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nwbeerguide · 4 months

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Public Coast Brewing updates the recipe on the award-winning'67 Blonde Ale. Introducing '67 Blonde Lager.

image courtesy Public Coast Brewing Press Release CANNON BEACH, Ore. (January 9, 2024) - To kick off the 2024 year, Public Coast Brewing Co. has released a new core beer to their signature lineup of year-round brews — the ‘67 Blonde Lager, a reimagined classic of the 2018 World Cup Winner, the ‘67 Blonde Ale. This crisp and golden lager joins the Cannon Beach brewery’s signature collection of year-round offerings, which include the Coastal Haze IPA, Oswald IPA, Coconut Brown Ale, NW Honey Red Ale and Public Coast’s non-alcoholic Stephen’s Root Beer. “The inspiration for this lager comes from the year 1967, which is when the State of Oregon declared that all 363 miles of Oregon's coastline would be open to the public in perpetuity,” said Will Leroux, Public Coast’s head brewmaster. “As crisp and bright as a sunny Oregon coast day, the '67 Blonde Lager is a deliciously refreshing beer crafted to be a new favorite among Public Coast's signature brews. With its subtle sweet malt and hop flavors, this golden lager echoes the spirit of our state’s 1967 landmark declaration.” The ‘67 Blonde Lager, a 5.0% ABV blend of 2-Row Base Malt, Pilsen Malt, rice flakes, lemondrop Hops and German Lager Yeast, offers a golden appearance and light body that’s delightfully effervescent and wildly approachable. “While seasonal brews enable us to get creative and run wild, we like to think of the year-round brews as the Team Captains of Public Coast Brewing,” said Leroux. “Standout brews like our Coastal Haze IPA and NW Honey Red Ale anchor our lineup. Just as the '67 Blonde Lager now does, these flagship offerings showcase our best in terms of taste, quality and consistency.” The beer is available on tap at the Public Coast brewpub in Cannon Beach as well as 16 oz four packs. For a full list of beers on tap or order online for curbside pickup, visit: publiccoastbrewing.com/beer/. … About Public Coast Brewing Located just 70 miles west of Portland in Cannon Beach, Ore., Public Coast Brewing is named after the only true public coastlines in America: the Oregon Coast. The brewery features a 10bbl Brewhouse with two 30-barrel fermenters, two 20-barrel fermenters, and four 10-barrel fermenters. Public Coast Brewing also offers fresh and delicious fare from local farms and ranches, including their own - Public Coast Farm. Boasting a large pet-friendly patio, large community-style outdoor fire pit, and an open brewhouse easily viewed from the bar, Public Coast Brewing offers a relaxed and welcoming spot for the whole family. For more information please visit, http://publiccoastbrewing.com/. About Public Coast Farm Oregon’s historic Route 26, known to Portlanders as the Sunset Highway, has welcomed generations of families traveling to and from the coast on its forested byway. Now Public Coast Farm sits on that very route, straddling West Dairy Creek at the base of the Coastal Range, on a 40-acre site lush with blueberry bushes, beehives, fruit orchards and hops. The farm is fertile ground for the farm’s sister properties - the Stephanie Inn and Public Coast Brewing Co. - each of which incorporate Public Coast Farm’s fresh ingredients into delicious dishes and seasonal beers. from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/4aNWZLL

#Craft Beer #Beer #News

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sunspray-peak · 1 year

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Ch. 10: I Think That Might Be It

SATURDAY - SPRING 20

According to the sign outside of Pierre’s, Spring 20 was Shane’s birthday.

Achilles knew Shane well enough at this point to know that here was not a man who likely enjoyed making a big deal out of birthdays, and who would likely stalk off the property early if he so much wished him one with too much enthusiasm.

But surely he deserved at least an acknowledgment of some kind, especially with all the help with the farm. So Achilles had purchased something casual-- just a six pack of what he had seen Shane drink at the saloon, plus a robust selection and variety of locally brewed IPAs and ales.

Breakfast and juice, as usual, were resting on the porch by the time Shane arrived. Having figured wrapping paper or a gift box would send the man over the edge, Achilles had simply set the beer next to the bagels, unwrapped.

And thank goodness for his foresight, for as Shane trudged up the porch steps, a scowl already stamped on his face, Achilles could sense a mood well-brewed.

“Morning, Shane,” he said lightly, pouring himself a glass of orange juice as Shane popped open the cream cheese. He pushed the two packs of beer towards him an inch. “For you. Happy birthday.”

“Huh?”

“Not sure how partial you are to your brand so I got that too in case, but my cousin recommended these to me—oh.”

Shane had pulled a bottle from the pack and eyed the flashy label closely before, to Achilles’ alarm, popping the tab with his keychain and taking a deep swig.

“Good stuff. You remembered my birthday. Thanks.”

“Hmm…”

Achilles eyed him nervously—it was 6:40am, and Shane was already gulping down Moultania’s award winning grape ale like he had just finished a ten hour shift at Joja. Perhaps this wasn’t the best gift idea…

“Hits the spot.” Shane half-swallowed a small burp and set the bottle down on the table. “Have one yourself.”

Achilles was not a big drinker—especially at 6:40am—but under Shane’s heavily-lidded stare, he found himself popping the tab of one of the saloon beers and taking the tiniest sip.

Grey clouds still sat low in the sky, but Achilles figured they’d be safe from anymore rain. The cool air and beer combo seemed to provide some solace to Shane, who leaned back in his chair (only after Achilles visibly swallowed) and folded his hands over his stomach, closing his eyes.

Achilles avoided the temptation to look at his watch (he had ultimately bought a new one)—it was Shane’s birthday after all, everyone deserved a little bit of dilly dallying, he supposed—and instead took a seat to slowly butter his own bagel.

“35 today.”

Achilles raised an eyebrow in surprise, pausing mid-bagel buttering. Thank Yoba Shane’s eyes were still closed. He had assumed Shane was older than that—late 30s at the very least.

“Fucking 35.”

Achilles resumed his bagel buttering just as Shane turned his face in the chair to better look at him.

“You ever feel like… no matter what you do, you’re gonna fail? Like you’re stuck in some miserable abyss and you’re so deep you can’t even see the light of day?”

