Two weeks since the last update, which honestly feels like yesterday. Where has 2009 gone?

The opening barrage of the Premiership has seen Liverpool… well, play like shite, really. Already two losses in the books, to Spurs and to Aston Villa. They tried their bloody best to lose another one this weekend to Bolton – or rather Jamie Carragher did, whose best days in a red jersey seem to be behind him. All he seems to do these days is cock up, followed by hopping around shouting and blaming everyone else (sounds like me, actually…)

Brewing’s been going well. The brown ale is in the bottle, awaiting carbonation. We stuffed it in there Tuesday, so only six days, which means there’ll be feck all yet – but that doesn’t stop me having to fight off temptation “just to crack one open to see”. We’ll be brewing up batch 3 this weekend – a honey vanilla cream ale, inspired by Anderson Valley’s Cerveza Crema – and will crack bottle #01 then. Fingers are crossed.

Meanwhile, the Impossible Imperial Chocolate Stout is in secondary, and looking blacker than Dick Cheney’s heart. Tastes pretty good too – lotsa malt, and a hint of chocolate. Certainly hoping that the flavour balances out over the next couple of weeks in the carboy, followed by a few months of bottle conditioning. We definitely need to give it a wee chocolate boost, which we’ll do at bottling with a little chocolate essence, but this is one that’s going to be REALLY hard to avoid opening early. (Jeret’s will be gone by Christmas…)

Speaking of beer, I’m never drinking again. Jeret’s 30th birthday saw a group of us go out and get sauced at Fly Bar in the city. Numerous pints of Brother David Triple snuck up on me and kicked my arse, rewarding me with stupid judgement and the hangover from hell. Stupid judgement, you ask? Yep, Jeret’s handmade 30th Birthday Present (a locked wooden case inspired by JC’s kickass Trillium beer crates, stuffed with 12 of Jeret’s favourite bumpers) was sitting in the car to give to him at the end of the night. Only I decided to leave the bar and run to snag it. And, of course, I thought it’d be a good idea to try and balance it on my shoulder while locking the car up, and it ended up sliding off, smashing, and taking half the beer with it. Grrr.

In other news, I got off my arse and did the 5K plate to plate run yesterday with Tracee, Jeret, and Anna. I haven’t done any form of running in a few years, other than chasing after a ball, so I was a bit nervous. Especially since Jeret’s been training for it for two months, and Anna was able to knock off the SF Marathon. Happily though, I was able to motor through it without stopping or slowing down, finishing in 30:41. Would have been a minute or two quicker too, if I didn’t have to negotiate around throngs of people who decided they just wanted to walk it, and pulled numerous Crazy Ivans all over the course. This was followed by a most excellent baseball game, where we got to watch the Giants sweep the Rockies to get into the last wildcard slot for the playoffs (well, temporarily, at least). So while Liverpool are circling the drain, at least the local baseball team are doing alright!

My sister’s getting here in a week. Looking forward to it, while at the same time not. Love her to bits, there’s just a lot of work we need to get done before she gets in, and having ANYONE stay with for a week is always a test of my patience. But there’ll be plenty to do, and a good time will be had. The day she flies out, I’m supposed to be heading north to Tahoe for a mountain biking weekend with Michael, but work has decided to make that Friday a mandatory staff meeting. I’m furiously trying to get out of it, but not looking good, damnit…

Wow, apparently so. Fair amount’s happened in the past few weeks since the last post.

First up, work. Conference went well by all reports, despite the “legal issues” surrounding our esteemed Prez. As that was going on, I managed to whack out the magazine, which was greeted with much applause and back patting. Seems like I’m capable of doing my job AFTER all, and it would have been a rather stupid move to give me the old heave ho, eh Mr. President? Alas, rather than make this statement to the afforementioned Prez, he fell on his sword and resigned. So all change at the office again, but the atmosphere is a lot better back there, and people have reported that they now wake up for work singing this.

Not an image I want in my head. (Shudders)

In other news, we managed to disappear up to the cabin for a long weekend. Myself, Tracee, Professor Mike, and Jarod were joined by a pair of lovesick teenage kids. Awww, just kiddin’ Michael, but you did almost induce vomiting at a few points! (That might have been the copious amounts of beer…) As usual, a good time was had by all, and the beer served an extra purpose – creating empties for the newly formed….

Ta-daaa! Yep, not satisfied with buying the brewing equipment, I’m getting all obsessive about things as usual, so Long and Short Brewing has a name. And a logo. But more importantly, two (count ‘em, TWO!) brews in progress. The brown ale which is unofficially titled Ol’ Dirty Bastard, and a – wait for it – double chocolate imperial stout to be referred to as “Whenin Doubt – Chocolate Stout”.

