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As we receive a gentle broiling

I marched in Kenmore’s Memorial Day Parade yesterday. It was fun! Boy Scout Troop 539 had a go kart. Everyone thought that was cool.

And then I walked back to our car, drove home and took off my uniform, which was pretty drenched in sweat after all that walking. I opened a bottle of Muskoka’s Kirby Kolsch, and damn it tasted good.

Going back a bit: Saturday’s Bidwell market was, if it’s possible, hotter. Drew and I were under a tarp, mostly in the shade, but I still sweat heartily. When I got back to the brewery Jeannie said I looked like I could use a beer. I chugged a pint of water first (after having had a liter at the market) and then poured myself some Rutherford B. Haze.

Early in the morning, though that seemed even hotter...?

Early in the morning, though that seemed even hotter…?

Back to yesterday (look at me, playing with time like I’m in Pulp Fiction): when I finally pulled out the grill and made patties out of Plato Dale ground beef (which I highly reccomend if you’re of the meat-eating persuasion) I cracked into the Kona Big Wave golden ale I got in my most recent Six Pack Club. I missed the hops from the Kirby, but not to worry: I had another one of those as the day went on.

I go through phases as it relates to beer, which thankfully (?) get chronicled here as they come and go. Lately I’ve been very much of the “it’s just beer, drink it” persuasion. This dovetails nicely with the weather, as the abysmally hot weather practically begs for what are colloquially known as “lawnmower beers”. As an aside: “dovetail” in this context refers to things fitting together perfectly, named after the dovetail joint in woodworking. I had been meaning to look that up and now I have, and you’re welcome.

We’ve noticed this on the selling side as well, with Rutherford selling like mad, and his new cousin in town Amazing Larry even moreso. But this is My Embeered Life, not Our Embeered Sales Pitch, and I don’t think I’ve done nearly enough of the “what I’m drinking these days” genres of posts.

But I’m away from the fan, sweating as though I was back at the market, and so I’ll leave you here, dear reader.