First Night Shift of 2013: Post Game Beer

"A day without sunshine is like. . . well, you know, night." - The words of wisdom found on the underside of a bottle cap from a bottle of Hoptical Illusion Almost Pale Ale*
 

I'm utterly amazed and shocked right now that my brain still has the capacity to string/wire/connect together enough neurons in a series, to allow me to write this entry. I've only had two hours, within a period of thirty-four, of sleep so far. I'm trying to find the right words for all the anger and frustration, but it's hopeless. My effort to make it home in time before sunrise was all in vain. I'll only add that in the future, it would probably be in my best interest use every valid and legal measure available to get out of this bi-fortnightly fiasco. I might even have to go so far as to start watching out for this particular moon phase, or run into some bunker somewhere whenever this kind of Monday night comes along again. The shift itself went reasonably well. What I'm more pissed off about is the wretched chain of events prior and after the shift. I won't go into any great detail; I'll just say that within that time the matters involved: -42 C below wind chill, my car stalling, a sadistic dental hygienist**, 15 extra kilometres worth of walking, an idiotic CAA customer service rep, my neighbour's stupid car alarm, and a subsequent migraine, and the entanglement of all these events that are so bothersome that I'm resorting to something from a source with such a bizarre appellation as "Flying Monkeys" to pacify and sedate myself. I also have this to use (11 Tricks for Perfect Sleep)from my author-buddy, Tim Ferriss, who describes my particular form of insomnia to a tee.

Anyway, this particular beer I'm sampling seems to be extra endowed and bittered with some intense notes of dry finishing hops. Hops have the compound Humulone (alpha-lupunic acid), which has anti-viral properties, serves as a nerve and gastric tonic, and has sedative/hypnotic properties.

"He who drinks beer sleeps well. He who sleeps well cannot sin. He who does not sin goes to heaven. Amen." - Monk, Name unknown 

Ross Murray, writer for the Montreal Gazette once said: "Listening to someone who brews their own beer is like listening to a religious fanatic talk about the day he saw the light." He is, to a degree, quite right; it's only the state of exhaustion I'm in right now that keeps me from expounding more about it, or else I'd be in total beer snob mode right now. I'll simply end off with sharing my favourite beer-related limerick:

On the chest of a barmaid in Sale
Were tattooed the prices of ale,
And on her behind
For the sake of the blind
Was the same information in Braille.
-Anonymous  

* - Enjoy the free advertising plug there Flying Monkeys Craft Brewery (Where Normal is Weird). . . You're welcome!
**- I actually now believe that it's quite possible to get lobotomized through the probing around the nerves of one's molars and gingiva with a pointy sharp metal instrument.