The brown hits bottles next weekend, while the chocolate stout’s not going to be drinkable for another 6 months or so. Which means we’ll have to make a couple more stopgap brews to tide us over until we crack that mutha’!

Other than that, not a lot going on. Michael will be furiously dialling me when he reads that my arse hasn’t been on my bike at all in the past month – thanks to crappy scheduling for work, being out of town or busy doing other crap (cabin, roped into wife-related events, in-law invasions, etc.), my riding partner disappearing for two weeks on vacation (how dare he!!) and – I’ll be honest here – lack of motivation to ride dusty as feck trails in the height of summer. The result is that the past month has seen zero weight loss – but has also seen zero weight gain. But being on my duffer is certainly not going to see me in good stead when we ride Tahoe next month. (I know, Michael, I know…)

Footy season kicks off this weekend (another excuse to not ride!), with Liverpool in action against Spurs. Have to say, the confidence that our strong finish had given me for this campaign’s worn off with our activity in the transfer market. Two players out – one of whom was our player of the season – to be replaced by two similar players. Glen Johnson steps in for Arbeloa, which in fairness is an upgrade, while Xabi Alonso’s replacement is Alberto Aquilani – a tremendous talent when he’s not on the treatment table being nursed with some injury or another. Indeed, the guy’s not even available to play for us for another month, as he recovers from ankle surgery.

Christ!

So, um, Gerrard and Nando? Up to you two. Again.

Right, I’m off to bed. Night night!

Well, it’s not going to be Ubermick brewing – since I’m partnering with Jeret on this little venture. But this past weekend saw me head into town and pick up…

….my very own gear for brewing my own tasty goodness. Jeret and I have long talked about brewing our own beer, and since we were at the Asian Art Museum checking out the Lords of the Samurai exhibit, I made an executive decision to drive us over to SF Brewcraft (Tracee was thrilled) to snag some tasty wares.

I’m rather excited about it, and chomping at the bit to get started, but we’re headed to the cabin this weekend, so (hopefully) next weekend is when we can get together and get going. First batch is going to be an English Brown Ale – based on the recommendation of SF Brewcraft’s resident guru, the Griz (who folks love or hate, depends on who you ask) but we’re already planning a chocolate coffee stout for the winter…

The main reason I tend to be a fat b’stard is because I eat when I get stressed.

I’m not talking about stress levels when you have a deadline at work, or are engrossed in a football match. No, I mean stress as in SERIOUS situations. Life changing situations.

For example, it’s no coincidence that I chubbed up three times in my life. First, when my parents died. Second, when I moved to America. And third, when T and me decided we’d get married, find new jobs, move cross-country, and buy a house in Marin County. In the space of a year. Both times before, I cut the weight as soon as I dealt with the issues at hand – and now that we’re here and things have settled down, I’m dealing with the third “chubbening”. But now that this crap’s started at work, I’m noticing I’m slipping. A weekend down in Santa Cruz with Professor Mike saw me crack open one too many beers. And by one too many, I’m talking about a dozen over the course of this past weekend. Plus a bottle or so of wine. (Holy shit, I drank a lot this past weekend!) And add to that, the focus I’ve had the past three weeks slid around like Stephen Hawking on ice (without snow tires). It seems that the weekends are my downfall, especially when I’m not at home. That’ll be remedied this weekend, when I plan on staying the feck home for the first time in a month.

So am sure that when I sidle up to the scale this week, I’ll be suitably annoyed. I’m kinda hoping that venting about it here will help.

Work’s still on tenterhooks. We had a conference call yesterday to address the “situation”, mostly in the words of El Presidente “To calm folks down”. Of course that worked well when he said that even though he was “pretty sure” that the worst was behind us, in terms of cutting staff, he couldn’t rule out that it might happen again. And since yours truly was the one closest to the old heave-ho without getting it, I’m feeling AWESOME about that! There’s talk about changing our retirement plan from the absolutely free, ludicrously extravagant version to something a bit more normal – which shocks me. In my eyes, that should have been the first thing that went. Don’t get me wrong – love me my bennies, but I’d rather pay the mortgage, thanks very much. But alas, our office is made up primarily of folks who are dancing around retirement age, so of course it makes more sense for them to prefer to boot people out the door into this economy, than give up an ounce of the good stuff. That’s another pet peeve of mine – there’s so many folks who are at, or beyond, retirement age at work. And yet they continue to work, raking in their salaries, ridiculous retirement, and fattening social security, milking every last drop possible – while the younger folks in the office work for far less money, struggle with mortgages like yours truly, or now find themselves unemployed.