Achilles’ lips parted, partly in surprise at the amount of words (and vivid ones at that) the usually mum Shane was slinging together, partly because, yes, yes he had. But before he could respond, Shane shook his head. “Nah, you don’t seem like the type.

“I just feel like no matter how hard I try… I’m not strong enough to climb out of that hole.”

Achilles nodded slowly, delicately wiping his fingers on the napkin while waiting for Shane to continue. The man clearly had something on his mind.

“Jas and Marnie thought they’d surprised me… went into my bedroom at midnight with balloons and shit, nearly had a heart attack… you could say I didn’t have a great night.”

“Hmm.”

Shane sighed, rubbing his slightly bloated face with thick, callused fingers. His perpetual five o’clock shadow was indeed looking a bit closer to six o’clock this morning.

“If you’d like to take this morning off…” Achilles began awkwardly, but Shane clearly wasn’t listening. He gazed back at the gloomy sky, his right hand now clutching the opened beer so hard his knuckles gleamed white.

“35. I mean what the fuck have I done? I work at a grocery store stacking shelves alongside 22 year olds. I mean, what the hell are you? 29, 30?”

“…27.”

“Fuck. You’ve got a future ahead of you still. 27 and what, already retired—”

“I wouldn’t call it retired—“

“—got your own farm.”

Shane took another swig and rubbed his eyes.

“I was… left this farm. By my grandpa.” Achilles spoke slowly, unsure if clarifying his privilege would help or hurt.

“So you get left a farm when someone you knew died and I got left a kid.” Shane’s eyes were dark—mean, as they squinted against the weak sun. He absentmindedly tipped the now-empty beer bottle 45 degrees, rolling it in a circle on the table along its edge. “I didn’t want this.

“Got a mountain of student debt that’s kicking me in the ass, got no girlfriend, no career, stuck in a dead end job. 35. This isn’t where you’re supposed to be at fucking 35.”

Achilles silently watched Shane slowly return the bottle to its upright position and take a bite from the bagel, licking lingering cream cheese off his lips.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Shane folded his neck into a double chin and clumsily dusted crumbs off his Joja polo. “I’m grateful to Marnie, and Jas… Jas is a good kid. She is. I’m just… suffocated sometimes, you know? I mean, what’s the point of planning for the future? How I see it, I’ve got no future where I’m at.

“Buh… life. At work, at home, it’s just a constant… I don’t know. A constant… it’s just shit. It’s just nothing. And I can’t ever catch a break to just forget about it and feel… real. Except, I guess, when I’m out here.”

Shane glanced once more at Achilles who was mid-bite. “You got a nice place out here. We’ve been doing good stuff.”

If by “catching a break out here,” Shane had been referring to their mindless morning, Achilles was inclined to agree; the two made small talk, but rarely did Shane ever engage in much beyond the task at hand. Even when they were putting up the fences, a job that required them to be right next to each other, Achilles had learned scarcely more about Shane than his favorite grid ball team.

But perhaps that was the draw. The quiet, the meditative monotony. It was clear Shane enjoyed the work, he highly doubted he’d be doing it for free otherwise. But what was it that was really bringing him back every morning and evening? Obviously not Achilles’ companionship or the free breakfast. Was it freedom? A goal—a tangible, worthwhile goal—that Shane felt he was working towards? The farm’s condition compared to the first day of the season was night and day, and to Shane much was obviously owed. Perhaps that’s what he was seeking. A different life. And something to be proud of.

In that, perhaps he and Achilles were not unalike.

“Speaking of which, what are we doing today?” Shane sat up in the chair with a sudden burst of energy and waved any remaining crumbs onto the ground. A small trail of smeared cream cheese streaked below his collar, but he didn’t seem to notice (or perhaps he simply didn’t care).

“Oh yes. Ah, the house.” Achilles jumped up just as Shane leaned over the small table to give Achilles’ near untouched can of beer a small swirl.

“Not really a fast drinker, are you?” A tight, unreadable frown strained Shane’s lips as he lifted the can to his nose for a quick sniff.

“I’m.... afraid not...” Afraid Shane would take it upon himself to finish the beer, Achilles quickly led the man off the porch to side of the house where gallons of paint had been delivered earlier that morning.

“This is the color you chose?” Shane knelt down and took a closer look at the cans.

“Yes, Shane, this is the color I chose.” It was not only small talk that had peppered their days, but also small spats. Achilles should’ve prepared himself better for the inevitable critique, but after this morning’s confession, perhaps it’d be wiser to stand down.

“It’s weird. And girly.”

“Shane, it’s green. That’s like, the gender neutral color for babies…” Achilles handed Shane a paint brush and a can. “The grey is for the roof.”

“That’s brown.”

“All right, it’s a grey-brown, come on,” Achilles grumbled. The official name for the color was actually “Burnt Smoke” (a terrible name), but he knew Shane wouldn’t give two shits.

Together, they lugged the paint to the porch.

Leaning a ladder against the front of the farmhouse, Achilles said, “Just this, the roof, and Robin should be stopping by soon to fix the greenhouse. Thought maybe we could put up a trellis, plant some vines along the house. But once the greenhouse is painted… you know, I think that might be it, more or less.”

At those words, an odd sensation began to creep along his spine. He looked wildly around, thinking perhaps an observing junimo, forest spirit, whatever, was making its rounds, but there was nothing. No hint of a bounce, no hedge out of place.

It was only when Shane said, “Bet we could finish the house today if we really wanted to…” that Achilles realized what it was. It wasn’t that invisible spectator giving him the heebie jeebies. It was just him. Just Achilles. This was it. They were almost done.

And with this realization, a question that Achilles had been (although out of character for him) stubbornly putting off answering for the past season began to burrow its way back into his brain.

What’s next?

He shook his head hard, clearing the thought. He still had a house to paint. And a greenhouse. Speaking of which, where was Robin…

*****

Shane had his birthday day off—it was the most generous thing Joja had ever done for him, he had grumbled. And although Achilles repeatedly insisted Shane didn’t have to spend his birthday painting a farmhouse (“Go to the beach! Go for a hike!” He did not, after the events of the morning, suggest going to the saloon), Shane stubbornly refused to leave, and Achilles abandoned all attempts at being polite.

