walkies?

I couldn't resist the paw on the label.

To the street!  I need to pee!

Although spelled with a V, it sounds just like a B in Spain.  Relatively local (Segovia) ecological beer this is.  I expected something noticeably more sour than recent tastes.  It has a very pale, lemonade-y color and plenty of bubble.  It is an unfiltered beer, however, so the color is always a little cloudy.  The smell reminds me of cotton candy for some reason.  The beer is also mildly sweet, not sour at all.  The bitterness is also tightly under control.  I don't find the flavor disappointing at all; it's a nice relaxing drink for the end of the day.  A word of warning about letting it sit too long: as the bubbles dissipate and the liquid temperature goes up, the flavor weakens.

Stays pretty, though

the story from the restaurant

The worn-out sun sighs wearily while slowly descending to the horizon, "Another day lighting the world and not so much as a thank you.  How long has it been since anybody has worshipped me?"  The moon is already out, just barely visible against the still bluish sky.

"You're so unpredictable lately, it's a wonder you're surprised.  Playing hide-and-seek with the clouds one day, raging down at them the next.  If you were more stable, like I am -"

"You?  You never show the same face twice!  Every night a little bigger, a little smaller, in a different part of the sky.  Call that stable, do you?"

"I may have variations," replies the moon with dignity, "But I am still predictable.  I have a pattern.  You could set a clock by me, so to speak.  They have made calenders by me.  And better ones than those you've inspired, by the way."

"Oh fine, throw that in my face," huffs the sun, throwing off a few solar flares in frustration, "But you see what I mean about their ungratefulness?  You gave them the possibility of a balanced rhythm and they pushed it aside, dazzled by my brilliance.  I gave them warmth and stimuli - I gave them life.  They don't even acknowledge my contribution, except to complain about it.  They've been starting to think more and more of themselves for a long time now, and you'd think they thought they created everything."

"Well, there you have it, I think," sighs the moon, "Now they just worship themselves and everything external is just a backdrop.  They feel all the power of the universe within their own being and they think they know how to tap into it.  Venus blames the stars, you know.  They've turned to influence that sort of thinking on our little world."

The sun glowers, growing ever darker shades of red, "Well, when will some other influence be felt?  Hell, why not my influence?  After all, I'm light years closer than any one of those other cosmic farts."

"You know it isn't so simple.  The most logical of ideas just don't get any traction sometimes."

"I guess I'll have some time to think about it without being disturbed.  i don't know why, but this side of the planet annoys me the most.  I hardly have any ill-feeling for the other side, and they ignore me just as much these days."

The sun is just touching the horizon now, infusing the thin clouds with smoky oranges and brilliant pinks.  The moon has grown stronger, now giving off a firmer, more confident white than before.  "Well, you go on and have a rest.  I'll be here, reflecting your glory, reminding them down there of your existence."

"You don't have to exaggerate," grumbles the sun, lower with each passing moment.

"No exaggeration, friend, just the truth.  But only our truth.  You know how those things don't translate well to outside parties," and the moon is glowing brighter and brighter in the blacker and blacker sky, and the sun is sliding down the path that leads to the other side of the world and it disappears, leaving a strange peace behind.

just beachy

The Beer Garden has decided to liven up their bags.  These are quite summery I think.

And the beer inside should also be summery!  From Hawaii maybe?  The argument for the use of cans is on the side: easier to control temperature and protect from light, cans are lighter to transport than bottles, aluminum is more recycled (recyclable?) than glass.  OK, then.

Despite the name, the coconut does not make itself known immediately.  The beer is dark, like a good porter, a little bit reddish in sunlight.  It's very frothy at first, but soon settles down.  It smells earthy and emits only the barest notes of sweetness.  The taste does not disappoint.  It's pure porter at first, but then the coconut rises to smooth over the bitterness, making a pleasant mouthful.  The taste remains very subtle, which I think is a mark in its favor.  A strong coconut flavor would make it seem artificial, but that hint in the background is enough to be noticed and support the image of naturalness projected by the can.

Aloha!

Punkinhead Salazar

Nobody knew how Punkinhead got his nickname.  His head wasn't particularly round or orange; he had not even a passing resemblance to a large, smooth squash.  He was, however, a somewhat naïve and innocent child.  He had the typical, slightly overprotective parents, who did all they could to keep his life comfortable and keep him from too much stress.  Although he had no close friends, he also had no enemies and everybody he knew had a vaguely friendly feeling towards him.

On one pleasant spring day, Punkinhead went down to the pond at the city park to toss bread crumbs to the fish.  Some people liked to feed the ducks, but he preferred the fish.  They were quiet, graceful, quite the opposite of those awful birds.  The ducks were loud, aggressive, not nice at all.  Punkinhead had never liked the ducks.

