I'm literally writing this with tears in my eye. I came down here to Portland, OR, USA for a short beercation and now I'm in a lot of trouble. I am so freaked out at the moment and need to get things sorted out ASAP so I can get out of here. If someone could help me out with a quick loan of approximately $2371.54 to sort out some bills I promise I'll refund it once I get home.

UPdate:
OMG, do you doubt me? What have I done to not deserve your assistance? I'm telling you I'm freaking out. Look, I've been to the cops and the embassy, but neither would help with my issues. I just need a quick loan, because this bar manager won't let me leave until I settle this bill. Western Union is probably the best way for us to do this transaction. Just give them the money and hit me back with that ID and when I can pick it up.

UpDATE2:
I checked my local Dub-U and there weren't any transactions for me. Don't forget that MTCN confirmation number. And I'm in Portland, OR.

And it's around $2371.54 that I need. 

And I'm freaked.

New update:
I don't know why you haven't wired me this money. We both know it would save me from a lot of embarrassment and possibly save my life. I've also got a flight to catch. I promise to refund the money to you the next time we meet. 

Maybe you need some back story before you help me out. Here we go.

I started at Henry's 12^th Street Tavern. This place has like 100 beers on tap!! They were also open at noon. Score-and-a-half! Check out the frozen lane that goes around the bar.

I had four or so pints here. I believe in laying down a good foundation before a big day. Next I headed out to find a Whole Foods Market. Portland is so hip, and I needed a visit to this earth-and-body-friendly, organic foods paradise to give my hipsterism a bump before night fell. 

En route I found Rogue Ale Public House, so I did that instead. The bartender there was so cool. Rogue's bar has a lot of windows, so this guy wore sunglasses inside. If memory serves, I think his name was Seabiscuit. My man hooked me up with enough samples to call it a day. I ordered a pint anyway just to return the favor, since I don't know what the proper tipping percentage is on free samples. This barkeep was really rad and definitely deserved a tip. 

From across the room I heard, "Anybody want a distillery tour?" I scanned the room to see if there was any takers, but it was two in the afternoon, and I happened to be the only person in the bar area. "Uhhh, this guy," I replied pointing both thumbs at my shoulders. Seabiscuit spit back, "W-W-W dot fingerpoint dot snap dash wink dot com." Hashtag awesome! I was so glad I didn't go to Whole Foods.

Affected picture of Seabiscuit

I don't know if my experience was unique, but the solo Rogue distillery tour consisted of talking about liquor and taking shots with the tour lady in the upstairs bar. If there was more to the tour, then I don't recall. I did learn that you cannot touch the still. Hashtag now I have a burn mark on arm.

Don't Touch That

Looking to soak in some additional Portland flavor, I hit up Seabiscuit for a recco. He informed me that Portland was home to the number one Irish establishment in America. Hashtag Seabiscuit 4 Prez. 

Have you guys noticed that Portland has a lot of street folk – uh, homeless-ish looking people (I don't judge). No, not as many as New Haven, Connecticut though. Am I right, friend?

A block from the pub, with my brain composing a mad fiddle tune, I ran into a guy passing out flyers. I have a personal policy about not taking flyers on the sidewalk. "No, you throw it away." I always say that joke. I can't even remember who I stole it from, but it's kind of sneaky mean, and I like it. The street flyer guy didn't understand my sarcasm and somehow tricked me into grabbing the flyer. But I was glad he did.

You see friend, Portland has these Underground Tours that literally take you on a "journey into the bowels of the city." Apparently many of the buildings are connected underground, and were once used for illicit "medicine" trade, Prohibition-era saloons, white slavery, and some other cool stuff. Portland's version of the emerald isle could wait. 

The Underground Tour started at the daftly named Shanghai Tunnel pub. Our guide began the experience by asking the group what kind of tour they wanted: 1.) The white slavery tour or 2.) The ghost tour. White slavery sounds pretty awesome. In spite of this fact, everyone in the entire room raised their hands for the ghost tour, presumably because ghosts are cooler than slavery. Ugh.

We headed underground, and I kid you not, the flyer-passer-out guy was down there. Creep city. Seriously, I think I've seen this guy in an old Scooby Doo cartoon. By the end of the tour, we all agreed that there were definitely ghosts living in Portland. "You believe in ghosts," you are probably asking. I agreed ghosts were real as a precaution, because if ghosts do exist, then there is less of a chance of them getting mad and then haunting me if I am a believer. If there aren't really ghosts, then I'm also in the clear, because – you see – they don't exist. The logic is sound. Plus, the creepy flyer-passer-out tour-assistant guy stopped staring at me when I declared my belief. That guy is like part Craigslist – part bottom of the tongue – part stray cat. 

