Tom the Half-a-Life

Is the #beer mug half empty or half full? The answer depends on the existence of a serviceable keg nearby. #philosophy #perspective

— Tom B. Take® Ar.T 💔 (@shoutabyss) July 25, 2013

Half a beer, philosophically, must ipso facto half not be. But half the beer has got to be, vis-à-vis its liquidity – d’you see? But can o’ beer be said to be or not to be an entire beer when half the beer is not a beer, due to some recent imbibery?

Positive? Negative? Is the beer mug half full or half empty? Beer isn’t just something that you drink. It’s something that you do.

I thought I knew beer. It was something I drank once in a while. Nothing special, nothing to write home about. But then I moved to Portland, Oregon, the microbrew capital of the world.

In July 2011, representatives from the Oregon Brewers Festival declared Portland had 40 microbreweries located within the city limits, more than any city in the world and greater than one-third of the state total.

–Source: Wikipedia – List of breweries in Oregon

Suddenly I was awash in the stuff. I was drinking a “pint” almost every day of my life. Sometimes more.

Sure, it was nice. The formula is simple:

More Beer = The Good

There was, however, a problem.  A big problem. (Surprised?) I don’t like generating cans and bottles. For one thing, in Oregon, you pay a five cent tithe per container. For another, you gots to lug ’em around and shit. And I despise going back to the euphemistically-named “redemption centers” to get those nickels back. Unless you love hacking and slashing your way through a literal jungle of flies with your handy machete. So we’d end up just tossing the empties in the recycling bin, essentially a cash donation to The State. For some reason that gnawed at the very fiber of my existence.

Then, by chance, it happened. I learned of something called The Growler.

I just learned about a wondrous object known as the #beer #growler. To think, up till now, I've only been living half a life! #diminished

— Tom B. Take® Ar.T 💔 (@shoutabyss) July 15, 2013

It was at that moment I learned that I had been living only half a life. (Prior to that I was merely radioactive.) As is often my wont, I celebrated by bursting into song…

Growler
(sung to the tune Squealer by AC/DC)

She said she’d never been
Never been quaffed before
She said she’d never been
This tapped out before
She said she’d never liked
That overly frothy head
She said she’d always had
Had to fill it in (to the brim)
She said she’d never been
Never been imbibed before
N’ I don’t think
She’ll never not be imbibed no more (filled ‘er good)

Hey growler – grasped tightly in my hand
growler – made me understand
growler – when it kissed my lips
growler – slurped up in little sips
growler – twas crispy icy cold
growler – made it hard to stop
growler – it got too much
growler – I think I’ve got the magic touch

No more returnable bottles. tink tink! No more aluminum cans! clink clink!

The Growler is a 64-ounce refillable bottle that may contain beer. According to my calculations that must be about four pints.

It works like this:

• It buys a growler for about $4
• It takes the growler to a beer place
• They put the beer in its growler
• If it’s lucky they might fill the growler with a gas to preserve freshness and provide that exciting skeeesh sound upon opening
• It takes the growler home
• It opens the growler and pours beer in a glass when it is thirsty
• It repeats this process (except for the first step) when growler all gone gone

Who says there’s nothing good in the world? I will defy them and stand toe-to-toe with my trusty growler at my side!

Now if you need anything else, that’s just fine. You’ll find me down at The Growler. Look me up. It’s a place where everyone knows my name.