That day he didn't see any ducks hanging around the pond.  Good.  Sometimes they barged in and stole the crumbs from the fish.  He walked up to the edge of the pond and looked expectantly at the water.  Usually the fish would appear when somebody walked up to the pond, knowing crumbs were forthcoming.  Strangely, there was nothing moving in the water that day.  Punkinhead walked slowly around the pond, keeping his eyes on the water, searching for any sign of fishy life.  All the way around, and nothing.  It was very strange and disconcerting.  Then he noticed that the water was different.  It had a kind of oily shimmer on top that he didn't remember from before.  Curious, he picked up a sturdy stick and poked it.  The covering on the water fell apart immediately and offered him no clues, so in frustration he thrashed the pond with the end of the stick.  Foam boiled up like magic. Punkinhead ceased his punishment of the waters in astonishment.  It occured to him in a flicker of sharp-mindedness that it might be dish soap that had been poured into the pond.  But why?  Who would do such a thing?  He looked around, burning with suspicion and outrage.  The fish, his fish had been poisoned, or were staying away from the surface, disgusted by the soap.  Was it an attack on them?  Or on him?  His innocence throbbed with the sting of assumed insult.  He circled the pond again, slowly, looking for clues like they did on TV.  Nothing.  He sighed and hung his head, but at the same time promised himself that he would return every day until the crime was solved.

As he was walking home, brooding, lost in contemplation of the crime against his fish, he passed a pair of young boys.  At first he didn't pay any real attention to them, but something made him stop and look back.  There was something odd about their behavior; they were looking around in that way that children have when they're trying to be furtive and sneaky, but instead makes it obvious that they're trying to put one over on everybody.  Suddenly they noticed him noticing them and one of them yelled, "What're you looking at, jerk-face?" and they ran off, leaving Punkinhead perplexed.  At first he turned back to his way home, but then desire flared up in his heart to know what secret great or terrible they might be hiding, and he followed them.  He had a feeling in his gut that they were up to something.  He thought he would just follow close behind them until they got where they were going, but then one of those strategic ideas entered his mind, like a gnat through a hole in a screen door.  He slowed down enough that they didn't feel the pressure of a persuer on their heels, but remained close enough to be able to see them turn a corner or hear their fleeing footsteps.  Somehow, his plan worked.  Although he lost sight of the boys, he was able to track them, and heard their whiny, unpleasant voices from behind a thick, leafy rhododendron.

"What if somebody saw?"

"Nobody saw, and nobody cares about some stupid old fish anyway."

Punkinhead was filled with righteous rage.  It was them!

"I think my dad knows I took the dish soap though.  He kept asking where it was and then saying, 'Isaac?' like he knew I knew."

"Well, just don't admit to anything.  Those bubbles were cruddy, though.  Maybe we need to use bubble bath.  My sister has some and it even smells like bubble gum!"

Punkinhead stomped away, filled to the brim with indignation.  They weren't sorry for the poor fish, poisoned by their soapy prank, they just wanted to make the pond into a bubble bath.  A bubble bath!  You weren't supposed to go wading in it even, and they wanted to fill it with fluff!  Punkinhead arrived home and sought out his mother straight away.  She was always level-headed and knew the best way to handle his crises, whereas his father had a tendency to overreact.  She was examining some papers at the dining room table, chewing on her pen when he came in.  He explained the situation and she listened with a grave and serious expression.  "Alright, darling," she said when he had finished, "Just leave this to me," and she went off to the kitchen.  Punkinhead wanted to follow her, but he felt confident that she would make justice happen and he didn't want to spy on his own mother.

The next day he was walking by the park and saw the boys with several adults, their parents he assumed, being lectured to by a police officer.  The officer looked quite relaxed, actually leaning against the squad car as she talked, but she was waving her no-no finger, and the boys were red-faced and ground-facing.  Punkinhead felt jubilant.

Not so long after, he decided to go to the park and see if there were new fish in the pond.  He walked down the path, whistling and carefree, when he heard a familiar and grating voice: "There he is!" and a rock - a rock! - sailed through the air from behind him, just missing his right ear.  Punkinhead turned in disbelief, and the two snotty boys were just at the top of a small mound with a pile of child's fist-sized rocks in between them.  "This is for telling on us, you jerk!" and he threw a rock that went far over the top of its mark.  "Yeah!  Monkey-butt!" squealed the other, and he too launched a stone wildly.  Punkinhead stood in shock, paralyzed.  Then a rock, almost a perfect sphere of a rock, insultingly like the ones that lined his beloved fish pond, smacked him in the cheek and his daze was broken.  He ran home, tears of anger running down his face, but he allowed no sobs of frustration to express themselves, and went right to his room without letting his mother know what had happened.  This was the first time she had failed him, and Punkinhead couldn't let her have that disappointment so soon.  When he was older, maybe, they could afford to be honest with each other.  But for now, he hugged his pillow to his chest and wondered if he would ever be able to enjoy the darting fish again.

still feelin' nostalgic

Wandering through a regular supermarket, I saw another blast from my past: Mort Subite.  It's one of those Belgian fruit beers that taste more like soda than beer to me, but are fun to drink sometimes for that reason.  I used to have one on Sundays when we had a philosophy discussion in a pub that will remain nameless.  There are several varieties, but the only one on this supermarket shelf was the raspberry - Xtreme Framboise.  Just as I remembered, it looks like a strawberry soda once it's settled down in the glass (I've almost never had raspberry soda, so I connect the color with strawberry), but it is pretty foamy at first.  It has a sweet and tangy berry taste, no bitterness at all.  It's a nice little thing for after dinner, a dessert all by itself.

Yes, here's to summer...dammit