Awesome.

Aaaaanyhoo. In other news, the Premiership’s over for another season. Not officially, but it is for Liverpool – with United clinching their 18th league title, and 11th in the past 20 years. Us Liverpool fans are understandably miffed about it, and many absolutely refuse to give any credit whatsoever to our mortal enemies, citing that the best team most certainly didn’t win. Of course, my opinion is that the league table never lies, and that we left it too late to show the sort of form we’re capable of. But it’s in the past now, and all we can do is look forward to a Summer of silliness and irritation – where we begin by being linked to the likes of Carlos Tevez and David Silva, but will probably end up with Gareth Barry, an elderly Spanish former international, and some kid who nobody’s ever heard of, but honestly, he’ll be the next big thing (before disappearing into the reserves, and being sold on in two years, hopefully more or less breaking even…)

Off to ride today with JB. First time on the Turner in almost a year. I’m both looking forward to it, and dreading it. As I’ve said in the past, JB’s not only an expert rider, but is fit as all feck when it comes to riding (funnily enough, I can run him into the ground at footy, even though I’m lugging around 30lbs of chubb!) which means that the reminders I’ve given him about “Look man, bear in mind I’m fat, I’m NOT fit, this is my first time on the bike in a LONG time so I’ll be rusty as fuck, so for the LOVE OF GOD take it EASY!!” will last about five minutes. Ah well, only thing I can do is get back in the saddle, and it’ll come back.

Speaking of which, better get some work done before I disappear for it…

—————-
Now playing: Oasis – To Be Where There’s Life
via FoxyTunes

Had one of the funner weekends I’ve had in some time. Ben arrived Thursday night for a long weekend, and Michael made the trek up from Ventura to hang out as well. Professor Mike was in the mix for an evening too, but bailed early for work – the pussy. The three of us are all going through adjustments, so to get together I think helped out a lot – at least it did for me. Nice to know that there’s always folks around (even if they’re miles away) that you can shoot the shit with and feel good around.

As to be expected, beer was flowing freely, with a field trip to Russian River Brewing and Bear Republic on Friday, as well as plenty of 12oz curls back home courtesy of the beer fridge. And we ate well too, as usual, with a big ol’ grillfest on Saturday night beating the shit out of substandard Lococo’s pizza the night before. We did manage to get a little bit of hiking in, out in Point Reyes, although hardly enough to burn off a beer, let alone all the crap I ingested over the weekend. Clicky piccy…

So I was driving Ben to the airport that Sunday night, talking over some of the crap on our minds on the way down. The drive home was sullen and annoying for me after I got him there safe. I’m furious at myself for getting so overweight. It’s not that I’ve let 10lbs creep on, I’ve got a good 40 I need to lose. What’s even worse was that I knew I had to lose 30 a year ago. And 20 the year before that. I’ve seen it coming, known I’ve needed to deal with it, and just… haven’t. That’s not like me at all. (Seeing those pics of me above didn’t help either)

So I got home, and had a sit down with Tracee. Neither of us are happy with the way things are – we’ve both chubbed up considerably, we’ve both talked about dealing with it, but we just haven’t – and I explained how upset and frustrated I was because of it. And, let’s be honest – I’m sure Tracee would prefer it if I looked like my old self instead of a lardarse, and I gotta admit, I miss the more streamlined version of Tracee I met back then. We’re on the same page, and we resolved to do something about it, starting immediately.

My beloved breakfast sandwich has been replaced by eggwhites, boiled pinto beans, and a little bit of Gimme Lean. Lunch has been salads, fruit, lean protein. Dinners the same. The beloved beer fridge is off limits for 8 weeks. Two days of soccer, two days of getting out on the bike. And the thing is, it’s not a chore. It’s like my mind’s finally got to where it needs to be to get rid of the flab. I’m not even tempted by the usual crap. Don’t get me wrong, a burger sounds good, but getting the weight off sounds even better, so in my head it’s no contest.

As a little motivation, I’ve set a goal. By September, I wanna do the Tabeguache ride in Fruita. 84 miles of hut-to-hut mountain biking over four days (with plenty more available at the huts afterwards), followed by a massage and comfy bed at the Gateway Canyons Resort. It got written up in NG Adventure last year, and it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. At $645, it’s a little steep, but the nice thing about this over the San Juan Huts is that this is completely all inclusive, and there’s absolutely no logistics needed – the outfitter does everything, from stock the huts to cooking the breakfast and dinners. Hopefully I can talk Michael and JB into it…

—————-
Now playing: Led Zeppelin – Good Times Bad Times
via FoxyTunes

Every St. Patrick’s Day, it’s always the same. A few days before, I start getting offhand comments from coworkers and friends, saying things like “I bet you’re not coming to work on the 18th!!” and “So how much are you going to drink?”

