Come on, Irene!

Several weeks ago, Hurricane Irene descended on the East Coast and gave everyone quite the scare. And when I say, "quite the scare", I'm politely saying, "lost their shit", and when I say "everyone", I'm referring to only those on TV or in elected office. Everyone else just cancelled their plans for the weekend, and made sure they had the numbers of a couple solid delivery places on hand. (I would like to take a moment to thank all the Chinese and Latino immigrants that delivered that weekend. Thanks for steppin' up, fellas. It is for that reason I support immigration. "Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free", just don't forget to cover them in plastic, stick pizza boxes in their hands, and tell them my address.)

But let's not totally blame the news. People did allow themselves to get stirred up about the storm. I, in fact, fled NYC for Philadelphia, where I figured I'd hold up with The Lady for the weekend as the storm passed. And because of all the doomy predictions, I made sure to grab a couple of special brews from my secret stash that I could enjoy in the event things got ugly. One brew I made sure to bring was Founder's Kentucky Breakfast Stout, a bourbon barrel aged stout that is quite sought after when it is released each winter. I had been planning on saving my bottle for a special occasion, and what could be more special then drinking this dark brew IN THE EYE OF A STORM!

Now as we all know, the hurricane was less than awesome. Things got a little wet and windy around Philly and NYC, but that was about it. One might say that such a mediocre rain storm is hardly an occasion to crack something as rich, dark, and life affirming as a Kentucky Breakfast stout, and right as I put bottle opener to bottle, I considered this very dilemma. Was I wasting this brew on a non-situation? But to take a lesson from the very not beer centric movie Sideways, the special occasion is when you open the bottle. So looking around myself, I realized that getting cozy with my Lady, cooking some dinner together, and generally setting about in the finest of fashions was just as special as having our asses handed to us by mother nature. I said, "screw it", decanted my dark brew into a cactus glass (the Lady's apartment is wanting for proper beer glasses), and cozy'd the-hell-to-the-fuck-up with my Lady as we prepared to weather together. Special stuff.

After the storm, a bunch of folks were complaining about how the storm was a "let down". To that, I just got to say, "hold it right there, bro". We were lucky. We didn't die, and I got cozy. Would you have preferred a big deadly storm? A twister perhaps? How would you have felt if Bill Paxton and his boys had descended on your home or the home of a loved one, ate all your chow, then started shouting about F-5's? And the whole time, Paxton had a chip on his shoulder because he was getting his balls busted by someone who was in it for the money, not the science? Then after that ordeal, you still get taken by the twister. Shit, brah. I'll take the beer in the cactus glass.

-Erich