After a late lunch of Shane’s favorite sandwiches from the Stardrop Saloon (on the house, Emily, who had dropped them off, had declared with a wink), Robin arrived, her pickup truck stacked high with redwood and glass panels.

She helped herself to a sandwich, but then went quickly to work, her hammer providing some splash to the usual silence as Shane and Achilles moved on to paint the roof.

As 4pm neared, Alex, to Achilles’ surprise, came through, announcing his arrival with a loud, “Heyooo!”

In regrettably instinctual eagerness, Achilles immediately jumped off the roof and, biting back the wince that accompanied the lightning reverberating up his legs, half-stumbled off the porch to greet his visitor.

Shane, on the other hand, having had a front row seat to Achilles’ clumsy enthusiasm, chose to carefully clamber down the ladder and quietly retreat towards Robin and the greenhouse.

No doubt gonna try to get her to move it forward a foot… (he had tried to persuade Achilles earlier).

“Got off early today, thought I’d pop by,” Alex said, his hands on his hips as he gazed around the property. “Wow. This looks amazing!”

Many folks had visited the property over the past few days to pay many a compliment, but only under Alex’s bright-eyed grin did Achilles find himself flushing red. He quickly turned his face toward east, pretending to observe a pair of hummingbirds tussling amidst the flower beds. “Thank you! It really does, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t help more, work and all—”

“No worries—”

“Hey, but doesn’t look like you needed me at all. Wow! Seriously, this is amazing, can’t believe you did all this just this season. I like what you did over there with the grass… oh, the pond looks so nice now…. I see you left space for a barn, nice… is that a garden gnome? Really didn’t take you for the type.” Having finished his 360 rotation, he looked back up at the farmhouse. “The green looks real nice, told you it’d be a good choice. What’d Shane say about it?”

“Pretty much what you thought he would.”

“Mmhm, sounds about right.” Alex, catching Shane’s eye, waved. “Happy birthday, Shane! Great job on the farm, it looks fantastic!”

Shane looked away.

“This is really amazing, I can’t believe you guys did all this… It really looks like a home, Ash.” Alex threw an arm around Achilles’ shoulder as they continued to look up at the half-painted house. “You know, I think Strawberry Farms will be really good for someone. Whoever ends up here will be real lucky.”

Achilles nodded, dimly aware of the weight of Alex’s arm still resting on his shoulder, his heart aching ever so slightly as he took in the farm he had been toiling over the entire Spring. The clear, open land; his little fairy garden that now also served as the home for his new ceramic snail (a gift from Jodi); the pond he and Sam had spent hours one Wednesday dredging up and clearing of algae; his flower beds, a mass of bright colors; his repaired porch.

Well. This was what it meant to... flip homes?

Better get used to it if you decide to keep doing it.

But did he want to keep doing it? He’d never actually wanted to get into real estate, that was just a last minute excuse he’d come up with when pressed…

“I’ve got a realtor coming on the 28th to take a look, get an estimate on selling price and everything. Might get some photographs set up. To help sell it.” He forced himself to say the words again. Perhaps if his tongue got used to spitting them out—realtor, sell, price—he’d feel better about the whole affair. Or at least, less sentimental. Robinsons were not sentimental folk, what was wrong with him.

“Haley’s a photographer! She might be able to help you out, she’s really good.” Alex had taken back his arm to wave to Robin, and it was now resting by his side where Achilles found himself fighting the urge to brush against it. He crossed his arms instead.

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep her in mind.”

#llnks #sunspraypeak #stardew valley fic #sdv fanfic #stardew fanfic #myfic #stardew alex #sdv alex

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mocmosandwicheskilk · 2 years

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📣新着クラフトビール情報📣 当店初上陸✈️ COMMON SPACEからクラフトビールが4種届きました‼️🎉 左から… ・Three Hop Drop American IPA ・Random & Dangerous DIPA ・Vista! Single Hop Hazy Double IPA ・Perpetual Love American IPA ジャケは可愛いけど硬派なフレーバー、 IPA好きに刺さるビールだと思います！(店長の主観) ぜひお買い求め下さい🙌 #beer #beerstagram #beerlover #craftbeer #craftbeerlife #nicebeer #クラフトビール備忘録 #クラフトビールライフ #beergeek #craftbeergeek #craftbeerreview #ビール #ビアスタグラム #ビール好き #クラフトビール #クラフトビール好きと繋がりたい #mocmosandwiches #モクモサンドイッチーズ #萌断 #吉祥寺 #吉祥寺カフェ #吉祥寺ランチ #kichijoji #三鷹 #三鷹カフェ #三鷹ランチ #mitaka #commonspace #commonspacebrewery #usabeer https://www.instagram.com/p/Ci_nWjUv4kY/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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enbywanderlust · 3 years

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linguistics academia because why not :)

practicing ipa sounds that aren't in your native language at 3am

looking for minimal pairs by candlelight

trying to find anything remotely related to your field of study in an old library

drawing syntax trees with fountain pens

analyzing formant structures on praat and forgetting your tea until it's cold

"yeah using Wikipedia on this lab is fine because let's face it, no one is going on Wikipedia to mess with the reports of which vowels are used in Japanese"

"well now I know what I'm doing this weekend"

spilling coffee on your notes for how R recognizes ipa symbols

(some of these may or may not be from personal experiences)

randomly picking a language and doing a super deep analysis of it for funzies

correcting people who correct other people's grammar because grammar by definition cannot be incorrect

that weird love-hate relationship with grammar/literature teachers for simultaneously perpetuating bad stereotypes of elitism in language and also giving you the will to live and introducing you to Hamlet

awkwardly watching two professors argue over how many vowels and consonants a language has

wearing a blazer and plaids to go play scrabble during midterm season

doing a historical linguistics study and finding out that's what shakespeare said

attending the lectures of grad students to learn about and participate in new linguistic studies

#linguistics #linguist problems #linguistics academia #academia aesthetic #dark academia #punk academia #classic academia #cottage academia #grey academia #scholarly academia

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brewyork · 2 years

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Alewife opens taproom in Sunnyside, Queens

The Alewife Brewing taproom while still under construction earlier this year

Time to come in from the cold. After over a year serving beer outdoors at their brewery, and eight months after firing up their brewhouse for the first time, Alewife Brewing will officially welcome drinkers inside their taproom in Sunnyside, Queens starting tomorrow. The new taproom includes a huge space for drinking and an L-shaped bar that adjoins the production space. Their opening celebration on Friday will include two new beer releases — Where Are Your Friends Tonight?, a Cold Brewed Hazy IPA that’s a collaboration with 18th Ward Brewing, and Perpetual Cycle IPA, brewed with Salvo, Idaho 7, and Motueka hops.

