The time honored tradition of the Fantasy Football draft and all its masculine glory. It’s really what I live for. Now just to be clear I know nothing about football. In previous years I’ve drafted players who had retired, been in jail or had already had season ending injured. I’ve been playing with the same league for about 5 years now and the only season I showed any signs of having a decent team was the one year I let my coworker take control. I don’t work with him anymore though and he’s pissed about it so The New Jersey Fuck Whisperers have to live with me as their coach for another year. I’m sorry guys.

Every year I tell myself there is no reason for me to even play. Everyone in the league throws in some money at the beginning of the season and at the end of the year the winner gets a pretty night pot. There’s no way I would ever win so really I’m just throwing money away. But this year I discovered my reason for sticking it out, well outside of getting a chance to make stupid comments and posts on the leagues message board. This year we partook in a live draft. Now normally we all just set our top picks and let the computer do the rest but with the live draft all the members of the league converge at a camp in Massachusetts and battle it out for players. More importantly we all bring a lot of beer and get pretty well lit during the 3 hours process.

To be 100% honest I spent more time in the beer store picking out what I was going to bring then I did trying to figure out my top picks. Pretty much the night before I did a Google search for “Fantasy Football Picks” and printed out the first list I found. I skipped ESPN and Yahoo’s lists just so it looked like I actually put some effort into picking a site to go with. I didn’t. At the beer store though I paced back and forth for a solid 15 minutes before making my selections.

They included:
A 12 of Smuttynose IPA
A 6 pack of Gritty McDuff’s Halloween Ale
A 22 of Wachusett Brewing Company California IPA
A 22 of Bear Republic’s Hop Rod Rye

Now before you go calling me an alcoholic you should know that I was splitting the 12 pack with someone and at the end of the day I still had 2 Halloween Ale’s left over. I don’t know how much I actually drank but I’m pretty sure it isn’t exactly what any sane doctor would recommend for a health lifestyle. Probably.

I’m proud to say I held my own in the draft, made solid selections in the first few rounds. By round 4 I was getting pretty well sauced and started to lose focus but the only real mistake I made was picking Glen Coffee, a running back who apparently retired to focus on his “spiritual goals”. Oddly enough he was also the only pick I made completely on my own after not being able to figure out who was at the top of my list. I was getting close to done and just saw the name “Coffee” and thought how could I go wrong, I love coffee. I’ve really got a eye for talent.

I’m even more proud of my beer selections though. Smuttynose I’ve had before and have always been a fan. Same goes for the Hop Rod Rye. The Halloween Ale and California IPA though were two picks I’ve never sampled and choices based mostly on not being able to find them in my area at home. Wachusett’s really made a great west coast IPA that packs a mighty hop punch without being to overpowering. The Halloween ale is a nice ESB with a solid malty backbone to it that might have been a bit much for the still warm weather but I was a big fan.

At the end of draft day I was happy, slightly drunk and satisfied with both my beer and player selections. The large cookie cake with “Yahoo Football” written on it also went over well. I know manly activities people. So yes I’m tossing fifty bucks out the window every year for this thing but can you really put a price on being able to get sauced with a large group of border line alcoholics with the most insane Boston accents you’ve ever heard? No, the answer is no. Stop thinking about it… it’s no.

On a side note with my new found love for the game of football I’ve decided to start watching the NFL this season. Congratulations New York Jets! Based on the show “Hard Knocks” I’ve officially selected you as my favorite team and I’ve decided to become your biggest fan of all time. You’re welcome!

This past week the wife and I spent 7 lovely days in the rustic state of Maine. We learned many things. There’s a crap load of nature out there, Maine pumps our some great beer and probably most importantly that its natives love shots more than anything else in the world.

We spent most of the trip in the town of Bar Harbor and on most of those days we ended up in a bar for a couple drinks. Alright to be honest it was usually multiple bars for multiple drinks. Most of the bars served the same local beers for the most part and at just about every one we saw people doing shots. On our first day we stopped into The Thirsty Whale for what we learned was probably the best lobster roll in town and a couple beers for lunch. It was just before noon which might sound a little early to be knocking a couple back but keep in mind another couple came in, ordered two shots of whiskey and then went on their way. I should also mention during the trip I learned that a shot in Bar Harbor usually means a high ball glass filled about 2/3rds full. A hefty shot by anyone standards.

