(Today I went and found myself a mall and bought myself a power adapter, so I'm free to type away. But, since I'm typing into this tiny laptop keyboard, I cannot be held responsible for any typos. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.)

People that don't know me very well, people that perhaps only know my online persona, they might think that they know why I chose Cleveland for this trip. "It's the baseball," they might say. Or maybe, "It's gotta be the lake and the other scenery."

Wrong and wrong.

Other people might guess that I picked this city because of the Great Lakes Science Center or other cultural crap.

Again, wrong.

All of that shit did play a part in my decision, but the real reason, and the only reason that could have stood on its own merit - is the Great Lakes Brewery.

I took a cab to the place, though as it turned out, it was probably within walking distance. I took a few notes which I will now transcribe:

Patio area outside, packed as fuck. Not a good sign. The bar area inside, also packed. But wait! There's another section upstairs! Also packed. Shit. But wait again! There's yet another area down in the basement! Fuck, it's packed too, but I manage to cram myself in next to a guy that looks like ExBartender from Rich O's.

I figured that, as long as I was there, I'd have some beer.

Great Lakes Market Street Wheat (16)

(draft) Almost overpowering aroma. Flavor was good, but much more subdued than the aroma had hinted. The head disappeared almost immediately. Zero fizz.

Great Lakes Holy Moses White Ale (16)

(draft) Smells and tastes more like a German than a Belgian wheat. As a German, it's quite good. As a Belgian, it's a little musty.

Great Lakes Elliot Ness (6)

(draft) No aroma to speak of. the taste and the mouthfeel reminded me of a dopplebock more than anything else. Not worth a full glass.

Great Lakes Edmund Fitzgerald Porter (64)

(draft) I've had this before, but I don't remember what I wrote about it. Right now I want to write "yummy and roasty."

The main thing about the place, aside from the beer of course, is that it's completely non-smoking. I think that the main effect that this kind of policy has on me (aside from the occasional urge to murder everyone) is that I drink very quickly. I mean, I had all of the beers listed above in one hour. Somebody should do a study on this type of thing. Instead of drink, drag, drink, drag - it was drink, drink, drink, drink.

So by 8:30 or so, I was ready to leave. I was also half-shitfaced. I'd been talking to the bartender and she'd recommended this Bier Markt place around the corner. "They allow smoking," she said, "and they specialize in Belgian beers." Once my erection subsided I bought a souvenir t-shirt and walked out to find my Mecca.

I got to Cleveland right on schedule, a little bit before 4:00. Right at my exit was Jacobs Field, home of the Indians.

This was also the point where MapQuest let me down. I had to drive around for quite a while before I found my hotel, and I had to drive around even longer before I found the parking garage.

I'd been pretty tired, and a little hung-over, during the drive up. But my arrival gave me some new energy. I was quite suddenly alert and starving. So I threw my shit into my room and I went to find the local Hard Rock. I already knew that it was close because of my pre-trip research. It turns out that it was inside a mall called The Tower Mall or some such. Here's a shitty picture I took inside the Hard Rock:

Oh yeah, here's one of he inside of the mall:

After I'd had a mushroom cheeseburger and fries, and a souvenier glass full of Guinness, I bought myself a t-shirt and then went back to the hotel.

Here are some more pics I took:

Because of the laptop power situation, I'm going to try writing these entries out on paper first. This will hopefully speed up the process of typing them out later.

Right now, for example, I'm writing about Saturday, but it's actually Sunday night. I'm writing about driving to Cleveland, but I'm actually sitting at Rock Bottom Brewery having a Walleye Wheat.

The drive up yesterday was very long. It was also very boring for the most part. There was really only one bit of interest.

When I was almost to Cincy, I heard tires squealing behind me. I quickly looked into the rear-view mirror, mainly to see if I was about to be rear-ended. Well, I wasn't, but there were some people in a white Taurus behind me who were having a bad day. As near as I can tell, they'd attempted to change lanes. Problem was, there was a semi in their blind spot. The squealing I'd heard had been caused by the ass end of the Taurus hitting the front of the truck, then of the truck pushing the Taurus sideways down the highway.

I didn't stop because I figured that the odds of the one being in that Taurus were pretty slim.

The rest of the drive was boring.

I always manage to forget something every time I go on a trip.

This time the thing that I forgot was the A/C power adapter for my laptop.

Right now, my laptop tells me it's got 3 hours and 36 minutes of battery life left.

I've got to try to stretch that out until Tuesday morning when I leave Cleveland.

I should be able to do it, but it will be tough. I won't be able to keep up with my favorites like I'm used to doing.

Anyway, I'm having fun so far, and I'll probably post something tomorrow.

On Friday night, one person was stupid, and another person was mean.

Yet another person, I'm convinced, continued to avoid me. Not that I blame her.

It's like there was a secret meeting wherein these people all got together and worked out the best way to give me a disappointing and shitty night.

Also, I had three Rogue Chocolate Stouts (696).

Also, I went to White Castle.

And now I'm going to Cleveland.

I had the strangest dream.

I hope I can remember it later, when I have more time to write.

But not now, because now I've got to get ready for work.

plant
n.

4. A person or thing put into place in order to mislead or function secretly, especially:
   a. A person placed in a group or situation to influence behavior.
   b. A person stationed in a given location as a spy or observer.
   c. A person who will pretend to be an ally to solicit incriminating evidence.

Phone rang a couple of hours ago, waking me from a sound sleep.

The screen said Private Number but since it's my cell phone, and work pays for it, plus you never know, I answered it.

Some chick. Wrong number.

It was quite exciting for a couple of seconds, though.

My life had purpose, for a couple of seconds.