Late last year, Alewife began selling beer in their sidewalk cafe with pop-up food vendors and covered outdoor seating while they were still brewing their beers in the Bronx. In April, they fired up their brewhouse for the first time and began producing and packaging beer in-house. This is the last step in the long process for growing the brewery, which began on a small pilot system in their original Long Island City brewpub back in 2017.

Alewife is located at 41-11 39th Street, just a couple blocks from the 40th Street stop on the 7 Train.

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auraeseer · 4 months

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. . . better sans sanitizer.

#block 15 #sticky hands #hop experience ale #nw ipa #northwest hops #perpetual series #block 15 brewing co.#corvallis #oregon #northwest india pale ale

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mopeytropey · 4 years

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a beer buds series

In a completely self-indulgent endeavor, I have recently begun writing again within the APU universe. It started as fond reminiscing, and then endless headcanoning with my pal @orangeyouglad8, and is now a 9-part (and counting) series. Oops!

It has been so much fun writing for these idiots again, and I hope you’ll enjoy throwing yourselves back into their world as much as I have :) This collection of one-shots is either an alternate look at Lexa and Clarke being hopeless idiots in love (as told from Lexa’s perspective), or an homage to Lincoln being the sweetest, smartest, kindest friend there ever was.

Each update within ‘a beer buds series’ chronicles the friendship between Lexa + Lincoln as they meet at various locations around town and try to find topics of conversation to discuss other than the women with whom they are infatuated. First one is below but will also post to AO3. Enjoy!

Timeline: takes place soon after Lexa has moved from NY to MA and prior to her meeting Clarke in chapter 1 of 'a pleasant undoing'

Beer: North Shore HAZY NEW ENGLAND SESSION IPA North Shore Session IPA is brewed with base malts of high character, oats, fruit-forward ale yeast, and American hops. A light, soft, and nutty malt body provides the structure for flavors and aromas of peach, apricot, berries, and melon. ABV 4.7% :::

North Shore: True North (Ipswich, MA)

“Hey!” Lincoln has the brightest, warmest smile for her when he sees her enter the bar. “How’d it go?”

Lexa slides onto a stool beside one of her oldest friends. “Good.” She exhales, pressing her hands flat against the bartop. “It was good.”

“Yeah, Indra is good people. It’s a great company to work for.”

“What are you drinking?” Lexa asks, noticing the half-empty pint in front of Lincoln.

“This new light beer out of Everett—I think these guys are trying to put Miller Lite out of business.”

“A bold venture,” Lexa smiles.

“Get whatever you want—drinks are on me.”

“Linc, you really don’t—“

“Nah, forget it. Your sister will beat my ass if I don’t get you at least a little drunk before your first day of work tomorrow.”

Lexa surrenders with a small, quiet laugh and reaches for the beer menu between them. Her eyes scan up and down the page, glossing over a bit as she deciphers ABV percentages, quirky descriptions of each pour, and unfamiliar cities of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. The reality of accepting a position at Trikru Brewing settles over her.

“Did you guys get all settled?” Lincoln asks as Lexa peruses the menu.

“Yeah, definitely. The apartment is nice. A little smaller than our place in Fort Greene, but it’s … nice. Costia keeps swearing she’s going to feng shui the living room into looking bigger.”

“Is she into that kind of stuff?”

“No, not at all.”

Her glib response makes Lincoln laugh, and Lexa smiles in return.

“Well, that location is great—you’ll love it.”

Lincoln waits until she’s had her first sip—a New England IPA from a brewery out of Ipswich called True North—before his kind eyes turn soft and searching.

“So, how are you feeling? Freaking out a little bit?”

“What?” Lexa shakes her head, smiling into the thin layer of froth that tops her beer. “No, I’m good. The interview went really well. And the town is beautiful. I feel good.” Reiteration, she hopes, will be more convincing.

“You’re definitely freaking out,” Lincoln grins.

She exhales another laugh. “A little bit.” There’s no use denying her nerves. A long and varied childhood history with Lincoln has taught him all her tells.

He laughs louder and freer, clapping a warm hand against her back. “You’ll be great. I find that this job rarely feels like work, apart from all the heavy lifting. Anyway, tomorrow is an easy day.”

Lexa looks over at him, hopeful. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He gulps down the last of his pint, signalling the bartender for another. “Tomorrow is Dockside Day.” Lincoln’s face has shifted into some sort of amusement.

Mischief, Lexa thinks. Like he’s telling a joke while leaving out the punchline.

She is skeptical, if not also intrigued. “What exactly is Dockside Day?”

The bartender delivers Lincoln’s next beer, blushing at the genuine smile he receives when Lincoln says, “Thanks, Evan.” It’s entertaining to see the far reaching effects of her friend’s charming good looks, and Lexa smiles into another sip of beer.

“Dockside is great—they’ve got this unbelievable space on the water, really good food and beer, and the women who run it—I mean, I don’t want to give too much away, but you’re gonna like Dockside Days.”

All Lexa has to hear is Lincoln say women, and she’s rolling her eyes. “A successful, women-run bar in a desirable location. And, which one are you currently trying to sleep with?”

Lincoln’s laugh fills up the entire bar.

“I’m going to let you figure that one out for yourself,” he tells her, flashing that same grin that so often got them into trouble as kids. “This is gonna be fun. Having you up here.”