We weren't allowed bar drinks on the tour, so it was definitely time to test the taps at the best Irish establishment in America, the place blessed by my new super cool bartender friend from Rogue. At least I thought Seabiscuit was my friend. Wow, how can I express it best? Let me just say that it looked like it was Ed Hardy's birthday (observed) up in there. 

Slainte!

Coming down hard off my midday craft beverage bender, I decided to suck it up, intermingle with the pretentious sugar-coated meat heads, and make my way to the bar.

And here, friend, is where the story goes off course. 

When I reached for my wallet to pay for my Honest Pint® of Guinness……… NOW DOES MY EARLIER PLEA MAKE SENSE TO YOU!?

My heart started racing. I had everything in that wallet: All my credit cards, my ID, my American Homebrewers Association member card, a lotto ticket, my Social Security Card, a bunch of walking around cash, and a receipt of a time when I epically out-Whataburgered my wife. I started sweating. I couldn't breathe. Everything was spinning. I really wanted that beer. 

I ran out of Kells (In order to avoid libel and stuff, let's say the place rhymes with…) "Hellz" to get back to the Shanghai tours. The last time I pulled my wallet out was when I bought that ghost tour ticket. I was disoriented, and must have run around the same block two or three times before finding a hostess at the bar. Gasping for air and a clear thought, I explained to the hostess that I had lost my wallet on an earlier tour. My spastic demeanor must have frightened her a bit, because she just turned around, called someone on the phone, and directed me to the bar next door. However, no one but a bartender was at that bar next door. I sure could have used a beer to calm the nerves, but instead I frantically explained to him my predicament. The bartender assured me they could help, and he led me to the back of the bar.

I awoke in some dreadful chamber underground. I checked my pocket and damn – no wallet. I had no idea where I had been taken or how I got there, but when I saw him, I figured it out. 

Curse all those fools for voting for the ghost tour!! I knew zero point zero about Shanghaiing. But, I was about to find out.

Did you ever pith a frog in science class? I'm just saying that it was the creepy flyer tour guy down there with me. He explained my two options: 1.) Work the Portland bar scene for no pay, cleaning up in the early mornings to get the establishments ready for the next day, or 2.) Pay $2,250 for my freedom. 

He further explained that Portland had been using this shocking practice of kidnapping able-bodied men and women since the 1800s. A little Shanghaiing is apparently how Portland continues to be so great, and it really makes sense the way he explained it. I had sensed something a little strange about the city. Plus, it is kind of cool to be called "able-bodied."

But friend, I'm no good at cleaning. I haven't even made my bed since middle school. Please, please help me out. I'll be honest, I was just kidding about the embassy thing in the earlier update. I thought that would get your attention, but now I know I was wrong. The Western Union details at the top of the post are totally real though. I need that $2,250 for my freedom, $86.54 for the ecoShuttle to PDX, and I seriously need a beer or two and a pizza. 

I will never drink a bunch of beer before liquor and then take flyers and go on tours ever again. I promise. I'll just wait here for your response. 

With this guy.

Thanks.

Kids! It has apparently been several months since I filed my first post at The Ferm, and I'm still waiting for that check. Ad revenue must be low. No worries kids, I'm filing this one on credit.

I just finished watching perennial powerhouse Duke knock off the Baylor Bears in the 2010 NCAA Basketball Tournament. Deviant mascot aside (last time I checked, more devils than bears reside in Waco, TX), Baylor still made a good run and I congratulate them on their courage throughout the madness that is the month of March. Baylor played with a bunch guys that didn't get much of a sniff from bigger schools during their high school years. But personally, my favorite part of this year's Baylor team is that they made it through the year without a teammate murdering another teammate.

A lot has changed for me since I checked in with you guys last. I recently sold my daughter's Toyota Prius and replaced it with a used LR4. The biggest difference in the old and new rides? Reliability. To offset the larger carbon footprint, we switched to a utility company with renewables in their portfolio and to single-ply toilet paper. It was a totally even trade if you ask me, and we now have slightly less of a chance of her driving the car through a wall and totaling it, thus turning it into a huge piece of trash in a scrap yard. Make no mistake, she still complained of the change, but I advised her to also consider giving up her iPhone and laptop to help save the planet. This suggestion ended the argument, and as an added bonus I was also able to reintroduce two-ply toilet paper without opposition (seriously folks, there are some situations where less is not more). Another score for Crawford!

