Driven to Drink

The beers:

Greg = Southern Tier Choklat Oranj with Wigle Orange Bitters.

Jen = Rogue Imperial IPA in a 750 ml crockery bottle.

The plot:

Jen makes one of the biggest mistakes of her life. “I had a little time between clients,” she said. So she found the perhaps not-entirely-innocuous, “13 Most Deranged Halloween Pumpkins Ever Carved” article to the startlingly nocuous, “2 Girls, 1 Cup: A Love Story.” (I refuse to link you there. If you feel the need to watch it, go watch it. I will not lead you there nor will I mince words. I do not watch beheadings and I will not watch “2 Girls, 1 Cup: A Love Story.”  A fucking love story.  Yikes.)

The description lured her in:

What is Two Girls One Cup?

Two girls one cup is a trailer that was released in 2007 for the artistic film “Hungry Bitches” made by MFX Media. The daring work of art is an allegory for the concept of spiritual awakening. It examines the prevalent ideologies that are internalized in our culture, and in true post-modern form; the thematic piece tends to raise more questions than answers. The philosophical film has varying interpretations, which is why the 2 girls 1 cup film is still analysed and debated about to this date.

The fact that the tab-icon for the video is the smiley poo-pile did not dissuade her.

The fact that animated biracial anal porn GIFs populate the screen also did not dissuade her.

Here are a few of the comments just below the video, which apparently did not dissuade her:

“What did I watch?!”

“Ohhhhh fuck.”

“How in gods name can ppl do that kinda shit! That’s just NOT RIGHT!”

“that is fucked
what have i just watched”

So…perhaps you can’t resist. And perhaps you’ll make it through the entire video, which is only 1 minute. Jen apparently made it through about 10 – 15 seconds, then deleted our entire browser history and had a nice, hot shower.

But if you’re smart…you’ll just listen to our podcast, have a few laughs, and count yourself among the lucky who have avoided it and heeded the words of my spoiler: It involves 2 girls, 1 cup, and copious amounts of shit.

And by the way, have you seen that Squatty Potty commercial? The one with the Unicorn. THAT…you should watch. (You can venture to that video by clicking on the photo below.) But even this piece of edgy alt-comedy humor gets kind-of ruined in light of the smiling poo icon and all that it now represents.

We present to you, “1 Girl, 2 Cups…of Beer.”

Like with many things in life, I often let house cleaning go until I hate myself. This sucks because I despise dust and dander and clutter, but obviously not enough to avoid them completely.

Can one digress before one begins?  If so, I did.

Apparently, someone opened a Mediterranean restaurant right next to Christos. Christos, by the way, is the tiny, hole-in-the-wall, very Mediterranean-feeling spot where Jen and I had a super romantic and delicious meal quite early in our relationship. Christos, the owner, dragged us in, explained to us how he catered for the Onassis family on one of their yachts, served us homemade wine, and finished the experience with a piece of Onassis dessert. We connected with Christo and his spot, Greek photos, paraphernalia, and other curios crammed into the small space. To get to the bathroom, one must travel through the kitchen and down enough steps to make one believe the final destination point is under the damn river.

The new restaurant, Alihan’s, is Turkish. They serve Kebabs, not Souvlaki. Alihan’s is HUGE, pristine, elegant, new. It’s a stark contrast to the homey (and homely) visage of Christos. I remember, many years ago while in Greece with my University choir, being firmly but politely asked by a street vendor to refer to his meat on a stick as “souvlaki” and not “kebab,” because the latter is a Turkish term. Beyond the obvious problems that a much smaller though well-established Mediterranean restaurant owner might have with a brand new, extra shiny and super flashy Mediterranean restaurant opening RIGHT NEXT DOOR, I wonder if any additional Turkish-Greek abrasion exists?

In any case, in honor of Christo, and the fact that we got a sweet deal on Groupon for “Wine Insiders,” we consume California reds.

The core recording here is from May 17th, 2015, which reminded us that there was no Spring in Pittsburgh this year. Snow on Easter, then cold, cold rain, then highs in the 90’s. Fun.

The lovely music at the end is a piece called “Shish Kebab” by Ralph Marterie.

We present to you, “Greek Week.” 

Jen is egg Yoda.

Call her Yolka. (Do you say “yolk,” with the L or “yoke,” without?)

She runs the diner on Huevoba.

She’s an 8th degree black belt in chewdo.

The breakfast Buddha.

The Jehova of the ova.

The french fried hakuna frittata.

And Maddy?

A scrambled eggs Jedi master, Maddy is.

