I was asked a question today.

Sort of. Maybe. Not really though. It was more like the question was asked, and I just happened to be there, and I was reminded of the times I've asked myself this question. Maybe. Maybe I was asked the question and everyone else just happened to be there.

I used to think I that knew the answer to the question. I guess I still do know the answer, but - what was the question again?

Was the question what I think, or what I want to think, or what I feel like I should think, or what the questioner wants me to think?

I'm probably over-thinking this. I do that a lot. I think.

So what's my answer?

Depends on the question.

I think my answer is wrong anyway. Maybe.

Throughout history, there have been some pretty good ideas:

• Sex


• Beer


• Reese's Peanut Butter Cups


• Porn Lesbians


• Those spinny things on car wheels that keep spinning even when the car has stopped

And probably some other stuff too. But I'm not going to list them because every idea that's ever been pales, absolutely pales, before the sheer awesomeness of this idea that this lady at work had to raise funds for this charity thingy we always do.

For the month of November, we can buy, for a mere $1.00 per day, the right to lose our stupid ties and our even stupider dry-clean-only pants. For a mere $1.00 per day, we can wear casual clothes to work.

But wait! It gets even better!

For the additional paltry sum of $15.00, we can wear actual denim to work on each Friday during the month!

We can actually be comfortable, and actually look good, at work of all places!

I may just piss myself.

Yesterday, after I got home, I went ahead and destoyed the feng shui in my bedroom.

Here's the before:

Here's the after:

Aside from the obvious consolidation of some laundry piles, the most noticeable change is the removal of the bed from the "correct" position on the wall opposite the door. Now it's on the wall next to the door so all of the harmony of the room is destroyed.

I didn't say this would be an interesting entry.

At one point under the bridge, there was this little "creek" that had to be crossed by hopping/walking across some strategically-placed rocks.

There was this kid, maybe fifteen or so, who would step onto the first rock, causing it to wobble, then he would get scared and jump back to dry land.

After watching this four or five times I told the kid to get out of my way and let an old man with a broken toe show him how it's done.

After that first wobbly rock everything else was steady, and I made it across easily.

The kid was still scared, still standing there afraid of the six-inch deep water. So I did what had to be done. I called him a pussy and left him in my wake.

I always wanted us to go, but she kept putting it off. "One of these days," she'd always say. She was never much of an outdoorsy person.

Well, today I realized that there was no point in waiting for that magical day any longer. We weren't going to be going anywhere anymore.

So I went to the damn place by myself.

Going with a broken toe? Maybe not so brilliant. But I had a fucking point to make.

Since I'd never been there before, I just parked at the first parking lot I saw. How was I supposed to know that there was a real visitor area just down the road? Anyway, here's the view from where I parked.

For some reason when I got here I had to pee.

Looking up at the old bridge. I think they're talking about making this a pedestrian walkway, but it may be a completly different bridge for all I know.

My cellphone camera couldn't handle the contrast apparently.

I was surprised, for some reason, to see sand on the river's bank.

Waaaay over there is Kentucky.

At one point I found that I'd left the beaten path, so I beat my own.

These rocks were pretty cool. I wish my toe had allowed pain-free jumping around on them.

Just a bunch of logs that the river has deposited over the years.

The tree was pretty much growing out of solid rock.

A view back toward the bridge from the real visitor center.

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After I left the park, I went over to The Pub and had a Newcastle (1704) and then a Young's Double Chocolate Stout (243) with my lunch.

That Young's is a beautiful beer in draft form. Yummy.

Wait for something long enough, and eventually it just might happen.

Just wanted to say that.

I ended up getting to Rich O's about an hour earlier than I wanted to last night. RealTrainGirl called and made it sound like they were suffering greatly without my presence, so I dropped my grandiose Red Lobster plans and settled for Arby's, then got to Rich O's just after 8:00.

I don't know what the big deal was about getting me there so damn quickly. RealTrainGirl and GreenBeerDude were sitting at the island with about 8 million other people. I said hello and then sat at the bar and talked to a beautiful girl that I hadn't seen in months. Once she went back to join her group I talked with BamaCouple for a bit. My first beer was this:

Founders Black Rye (12)

(bottle) You know, I wasn't really expecting to like this. Most ryes are just too strange for me. But this one was actually pretty decent. There was nothing notable about it though, so I probably won't bother to have it again.

So RealTrainGirl started giving me shit because I hadn't squeezed myself in with the 8 million people at the island. Man I really felt like I was being pulled in three different directions. BamaCouple were trying to talk to me. The beautiful girl had asked me to join her group in the living room area. RealTrainGirl was trying to get me to move to the island.

Actually, I felt like leaving. The place was just too damn demanding. I hadn't even been there five minutes and I was already exhausted. Plus my toe was hurting.

Anyway, what I ended up doing, once the 8 million people had dispersed, was go sit at the island and try to fit into the conversations they were having while at the same time sneaking looks at the living room area. It was too crowded over there as well. Not really, but I was feeling pretty claustrophobic.

My next beer was a Young's Double Chocolate Stout (223).

My friends at the island were carrying on and on about some gay bar that they wanted to go to. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay at Rich O's and look at the beautiful girl some more. So, to make a long story short, RealTrainGirl pissed me off my harping about it for an hour until a place finally opened up in the living room area so I moved over there away from the nagging and bitching and gay jokes. I can be pretty stubborn at times. Or maybe all the time.

