Dark days have descended upon my life.
I have been bothered by a mysterious intestinal bug for the entire summer, an illness of which I'll spare you the details except to say that it makes my body do disgusting things. I finally saw a gastroenterologist, though, and got a diagnosis identifying the ugly little parasite that has been tormenting me.
So what does this have to do with beer? And why am I so glum? Because the medicine I've been prescribed requires abstinence from alcohol. I can't drink for the next eight days! And this weekend I'm entered in a day-long poker tournament. I can't play poker sober! This is going to be a rough week.
I can't help but think of one of my favorite quotes, which I've seen credited to either Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin: "I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's the best they're going to feel all day."
(UPDATE: Well, apparently I can play poker sober. Out of a 27-player field, I finished fifth and managed to come out $20 ahead. But I still want a beer, dammit.)
Cider Saturday: The Gorge Flows With Cider
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