That night we stopped at McKays Public House for some beers and we were probably there for about 5 minutes before the bartender offered to do shots with us on him. Meaning he wasn’t going to charge us, he wasn’t asking us to do body shots off him or anything. That would have been kind of weird.

Probably the most amazing sight came on our second to last night in Bar Harbor. We hit a couple spots and then ended up at The Dog and Pony Tavern. One of the few spots that is open past 10 in the town. Because of this fact we quickly learned it’s where a lot of the locals who work at the other restaurants go to grab a few after they get off work. I’ve honestly never seen so many people doing shots in my life. Within a minute of being at the bar a guy came up and ordered 5 shots of some sort of awful concoctions. He was quickly reminded by his tiny little friend that he should get 6. A few minutes later another guy came up and ordered another 4. At one point a guy came up alone and ordered 1 shot. The bartender looked at him for about 5 seconds before the the guy chuckled and said “alright yeah make it 2”. I think doing only 1 shot is a sign of weakness or something. It was unreal. Everyone was wasted beyond explanation. There was a guy who looked to be in his 70’s that everyone called Uncle Ronnie. At one point when I was in the men’s room my wife overheard him say to another guy, “there sure is a lot of pussy here… I’m going to fart now.” That might be the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

By no means am I saying Maine or the town of Bar Harbor is full of drunks. Everyone was super nice to us all week. The gang at The Dog and Pony might have been the friendliest group of drunks I’ve ever run into. Normally when you’re sober and mixed with a group of guys who are seconds away from passing out it’s a big annoying mess but these guys couldn’t have been more fun. I’m just saying that every place we went the people we met had an unreal ability to down shots. I for one couldn’t have been more impressed.

Every morning when I wake up and walk into the living room my turtle goes nuts. It’s got the brain the size of your thumbnail but it’s managed to learn one thing over the years. When the big blob walks into the room after it’s done being dark there’s going to be food raining from the sky. So every morning I walk out of the bedroom and the turtle becomes a violent arm flapping mess. If I didn’t know better I would think the filter had somehow shorted out and was electrocuting her to death. Oddly enough if something like that did happen my wife would have the same reaction as the turtle does in the morning. She’s not a fan of the turtle is my point, circle of life really.

Why am I tell you about this? Well recently it’s become apparent to me that I’m not much smarter then the turtle really. You see every night when the Mrs. BeerandJoe and I sit down to watch TV it’s inevitable that we’ll end up watching some crappy sitcom about a husband who pisses off his wife by doing some god awful stupid thing. Like going to a tractor pull on his anniversary by mistake or something. Men sure are dumb huh? As soon as he’s in the doghouse he won’t know what to do so he sits down his chums to discuss his trouble over a few beers. That’s where little turtle Joey perks up. The moment I see a beer on TV I go into a fit and need one in my hand immediately. My wife doesn’t even have to ask anymore. The moment someone is drinking a beer she looks at me and seeing the gears going in my head. The thought process goes something like this:

1. Hum, those guys are drinking beer
2. Wait a second, I like beer… a lot!
3. Hold on! I think there might be beer in this very apartment!
4. Run to the kitchen and get beer

If we don’t have any beer I start to kick the cabinets and break glasses. Alright not really but I would if I could. Nobody puts Joey in the corner.

Have you ever seen a dog when it sees another dog on TV? They start barking and trying to attack the TV. I’m like that. I see a beer on TV and I need one in me that very second. There’s no stopping it. Do I have a problem? Sure probably but in my tiny little turtle mind the real problem is that I might not have enough been to make me happy. It’s how I was programmed kids. Come to think of it all we watch now are those reality TV shows where housewives sit around and drink wine and complain about their saggy fun bags. Wine has no such effect on me. I think my wife is planning this. To the tractor pull!

So it’s been almost a month since I had my big epiphany about posting non-beer related things and for a solid three days I really kept up with it. As expected I got lazy and left you sitting around wondering what happened to your friend Joe. So in a attempt to keep you entertained I thought I’d tell you the story of when I saw the movie The Human Centipede: First Sequence. Watch close, there’s some beer included.

