The Winter Beer Carnival...

Or so it was billed. Oddly, we stood in a long line underneath a remarkably hot mid-February sun, just waiting to get our wristbands and our red star stamps, those happy indicators of our ability to imbibe. It wasn't until much later that the clouds rolled over and it almost felt once again like Spring hadn't begun yet. Not that I'm complaining. This was a ridiculous winter in Atlanta. Not ridiculous because of the amount of snow and ice. Ridiculous because the city is apparently in denial that such a thing as snow and ice could happen, and worse, stick around for several days. Perhaps it will revert to a summer scenario like we had last year, where temperatures hit the 90s for 9 straight months.

General notes on the festival: limited and unremarkable beer selection, overwhelmingly attended by people I would not have thought to be 21 or over but for the dayglo green wristbands, a strange sort of celebrity.

Yes, the beer selection was unremarkable. Most of the beers there were poured from bottles, first of all, and were available widely around town already, more times than not in draught form. Nice. Next time charge 8.99 for admission, if you're just going to pour me beer from a bottle I could have gotten in a sixer for the same.

Young people. Probably all or mostly college aged. Nothing wrong with this type of person in general, but they tend to be outspoken about things. Perhaps time and reality haven't synced up yet in their lives to dissuade them from just letting fly with their newly found thoughts and opinions. Whatever it is, it makes me uncomfortable, and very likely, old.

Which leads perfectly into the final observation--today I was a celebrity. I can't tell you how many men complemented me on my beard. Granted, it's a formidable one. I don't shave the moustache either, which makes it even seem bigger. I've never been hit on by so many straight guys before. But that's not all. Not only did I step softly but carry a big facewig, I also stood in line for nearly 45 minutes (waiting for a corn dog, as one will) reading a book. That bought street cred with the ladies. So, I also had women coming up and asking about the book I was reading. I am a member of a book club I said. Oh, I've been in one of those, they countered. Tell me about this book. I shall endeavor to (this I did, not said). Anyway, at one point I was even accused of being a ninja, hiding in plain sight, at one point. You have to understand, I don't go to these events to socialize. That is why I came alone and brought a book. But apparently there was no ducking below radar what with reading a massive paperback called The Doomsday Book and wearing the burning bush over my face.

In the end it wasn't all bad. I do not regret going, and I have also come to the conclusion that I do not need to ever attend this particular festival again. All together, a rather productive day.

This has been brought to you under the influence of: Terrapin Hopsecutioner, Abita Turbodog, Rogue Mocha Porter, Point 2012 Black Lager, Red Brick Long John Ale and Porter, Holy Mackerel Panic Attack, Bridgeport IPA and Hop Czar and good old Sweetwater IPA. Plus some wicket McKellar 10 that I had when I got home.