Friday, July 8, 2011

Beer, Blues and Illegal immigrants..... yowza!

OK.  It;s the 16th annual Beerfest in Beautiful downtown Wixconsin. I think I have gone to about thirteen of them.  It is a real simple concept... thirty or 40 small breweries and distributors bring in about 100 different kinds of beer..... Ales and Lagers and Stouts, oh my..... one ticket gets you all the beer you can drink.  AND... I live within walking staggering distance from the even grounds down by the river.

It is also a great way to meet drunken fools, sample styles of beer and ale only available in limited quantities. This is not for Coors Light drinkers. It is also a charitable event; proceeds are donated to the local Domestic Abuse Shelter.
So.... that is what I am doing tomorrow from 3-7.   Every SOB in town will be there (Society of Oshkosh Brewers) a group dedicated to make strange, exotic and wonderful tasting home brews.
Al and Katy

And another really really good thing about the beerfest is that old SOB, Al, will be bringing Katy and she whips up a fantastic Mango Salsa and some beer bread... yummerz.

So that covers Saturday... and Sunday, if my memory serves me correctly about recovery time.

I have been dealing with illegal immigrants... of a sort. I handle them with a chainsaw.  Basically... there were plants, trees introduced into America for a wide variety of reasons that have taken over or threaten native vegetation. I am cutting down a couple of Russian Olive, Asian buckthorn and a European Black Alder on a friends property.  All of them tend to be very invasive spreading faster than the common cold in a day care. The real trouble is that if they spread too much yu end up with a monoculture of one species with no diversification. The fruit is not good for native birds, the wood is too soft to use and all the species are short lived.  Unlike humans, where diversity is good and enriches our culture.... whatever that is.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Lost Bayou Ramblers

OK... I have to tell the truth.... I am not a real big 4th of July fan.  You either stay in town.... with everyone who cannot afford to get out of town.... or you end up in a crowded resort area.... with everyone woho could.  These days I fall into the former category.

I avoided going to the lake front, where our little 'festival is going on.  The odors of midway diesel fuel, fried grease,  and unwashed armpits  rather, ah, turn me off. Plus, all the beer is Budweiser and I hate Bud.  I relented a bit and road my bike down on Saturday, to listen to a little Zydeco.  One hour is all I could handle.  Much to my distress, when I arrived home, I discovered I had lost my checkbook down there, somewhere, in the great unwashed horde.  Needless to say, it threw me into a bit of a funk.  So Sunday I avoided it all and went for and extended bike ride.  When I got back there was a note stuck on my apartment door, "the check is in the mail".... and sure enough... that is where the checkbook was.... nothing missing.  Someone found it, tracked me down from the address and returned it.  Maybe there is a clean conscience int he unwashed horde.

I relented on going to the lake front yesterday.... stopped at Lee and Denise's to see what they were up to.  "Tuba Dan, at 12:45," is what Lee said. "Main Stage, be there!"  Now, Tuba Dan is a Polka Band, I think they have been around since 1874 or such.  But Lee gets a bit obsessed with things and the latest is Polka Music, so there I was at 12:45 soaking up a sound that well, I would rather not.

So.... have a limited 'om-pah-pah' tolerance we rotated between the polka band and the Cajun music on the other side of the park lagoon.  Now, there are some similarities between Cajun and Polka... but they are best not talked about.  Cajun is much more fun, and as far as I know, there are no polka bands with fiddles, so right away the advantage is to Cajun.  And the Cajun food is better.... really... ever try Red Beans and Cabbage?  No no no no.

But that was it.  Small times, small towns.  Trust me... it is not all that bad... and the check is in the mail.

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