So as you all know I also do some writing over at Bloodygoodhorror.com and sit in on their weekly podcast. Well about a month ago I got a chance to step up to the plate and do a full on movie review. What’s more I was actually going to go to a private screening of the movie before it saw a release. The film was The Human Centipede: First Sequence. Now if you’re not familiar with the flick in short it’s about a German doctor who decides he wants to sow three people together ass to mouth. Yes you read correctly. So needless to say I had to get in the right state of mind to go check this out.

Now if you’re looking for a way to find the right  state of mind I can 100% tell you that slamming 6 beers and then heading to the theater is not the correct way to get it. But The Pony had their 1 year anniversary party on the same day as the screening and everyone who was a part of their All American club got open bar for 4 hours. I worked too god damn hard for that shirt to not get drunk for free so there was no way around it. And with 6 beers, about 12 wings and 3 sliders forced into my stomach in about an hour I headed off to check out the movie.

Now I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my day my friends and I’m willing to admit them.  And while I did enjoy the movie I would warn anyone who’s going to sit down and watch it to not I repeat NOT get hammered beforehand.  You don’t want to be sitting in a theater trying to pay attention to a guy sowing people’s asses while your bladder is being pressured by 6 pints worth of beer. At one point I had to get up and go to the mensroom and splash water in my face because I thought I was going to pass out. I’m not ashamed to admit it to you people and screw you for judging me. I spent the rest of the movie feeling like my head was going to explode I was so full of booze and confusion. Good times were had by all my friend, good times.

Check out my review of The Human Centipede: First Sequence here.

The little lady and I are big fans of the recent Discovery series “Life”. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the show it was a 10 part series that focused on the wonder and beauty of life. Meaning each episode they followed around a different animals and bugs with some super expensive cameras and made some really cool crap to watch in HD. Oh and Oprah narrated the entire thing. Each episode was pretty amazing but the one on birds really struck a chord. I learned that birds spend most of their time hunting, stealing, killing and generally f’ing with other animals. In short birds are really just natures assholes. I hate birds now after watching the show and in general I think we need to exterminate them all.

To drive home my point let me fill you in on my walk to the bus stop yesterday morning. I was strutting along minding my own business when I caught a small bird out of the corner of my eye. I looked at him, he looked at me and it was on. Without warning the bird swooped down and took a healthy scratch at my back pack. I wasn’t positive what had just happened but when I looked at the bird again, which was now on the other side of me it took another dive, just missing me. The bird was now floating around about 4 feet from me and had a look in it’s eyes like it wanted me dead. If you happened to be looking out your window in the town I live in at about 8 am in the morning you may have seen one of the funniest sights ever. A tall goofy looking man screaming “what the fuck!” at a small bird and running for his life. Luckily the little bastard wasn’t fast enough to keep up with me and I managed to escape. Don’t think he didn’t give it a shot though. I spent the rest of the morning petrified he had retreated back to gather his friends and make another charge at me. Someday I hope that fear that runs through me every time I hear a chirp will do away but for now I live in constant fear of those winged dick heads. They must be stopped.

So now that I’m a big time marathon runner the Mrs. and I have decided to join a gym. Alright we joined close to a year ago but we’re finally getting around to going regularly. Screw you for judging me. I’ve always hated going to the gym but I know it’s something I have to do in order to not be a sloppy bitch. It’s not the actual working out that I can’t stand. No I hate it because I hate giant men who can kick my ass looking at me like I’m a pussy who can only lift fifty pounds. I hate watching them go to a machine after I’ve used it and laughing at how much weight I had it set for. Then they high five their other giant friends and talk about how much better then me they are. Granted I’ve never seen this happen but I know they’re doing it. On top of that the 24 Hour Fitness that we go to is filled with the filthiest men I’ve ever seen. The men’s locker room is like a god damn war zone. There are towels everywhere, the showers are littered with empty bottles of shampoo and the men have no problem throwing their sweat filled shirts all over the benches. It drives me insane but we signed a year contract so we’re stuck there for a few more months.

