The Ninth Day of Christmas

*I don’t know why this paragraph is black. I am powerless to make it white
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a trip to Rockmill Brewery. Alas, a Christmas days event which isn’t a complete ass-jamming! Rockmill is truly one of the hidden gems not only of southeast Ohio, but Ohio altogether. I’ve vividly detailed my drinking experiences hereherehere, and here. This isn’t a Belgian style beer novelty, but serious fucking business. I’ve got one of my favorite beer-swilling chums on the sleigh for this ride, along with the requisite wives. The babysitter is reserved and we have a designated driver. Man I hope there is some holiday shit going on in the tasting room too. I want Christmas lights on a deer rack, minimum. If I know people then I am betting that the hard-working staff at Rockmill Brewery cannot wait to conclude a week of toiling on the compound with a group rolling into the tasting room on Friday late afternoon looking to get fucked up and eventually having to be told to leave because people want to go the hell to sleep. It is sure to make their holiday season that much brighter. I can’t decide which smoking jacket and monocle to wear. I wonder how loud they’d like us to be? I assume screaming like white trash at a Nascar race. I’m saving up my most off-color jokes for the affair and if people look shocked and don’t laugh at first, I’ll assume they didn’t hear me and will repeat, only much louder. They’re gonna love us! If there is one thing in the entire world that people love, it is you and your buddies, because you are the most unique and hilarious group of pals in the known universe and people want to be around you at all times. Rockmill has an extremely unique and aesthetically pleasing tasting room and seating area which will be perfect for our group, though to be honest a Dave and Buster’s or Applebee’s would suffice. I’m considering bringing our Bose blue tooth docking speaker so that we can play this loud and proud for everyone in the tasting room.

I’m very much looking forward to Christmas morning this year because my first kid is old enough to know what the hell is going on and so I’m excited to watch her. But outside of living vicariously through her first lucid Christmas experience, this Rockmill voyage is Daddy’s Christmas morning. They’ll have Saison, Dubbel, Tripel, Cask Aged Tripel, their new Saison Super and for those who will drink wit beer (I just can’t get on board with wits, even if Jesus H Christ himself brewed it), their Wit. But maybe there is something really cool at the brewery right now, something that I don’t even know about? Last I visited Rockmill I sampled enough beer to go home with ample quantity to last until this past Friday night as well as some t-shirt swag that was 2 sizes too big once I actually tried it on. Could way too much take-home beer and ill-fitting swag be in the cards for tonight? Who knows, that is what is so exciting!!! Will the party be raucous enough that Saturday is ruined? If we knew then what would be the point of going? I might be too hopeful, but I’ve visions of the proprietors hiring carolers in Dickensian costume, and escorting us around the various outbuildings and beer cellars on the property in an actual giant sleigh pulled by real Lapland reindeer with a Santa costumed driver. It could happen. Obviously we want snow and if it isn’t snowing, I expect they’ll make plenty of it to give a solid 4-6 inch ground covering. Given the stunning natural beauty of the property I would not be surprised if said sleigh, after the brewing and cellaring facilities tour is complete, then whisked us away into the deep woods beyond the river where a Victorian era outdoor Christmas market and bonfire, with decorated pine tree, awaits us with Rockmill beer flowing from kegs kept naturally cold in the frosty river which runs through the estate. Doesn’t seem unlikely to me. Maybe I’m getting a bit greedy at this point, but I also would like a live performance of “A Christmas Carol” delivered by professional thespians back at the tasting room as the late night entertainment, with George C. Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge. Obviously it goes without saying that we will be served mincemeat pies and figgy pudding during the play. If they can just make good on these very modest requests then we are sure to have an enjoyable evening. I’m going to stop short of asking that they have, under a tastefully decorated tree, wrapped gifts for all of us. I don’t want to be a dick. I deserve this considering that the previous 8 days have produced:

A threat to go to the American Girl Place store
A dead car battery
A lone long pube on the gym shower wall
WHAM!’s “Last Christmas”
A Disney movie filled with princesses
A simultaneously puking yet wild-as-shit toddler
A two-day hangover at age 35 and an
Arctic blast right up the ass

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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