Speaking of scores (half scores at least), last Friday was my ten year anniversary at my current job. Ten years of explaining what we do to our salesman, managing project managers' mismanagement, and proofing reports from young Engineers before they get to our customers. Is technical writing even taught in school these days? Seriously, I caught a "cause" the other day instead of "because."

Because last Friday was also "Make Your Own Holiday Day," our witty HR department decided to throw a potluck lunch, something of which I am not a fan. Potlucks are always the perfect storm for the most unbalanced meals. They also combine my two worst ideas for lunch: 1. Lunch with a bunch of chatty people and 2. Having to prepare my own food. Among an inglorious spread of spaghetti, deviled eggs, some sort of raison-y fruit salad topped with whipped cream, a loaf of bread, a bucket of fried chicken (must have been a project manager), countless side dishes involving pasta, and three types of lettuce salads, I suffered through conversations of tee ball, Sandra Bullock, health care reform, Dancing with the Stars, what happens to coffee beans when you freeze them (interesting actually), and something called Farmville. No synergies were to be found at this event. Sorry corporate.

My dish received oodles of compliments, however, and was gone by the end of lunch. I told everyone my wife made it, which basically got me double credit for the dish (you see, they think my wife is great and therefore think that I am great because I'm married to her). Genius… I know. The real story behind the dish is that I slipped out of work around 10-ish and picked up a Spinach Salad with Figs and Feta Cheese at Whole Foods. While I was waiting for the deli guy to transfer the spinach salad into a Tupperware-type bowl that I picked off the shelves, I couldn't help to notice how many customers were gravitating toward a refrigerated display of 2-for-1 sushi. Discount sushi? I'll pass, kids. I prefer paying full price for raw fish. If that organic mango-pear juice or soynut trail mix doesn't clean all those hippies out, that cheap sushi should do the trick. Plus, what bargain hunter shops at Whole Foods anyway?

Readers, allow me just one tangent. Recently the local liquor superstore has been running commercials about their products being "cheap." But they do not just casually mention cheap prices, they say "cheap" ten or more times in a single commercial spot. "CHEAP! Cheeeeaaaaap. Cheap. Cheap. Cheap." From one business man to another, I'd like to tell them that "cheap" is a word with a negative connotation. Cheap implies poor quality (e.g. "cheap beer" or "cheap clothes"). The word they are looking for is "inexpensive." "Discount" or "affordable" will work too, but I prefer "inexpensive." Often the former two still imply that the item is not high quality. I even emailed that liquor superstore about their commercial and I received the following response:

Our brand communicates that fine wine can be bought at a reasonable price. Our customer ranges from a novice wine drink to a sommelier. So we are trying to communicate across a broad spectrum of drinkers in that, no matter who u are, u CAN afford to buy something fantastic! After all, life is too short to drink bad wine!

But life is too short to drink cheap wine too… or discount sushi, for that matter… just saying.

After the good people of Whole Foods packed up my spinach salad, I swung down the beer aisle. I was in somewhat of a hurry to make it back to work before people wondered where I had disappeared, so I had no time to create my own mixed six-pack today. I picked up a sixer of Samuel Adams Boston Lager and a 4-pack of Oscar Blues Ten Fidy. I'm a big fan of Oscar Blues' other beers (all canned) and wanted to give this one a try. Ziggy the checkout dude rang me up... $55! How much was that salad?! It turns out that 4-pack of Ten Fidy is (no not $10.50 but) $14.29. Is it possible for a canned beer to good enough to justify that price tag? I broke it out later that night after the rest of the family retreated to their rooms for bed.

Man alive, this beer is great. I typically pour my beers into a glass for a proper tasting. However, this being a canned beer, I wanted to enjoy the beer in its (intended?) canned form. The can itself has a wide mouth, which is good for pouring it quickly into your mouth, which is what I did, which was not the best idea, which I'll get into in a minute. Ten Fidy is incredibly drinkable. The 9.5% ABV is hidden nicely by the choco-malty nose and smooth feeling in the mouth. Clearly by accidentally chugging the first can, I drank the beer much too cold for its style. This was the beer drinking equivalent of putting a few dollars into those claw machines at the grocery store only to have that weak gripped sorry excuse for a claw thing slide right through the targeted bear without even making it budge. It was time to give Ten Fidy a proper taste.