Last night, shit went too far though. Way too far. While I was in the shower the guy in the stall next to me decided to do what I can only describe as a Midnight Express reenactment. He was pressed right up against the glass for reasons I can’t begin to understand and I saw every nook and cranny of his inner being. The only thing he didn’t do was tap on the glass and whisper “Oh Joey” to me. He was so close that his feet were actually sticking out under the glass divider and in my area. I almost puked on his big old hairy toes. I left the gym frightened and confused and I don’t think I ever want to go back. Now I know what it’s like to be in a Turkish prison.

March Madness, why must you come but once a year. I say this not because of my love for college hoops but because I love a good open bar. Truth be told I have never understood or liked college basketball. Probably because I went to an art school and our mascot was a pretzel. But there really are no two better words in the English dictionary then open bar. Sure most of the time it means bottles of Coors Light and Bud on tap but beggars can’t be choosers. So last night when I went to a company event at the ESPN Zone in Time Square I was happy to find Goose Island Mild Winter on tap. Even if it was 70 in this fine city yesterday and a winter wasn’t exactly what I was looking for it’s still a pretty nice offering in a lineup of macros, yeah yeah I know who owns them and you can shut it. So I put down a few of those and was all kinds of chipper.

Then I saw it happen. As the bartender went into the fridge to get a few bottles of Bud out my little peepers caught a glimpse of just what I was looking for. I spotted Dogfish Head 60 minute IPA in the mini fridge behind the bar as the door was being closed. Now you can ask my wife. I miss red lights, stop signs and even oncoming traffic. I’m not what you would call the most perceptive of guys. But my beer senses were on my friends and I caught just a glimpse of those fine beauties and knew they would be mine. But are they a part of the open bar I wondered? Oh god I hope so. So I asked and the bartenders response to me was, “You saw nothing”. Like the Dogfish beer was some sort of hidden treasure that they only give out to royalty. Just in case you were wondering I was the one guy at this event in jeans and a t shirt. Everyone else was in suits or button down shirts at least. I was however sporting my Dogfish Head zip up hoodie so I asked again and he gave up the goods so I was happy. Very happy. Too happy some would say. Drunken proclaiming my love for my wife on twitter but misspelling the word wife happy. These things happen.

The moral of the story here is there can be too much of a good thing. One minute you’re happy to just be sipping a winter ale and the next your double fisting IPAs like your life depends on it. So today I sit and type to you with a headache, only 4 hours of sleep in me and a mouth that feels like an ashtray. I love me some March Madness!

I can’t tell you anything about their beers, when they’re opening or how drunk I’m going to get off of their offerings but I can tell you I’ve know the owner since I saw a little youngster and he’s a great guy. Brian, along with his wife are just getting the process going for opening their Denver based brewery and you all should hop over to Facebook and become a fan. Every time you become a fan an angel gets their wings. I couldn’t think of anything more creative.

Click here to become a fan and get more info.

For whatever reason I’ve been thinking about The Village Idiot a lot lately. For those of you outside of the NYC area The Village Idiot was a bar located in Manhattan on the corner of 14th and 9th. It closed over 5 years ago but there’s not a day that goes by without me looking out the window and getting a little misty about the wonderful magic that went on there, or how I’d probably be dead if it was still open.

When I first moved down to the city about 10 years ago I didn’t really know anyone. So when a guy at my job, Rob, asked me if I wanted to get a few beers I hopped on the chance. We eventually became good friends and did a decent amount of drinking over the next few weeks around the Union Square area. I was a single man then and had no ties at home so I wanted to explore this fine city and all the bars it had to offer. One day he took me down to The Village Idiot. Little did I know that place would change my life in ways people only read about. The first time we walked in it was about 5 in the afternoon and the bartender was piss drunk, topless and wearing her underwear on the outside of her pants. I was in love. We eventually nicknamed her Chim-Chim and over the next few months became big fans of her work. The bartender who came on for the night shift was in a better state, but as the night when on she got closer and closer to Chim-Chim status. That’s the kind of bar this was.

The jukebox was full of old country music, the beer was cheap and there was an endless supply of peanuts for your consumption. Of course the first time we were there and I went to eat some Rob grabbed my hand like that scene in “Raiders of the Lost Ark” when Indy goes to eat the poison date. You didn’t eat the peanuts. What you did do though is get drunk and thrown them at each other, the bartenders never really seamed to care, sometimes even joined in. The more booze you got in you the worse it would get. Eventually I’d be eating the peanuts.

