A sexy idea for the next brew…

One of my coworkers actually told my brother about this, and it was so funny I just had to post about it on here. When coming up with a name for my first beer, I tried to think of different ways to use my personal name. Eventually I settled on "Ike" (although only a few friends actually call me that) because I didn't think most people would want to drink "Wank" (my most common nickname) or "Wankerl" beer. Now I've realized that it doesn't matter what you call it, as long as you have nice spectacular bottle labels.

Check out the beer labels for Wanker Light beer. What would really make this apropos is if there were a Wanker Ale label. Say that quickly enough, and it sounds quite similar to how some people pronounce my last name. I had not given much thought to using custom labels with my homebrew before, but now I will always think back to the Wanker beers for inspiration.

Ike's Wicked Ale, Consumption Day

I'm glad to report that I have a finished product and it tastes pretty damn good for my first brew. I was nervous when I sampled it about two weeks ago because the beer was still fairly flat and I wasn't sure if would get better. Luckily it did. So far I've gone through about eight or so bottles and I'm very pleased with the results. The next time I go to a bar, I should get a Pete's Wicked and compare it to mine. I don't think the flavor of Ike's Wicked Ale matches Pete's quite like I had hoped, but I'm not complaining.

All in all, my homebrewing project was a success!

Poachers

During my plane ride back from a vacation in Jackson, I finished Tom Franklin's book of short stories Poachers. Tom's Southern background is the source of his stories, which is a subject I love to read about. Larry Brown, from Mississippi, is one of my favorite authors and he writes about people that are really down on their luck. Anyway, this book is a quick read, but as always seems to be the case for me, I spaced out my reading sessions for times when there was not much else to do like when traveling.

There were several humorous spots in the stories, but the one that gave me the biggest chuckle was in "introduction • hunting years." Tom tells of how his family loved to hunt and how he felt out of place because he didn't want to kill things. He seemed to have quite a complex because of all the pressure his father put on him to be more manly.

Once, when I was newly fifteen in Kmart with ten birthday dollars to spend, Dad came up beside me.

"You could buy a hunting knife," he whispered.

"Gerald..." my mother warned.

He let go of my shoulders, put his hands in his pockets.

"He wants to get a new outfit for his G.I. Joe," Mom said to Dad.

I'd never felt more like a pussy.

Tom then walked straight over to the outdoors section and searched for the sharpest knife in the store. This made his father proud and he even contributed five more dollars for his son to buy the hunting knife.