and up an unfortunately-placed step, to the bar area.

I only took one picture, and it's a pretty crappy picture, even by my standards.

The first thing I did, after seating myself, was order a trio of small samples, of the three available draft selections that I hadn't had before.

Barley Island Sheet Metal Blonde

(draft) Color of hazy grapefruit juice. Light citrus aroma. Very light citrus flavor, with a bit of sourness, like grapefruit juice. Good, not great.

Barley Island Blind Tiger Pale Ale

(draft) Clear light brown. No detectable aroma or flavor. There was a slightly bitter hoppy finish, but not enough to be completely disgusting. A waste of my time.

Barley Island Barfly IPA

(draft) The color of clear weak tea. Light aroma of floral hops. Medium mouthfeel. Flavor decent but mild. The slightly bitter finish went away after a few sips. Maybe a good session beer.

I went ahead and ordered a full glass of the Barfly (20), and enjoyed that with my yummy burger and fries. I traded a bunch more emails with LaptopGirl, and a few with RockGirl.

I relaxed fairly well I suppose, but I could already tell that I wouldn't be staying. I guess I'd been hoping to find myself, up there away from all of the distractions of home. But I wasn't there, either. I'm still a slippery bastard I guess.

So next I had a Dirty Helen (400), which is one of my favorite brown ales. And then I had something I wasn't expecting. The place had a couple of guest beers available, and one of those guest beers was an all-time favorite of mine. So my last beer was an incredibly yummy Two Brothers Domaine DuPage French Style Country Ale (310).

Before I left, I bought a couple of bottles to have at home sometime. I also picked up a growler of the Barfly for LaptopGirl.

The drive home was uneventful.

* - Poet and don't know it.

Then, after I visited the creepy zombie clubhouse, I continued the short distance down the road to the park.

I'm pretty sure that the park has a name, but I can't remember what that name is. Probably named after some dipshit with money.

Back when I was a teenager, right after the last ice age, I'd come down to the floodwall fairly often. Note that it was the floodwall then, not a park. At least once every weekend we'd go down there. Lots of kids my age went down there. We'd shoot the shit. Drink our illegally-obtained beer, smoke cigarettes like chimneys. Make out, have sex sometimes. We were kids - we did kid stuff.

But then, shortly after I left home to join the Air Force, a lot of crap happened down at the floodwall.

Some assholes decided to make it into a park.

And not only that, they decided to make it into the worst park ever.

It closes at dusk now. Before, the fun didn't even start until hours later. Now, I think they're allowed to shoot you if you go there after dark.

They constructed all this new shit. Seating and a bandstand and shit like that. Before, it was just a bunch of concrete pillars you could climb on.

Anyway, here are some pictures I took.

This is the Sherman Minton Bridge. It's how I-64 connects Indiana and Kentucky. Everyone takes pictures of this bridge, when they're down at the floodwall park. I think it's a rule or something. I drive across this bridge every day going to and coming from work.

Looking upriver, once can see another bridge. I think this is the K&I bridge, used for trains only. Though I think I've heard mumblings about maybe opening the old car lanes up to pedestrians and bicyclists. I have very dim memories of riding across that bridge with my parents when I was very young. I remember that you could see right through the road into the water, as the road surface consisted only of metal grating.

By far the most noticeable "improvement" they've made down here is this monstrosity.

Again, there used to be nothing here but pillars you could climb on. It was a gazillion times better then.

At the very top of the earthen floodwall, there's a platform thingy. I climbed to the top and took this next picture.

Dedicated stalkers will, of course, recognize my truck parked way down there on the road.

The top of the floodwall used to be reserved for starry-eyed couples. Now they've gone and made it accessible for everyone.

But hey, it's not all bad I guess. That playground looks kinda fun.

---

The whole thing was just very depressing to me. Yet another part of my adolescence that's gone for good.

There was an old man. He was sitting on a bench near where I parked my truck, just sitting and watching the river flow by.

I imagined him as a future version of myself. Just sitting and watching the water pass him by, and remembering everything else that had passed him by over the years.

The old man glared at me when I parked my truck, for intruding into his world like that. I think he just wanted to be left alone, so that's what I did.

When I climbed to the top of the platform thingy, he was gone. Maybe he jumped into the river, or maybe one of his girlfriends came and picked him up. I'll never know. Either way, I'll never see that old man again, nor he I. And that makes me sad. I bet it'd be cool to have a beer with him.