So I found out that Wil Wheaton is a homebrewing blogger today. In addition to being a regular blogger/gamer/geek.
What am I gonna do now? He’s cornering the freakin’ market! Respected by geeks, hosting a gorram web series playing board games with famous people, credited with Wheaton’s law, plus gets to act and write. For a living! (And I don’t care what Wil says, the wisest amongst us have been saying ‘Don’t be a dick ‘forever, so nyah. He just gets credit for the New Millennium version. Damnit.)
Now he’s moving into the beer blogging arena and we’re all doomed! Why read any of the amateurs when you can have a pro? The only readers I’ll have left will be my mom and dad (my sisters will defect to Wheaton’s blog in a nanosecond, because they don’t have to pretend I’m cool.)
He’s even managing to brew at about the same rate that I am, on top of moving on to all grain brewing! Grrrr. I’m actually waiting for him to steal my girlfriend at this point.
Worst of all: he’s cool. I don’t even get to hate him because by all accounts, he’s a good guy. I am kind of a dick sometimes, on purpose. Because I believe that occasionally, people should be told to fuck off.
And see: there goes my Mom, off to read about a nice young man: ‘If ony my son would be so awesome.’
So I’m killing my hopes and dreams with a Rusty Truck Stupiphany, (which feels like a really, really bad name) an imperial red ale that, 2/3rds down, I’m getting an aftertaste hat I’m just not sure of. Not alcohol, just that odd flavor you get when you have something sweet, too sweet even, with no compliment. Like milk chocolate with no accompaniment. It’s good but I want some food with this one; it just doesn’t quite work solo.