She’s received the congressional medal of eggcellence.

Really, people, these chicks can cook some eggs, and I count myself, before I hatch, among the eggceptionally fortunATE (albu)men to roost among such protein prowess.

Even Kate, the crack-head Springer Spaniel, loves the eggs. However, Jen simply can’t handle the sound of the licking. (If Kate were a foley artist, her egg-plate-licking might be used for a carcass-sluruping octopus monster, or perhaps a National Geographic special on the movement of slugs on the ground with ultra-high-definition recording equipment. I’m sure you can come up with something grosser, or funnier. Take a listen.)

We talk about asiago (“Awe-zee-awe-goh” in Pittsburghese), lying about the Cheese-Its, and shame eating.

We stumble upon a profound insight: Just because your name is Gary Glitter doesn’t mean you’ll end up in jail for child porn. But there he sits, perhaps composing, “Rock and Roll, Part 3” while clinching his anal sphincter for dear life. Unrelated to Mr. Glitter and his horrendous behavior, we land on puberphonia. Odd, that.

But I digress.

And what did we drink? Two delicious brews. Like, exceptionally delicious, people. Get these. They’re fairly easily obtainable in Pennsylvania and New York. Voodoo Hoodoo and Southern Tier Crème Brule.

And the music you’ll be enjoying? “Egg Song” and “Egg Man.” They have parallel grammatical structures, but are otherwise unrelated in almost every way conceivable.

Have fun, we present to you, “The Jehova of the Ova.” 

(You know nothing, egg man.)

I mishear lyrics just like all of you. Except, what I hear often doesn’t make a damn bit of sense. These things become hellish earworms and I walk around repeating them, both in my head and out loud, like an anxious child with an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Example 1: The song “Geronimo” by Sheppard. The chorus is like a communicable disease already, but my mind became convinced that the lyric was, “Hey, Palumbo,” not, “Say, Geronimo.”

Examples 2 & 3: The song “Uptown Funk” by Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars. Here’s the first lyric in question, “Too hot (hot damn).” Easy, right? Not for my fucked up frontal lobe. I get locked on this and hear an incessant loop of, “Too hot (two pants),” followed by some combination of police, frying pans, and ampersands.  Here’s the second comical lyric, (…which doesn’t make a lick of sense already…), “Smoother than a fresh dry skippy.” My version? “Colder than an cold, cold titty.” (Really people, I’m neither being purposefully odd nor am I attempting to get you to laugh by creating off the cuff. This is the shit that bangs around in my head…like for-fucking-ever.)

Today, Jen and I talk about all of that…mess…as well as what I call, “Captain Obvious lyrics.”  Then, we dive headfirst into the awful, cotton candy flavored pool of Kidz Bop. Do you know this? If you have children, you likely do. Do you like Kidzbop? If you do, stop reading this because you’re either a child with parents who don’t love you or you’re an adult with nefarious proclivities. Kidzbop. Yikes. There are now 30 of them. “What is it?” You ask. The producers take a handful of currently popular songs, rewrite them in an attempt to be Rated less-than-G, hire a decent karaoke cover-band and a bunch of super-earnest, too-excited, musically-inclined kids to play and sing them, and then aurally abuse anyone who can hear.  There are CD’s, digital downloads, videos, video games, clothing, a myriad of other merch, and world tours.  Really, it’s a thing.  A huge thing.

The Kidz Bop conversation leads us back to another similar endeavor from Maddy, circa Kindergarten. KidSongs Here’s an example of what we endured for many, many months…on repeat…right HERE. (Beware, you can’t unsee or unhear this. And yes, it is rated G, but it is neither safe for work nor your sanity.)

Fortunately, we have beer. Today, Jen has “Rampant” imperial IPA from New Belium. I have “Warlock” from Southern Tier, an imperial stout brewed with pumpkins. These are both amazing, and you should try them.

Also, you should try this podcast. Right now. We present to you, “Whatchoo Talkin’ ’bout, Willis?!”

(P.S.  You’ll notice occasional buzzy noises, similar to the noises used in Japanese horror flicks.  Kinda creepy.  Sorry about that, but we have the equipment we have.  For now.  You can make that change!  Do us a favor, huh, and use the amazon link in the upper right corner […yep, that’s it…] to shop.  Also, you can directly donate to us through Paypal.  Also to the right. […up a little…a little more…bam! That’s it…] We love yinz!)

(On the other hand…I love the sage who uses this amazon link!)

