Indoor Idiocy

What do you do with a four-year-old on a Saturday when you have recently accumulated a foot of snow? Play outside? WRONG!!! YOU WILL KILL THAT CHILD BECAUSE IT IS ONLY 15 DEGREES!!! YOU'RE AN AWFUL PARENT!!!

No, that sort of fun would be hell on all of us. Instead, we went to Bounceland.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this strange and mystical place, allow me to paint you a picture (no happy trees needed).
Picture those big inflatable moonwalk things you find at kid's birthday parties (also known as The Pukers). Then add in an inflatable obstacle course of ladders, stairs, slides, narrow openings, and bounces. No, add two of those. Then a few more bouncing rooms, with slides and basketball hoops. Give some of the kids birthday cake. Add a few more inflatable multicolored roller-coasters, and a couple of nearly vertical inflatable slides.

Now put all of this in a large, warehouse structure. Add more children from 9 months of age to 8 years. Crank up some bubblegum flavored rock and roll.

Ta-da.


Not that it was unfun, or even unfunny, but there were a few moments of bewilderment that I must share.

First, this is a picture of the name of this particular inflatobarfer. It reads, "Ninja Jump." It is entirely decorated with spongebob characters. Wha? I suppose there could be ninjas. It's not like I'd see them.


Secondly, is "The Pinata Pit", which appears to be some sort of gallows for children who ignore the "No Cake in the Bounce Area" signs. I never witnessed its use, but I would bet that if anything is hanged from there, it isn't a paper mache burro full of candy.


And then there were some warning signs. Sure, they had real labels, but I think mine are more appropriate and accurate.

No fatties.


This is not a gun show.


Do not headbutt the smaller children. Their heads will asplode.


No B-Boys.


I know what you're thinking: I could do better. Please feel free.

Beer, kilts and pipes

The brothers Colin, Ben, and Matt

About a month ago, I had an amazing event occur. I brewed, with the guidance of my brothers, my first batch of beer. It all began with a spanking, as new life is wont to do.
I slapped a yeast pack, breaking a nutrient pouch and starting the reproductive process of a California lager yeast. As the gases built, and the population increased, the babies had to feed. So they were given a light malt, designed to feed the yeast without flavoring the future beer. In this malt they fed, our little yeastlings, multiplying like small-town Missouri teenagers...

The next day was truly the brewing day. Cold beers were consumed in the gorgeous Indiana spring sun. The burners were ignited, and our water was heated to 168°F in preparation for the mash.
The boiling kettle

2.25 gallons of this clear hot water (I still am coping with the non-metric units) were added to the mash tun, a large orange cooler with a false-bottom filter and spigot. To this we added 8-lbs Rahr 2-row pale grain and 1 lb. Simpsons Caramalt grain. This was allowed to stew for 1 hour, as the heat released sugars and enzymes from grains.
Hot water on the move

The grains taking a bath

Three-tiers of fun

Our next tool; gravity. I'm amazed at how simple this can be, in the absence of pumps and valves and gear. A three-tier system was created. The top tier was sparge water at 170°F. Its purpose is to help wash the sugars from the grain and husks. This flowed into the mash tun, our second tier, from a large sports cooler like the other, but without the filter. The mash tun then released our sugary soon-beer wort into the third tier, a boiling tank set on the ground. The sparge water kept the grains out of the nozzles and rinsed them, gravity pulled the wart into the bottom tank. The first few liters that came out were cloudy, filled with grain residue and husk fragments. They were sent back through the spent husks, which acted as a filter. After we began to get clear wort, it was on.
Sweet hot wort; yeast food!

When this was done, we topped off with more of the heated water, and set a very full kettle full of rich, sugary, syrupy wort to boil. During this time, we added 1 oz. Cluster hops, 1 tsp of Irish moss (to improve clarity). At the end of our hour, the beer was ready to be cooled by steam-punk-esque copper coils and prepped for the yeast.
Cold water immersion cooling coils

We drained the boiled wort into a sterilized fermentation tank, a giant clear carboy, and hauled it to the cool basement. The yeast was pitched, and the hungry little buggers began devouring the sugars we had prepared for them. And they shit alcohol my friends. They shit alcohol.
Wind-up and the pitch

I have dragged enough detail into this, my friends, so I will spare you the anxious, father-in-the-waiting-room specific gravity measurements. I will also spare you the delight with which the flavor moved from soggy friendship bread to hoppy alcohol and grain. Two days later, the beer was removed from the protein sediment (more yeast poop) and placed into a second sterilized carboy. The fermentation had gone from an active bubble-dance to a subtle fizz at this point.
So now I wait. Brother Matt will bottle this soon (keg date had been scheduled for August 1st, but I doubt he will wait). And then, I get to meet my baby beer.
Anxious Daddy.

Social !!!!

What is flunk day? Tradition! Debauchery! Mid-day sex excuse!
At Coe College, where I once slung-a-da-ink, the student council has the power to cancel class one day of the year. At the crack of dawn, the school victory bell rings out over campus and the student council begins pounding the doors, announcing the glorious day that is flunk. Though most are aware the night before, when the student council ruins the surprise by being randomly intoxicated and jubilant with disregard for their next day's chores.
Kegs are tapped across campus, local dance clubs are commandeered, redneck waterpark/golfcart parks are overtaken, and OFUI's were given out for playing Ultimate (Operating a Frisbee Under the Influence).
Half of those days were gone to me, lost in student teaching (which knew no flunk) and organic chemistry lab (which continued sans professor). But the rest of the time was spent being silly with fraternity brothers and Southern Comfort.
Today is flunk day, my Kohawks. Quit working! Get some beer!

Booty Trap

Guess where I went this weekend. Here's a clue:

Don't you realize? The next time you see sky, it'll be over another town. The next time you take a test, it'll be in some other school. Our parents, they want the best of stuff for us. But right now, they got to do what's right for them. Because it's their time. Their time! Up there! Down here, it's our time. It's our time down here.

My ACT proved it long ago

Was there any doubt?
Though I am a little concerned about the low computer scoring... I had better geek a bit more in that field...
Wouldn't want people to think I was socially capable...

Mae Culpa

Since my other post is a bit serious, I decided I'd try a something more conversational to round out the night. So, meme it shall be, thanks to The Bookpusher. 8 random tidbits about me.

1. There lives a man named Derek, who hates me so much he would gladly kill me, and I don't know why.
2. I bought a harmonica last week. I do not yet play the harmonica.
3. I don't like to rewatch movies or reread books.
4. I was born with pyloricstenosis. My stomach wasn't connected to my intestines properly.
5. I like to travel because of the complete anonymity of being a face in the airport.
6. I met my wife in a chemistry class designed to help us all get to know each other. She immediately went back to her roommate and told her that she would never even consider dating me. I immediately started dating the student advisor who ran the little group.
7. I have been on the cover of the newspaper in Lawrence twice, and didn't know it either time until after the fact. Once was yesterday, so I am told.
8. I don't really like animals. Not at all. No hatred or malice, just a complete dislike.

Consider yourselves memetagged.