I am not typically a superstitious man. I don't fear black cats or walking under ladders. I don't believe voodoo dolls are a means to bewitch others (though I have seen enough of the Child's Play flicks to know it's never a bad idea to stab dolls as a preventative measure).
Walking into Societe Brewing's tasting room at noon is akin to arriving a bit too early for a party. All the heady anticipation you felt on the drive over slowly dissolves into the awkwardness of appearing overly eager for festivities to begin.
The moniker “Iron Fist” has an undeniable severity to it. To me, it conjures images of a downtrodden populace weary from totalitarian rule. It also makes me think of Robocop, which is totally awesome, but really no less daunting.
There’s been much made of the Mayan calendar declaring Dec. 21, 2012, to be the end of the world. It’s utter nonsense. Mesoamerican lore clearly details in the Popol Vuh that the 14th b’ak’tun marks the incarnation of the fifth world and not some cataclysmic scenario.
Liver, I owe you an apology. I told you if you helped me survive the rigors of the Great American Beer Festival that I would take it easy on you for bit, maybe even send you off to a spa day for a massage and detoxifying seaweed wrap.