Today, Chuck Shepherd’s “News of the Weird” gave us perhaps the greatest podcasting gift we’ve yet to receive, Karen Anderson. Ms. Anderson is an animal communicator and psychic who reportedly spoke with the recently deceased Cecil the Lion. Ms. Anderson’s endeavors have caused us to seriously reconsider the first purchase we’ll make with donations and amazon funds. For the low, low price of $75 for a 15 minute session, you can connect with up to two pets…either living or deceased. (That’s $300/hour, for those who don’t feel like doing the math but whose jaws dropped there.) Or, better yet, Jen can find out precisely what’s going on in Kate’s brain. Jen can also find out, perhaps, what was going through Kaylin, the Husky’s brain, on the fateful day when she attacked me back in the early 80’s and “went to live on a farm.”

“But,” you might ask, “what about you, Greg? Are you going to be there?”

I don’t think I could do this with a straight face. Also, a little piece of me, the piece that visited a psychic many, many years ago and had a too-accurate experience, fears what Kate might have to say. It might go like this: “These assholes wonder why I’m so freaking energetic, but they never take me on walks. Lazy asses just sit around and drink, knit, and watch Game of Thrones. The douchebag who’s not here now used to run me ragged; until my shoulder gave out…then he just stopped doing anything. Oh, and they make fun of my breath all the time, yet is anyone brushing my teeth or giving me those delicious green things? No. You know what else, Karen. They got me totally hooked on laser lights, and then they just took them away. Cold turkey! What assholes, right? And these two cats. Christ. One of them is a straight up bitch. No, wrong word. That’s what I am. You know what she is? Emmy. That’s her name. She’s a selfish, ungrateful, floppy-stomached prig. And the fuzzy black one? Yikes. That one’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Karen, can you also tell them that my ass juice is an expression of deep devotion? Thanks. Oh, and rabbit shit really does taste like heaven. And the tomato incident. Not my fault.” Maybe she’s like a canine stand-up comic.

Anyway, people…let’s make this happen! With your donations (…the link is just over there to the right…), or even with your extravagant shopping through our amazon link (…also to the right, just above the “Driven to Donate” button…), we can hear from Kate. And from Kaylin.

So…beer.

New Belgium has finally come to Western PA. Today we hadPumpkick, which is, at it’s foundation, a fairly traditional and delicious pumpkin ale. However, the brewers incorporate cranberry juice and lemongrass to take it from kin to kick! It’s absolutely delicious, and you should try it.

Also…important lessons.

Beyond our introduction to Karen Anderson, we accumulated valuable information from the News of the Weird:

1. Don’t try to buy drugs from your drug dealer with cops swarming.
2. If you run out of ammo during your military exercises,
just point and yell, “Bang Bang!”
3. Don’t play Russian roulette. Like ever.
4. God can’t grant you safety while you handle a rattlesnake.
(Or, as we just learned, a six-shooter with one bullet in the chamber.)
5. Don’t fuck bushes…someone has a smartphone.
(But also, just don’t do that. That’s nasty, baby!)
6. Masturbating during thunderstorms makes one feel like Thor.
(Get your timing right, know’msay’n?)
7. It is truly amazing what you can fit up your ass. (Google search it)

And what, friends, can you take from this podcast? Joy. Laughter. Perhaps a reminder that life is ultimately quite short and well worth living to the fullest.

Enjoy.

We bring you, “Animal Psychic Friends.”

(I see dead pumpkins)

We start with the incomparable Anthony Hamilton and his beautiful song, "Better Days," (Here is an acoustic version!) which is every day that I'm able to wake up next to my love, my best friend, as well as the smartest and funniest person (...that's right, there are not multiple people in my bed...) on the planet.  Jennifer is a blessing from the universe and I was fortunate enough to arrive in her general vicinity and ultimately convince her that the force within me was stronger than the dark side and would prevail.  (Not sure if it quite has yet, but I'm trying.)

In this episode, Jen drinks Voodoo Hoodoo, and we spend quite a bit of time trying to figure out what the 7 C hops are.  (Apparently, there are 10 U.S. C's: Calypso, Cascade, Centennial, Chelan, Chinook, Citra, Cluster, Columbus, Comet, and Crystal. (But do you recall...the most famous British C-hop of all?  Challenger.)  So really the question is: Which of these hops are in Hoodoo?

I (...am going with first person narrative here rather than my usual third person...) had Ommegang Take the Black Stout.  Very nice, indeed.

My portion of the conversation lands squarely on mindfulness and my desire to be more so in the new year and beyond.

Jen discusses a service experience she and Maddy had several weeks back.

Mindfulness and service, two exceptional and, I'd argue, essential endeavors.