A deep breath doesn’t necessarily have Lexa convinced, but she does feel a distant sense of security being back in Lincoln’s company. He is familiar and safe. His kind, dark eyes and boyish grin reminds her of countless Brooklyn summers. It’s the first time in weeks that she hasn’t felt entirely reckless. Abandoning her roots in New York has left her feeling directionless, but Lincoln’s perpetual calm puts her at ease.

Lexa takes another sip of beer. “So Dockside is our first stop tomorrow?”

“We deliver there midmorning, so more like our second or third stop. I can’t explain it, but you’ll get it once we’re there. It’s great. Octavia is intensely scary but also really likable—that will make more sense once you’ve met her,” Lincoln explains at Lexa’s look of concern. “And, Clarke is just … she’s awesome. I think you’ll get along really well.”

Sipping again at her beer, Lexa thinks about the notion of building relationships with her clients, let alone finding them likable. In taking Indra’s offer at Trikru Brewing, she’d not considered what those relationships might look like. She trusts Lincoln explicitly, but the idea of favoring one client over another, or building a relationship that extends beyond sales and distribution seems unlikely.

“Should we order some apps? I’m starving.”

Lincoln’s mention of food distracts Lexa from her spooling thoughts and she nods while shifting in her barstool. She brushes all other pointless musings from her head and offers Lincoln a forced smile that she hopes he overlooks. “Yeah. Sure.”

:::

#a beer bud series #apu #a pleasant undoing #brewkru!

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thymeagain · 3 years

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HARRY CARROLL / 35, mercury in retrograde, server + small-time actor

'cause if i didn't have a mean bone in my body / i’d find some other way to cause you pain / i won't bother telling you i’m sorry / for something that i'm gonna do again [x]

FULL NAME: Harold Maxwell Carroll

BIRTHPLACE: Boston

FROM: London

CURRENTLY:

Living in an East Village third-floor walk-up he doesn’t have to pay rent on (owned by his New Money parents)

Working as a server @ a frequently Instagrammed bar/cafe called Cordelia’s

Starring in an off-Broadway play you probably saw on a bad second date

Stirring (been having a lot of weird dreams lately, but convinced it’s because he’s been drinking too much CBD sparkling water)

FORMERLY:

A student at a posh all-boys school that was not quite as posh as Eton but probably just as expensive

Studied PPE (philosophy, politics, and economics) at Lancaster University before dropping out and moving to NYC @ age 19

Dead Guy on Law & Order: SVU, Sick Guy on Grey’s Anatomy, Horny Guy on The Young & The Restless

KNOWN FOR:

Being one of like three people who's actually made money from Bitcoin

Having an exceptional Tinder bio

Drinking only the most piss-colored IPAs

Eating a diet strictly composed of boxed pasta, jarred sauce, and whatever food he can score at work at the end of the night

A perpetual irreverence for everything but himself

Emailing a literary agent friend-of-a-friend with a proposition for a children’s book while shitfaced about a decade ago and then actually getting said book published because the idea was decent (he still occasionally sees it at bookstores and takes great pleasure in signing it—it’s about cows)

Having the arrogance to think wearing the same combination of generic Buffalo plaid button-up, white undershirt, khaki pants, and black Vans, every day, every season, is having style

Photographing a bit stoned

Setting people up to disappoint him

Being slightly more decent than you expect

NEEDS:

His best friend/ex-girlfriend, who he’s either legitimately in love with OR she’s just the healthiest relationship he’s ever had AND she’s pretty (Who’s to say??? He’s probably done her dirty so many times, he has no business even thinking about this)

SIBLINGS???? I love a good sibling plot, and would love to talk blondies who could be part of the Carroll family.

FELLOW Roman mythology homies (I know we’ve got some already, but more is more! Maybe a crumb of Apollo for Harry to antagonize????)

The staff of Cordelia’s? I’m thinking owner, general manager, chef(s), hostess, busboy, bartender, fellow servers, people who supply the place with food/flowers/etc.?

Actors/artists/designers/musicians that he runs in the same obnoxious circles with, even though he’s not quite as young and cool as he once was

Exes/current casual bullshit in general would be great (would you like a memorable Tinder date? Harry is your man!)

IF ANY of the above appeals to you or you’ve got something else in mind, please hmu on Discord @ maggie#4247!!!! Would love to discuss anything/everything

#heliosrpg #ch: harry carroll #the definition of the audacity of being a blonde white man

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xoxogossipgrl0614 · 5 years

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Such a beautiful day out! Enjoying a perpetual by the fire 😬🍺🌳🔥 #perpetual #ipa #troegs #independentbrewing #saturday #evening #beautifulweather #applewatch #tattoo #relax #iworkedtoday #spring #70’s #maroon #chunkynecklace #rayban #mirror https://www.instagram.com/shriakijawani/p/Bvpk5xGFXWCbBQZ1ay_kU7Z_QYXslgHXLTGS7o0/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1cefkcz8jqx02

#perpetual #ipa #troegs #independentbrewing #saturday #evening #beautifulweather #applewatch #tattoo #relax #iworkedtoday #spring #70 #maroon #chunkynecklace #rayban #mirror

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mubal4 · 3 years

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RFP Podcast Episode #219 – Ultra Dad Session #28: The Ugly Mugs

We are embracing technology and leveraging the tools to our advantage to bring you Ultra Dad’s face to face. Our audience may wish we were never able to figure this out but with the help of GoToMeeting and getting ourselves a little uncomfortable Ultra Dad’s has gone live with our ugly mugs for you all to see. Our hope is we don’t lose listeners – I guess you can still listen but can also watch us via this link. Will also add it below with the other links moving forward.

https://transcripts.gotomeeting.com/?utm_source=recordingReadyNotification&utm_medium=email#/s/ebabc0c5377a323075c37ff509f591dae67fd052121ca13bdb56c7b29ffb91a9

Today’s episode was to be just a dry run to test this out, but we decided to hit record and chose to publish it. There may be a nugget thrown it there, but it was just two Ultra Dad’s catching up on things and telling some stories.

We are putting this week’s episode out a day early and over a lunch time beer. Bryan rubbed it in Mike’s face a bit by tipping back Troegs Perpetual IPA while Mike enjoyed the good old Mother Road’s Tower Station.