The second can was poured into a beer snifter. The appearance is pitch black and pours thick with a huge head that took quite a while to dissipate to a level where I could drink it without getting a face full of foam. Ten Fidy has a very rich and roasty aroma, but nothing overwhelming like some of its peers in this style. My notes kind of trail off after this point. Apparently the chugging the first can caught up with me somewhere after a few sips of the second can. I can tell you that this beer was more enjoyable from a taste and aroma perspective when it was a little warmer. I highly recommend you pick a 4-pack up from your local beer retailer, but please note: Oscar Blues Ten Fidy is not cheap! Until next time kids, imbibe that!

Kids!

What do you know good?

Being that this is my first post on this blog and all, let me introduce myself. My name is Crawford Crapitto, CEM. I enjoy a drink or two every now and again. I am Vice President of Services down at the Solutions branch of the local utility. I have got a wife, a teenage daughter, and dog named Boozer. Seriously, if I tell you more I'm sure you'll be stalking me when I insult your favorite beverage -- and let's be honest, if you are reading this humdrum site then you probably need my help.

How did I get here? I stumbled across the site while Googling "what kind of cheese goes in a kolache" last Tuesday afternoon. While I didn't get any flipping cheese help, now I know that Minute Maid Park stocks like 87 different sizes of cups. Overall I found TheFerm to be satisfactory. It has got tabs up top for "Beer" (check), "Wine" (my cellar is stocked!), "Spirits" (hah hah, not ghosts), and a few other German items. However, I was searching around between meetings today and could not find any thoughts on actual beverages. Kolache contests, random news, a schizophrenic interview… but no drinking advice.

Problem solved kids. During my 3:00 PM strategic planning teleconference I broke out my Crackberry (my daughter calls it that) and emailed SirRon (not his real name it turns out). He shot a message right back, which was disturbing given it was the middle of a work day. After a few more back-and-forths, it was like we were old drinking buddies. I like that young man. He reminds me of a younger, less successful me with twice as many kids as necessary. Long story short, he gave me the keys to the company car, and I am ready to get this site rolling.

Full disclosure: I do not have any blog experience. However, I have been told I can email my posts to the admins over at TheFerm and they will take care of the rest. Thanks in advance Candee! Lesson #1 kids, delegate. (Although I plan on grammar checking these before I send them, that young girl cannot even spell her own name.)

My journey to this post's beverage selection starts at Whole Foods. Despite all of the smelly hippies and tiny architects pondering which of the 31 flavors of granola to buy, I prefer Whole Foods to my other local grocery. Sure, there is a Kroger across the street, but there are way too many "people who live in large apartment complexes" (yeah, I remember my sensitivity training) shopping there for comfort, if you know what I am saying. Whole Foods has a sound selection of beers. They also sell singles, which allows me to make my own six packs without having to resort to the sneakery I must perform at Krogers. I put together five Sierra Nevada Celebration Ales and one Twisted Tea (the commercial said it was Man-Tea… sold!).

When I get to the checkout, there is this man buying like 10 pounds of salmon. What is this guy, a bear? I looked the other direction, because while everyone thinks bears are so cute, bears kill. What is the cutest bear you know? That bear you are thinking of right now will kill you.

Seriously, I will maul you just to get that
cutesy look off your face. Just sayin'.

I am still avoiding any eye contact and fail to notice when the bear clears out. Ziggy the check out guy must have already initiated some sort of check out guy small talk, which I obviously had not reciprocated. I assume this because he had a look on his face like I chopped down his favorite thinking tree. Whatever. He could also be in a bad mood after hearing the news of the Massachusetts Senate election. Sorry Zig, it looks like my family will not be footing the bill next time you take too much acid.

Tonight is not my first dance with Celebration Ale. If I was marooned on a desert island and could only take one beer, Celebration would be on my short list. Not only is Celebration Ale delicious, it embodies everything I think the perfect beer should be. It is full flavored, very hoppy, and bottle conditioned, yet it is readily available at stores everywhere (i.e. I do not have to promise the creepy beer guy at the local liquor warehouse a Cuban cigar just so he will reserve a sixer in the back for me). Being bottle conditioned, I try to hold one or two Celebration Ales back every year so that someday I can have an epic vertical tasting. I currently have about four or five vintages in the cellar. To top it all off, this beer is seasonal, so the "for a limited time" or "while supplies last" mystique applies.

Well kids, until next time, imbibe that! You can thank me later or in the comment section.

(This has got to be the easiest check I have ever cashed.)