The day arrives, and people are asking me where I’m going out. And when I politely tell them I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a rusty spoon than set foot in a bar on St. Patrick’s Day, they wonder why I’m not going to “represent”.

Even yesterday, when I had a checkup on the periodontal work done, the hygeinist asked how much I had to drink. On a conference call at work, folks were asking me if I recovered yet. Jesus – as if I need some sort of holiday or excuse to drink!

This folks, is why I never go out on St. Patrick’s Day. Because despite the stereotypes, the Irish aren’t raging drunks who need to get hammered until we can’t stand – but most of all, there’s no feckin’ way I want to be the token mascot for a gang of Budweiser-swilling, plastic green hat wearing Americans who think they’re Irish just because they’re so drunk, they vomit every few minutes. Case in point…

For the record, on St. Patrick’s Day, I spent a couple of hours in the front garden pulling weeds, and rewarded myself afterwards with a hot shower, and a beer on my couch with a bowl of stew.

Oh man, now I got to think about some remodelling plans for the house, after getting inspired by this:

Okay, okay – I know. It’s been a while since the last post, and I’ve been slacking off. But it’s that time of year. Aside from being swamped with work, we’ve had the pleasure of moving.

But the move is done, and now we’re in our house! Hooray! I’ll get some photos posted for ye all (well, those who are interested) but first and foremost, the most important thing in the new house – my beer fridge!

The move went brilliantly. We used a local moving company called Birch Circle Movers who tore through the job like men possessed. Our furniture was moved in record time, without so much as a scratch. Bravo those lads. But before we brought anything over, we unleashed hell on the floors. The previous owner had carpeted the whole place (even one of the bathrooms!) in white carpet, which just wasn’t going to fly. So we hired Matt Reagon of Fundamental Floors to tear up the carpet and go to work on the gorgeous hardwood. Check it:

After the floors were done, and the moving was sorted, we got to work painting. We enlisted the help of as many folks as we could (amazing how many people were mysteriously out of town that weekend) but our boys Fil Gonzalez and Mike Braswell swung by and kicked arse.

So now we’re here and living, the work still goes on. The deck needs attention, the back and front gardens are wildly overgrown, and there’s always something that needs doing. Which reminds me – I’d better get back to it. Post more soon, honest!
—————-
Now playing: Coldplay – Viva La Vida
via FoxyTunes

So yesterday, I had an appointment with the good ol’ INS, or USCIS, or whatever they’re called these days, up in Santa Rosa to have my green card renewed. Given that I had to head north, I decided to take the opportunity to explore a little of Northern California, so I went for a drive up to Booneville, home of Anderson Valley Brewing Company.

Unfortunately, ’twas closed, but the helpful ladies at the office sent me on my way after a bathroom break with a sixer of assorted beers, and a media pack full of coasters, stickers, and other goodies. Nice of them!

Next stop was Mendocino Brewing Company in Hopland. Unfortunately I wasn’t paying attention and blew right past it, so ended up at Bear Republic in Healdsburg instead. There I enjoyed a tasty mahi mahi sambo with the first beer of the day – a glass of their phenominally tasty Heritage ale aged in bourbon barrels. Mmm-mmm, good! I was now in a mental position where I could deal with the INS…

…which took all of 15 minutes. So with time to kill, my next stop was Russian River Brewing Company in Santa Rosa. I bellied up to the bar, ordered a sampler platter of brews, and fell in love – this has to be my new favourite spot. Phenominal brew! But as much as I could’ve stayed there all day, I needed to head back in time for trivia…

…after a quick stop at Lagunitas Brewing Company, of course. Thankfully for my liver, they were closed, but the lady at the office asked me to come back another day at 3:00pm and she’d give me a tour of the brewery.

Alright, not a very exciting read for you, but a great day out for me, amidst the soaring Northern California countryside. The drive up and through Anderson Valley was amazing, and I was convinced I could see Mount Shasta way to the north at one point. (Well, snow capped peaks, it was either Lassen at the northern end of the Sierras, or coulda been the ass of the Cascades…) Still though… damn, I love California!

No movement housing wise, in case you’re wanting an update of that. Yer man is still hunkered down, apparently looking, but no word yet on whether he’s found anything. Six weeks from tomorrow we get the keys for sure, but we were sorta hoping for sooner than that… ah well.