Have fun with this.

And by the way, we close with Queen and the Flash Gordon Theme.  Why?  Because it's f*cking awesome.

-G

Today you will hear crickets.

No, really. You will hear…crickets.

It’s actually quite relaxing to hear them in the background, not distractingly loud but still an ever present reminder of the world around us. It’s nice.

You know what else is nice? Flying Dog “The Fear” Imperial Pumpkin Ale. And at 9% abv, it’s really nice! Greg formulated a new drink from a dwindling bar. You know what they say, when you have Cynar (…pronounced “Chee-nar”…) make Cynar-ade. And that’s precisely what happened. The drink…is “Cynar the Barbarian.” The recipe…is quite simple, though the ingredients are not commonplace. If you have them, or if you have access to them, you should really give this a shot. Start with a tall glass (…pint glass, highball glass, medium-sized mason jar, whatevs…) and fill it with ice. Then, build this: 1.25 ounces Cynar (…the large side of a traditional jigger, or a full shot plus a tiny pourover…), 1.25 ounces port wine (…doesn’t need to be expensive, just port…), 1.25 ounces lapsang souchang sweet tea (…or you can make a cup of whatever tea you like. Make it strong and super saturate it with sugar to make an almost syrupy sweet tea. Squeezing in a quarter to a half lemon won’t hurt either…), then fill the glass with sparkling mineral water (i.e. Perrier) or club soda. Stir, and enjoy. It’s kind of bitter, kind of sweet, kind of smoky, and very complex.

Today, Greg drags Jen into the office to take a look at an old Hollywood friend (…at least for those of us in our late 30’s to mid 40’s who grew up with The Goonies, The Lost Boys, Stand By Me, Gremlins, or The ‘burbs, among others…), Corey Feldman. Greg felt that the Feldman presentation would be hilarious and amusing, but it turns out that Corey’s journey from child superstar to grown-ass man is quite predictable and sad…and while this podcast isn’t a bummer, it’s certainly not a laugh riot.

Greg moves through his agenda, which includes:

> Corey Haim is dead
> Corey Feldman’s “company”, Corey’s Angels*
> Corey Feldman’s “music,” Remember 222 & Assention Millennium.
> Corey’s apparent Michael Jackson infatuation.
> Corey Feldman’s performance at a minor league baseball game     and his subsequent loss of a Special Olympics gig.
> Vice.com’s reports from Feldman’s birthday parties,
     in 2013 & 2014.
> Celebrity wife swap with Feldman and Tommy Davidson.
     Yikes, double yikes, and triple yikes.

*Since recording this podcast, just last week, Corey has apparently pulled the plug on everything related to Corey’s Angels. Quadruple yikes. Here is his endorsed fluff piece.

Jen claims, quite accurately, to Greg, “You want me to do things in your head but I’m a person.” This is where Corey Feldman is doing things right, as his Maingel (“main angel”) states, “I’m a fruitarian, which means I only eat fruit.” Though, not really, because she later writes a message for the camera which states, quite emphatically, “Help me!!” There is no joke in her facial expression. The lesson here? It’s better to have a real relationship with an honest, caring, and independent human being rather than a cultish fetish with women desperate to become models, or actresses, or Maingels.

So really, it became quite difficult to laugh at Corey…

But the drinks were outstanding, even if the music wasn’t. (Though we do close strong with, “Cry Little Sister,” by G Tom Mac. Remember that? Click here. How about now?)

We present to you, “The Lost Boy.”

It’s no secret that I’ve contended with temper issues and harsh snap judgment tendencies throughout my life. I’ve worked on it, am working on it, and will work on it until the day I draw my final human breath…likely with some douchey thought about the doctor’s breath or the nurse’s shoes lingering in my forebrain as the biological blue screen of death counts down to zero.

It’s also no secret that certain individuals have unwitting access to emotional buttons that can drive me from zero to Donald Trump in the blink of an eye.

One of those people is Thomas Kinkade. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. He’s done nothing but fill the world with post-Bob-Rossian landscapes under the auspices of Christianity and the umbrella of his trademarked title, “The Painter of Light.” The conversation you’re about to hear, and Jennifer in particular, helped me to relinquish (…perhaps just for a short while, but some while nonetheless…) my hair-trigger anger-brain and look a little deeper into my vitriol surrounding the late Mr. Kinkade. Her and Green Flash “le Freak” Belian IPA, Voodoo Hoodoo IPA, and Southern Tier Mokah. Kinkade had a very sad end and, like all, deserves forgiveness and empathy.

