I won’t apologize for liking this beer. It’s velvety and chocolate with a hint of vanilla that starts at the nose and chases you through the entire sip. It’s good. Really good.
It’s the last day of Bush’s Presidency, and it is in that spirit that I enjoy this beer. A very strange and unexpectedly difficult time has been ushered into my country because of this man and the people he was backed by and looked to for support, and just like the rest of his life, he won’t have to deal with the consequences of his actions.
I have never seen a man so hated in my lifetime, and it is almost enough to make me feel sorry for him. But he bought into a particular machine in order to gain power, and so all I can say is this: He earned the ire of my country.
I ponder Bush’s ending as one of my own comes up. I have put in my two weeks at my job and the weekend, instead of being filled with a kind of joyous liberation was plagued by a sense of humiliation. This arrived on multiple planes, courier’d to me via those strange human pathways that life keeps hidden from you, but you know are out there nonetheless. Especially when they arrive with your name and the weight is awful but you have to sign for the packages; they are yours and that’s the way it rolls, man. Good luck, says the dude with the inventory sheet, your name and date scrawled on it in blue ink, tucked neatly beneath his arm as he walks away.
However, this too will pass. Just as this stout changes as I drink it, the coffee elements starting to make themselves felt a little more than the chocolate, so will other little notes make themselves seen as I go on.
It’s going to be a new day in America, tomorrow. It always is though; and so it is with life. But you know what? The good healthy now of a vanilla bean stout is a fine reminder to exist in the moment, and not let things get away from me.