The RFP Ultra Dad’s Podcast is sponsored by Time on the Trails – delivering you a customized experience out on the trails in Arizona and beyond. Please visit us at www.tottaz.com and on social media via IG, FB, TW & LI.

Keep an eye out for the Ultra Dad’s Instagram account @ #ultra_dads.

You can view the live recording of today’s episode via GoToMeeting Link HERE:

Listen on Apple Podcasts: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/relentless-forward-progress-with-mike-ubaldini/id1305969863#episodeGuid=2bc5a031-2428-415c-9c2d-b413513fa68f

Listen to the most recent episode of my podcast: RFP Podcast Episode #219 – Ultra Dad’s Session #28: The Ugly Mugs!

How’d we get here?

The Ultra Dad’s Podcast came from an idea Cindy Shane created. Well, she planted the idea in our head after listening to the first time Bryan was on the RFP Podcast in May 2020. There have many times over the years when we speak on the phone or in person the “we should be recording this” line comes out. Well, here we are jumping in with both feet, like we tend to do, sharing with you our perspectives on life. Let’s be candid – we are not perfect, and we fail often. Our favorite term to use is “it’s not ideal” and there have been countless times we’ve uttered, “a plan is great until you are punched in the face;” – but we do laugh a lot, at ourselves and/or each other mostly 😊. All that said, there are those brief moments where things tend to fall into place and we, somehow, make it to that finish line – as ultrarunners yes, but most importantly has husbands, fathers, friends, and human beings. We wanted to share those imperfections and those incredible moments that we’ve been fortunate enough to experience together over the last 30+ years. So, sit back, grab a cold one, and hopefully this will be another time where things fall into place.

- Bryan & Mike

#ultradads LFRF facesthatcanmakeanonioncry theregoestheneighborhood ohboy

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nwbeerguide · 3 years

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Ninkasi Brewing Company challenges you to "Perpetuate Better Living" for a chance at $2,000 towards gear for your next adventure.

image courtesy Ninkasi Brewing Company

Press Release

EUGENE, Ore.— Ninkasi Brewing Company is giving away $2,000 to one winner to gear up and get out on their next adventure. This promotion is part of Ninkasi’s Dominate Your Summer campaign, encouraging people to Perpetuate Better Living in their own way. No purchase is necessary, and anyone can enter to win at ninkasibrewing.com/dominateyoursummer. Details are also included on in-store displays throughout the Pacific Northwest. "The last 16 months have been trying for everyone," said Chief Experience Officer Sarah Johnson. "We wanted to return to the roots on which we were founded: to Perpetuate Better Living. What better way to do so than to help someone both choose their own adventure and to help make it a reality?" The contest is open through September 30th, 2021. All entries take place at ninkasibrewing.com/dominateyoursummer. One winner will be selected and contacted the first week of October 2021. More details can be found on the Dominate Your Summer webpage. For more information about Ninkasi Brewing, please visit ninkasibrewing.com. For more information on their beers, including seasonal offerings, visit ninkasibrewing.com/beers. For more frequent updates, visit Ninkasi Brewing on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. About Ninkasi Brewing Company Founded in 2006 by Jamie Floyd and Nikos Ridge, Ninkasi Brewing Company is the nation’s 33rd and Oregon’s third largest independent craft brewery (Brewers Association, 2020). Ninkasi continues to grow from its first batch of Total Domination IPA to three brewhouses, with 55-barrel, 90-barrel brewhouses, and a 5-barrel pilot program located in Eugene, Oregon. Ninkasi’s Flagship beers are sold throughout Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Idaho, Hawaii, Nevada, Oregon, and Washington. The brewery remains privately-owned and is committed to community support and giving. Ninkasi’s Beer Is Love program offers in-kind donations and support for organizations throughout its distribution footprint. Ninkasi’s first restaurant, the Better Living Room, opened on its Eugene, Oregon campus in February 2020. For more information, call (541) 344-2739 or visit www.NinkasiBrewing.com.

from Northwest Beer Guide - News - The Northwest Beer Guide https://bit.ly/3is35Iw

#Beer #News #Brewery

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lonelyheartsclubhaze · 3 years

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We Sold Our Souls to Instagram

September 2020 // Chapter 2

“No, I’m not going to pick you up.” I shook my head, visibly and audibly annoyed. “You know damn well that I’m not getting behind the wheel. I’m hanging up, sorry.”

Converting potential energy into kinetic, the iPhone X left my hand, skimming across the wave-front of my bed. My hands ruffled through my hair as I inhaled then sighed, absentmindedly channelling the virtues of cellular respiration.

Tired of this perpetual bullshit, my fingers slithered across the Ikea desk before me, eventually detecting the apple of my bedroom’s Eden: a lychee ice Puff Bar. My fingers honed in on the device, ensnaring it, raising it to my lips. A deep breath saved me from the agony of sobriety, the nicotine buzz lasting a moment. Then, it was lost.

Six soft, knuckled knocks rapped at the bedroom door. “It’s unlocked,” I shouted.

A creak later, the door swung open, revealing Adam. There was nobody else in the house anyway. With a global pandemic at large and wildfires blazing on deep into September, neither Ajay nor Cam had seen Dwight House since March. Just Adam and me.

“Yo, we out,” he said, pulling a reusable, black cloth mask under his chin. “Can’t see shit outside but we still drinking, dawg.” Ah, the charming vernacular of a Korean-American friend from the elite suburbs of the East Bay.

“It’s good. What’re we feeling today?” I had actually enjoyed the past six months with Adam—it had been a good bonding experience. Despite his rough tone around me and the rest of the guys, Adam was quite versatile in social settings, weaving between upper-class gentility at investment banking info sessions and middle-aged rednecks at gun ranges. With classical Berkeley-liberal ideologies and Wall Street Journal-reading, center-right-leaning, finance friends, Adam defied social realities.

Adam shrugged. “Could go for some Chimay. I’m feeling classy.”

“Not a bad idea at all, my friend,” I said. It had been awhile since I’d had a good beer like Chimay, and I was getting sick of Coors Banquets. “On the other hand, your timing just might be—a bad idea, I mean. Air looks cancerous outside.” Marmalade light cast by the wildfires of a fuming Earth engulfed Northern California, held in suspense by cool, Pacific layers of atmosphere. It was like we were on planet Arrakis, from Dune, or trapped in the world of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust.