We also talk about shit in the basement, Natural Born Killers, and Jen’s palmiers.

We open with a track from the brilliant album, BlakRoc. If you dig the Black Keys, New York Hip Hop, creative cross-genre musical collaborations, or grooves as deep, raw, and soulful as a Stevie Wonder soundscape…give this album a shot. I’ll link three greattracks.

The episode closes with Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song.” It seemed entirely fitting both for me, the panter of soapboxes, and Thomas, the Painter of Lights…and Pandora gave it to me just when I needed it.

We present to you, “Kinkade Tirade."

To start, Greg is obsessed with the Game of Thrones theme and opening sequence. It makes him want to quit everything and travel the country as a permanent fixture on the Renaissance Festival circuit. Perhaps as one of the dudes who viciously roasts passersby from high atop a wooden wall whilst they attempt to throw rotten tomatoes at him.

Here Greg copies a “Pumpkin Snap,” from House of 1000 Beers. It’s a beer cocktail consisting of: Southern Tier Pumking, Crabbies alcoholic ginger beer, spiced rum, and bitters with a rimmed beer goblet. (Coarse brown sugar, cinnamon, and ginger, if you please.)

Here Greg creates a “Kentucky Pumpkin Pie” using Kentucky Pumpkin Barrel Ale, Wild Turkey Spiced, Crabbies, and spiced’n’boozy not-so-simple syrup. (If you want the specific recipe, just ask. As a general note, these are all very similar to recent beer cocktails I posted on the Cocktails, etc. page.)

Here we meet two new gym characters. 1. Oxygen deprived Cro Magnon Sub Zero/Scorpion/Bane Heavyweight Champion of the Psych Ward. (Don’t look this motherfucker in the eyes…as they are void but for the apparent visions of murder and dismemberment.) 2. The pig-tailed age-ambiguous selfie-obsessed look-at-me stripper-in-training. (You really don’t want to look this one in the eyes either. But watch out for flying fitness bands. Oy.)

Here we meet Jenny Defreitas, who is not real. Well, there might be a Jenny Defreitas out there in the world. Likely hundreds. However, the Jenny Defreitas who has popped up on many a Facebook page of Shaler-graduate and Shaler-graduate-adjacent people, who inspired a memorial wall after having allegedly died in a factory fire in her knock-off cologne and sunglasses business, and who now is a real life person (…it’s my wife, people…); THAT Jenny Defretas is a fun little internal joke that somehow catfished more people than I could have imagined.

It is now clear how Ponzi schemes, rich Nigerian princes in need of your social security and bank account numbers, and actual catishing work. First, people (…for the most part. Yes, MOST part…) don’t actually read beyond headlines. Second, we are all, or at least a vast majority of us are, likely to accept anything from a person or people or outlet that we like or trust…regardless of their history of smartassery, asshattery, or other shenanigans and shades of bullshit.

One more time…Jenny Defreitas is not real. However, you should find her her on Facebook and also her memorial site. For a good laugh. Or not. Comedy and wit are a personal, subjective thing. It’s our cup of tea…it might not be yours. Give ‘er a shot though.

We end this whole thing with a lovely piece from the Decemberists from their release, “The Hazards of Love.”

Oh, and please use the floaty Amazon thing over there to the right and above. Yep, there in the corner. If you shop on Amazon and use THAT link, you’ll also support D2D and our endeavor to be more polished, professional, and purposeful. (Bug off, I like alliteration.)

Greetings Earthlings.

(At least, the dozen or so who read this and several who’ll listen. Greetings and salutations, indeed.)

Today we learn facts. Facts that we may not have wanted to learn but, upon further review, remain entirely unimportant and likely counterproductive to civilized society.

Nonetheless, today we learn facts.

1. There are Mormon porn sites, for boys and girls, and the storylines are like comedy erotica. “Comederotica”

2. Lenny Kravitz’s average-sized dick fell out in Stockholm.

3. There is a Body Modification Ezine, and one guy used poultry scissors to pierce his above-average-sized penis.

4. The motto of Pure Romance, which is a sex party company, is: Empower. Educate. Entertain.

5. Greg has a tenuous relationship with politically right-leaning libertarians and tea party die-hards.

6. Greg can harsh the fuck out of a good mellow.

7. Apparently, the “apparently kid” can still give us great joy and “prrnt-lee” save the day.

Today’s musical entertainment brought to you by: Lenny Kravitz, with “Fly Away.” Erykah Badu, with “Woo.” And again, R.J. Heid with, “I Can Read Your Mind.”

We present to you, “Today We Learn Facts.”

-G