Another thing about last night - there were several very hot girls at Rich O's - not just the ones I've already mentioned. There's this Russian dude that plays "music" out front sometimes. He was there last night, and I might have to give him some of the credit for the unusually feminine crowd. Way to go, RussianDude!

So, I was sitting on the throne. The beautiful girl was next to me but on the sofa, and SpikeBoy was next to me but on the loveseat. I tried to maintain a nice balance between the two, not so much because I gave a shit about SpikeBoy's feelings (he was busily trying to hit on this chick at the kiddie table) but because the beautiful girl had her boyfriend sitting right there and so I didn't want my fascination to be too obvious.

For my next beer, I went with something new again. Something that CoffeeDude had recommended:

Sinebrychoff Koff Porter (12)

(bottle) Highly recommended to me by a coffee lover, so I was expecting coffee flavor in the beer. This instead has a good chocolate base to the flavor. A little extra bite at the end, because of the 7.2 ABV, that I could have done without. Good though.

At one point, the place cleared out. I mean cleared out. It was like a fire drill or something. Maybe SpikeBoy farted, I thought. Or maybe WomanRepellant had come in. Nope, everybody just felt the urge to leave at the same time.

So SpikeBoy and I were joined by CoffeeDude (wearing a stupid Halloween hat) and that was the end of the night's excitement. I did have a half-glass of Ettaler Kloster Dunkel (30) at the end though. Then I got some White Castles and came home.

Yes, you.

It was wonderful to finally see you again.

It would have been even more wonderful if I'd actually been able to talk to you without you-know-who hanging on and scrutinizing every word we said to each other.

Maybe next time it'll be just the two of us?

I'd like that.

A lot.

First of all, before I could do anything last night, I had to do something about my toe situation.

After briefly thinking about wearing sandals, and briefly thinking about cutting the siding off an old pair of sneakers, and very briefly thinking about just staying home, what I ended up doing was this:

I took my oldest pair of sneakers and hacked away at the insides of the right shoe with a pair of sharp scissors to remove the padding around where my pinkie toe would be. I then unwrapped said pinkie toe and rewrapped it with about one-fourth the amount of tape that had been there.

After all that, my foot actually fit in the shoe, and while it was a little painful, I felt I was ready to take on the world. Or at least Rich O's.

I got there a little before 9:00 and sat at the bar. I've written before I think about sitting at the bar. I have to be in a certain mood to be able to do it comfortably. Last night I was in one of those moods, so I just sat and let my imagination take me back to happier times.

All of the beers I had last night were new to me. This was the first one:

Ettaler Kloster Dunkel (20)

(draft) Not what I was expecting, but a pleasant surprise instead. The main flavor I got was caramel, but there was really an awful lot of complexity behind that. Everything was subdued, but noticeable. Pretty good.

The crowd, when I bothered to turn around and check it out, consisted of mostly PBDs. A couple people that I know fairly well were scattered around and among people that I don't care to know at all.

My next beer was this:

De Dolle Stille Nacht (Silent Night) (12)

(bottle) Poured an orange/red color, without the massive head I usually find in De Dolle beers. Aroma much more massive and much more complex than their other offerings. Along with the standard Belgian apple tones, I also got what I'll call cherries and apricots. Did not taste like it had 12% alcohol in it.

So I stayed put until only CoffeeDude was left in the living room area. I grabbed my shit and moved over to the sofa. CoffeeDude was in a nosey mood apparently so I spent most of the night talking about my newly-regained sanity and shit like that.

My third beer was this:

Anchor Porter (12)

(bottle) Didn't get much of a head with this one. Strong roasted malt aroma. Flavor was biased a little more towards coffee than chocolate, but malty sweetness was the primary flavor. Pretty good, but not great.

And that was it. I came home a little proud of myself for not getting depressed.

Here's a fun little experiment that you can do at home.

What you'll need:

• Two people besides yourself


• A shovel


• Some rope

Now take the shovel and whack one of the people in the head with it.

Done? Okay.

Now, spend some time talking to the person that you didn't hit with the shovel. Try to explain to him just how much it hurts to be whacked in the head. Use the unconscious body of the whacking victim as a visual aid perhaps. Be sure to point out all the blood. Explain how shocking, how intense the pain is. Talk about how pissed off being whacked makes you, and how sad and betrayed you feel.

Note that your non-victim will try to understand the kind of pain that you're talking about, but for the most part he's just taking your word for it. A part of him probably thinks you're exaggerating a little. He'll get it, but only at the most basic level. He cannot fully understand, because he hasn't gone through it. His imagination can only take him so far.

Now wait for your whacking victim to regain consciousness. You may want to tie him up first, for your own protection, so use the rope. You remembered the rope, right?

Once the whackee is awake, talk to him about the pain and the sadness and the feeling of betrayal.

Note that you hardly have to say a word. He simply understands, because he's experienced it all. He knows all about the pain, the betrayal, the need for revenge, the desire to curl up and die, or at least heal a little. He knows it because he's living it.

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I wonder, if Annie Sullivan hadn't been nearly blind as a child - would she have been able to understand Helen Keller's disabilities enough to help her the way she did? Or would she have simply pitied her?