“The air low-key is cancerous. AQI is pushing 180’s right now,” said Adam, raising his eyebrows.

“Looks like an N95-kinda day. I’ve got a spare, you know,” I said, gesturing to a pile of three or so N95 masks by the lamp on my desk.

Adam waved it off. “Eh, I’m good. That’s some puss shit. Let’s just run over to Crafts and Grapes or some shit, shouldn’t take long.”

I shrugged. “So be it.”

Tossing on a pair of five-and-a-half inch inseam Lululemon shorts, I joined Adam as he hopped downstairs.

“Got keys?” he asked once we reached the door.

“Yer, we out,” I said, shaking my keys out from my shorts’ pocket to lock the front door.

“Fuck,” griped Adam. “It’s actually hot as shit out here.” Smoky, red air obscured him from sight as he craned his neck to see me.

“Hence the shorts.”

Adam squinted his eyes, pursed his lips, and jutted his head back and forth, mocking me. “For sure. Forgot your MCAT-lovin’-ass could predict the future. But really though—it’s the middle of September, dude. This shit is wrong. It’s hot as balls and California is on fire and the sky is red and fools are straight-up dying off this COVID shit.”

“And you’re still an idiot,” I said, flashing a cheeky smile.

“Are you qualified to diagnose me as an idiot?”

“Maddie would say so.”

“Hence the pet names.”

“Precisely.”

“We gotta do something about this, bruh. This shit pains me to see,” declared Adam.

“Let’s start by drinking these brews. We’ll recycle the bottles after.”

We walked east on Dwight toward Telegraph, dodging cars as we skipped across the one way street. Adam was quieter than usual, for the most part, looking up from his iPhone 11 Pro Max periodically to comment on something he’d read in the news, or the glum weather. He wore a khaki short sleeve button-up, Kapital raw denim jeans with smiley face patchwork on the back left pocket, and a pair of slip-on Nike Janoski sneakers. The jeans were nice—quite expensive, from the looks of it—but looked baggy on him. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, all of his clothes wore a bit loose on him, akin to a fiery adolescent who’d picked out hand-me-downs from an older sibling. Who that older sibling might’ve been, I’d never know—with his unwavering demeanor, Adam always seemed like the eldest in the room.

Banking right onto Telegraph, we bore the full brunt of the veiled sun, which, though hidden behind dense clouds of smoke, now revealed its penetrating UV rays. We ducked under corrugated foam polycarbonate sheets, which lined the rooftops of mom-and-pop Telegraph shops, fending off the sun’s cancerous radiation. The insanity of the world mingled with the smoky, copper air, making me delirious. I imagined I was Mel Gibson or Tom Hardy in Mad Max, feigning off flashbacks in the Wasteland. At the corner of Telegraph and Blake street, Adam pushed and held open the door to Crafts and Grapes. Nodding my head at him in small thanks, I entered, squinting my eyes as the light shifted from hazy red to bright white inside. It was a tiny store, with two aisles directly ahead lined with candy, nuts, and other inconsequential (unless you ate too many) snacks, followed by two refrigerators: one in the back, the other on the far right. Cool, wispy air emanated from the cold storage, contrasting with the late summer atmosphere only meters behind us. A bell rang as the door squeaked to a halt, prompting the middle-eastern cashier, directly to our right, to rise from his stool and greet us. We nodded back silently, all three of us clad in masks.

Per usual, Adam took the lead, striding toward the fridge directly back. He popped open one of the see-through doors with his left hand, mapping his way through its items with his right pointer finger. Finding my eyes, Adam shook his head, indicating a lack of Chimay.

“Blue moons?” I suggested. “Mango wheats?”

Adam screwed up his face. “Fuck that. Let’s go with Lags.”

“Sure, why not.”

Adam kneeled and looped his hand through the cardboard handle of a Lagunitas StereoHopic IPA six-pack. We walked over to the register where Adam made small talk with the cashier. Eventually, he tapped his iPhone 11 to an Ingenico payment terminal, finalizing our transaction. Drinks acquired.

The bell jingled as the door shut behind us once more. We hurried home, eager to crack open our drinks, intent on droning out the blistered yonder. Adam tried to explain his enthusiasm for hoppy beers while I pretended to listen. He was distracting me, though; we both knew I couldn’t care less.

Arriving home, my keys found their way to the door, and we found our ways to the couch. A tenor beep resounded through our living room as Adam’s iPhone connected to an old speaker via bluetooth. “Street Lights” by Kanye West filled the air, followed by carbon dioxide bubbles freed by an unlikely liberator—the bottle opener.

Let me know

Do I still got time to grow?

Things ain’t always set in stone

That be known let me know

I found myself back in the hand-me-down BMW 330i, with her, the white wire packed into the lightning port of my iPhone, transmitting cosine waves that replicated the robotic voice I was listening to in my living room.

“Stop!” she cried, thrusting herself back against beige, leather seats. She wanted me to press the brakes. I had to stop the car, right, stop the car. Where were the brakes?

She was beautiful, of course.

Dark, brown hair fell over eyes of the same color, guarded by double-lids that I wish she hadn’t paid for.

Hardly anyone would notice the difference, but I did, and it hurt to know that she didn’t love them.

I loved them, unconditionally, but she loved the brakes.

Needed to find them.

We’d shared a large bowl of Marafuku’s acclaimed Hakata Tonkotsu DX ramen. I’d let her eat most of it, sneaking my chopsticks in for bites at intervals.

“Pennsylvania?” I shook my head.

“What, you’ve never been?” She tilted hers. “You’ll love it. Come with me.”

“You’re crazy,” I said, smiling. “My MCAT summer is coming up.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll help you study for it. Duh.”

“I’m sure Brandon would love that.”

“Will he? All the way from San Francisco?”

“He’ll make the trip.”

“Not if you do,” she said, melting my mind.

I was dizzy, sleepy, lost, a newborn. Vulnerable. And I couldn’t seem to find them.

I’m just not there in the streets

I’m just not there

Life’s just not fair

Sonorant chimes reverberated in my ears as Adam clinked his glass bottle to mine. “Cheers,” he said with a nod.

