Oh, the memories

As you may recall, one of my cameras recently blew up. That is, one of my Canon bodies fell victim to a blown out shutter, which was hanging limp in front of my pictures. So naturally, on a subsequent trip to Beers of the World I set my sights on Clipper City Brewery's Loose Cannon, a 7.25% IPA.

First, let me apologize for not photographing this beer. I've been shooting all day, and I'm sick of it. Tough. But this particular beverage filled my trusty clear mug with fluid ounce after fluid ounce of golden refreshment. It may start acting crazy though, as it appears to have lost its head. No biggie; I'm fine with getting straight to business with my IPAs.

One sip, and it all comes rushing back: I've had this before. It's the day before the day before Christmas, and in two hours I'll be at work. On a Sunday. While the Bills are playing, and my brother is in town. But that's not important. What's important is that I had lost a bet to Jeff, a bet that my fantasy team would best his in an epic battle, and I now owed him my own fiendish suggestion for payment: a cover song, written and performed live, about my failure.

Needless to say, being the tone-deaf buffoon that I am, I needed a little coaxing. But more importantly, there was a Bills game on, which is the first and foremost reason for reaching for a beer. And that beer...you guessed it...Loose Cannon!

This beer has hops like Kermit. Something about three different types; three pounds per barrel, etc, is printed on the label. All I know is that it tastes good. Not like frog legs, but like a strong IPA should. In fact, this may even be stronger than the 8.4% Lagunita Maximus IPA that I had last week, although I'd have to taste them side by side to say that with any real confidence.

All I know is that this beer has commanded my attention. It didn't look at me with those big round Kentucky Derby eyes that my Labatt Blue looked at me with last week, pleading "put me out my misery". No. This beer stared into my soul like my elementary school crossing guard. "SLOW DOWN!" it yelled. Then, like a whiny feminist, it begged for me to respect it and appreciate it. To which, unlike a whiny feminist, I agreed.