Ring the Bells

This last weekend—Saturday, to be exact—what we’re drinking got hitched. I know, I know—it’s about time, right? So it’s now all official and the likes, what with the whole for better or for worse thing. And I can tell you all how that played out: I got the better and Elli got the worse. Or, as one of my cousins put it: “Thank you, Elli, for marrying into the family. You’re now part of the long term plan to make this family better through marriage. Because we need it.” Ah, family.

I’m also happy to report that we successfully avoided almost every single traditional component of the wedding reception—there was no mashing cake into each other’s faces, no bouquet or garter toss, no first dance, no kissing when glasses got chimed. You get the picture. Hey, if you like that stuff, good for you. But we don’t. So it got nixed. Thank goodness. There was, however, good food, ping pong, a personalized cornhole game we had made for the occasion (get your mind out of the gutter, pervert), and, not surprisingly, good beer. Basically, it was a large dinner party for all our family and friends, with bluegrass in the background provided by Ben Cooper and friends. So in other words, it was totally awesome. And as I’m hoping that you’ve guessed, the labels here are the beers we had on tap. Nice, huh? We closed out the Bam Biere and the Hazed and Infused, and got about 2/3s of the way through the Old Rasputin. And if everything works out according to plab, the rest of that will get consumed at the DRAFT meeting next Friday. Damn straight. Because we’ve got it like that.