So, one day, I called up, it sounded like it was a slow day there, and a nice lady told me on the phone that I could be signed up and out the door in about 90 minutes or so. She told me that their hours were from 7am-7pm and that they even accepted people as late as 6pm for donations. At around 3 today, I figured it would be a good time to go check it out. I drove out there, and parked my car. The first open parking spot I saw was a convertible…

…with the back window all busted up, the ragtop all torn apart. As I walked to the car, I had a flashback to watching Harry Potter movies, and Harry’s first experiences with dementors… “it was as though all the happiness and hope in the world were suddenly gone.” There was a woman standing outside the building with a general countenance that made me feel as though she were likely to propose a fellatio for cash endeavor, a more common panhandling, a robbery, or some combination of the former in which I am serviced and then flees the scene without receiving money from me.

People sort of rushed past me to get in. The people who rushed past me, though we were in Virginia Beach, felt very Portsmouth. It’s odd. When you’re in the ghetto, everyone has this sense about them that, some might call swagger, some might call a war face… It’s this aura you sense that though things are ugly all around us, they have some sort of plan and attitude that’ll get them through this.

The plasma donation center is the exact opposite of this. When you’re in a plasma place, you can see the same emotion on every single person’s face… “I’m stuck in this room with your broke, tired hungry masses.” And the room was packed. I mean, it’s incredibly naive of me to go into a plasma business, on a Friday afternoon and think “oh gee, it’s not like I’ll be the only one who’d need money before a Friday night.” It was one of the saddest god damned sights I’ve ever seen in my life. Imagine the DMV, but every single person in the room is having such a hard time in their lives that they’ve decided they need to sell a part of their body just to make ends meet. And the room was crowded. They’d run out of chairs for people to sit on, and so there were people sitting on the floor. And people were still one-by-one coming in behind me.

It was so packed in there, that I didn’t even get a chance to sign up.

Depressing.

Tonight, as the Arctic currents dip down from Canada once more, I decided to try Samuel Smith’s Winter Welcome Ale. Winter Warmers are a long-standing tradition from England. Typically, they’re a bigger, more malty and alcoholic beer giving you a little more substance and flavor, and with that higher alcohol content, dilated blood vessels and a great feeling of warmth. Samuel Smith describes their Winter Welcome Ale as having a :luxurious malt character, which will appeal to a broad range of drinkers… with nuances and complexities that should be contemplated before an open fire.” Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout is a benchmark of what the style should be, and so it’s with much curiosity that I choose this.

Open fire aside, I’m ready to tear into this bottle. I pour it into my Samuel Smith Pint Glass, and it’s a caramelly brown with a great head that slowly dissolves into a light lacing.

Smell:
Caramelly roasted malts with esters, and hints of a late addition of the Fuggles and Golding hops also written about on the back of the bottle.

Taste:
Malts. Malty as hell, but in a way different from a German lager.Pale malts mostly, with enough biscuit and crystal malts to offer some complexity. The hops are balanced perfectly. At only 6.0% alcohol, it’s a little on the light side. But with the maltiness at hand, it offers a rich mouthfeel.

Overall, I imagine my winter beers to be a bit bigger like Troeg Brewery’s Mad Elf.  However, for the drinker who wants a winter beer with a bit more sessionality (the ability to be consumed without turning into a sloppy drunk) this is a great beer.

“Here comes Santa Claus… right down Santa Claus lane”? Seriously. You couldn’t make up a better lyric than using the mythical bastard’s name a third damn time?

And any carol that references Jesus and the nativity just makes me feel like a terrible person, listening to Christmas music but doubting that two thousand years ago, a man was born two thousand years ago in the Middle East was crucified in order to die for my sins. All I wanted to do was buy some nice things for the people I care about, and you want to make this a time for me to feel guilty?

Jingle Bell Rock? Rock’s been dead for at least 5 years, and never, ever would it have ever combined with jingle bells to make a song like that.

That song Wham did? Fuck you.

But, I actually enjoy a couple of songs.

I’ve never had chestnuts roasted on an open fire. But the way Nat King Cole sings about them, I want them. Like they’re delicious and somehow soulful.

This is another song that I’ve always loved, but then again, maybe it’s just the fact that I’m a miserable bastard this time of year if I’m not careful, like Charlie Brown and relate to the depressed giant-headed cartoon.

See the thing is, a lot of this music has its roots in an earlier time when instead of passively listening to music on a radio, if you wanted a tune, you had to actually play/sing it yourself. Carols were something that people sang together. And they got hammered while they did it and called it wassailing. In lieu of this companionship, they tried to overproduce songs, and in faking the funk, killed the joy of the season.

Which is why the last song is so beautiful and strikes a chord with me. It’s real people in a real situation, and though they’re all trained singers, it seems so natural you can’t help but me moved… enjoy:

Merry Christmas.

I watched this advertisement about 30 times, not really paying attention, and having no clue what the commercial was about. Seriously, at the end of the commercial they look as though they’re about to start gratuitously making out.