Over the next couple years the idiot became the spot I would go anytime I got a chance to do some serious drinking. People I knew would complain about the fact that is smelt like vomit, you’d often see cockroaches on the floor and transvestites were regulars. I didn’t care, I loved that damn place. One night I got so drunk there that when I got home I felt that I had to eat something to keep from getting sick. Unfortunately soup was the only thing in my apartment. I spilt some on the floor and neglected to clean it up before putting the pot on the stove and sitting down. When I saw the soup boiling over I ran into the kitchen, slipped on the wet floor and hit the pot which shot boiling chicken soup into my face. The scream I let out was one of the loudest I’ve ever heard. The next day my face was so messed up that people at work forced me to go to the emergency room. I waited two hours for a doctor to give me a sample size Neosporin and a pamphlet on reconstructive surgery. I was not happy. Luckily the burns healed and I’m not a freakish mess today, but I can thank the idiot for that experience.

One night I got off the bus and had to pee so bad that I decided to run the three block hike to my apartment. I got four steps into my job and fell flat on my face, cutting up my hands on the sidewalk. Another night I didn’t notice an air conditioner coming out of a house window and walked head first into the corner. When I moved out of the area a little piece of my head was still embedded into corner of that AC unit. Another night I was there with a buddy of mine and proceeded to do more shots then I’ve ever done in my life. Unbeknownst to my friend every time I took one I put the shot glass in his bag. When we went to leave his bag must of weight at least twenty pounds and to this day he still have those shot glasses. That was also the same night I learned just how expensive a strip club can be in NYC.

I don’t drink nearly as much as I use to back then and I’ve cut hard liqueur completely out. I can say The Village Idiot was the first place I tried Brooklyn Lager and in many ways opened me up to the world of craft beer but I’d be bullshitting if I said I went there for fresh brews. I think we all had a bar like the Village Idiot at some point in our lives, and if you didn’t you’re really missing out on something. After it closed a little part of me died and I spent the next few years trying to find a spot that could take it’s place. I never did. Which is probably for the best really but still the Village Idiot will always hold a special little place in my heart. I rarely go down to the meat packing district anymore. It’s gotten a lot classier, which is a major reason why the Village Idiot couldn’t afford the rent anymore, but when I do and I walk by the old spot I still get a little misty. It’s been occupied by a few different restaurants over the years and I always wonder if the people eating there know what had been on those floors years ago. For their sake I hope not. Go bless you Chim-Chim, whoever you are.

Let’s take a look back and reflect on all the exciting things we’ve been through together this past year shell we? We’ve drank a lot of beer, we’ve toppled a alt-rock superstar in the NYC marathon and we learned how to love again. Sure all of this was lost a few months back when the site crashed but that doesn’t make it any less meaningful. Wait, no I’m pretty sure it does. Anyway let’s move on and make 2010 the most acceptable year to date!

A lot of people have posted their beer picks from 2009. I’m not really sure how that’s going to help anyone but if I was forced at gunpoint to pick my favorite beer of last year I’d have to go with Dogfish Heads White Squall IPA. I’d then ask you why you’ve got a run to my head over some stupid beer pick. It made me want to hug and kiss the bottle, which I did. The wife is still mocking me. I wish I could put a link to my review of the beer but remember that crash we talked about? Man you never listen to me.

Favorite beer stop of the year would have to go to Stone Brewing out in San Diego California. An amazing location that if they would allow me to I’d move in. A great brewpub, an acre garden that you can hang out in and a big ass beer selection that allows you to try not only Stone’s beer but others from the area. Great time.

What’s in store for 2010 here at Beer And Joe? Well I’d like to promise you more posts but I won’t lie to you. I’m pushing for at least one a week, hopefully more. Let’s not lie to each other though. Hopefully some guest bloggers will stop by also because lets face it my grammatical errors can only keep people entertained for so long. But where ever this year takes us I will make this one promise to you, you’ll most likely be disappointed by me. You’re welcome!