Natural Brewers Association

A couple nights ago I was drinking beers with a new friend who said she was a home brewer. She had her beer done — all she needed was a name for it. It's playoff season and I've got basketball on the brain right now, so my mind immediately drifted toward the hardwoods. "You should call it Charles Barley," I said, which got a few laughs from a table full of drunk people who work in the sports biz. That conversation led to a beer-fueled brainstorm, followed by a night filled with dreams where "hops" and "dunkels" meant something a little different.

The next morning, I woke up and wrote everything down. Without further ado, here are the many flavors of the NBA (Natural Brewers Association), where "Every five-pack comes with a sixth man":

Charles Barley
Cream Abdul-Jabeer
Shaquille Oat'meal Stout
Kevin McAle
Kevin McPale Ale
Patrick Brewing
Pilsner Pete
Clyde Drinxler
Bill LamBeer
Terry Porter
Bill Malton (best served Luke warm, like in England)
Brewlius Erving
Amare Stoutemire
Scottie Sippin
Michael Jordan Dunkel
Hakeem I'llgetchawon

Needless to say, I'm dribbling in anticipation of throwing some of these down...

Surf's Where You Find It

Sometimes it's at the bottom of a Michelada (Beer + Lime Juice + Salt + Worcestershire Sauce), as it was the last couple days -- as we endured a rare flat spell in San Pancho, Mex -- and sometimes it's actually out there, just requiring a little more "gasolina" and conviction to uncover.

I've been out of town, which (along with a rental house that doesn't have internet) has really slowed my blogging down. We really thought that were were going to get skunked (again, for some) in Nayarit, but found a rivermouth that magnified the miniature swell and organized the waves into sweet, shoulder-high lines. When OS and I rounded a bend on a muddy, rocky road this morning we looked across an amazing, rock and palm-lined river and saw firing lefts and rights, staggered like laced fingers. We literally screamed at the tops of our lungs and rubbed our eyes like we were waking from a dream.

Needless to say, it was mirage-like, much like a cold beverage to thirsty men crawling across a ridiculously humid, crab-infested desert, filled with mosquitos that seem to bite no matter what third-world pharmacy spray they apply no matter what time of day it is. It was good. It was wet. And it was ever so refreshing.

More posts when I actually remember to bring a camera, but until then, cheers!