“Cheers,” I echoed. Leaning my head back, I swallowed, allowing the cool liquid down my esophagus and into my gut.

“You good?” he prodded.

“Yeah,” I replied, my voice cracking a little. I cleared my throat.

“Pretty hoppy, huh?”

I took another sip, licking my lips after. “Quite. I suppose we knew what we were getting ourselves into. You know, given the ‘StereoHopic’.”

“You right.”

“Yeah.”

“Yo,” said Adam. “On another note—might be going in on an addy deal with Grace if you’re tryna hop in.”

I scratched my head. While I wouldn’t have any major exams in the near future (although midterms for my biochem course [MCB 102, for my fellow pre-med students at Cal] were slated for October sixteenth), I certainly had errands that might be eased by a twenty milligram dose of extended-release Adderall. There’s nothing like a thorough room-cleaning session when you’re high on stimulant drugs.

The first time I ever tried Adderall must’ve been during my freshman year, back in 2017. Midterm season was approaching—come to think of it, that was around this time that year—and our generous friend, Grace, was kind enough to grant me a ten milligram pill of instant-release Adderall. Grace and I, along with Adam and perhaps Ajay, too, were partaking in a midnight study session at Moffitt Library, which was open twenty-four-seven—prior to the pandemic. I popped the pill, chased it down with a Javiva drink from Peet’s, and got to work.

Twenty minutes later I began to feel its effects as the amphetamine altered monoamines in my brain, releasing surplus dopamine into my many synaptic clefts. Optimism filled me to the brim and my vision bent inward. I saw nothing but the iPad in front of me, my mind enamored by golgi apparatuses and various protein structures. The stimulant saturated me with a profound appreciation for all thoughts that meandered into my head; a giddiness originated in my heart, spreading down my arms, my legs, and outward across my skull, contracting then expanding once more. It was artificial love.

Eventually, I was distracted. Grace’s dilated pupils stared into mine as she chattered away about Lin-Manuel Mir-something and a hurricane in Puerto Rico. After a second or two, my attention snapped away from cell membranes, landing instead on her words. The words of a girl from Colorado with a soft spot for the snow. I’d met Grace via Adam during Orientation Week and she’d quickly become one of my favorite people.

Gingerbread specks stippled her face like a George Seurat painting, fractal constellations arising as my eyes outlined her cheekbones. Gaps between long, chocolate locks revealed sepia collarbones, lined with descendants of the freckles on her face. A white Nike Alex Morgan soccer jersey overlaid the loose sweatpants that hung from her hips, held up by drawstrings I almost hoped would fail, concealing proportions that emulated golden ratios. Stained, white, laceless Vans hugged unpainted toes that tapped together when she spoke. Lips that scorned the artificially enlarged mouths of Instagram influencers communicated messages I was only barely beginning to listen to. She was the love interest of a nineties’ coming-of-age motion picture. But she wasn’t mine.

You know, I thought Adam might’ve loved her, but it was hard to tell when he was cycling through hookups with three different girls at a time. Come to think of it, I didn’t know if Adam loved anyone. A talker, yes; a charmer, certainly; but a romantic, I really didn’t think so.

He spent a lot of his time with her, no doubt. And she cared for him—anyone could see it. But she knew as well as I did that his head wasn’t in it. He wasn’t looking for love. He wanted to graduate, make money—to be someone. Sex seemed like nothing more than a physical need to him. I don’t think anyone would’ve described Adam as an emotionally vulnerable guy, and I don’t think anyone thought that emotion was what he kept those girls around for.

But at the same time, anyone could’ve seen what I saw in the way he bounced when she was around. Anyone could’ve heard the way he spoke about her. She meant something to him. But when you asked him about it, he’d brush it off; she wasn’t his type, or he had commitment issues (jokingly—but hey, grain of truth in everything).

Maybe she was his distraction from ambition—his distraction from latex-wrapped, emotionally removed nights and Wall Street Journal mornings, just as she was my distraction from cell structures.

For a good hour-and-a-half, Grace entertained me with conversation regarding natural disasters across the West; Broadway musical comparisons between Hamilton and Sunday in the Park with George; and the latest updates on Cal’s women’s soccer team, of which she was a huge fan. The Adderall certainly kept me focused, although not necessarily on my coursework.

“Let me know,” said Adam, tipping the bottle into the corner of his mouth. “I’m boutta text her back.”

I looked up from my lap at Adam. Right, I thought. “Sure, I could be down. Why not. Think you can pick me up two? I have some errands to run.”

“Twenty milligram XR work?” he asked as he tapped along the screen of his iPhone.

“That’ll do.”

The room went quiet for twenty to twenty five seconds as I was confirmed as an accomplice in the drug deal.

“What’s she been up to?” I asked.

“Hm?” he noised, raising his eyebrows without looking up.

“Grace,” I said. “Haven’t seen her much.”

He shrugged. “Not much, I guess. Drinking a solid amount though, from what I’ve seen.”

“Makes three of us.”

“Yeah,” he said, feigning a smile. “What about yours?”

“Maddie?”

“Yeah.”

I took a deep breath—inhaling, holding to the count of four, exhaling. “Not much of a difference, to be honest.”

“It’s not her fault, you know.”

“I know,” I breathed.

“Then talk to her.”

“It’s not like that,” I mumbled.

Adam paused.

I stared at my feet. “I’m sorry, Adam.”

He squinted. “The fuck you sorry for?”

“You know.”

He waved his hand aside, brushing it off. “I’m not tripping. Talk to her. Before I do it myself.”

I forced a smile. “Maybe it’s better off that way.”

“Here,” he said, handing me a two-foot-tall bong and lighter from under the coffee table. “Take it.”

Couldn’t stay away. My fingers gripped the paraphernalia as he withdrew. My heart quickened as the impending drug interaction approached. When it reached my lips, I lit, then inhaled, holding to the count of four, and then some. Blurry feelings rushed my mind as states of sufferance gave way to sedated nebulas, teaching me forgetfulness.

#writers on tumblr #my writing #fiction #writers #writing #mood #vibe #original #original fiction

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