It comes out once a year at the end of every year.  We get our solstice, and this beer, and it’s a good idea to look back and think… your year gone by, pitfalls, triumphs… you start to see it all.  And in seeing it all, we begin to see Christmas for what it is.  Christmas is just days after the solstice, balls deep in the darkest days of the year.  At its worst, Christmas is an empty gesture in which shallow people try to make up for a lack of love past with underfunded yet over-financed gifts of present intended, in some confused way, to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

To quote a comedian friend of mine, Brian Shelsby “what the hell does Jesus have to do with Christmas, anyway?”  It is a valid argument; in theory, the only connection to the nativity, is that once upon a time a virgin gave birth in a manger, and traveling wise men came from far away to bring her newborn son gifts.  It’s a hackney comment, but seriously. what the hell does a newborn baby need with frankincense gold and myrrh?  And let us not forget the drummer boy who wass also placed there.   To quote Sebastian Pignato, another great friend and comedian,” a woman just gave birth to a baby, and you’re going to play a drum as a gift?  That’s perfect.  Thanks.”

And let’s not forget how confusing Santa Claus is.  Christianity is the only religion I can think of in which, in addition to the belief in a main set of characters, they ask children to believe in an additional mythical personality.  Hell, I remember being a young Catholic in catechism class and when learning about my being judged for sin, as Jesus is also watching.  Not that I was worried about my immortal soul being burned in an eternal pit of hellfire,  but that Jesus and Santa Claus were sitting in a studio control room watching footage, commenting on whether or not I deserved a Gameboy.  As if Santa weren’t a weird enough figure, he’s a lot like Satan.  And I’m not just talking about scrambling the letters in his name.  His nickname is Old. St. Nick.  Know what one of Satan’s nicknames is in England?  Old Nick.    Combine this with the German figure Krampus, and I’m pretty sure that Santa Claus is a character I can do without in my life.

For the last few years, I’ve adopted the view that rather than attempt to understand Christmas in a way that’s always felt forced and as if it was something I’d not yet understood or learned yet, like algebra, any tax form other than a 1040EZ  or ever making a woman happy.  I celebrate a holiday that feels more natural.

I celebrate my own sort of Unitarian Yule.  Not the pagan holiday… No… IF I have trouble believing that God had sex with someone to put his son on Earth, I’m probably going to have more trouble thinking that rather than one God, there are several, and one has horns!

I acknowledge that yes, the days are shorter, seeming only like a break in between stretches of darkness, the weather is colder, that there is bitterness rising up in our hearts.  But, if we all show each other some love of some sort, and try to make each other happy, whether it be through  a well thought out and heart felt gift, or an honest smile and the words “Merry Christmas” its can be expressed many ways.  Now is the season of being with friends, eating and drinking till we’re happy, and then just a little bit more.  So this year,  I encourage you, enjoy the coldness of the weather, and try to fight back with warmth to your loved ones.  Let the warmth in our hearts outshine any cold winter air.

Merry Christmas!

There’s so much win in this video, it’s hard to believe.  Number one, Doom tears up the mic, like he does always.  As if that wasn’t enough, there’s a sick beat for him to rap on.

My favorite part?  The video.  It’s  fucking creative, and it makes me sad that MTV doesn’t show videos anymore.  My one solace?  By not showing videos, Doom can never jump the shark.  At any rate, this is an awesome music video.

Such is Amber Rose.

One day, this chick is on the cover of a magazine with Kanye West and company.  And my first thought is, man… some bitch is dressed up like a white Grace Jones:

Next thing I know she’s everywhere, doing Maxim and stuff:

Courtesy of HipsterRunoff.com

Now, this girl has a vodka commercial out.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I prefer beer and wine, with the occasional whiskey.  Even more rare is the occasion upon which I drink vodka.  When I do, it’s typically in the form of a dirty vodka martini… a wonderful thing that is both savory and elegantly crisp at the same time.  However, when I saw the above vodka commercial, I realized one thing.

I want to fuck the shit out of some vodka now.

I like a girl who takes pride in how she looks. It’s a sign that she respects herself. What bothers me is women who put TOO MUCH stake in how they feel they are perceived visually. What I’ve noticed the most is, for better or worse, it seems like a girl who has at one time not been happy with their weight and not received attention from men that other women do. A lot of the times, when women lose weight, the desire to get guys’ attention metastasizes into something more toxic and sad that just scares guys like me off.

Example, I went out with my brother one night. As the drinks START flowing, this girl starts getting louder. A few more drinks, she starts getting flirty, talking a lot about herself, her talents at work, about penises and how they look huge in her hands since she has tiny hands. We walk to another bar, she whispers to me “I used to weigh 215 lbs” (she’s like 5’3). A few more drinks and she’s REALLY flirty. A few more and she’s pulling her shirt down and exposing cleavage, reaching for people’s crotches. A few more and now this bitch is crying. 10 minutes later, this chick is a train wreck, crying, yelling at the guy behind the counter who sells pizza like “how DARE YOU?!?!?! HOW F-ING DARE YOU!?!?!!” What the hell could a pizza guy do? Hell the worst thing he could say is something pizza related.

Another chick I know. She looks okay. A lil overweight. If she concentrated on eating right (a well-balanced diet lower in processed foods), getting 8 hours of sleep, and a long term plan of lifting weights and doing cardio, she’d be happy as hell in a year or so. Now, bear in mind, she’s not hideous, not a complete brown bagger. And she has good facial features. But the thing is, if you were to look at this girl’s Facebook, it’s like this:

“What’s wrong with guys?”
“I just wish guys around her liked me.”
“God, I’m horny, I wish there were more guys around here with a job, a house and a comfy bed” (meanwhile this girl’s still living at home).

You just wish you could tell these girls like “hey, you have a great rack, something going for you that most people don’t. But really deep down… personality wise… you have bad breath.”

If you’d like to offer up some video blog fodder, either comment, or reach me on Twitter, @brenkennedy.