Sometimes you just gotta say...

WTF?

So I've tried a few beers. I've got my favorites. I've got my top 5, all time, desert island beers. I've got favorites for every season, every weather variation. I've got my end of the world, hoard as many bottles of it as I can favorite. I've got my last drink before I die favorite. I've got my first day of Autumn favorite, and less surprisingly the SuperBowl Sunday favorite. Yep, I'm feeling pretty comfortable knowing that no matter what, I'll never spend more than a few minutes at my favorite bottle shop musing thoughtfully about what I want to drink. Well let's see...What time of year is it? What time of day is it? What's the weather like? Indoors or outdoors? Drinking with real friends or just people I know? Will there be music? Confined to bottles or am I somewhere with some decent glassware? Important questions that will help me define the perfect beer for any mood.

...Yawn.

Here's the deal: I'm bored to effing tears. You see, I've done it. Been there, had it. I've been the overly excited beer-neophyte. I was the guy that never wanted to try the same brew twice. I've spent many a year keeping a list of every beer I've tried (the list exists, I assure you), ranking it against my favorites to see how it stacked up. But I experienced somewhat of a revelation recently, a moment of clarity maybe, and found myself pondering what is arguably the most dangerous question ever asked: "Why?". What is it that drives me to search high and low for some new excellence when I've already looked upon it countless times, knowingly, unashamed at its brilliance? I know it by its many names, we're old pals. Trust me, I'm in the will. That being said, I've decided that perhaps the next few chapters in my beer memoirs should focus on something other than the few truly great brews I've had over the years. Maybe it's time to see how the other half drinks. Someone has to be buying those horrifyingly tall cans of swill you see in the gas stations and grocery stores all over town, otherwise no one would bother making it right? Well, here's to you, the 24oz can of high-gravity misery that awaits. I'll be searching high and low for one of you with the potential to best me, and believe me when I say that I truly hope you exist. Try me.