Before I get started, it came to my attention via an ad for a T-shirt, that the proper spelling for what Deb at the Snake Pit did not call me on July 6th at breakfast is Cutie Patootie. And, by the way, if you care to look, this term of endearment has earned a spot in urbandictionary.com. Okay. That was then. This is now:
1. Byrdman and I decided we'd like one more blowout at Crafted. We bellied up to the bar and I thoroughly enjoyed a pint of refreshing Firestone Walker Pivo Pils and my first ever draft pint of Great Divide's divine Colette (I'd only had bottles before). Then Byrdman and I split a bottle of Goose Island's sublime Sofie and split a bottle of Deschute's Black Butte Porter XXIV, a chocolaty, molasses-y, slightly fruity bourbon barrel aged gift from heaven.
2. Byrdman and I were about halfway through our Crafted blowout when our long time buddy and power hitting outfielder Starr Kelso popped in, able to take a break from helping injured workers in their fight to be properly compensated by on the job injuries. He informed us he likes to drink because alcohol kills brain cells, but only the weak ones. It's survival of the fittest. I called it cerebral Darwinism. We all got a kick out that. Starr brought a thick pile of Xeroxed clippings from the Kellogg Evening News telling stories of the best baseball team ever to play in the Silver Valley, the 1969 American Legion squad. I wasn't on that team. I was one year too young. But I watched them a lot and loved them. An already premiere Crafted blowout suddenly became epic with Starr's arrival. I look forward to renewing this session when I return to Kellogg in the winter.
3. Before the Crafted blowout, I picked up a wig for Mom at Tamara's wig shop and, as always, had a great visit with her and very much appreciated her concern for my mother's well-being and her kind words about Mom. Tamara is one great woman. Then I popped into the Paul Bunyan for a juicy cheeseburger and scrumptious french fries, good preparation for a session at Crafted.