The gods of glasses were smiling on me last night.
About once a month my hangout hosts brewer's night, where the maker of a microbrew comes into town loaded with its beers to be featured on tap and goodies for raffle drawings. Things like T-shirts with the brewmaker's logo or slogan, baseball caps, glasses, posters.
Last night Lagunitas — pronounced lah-goo-knee-tus — was in town, all the way from Petaluma, Calif. I happen to know Petaluma because of friends there but that's neither here nor there in this beer bitty.
We — a buddy and I and an I've-seen-him-around acquaintance — were handed our raffle tickets and settled in for a couple hours of not winning. Because I'm not lucky in drawings. I cannot say it more emphatically. Look at my prison raffles record. Scroll down the list of raffles entered and raffles won. Zero. Zero. Nada. Nuthin'. Zip. Empty-handed. Nope. Nope again.
I'm not complaining. Luck and I just don't meet at the raffle drawing. Or the lottery, for that fact.
Anyhow, we sat there with our tickets enjoying our beer, he a Miller (gag) and I my Lagunitas Hairy Eyeball ale when the second drawing was held.
And our number was shouted over the din of drinkers! I say "our" because we pooled the tickets, agreeing to tear the T-shirt into thirds.
And I flew off that barstool so fast, you'd think they'd just announced a delivery of free ice cream sundaes. Our prize … rather prizes … there were two, conveniently one for each of us as I've seen-him-around acquaintance had departed:
but sans the suds and with the slogan Beer Speaks, People Mumble.
and this (another lousy cell-phone pic) small poster, one, I was the victor in that battle. The Choice of Champions it reads at the bottom:
"That'd look good like in a bathroom at a beach house," commented an admiring patron.
I've got my beer glass. Got my poster. Now I'm waiting for the beach house.
Barefoot Blogger 