How could we top last week’s delivery of our kettles? After all, they’re big and shiny and awesome. I’ve seen them myself: they are. Oh yes, my pretties.
Well, I believe that despite the overwhelming shinyness of last week, we’ve managed to outdo it already; or at least we will by tomorrow. Shortly after the post went up, our TTB (Alcohol and Tobacco Tax and Trade Bureau) application was mailed in. That’s huge: it’s the first of the two biggest hurdles we’ll be facing, with the second being the State Liquor Authority, or SLA (not to be confused with the Special Libraries Association, of which I was briefly a member). Ain’ no beer being brewed without a TTB license.
So yeah, that’s all well and good in an adult, delayed gratification sort of way. But what about now? Big. Shiny. Well, as of tomorrow we’ve got that covered too, as Chris from Psychobrew is going to be rolling in to personally deliver our single tier burner system. We’ve posted pictures of it before, but not our pictures. Not in our brewery. We haven’t been able to take photos of us in front of the setup, grinning foolishly.
I picture Chris as transporting it on the backs of elephants, like the Prince Ali song from Aladdin, or The Decemberists’ The Infanta. I don’t think this is the case. But then, I haven’t seen it, have I? Maybe there are a multitude of coronets. Time will tell.
Words With Friends soldiers on
The games continue to trickle in, with only three of the first round still being undecided. A second round game is done as well, though that’s to be explained by it having been a match between my wife and I, so we were more likely to come home after work and tell the other to ‘take [their] damn turn.’ When you’re not married you have to be somewhat more polite. She beat me, by the way. What? I didn’t say anything.
And then we’ve also had our first casualty, with Alex Placito having been eliminated by Dan Gigante. The irony here is that Alex’s co-conspirator, Eric, was given the bye and so hasn’t even started a game yet.
Until tomorrow, friends, when the five score pachyderm arrive.
Ironic though it may be, I submit defeat. I am not the Emperor of Words!
It’s totally not ironic…I’ve had this planned for months…I have them all right where I want them.