The engine that pumps the creative juices through my veins is powered by showers. Hot, long showers. Shower power, if you will.
The other day, due to some scheduling conflicts, I was unable to find time for a shower. It was devastating. My mind was a total blank.
To make matters worse, the following day, my shower was interrupted by my daughter. She had woken up from her nap. I could hear her in the baby monitor. She was saying, “I need to wash my hands, Daddy.”
I thought, "Why does she need to wash her hands?"
You may be wondering the same thing.
I can't be sure of the exact sequence of events, but based on evidence I have collected, I believe I have pieced together a pretty solid time line. First, she pooped. Second, she woke up from her nap. And can I just interject here how happy I am that I do not poop while I am sleeping? Third, she removed her diaper. Fourth, she sculpted her poop into a near perfect sphere. Fifth and finally, she set the near perfect shitball on the railing of her crib, which is where I found it when I opened the door. She waved hello with her crap covered hands and said, “I need to get out Daddy and wash my hands.”
Yes you do, honey. Yes. You. Do.
Most kids make mud pies. My daughter makes shitballs.
The point of all this is that I have not had a solid shower in three days and and things are quickly spiraling out of control. I may be losing my mind.
Have you ever fashioned yourself a pair of briefs out two slices of white pizza? Me either. Although the thought definitely crossed my mind today, so much so that I sexted Wife about it to gauge her level of interest. I learned two things – she is a terrible speller and she is not into pizza underwear, regardless if the cheese faces in or out.
Have you ever dreamed you were being visited by your guardian angel? Have you ever dreamed your guardian angel was visiting you to help with your sensory perception training? Because I have dreamed those things, during what I've started to refer to as the Great Shower Drought of 2013. Not only did I dream that I started a sensory perception training program because I felt I was not good enough at hearing, seeing, smelling, touching, and tasting, but the training program was so intense that my guardian angel felt the urge to visit me to help me through it.
Would you like to know how that dream ended? Well, after succeeding in heightening my five senses, my guardian angel revealed to me what the sixth sense was. She said that the sixth sense was the ability to affect the senses of others. I asked her what I could do to improve my sixth sense. She told me I should consider using breath mints regularly and then disappeared.
According to the guardian angel in my dreams, my sixth sense is my breath and it is so bad that people have trouble hearing what I say when I am talking to them. My breath is so bad, it will affect your vision. It is so bad, apparently, that people are losing feeling in their fingertips. My breath will make your body go numb. I awoke with a shattered ego and the breath of a man that ate a giant shitball. And the stark realization that stinky breath jokes and poop incidents have climbed a bit too high on the totem pole of my subconscious.
Perhaps this dream was a kharmic payback for all the times I've mocked my Wife about her halitosis. Or perhaps this dream was a warning that Wife's halitosis has become contagious. Maybe Wife's halitosis is actually my halitosis and we have just been passing it back and forth. Maybe Nirvana's song "Drain You" is actually about my family's halitosis.
Nevermind. I just googled those lyrics and I was way off.
There is a beer review in here somewhere, and we are getting closer. I can feel it.
Have you ever stood in the pouring rain, wearing a white poncho, drinking copious amounts of beer? I have, with Wife, who happened to also be wearing a white poncho. I remarked how we looked like a couple of ghosts. I said I felt like Alec Baldwin in Beetlejuice. I asked her if she felt like Geena Davis. She didn't reply. She probably couldn't hear me because my breath smelled so bad.
Speaking of Geena Davis, I haven't seen the movie Quick Change in over ten years, but I recall it being a hell of a flick. I feel it had a large role in shaping me as a person. I'm not saying it impacted my personality or sense of humor. I'm theorizing that it somehow affected the shape of my adult body. It was that good.
Speaking of things named Gina that have affected the shape of my body, have you ever gone to Birreria, the roof top bar in Manhattan where they brew unfiltered cask ales in collaboration with Sam from Dogfish Head, Teo Musso of Baldin, and Leonardo Di Vincenzo of Birra Del Borgo? I have. And each time I've been there I have had an assortment of amazing meats and cheeses and an American Pale Ale brewed with fresh thyme. They call this beer Gina.
Gina is subtle at times, complex at others, and has moments where you're not sure what to think.
Gina is cloudy and golden orange, as a cask pale ale should be. The aroma is thyme and more thyme, and maybe pine but really I think that is just more thyme.
Gina is a girl with lots of thyme on her hands.
But Gina has taste. And flavor. And style. And she mixes them all together. She has an earthy, herbal quality the slowly grows on you and then slowly fades, like a bell curve, mirroring the experience of bringing a few sprigs of fresh thyme to your nose as you cook her dinner. You want to impress her. She has already impressed you.
Like a lot of New Yorkers, Gina finishes with an easy bitterness. And pine flavors.
Most importantly, Gina is creamy. And smooth, always smooth. The time in the cask has done her well, rounding out the hard edges, blending different flavors that would otherwise seem too eclectic and strange.
More women should be cask conditioned.
Gina, La Birreria 4.2/5
appearance = 3.75/5
smell = 4/5
taste = 4.25/5
mouthfeel = 5/5
overall = 4/5