Folks, I’ve got to admit — I’m pooped. I’ve got a few things lined up for you, but I just don’t have the gas left in the tank tonight to bring you anything too elaborate or ridiculous. And so, in lieu of that, I’ll tell you about what I did on Tuesday night. Maybe it’ll be fun; maybe it won’t. But it’s a post, and tomorrow I’ll be better-rested. So try this on for size, and I’ll get back to shit that never actually happened next time. Have fun.
So, on Tuesday night, I attended my second — not first, but second — ‘Guinness Believer’ event. Now, I don’t know how many of you out there drink Guinness stout, or go to these little soirees, but I’ll tell you this — if you do one, you most certainly must do the other. These things are the shit on a stick.
(Not just ‘shit on a stick’, mind you. That’s not particularly good, as far as I can see. Especially depending on which end of the sticl you happen to be holding. But ‘the shit’, and — even better — ‘on a stick’… well, that’s good. Damned good, and then some. We’re talking variable-speed massage shower head good.
Not necessarily in a sexual way, either. But not necessarily not in a sexual way, either. That’s how good it is. I’m not fucking around here.)
Anyway, let me tell you about these little slices of heaven. First of all, they last for about two hours. The one on Tuesday went from six to eight at night. (Because six to eight in the morning would just be foolish.) There are three segments in each event, namely:
Let’s take a look at each of these in turn, shall we? Oooh, plus a bonus, surprise segment at Tuesday’s party — I can hardly wait to hear about that! Aren’t you just oozing with anticipation? Well, let’s clean ourselves off and get started, then. We’ll get under way with:
The Warmup: This is the best part. This is where nattily-attired tap jockeys deliver pint after pint after glorious pint of Guinness — or Harp, or half-and-half, for the lighter drinkers in the crowd — and serve them up for free to all in attendance. No lines, no waiting… well, okay, a little waiting, I suppose. After all, it takes a few minutes to pour a Guinness properly, and these are professional bartenders we’re talking about. They’re not gonna rush the job, and serve up inferior pints to honored guests. And if that means that there’s a little tiny bit of waiting between glasses, then… well… actually, the thing to do is grab three or four at a time. So really, if you’re smart, there’s still no waiting. If you’re smart.
There are also appetizers served during the warmup. Again — and I can’t stress this enough — free appetizers. Now, there was a bit of difference in the two events I’ve attended, with respect to the food. The first had rare, delicate delectables — boiled shumai, fried stuffed wontons, and scallops wrapped in bacon. In bacon; did you hear me? We’re talkin’ Rockefeller shit, here, or Kennedy fare. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of the stuff; if not for the bottomless pints of beer, we might have walked away hungry that night.
(Or walked away at all. Damn, that was a lot of beer.)
Anyway, on Tuesday, the hors d’oeuvres were a little more mainstream — chicken fingers, potato skins, wings, and the like — but there was plenty for the dozens of people in attendance. We went back to the well several times apiece, and wanted for nothing. By the end of the night, I couldn’t even look at a chicken wing. And it was all free — did I mention free? A veritable hedonistic wet dream, it was. Well, wet with beer, anyway, which is frankly better than most wet dreams. And less messy, too. Ick.
This warmup time lasts close to an hour, after which the attendees are ushered to their tables, and asked to open their ears for:
The Pep Talk: This is when the Guinness folks pay some schmuck to grab a mike and tell us everything he knows about Guinness. To be fair, the schmuck at the first event was pretty entertaining, and knowledgeable, and even engaging. The schmuck at Tuesday’s get-together, on the other hand, was… well, a schmuck. He didn’t seem to know much, and what he did know was scarcely audible over the rowdy audience. They would have been better served sending a troupe of clowns up there, or an Irish version of the ‘Swedish bikini team’. That would have been more memorable, at least, and we wouldn’t have had to feel sorry for this chatty goober for an hour, either.
Still, the pep talk is a lot of fun, too. You’re either learning, or laughing at the boob trying to hold the room’s attention. And either way, the staff brings out big buckets — that’s right, buckets — of fresh Guinness bottles and/or cans. So even if the entertainment’s lacking, you can still find a way to occupy your time.
(And your liver. Bonus!)
And just when it seems that the good folks at Guinness couldn’t be nicer to you, there’s:
The Wrapup: This is the ‘cooldown’ period, where you’re asked to finish your beer, and grab those last dregs on the appetizer trays, and prepare to get the hell out of there. But you won’t leave empty-handed — oh, no. Rather, you’re showered with swag — bottle openers, magnets, T-shirts, and more. You’ll stagger out of there with shit under each arm, and — if you’re anything like our group — with glasses tucked in your purses, coasters in your pockets, and quite possibly beer slopped on your shirt. Or in your hair, or down your pants. Really, anything can happen, if you’re a Guinness Believer.
And at Tuesday’s bash, we even got little credit card doohickeys that were packed with ten bucks apiece, to be used in the video games on the second floor of the bar we were at. So we spent an extra hour, continuing to ‘believe’, drinking pints and virtual-shooting, -golfing, -driving, and -getting-the-shit-kicked-out-of-us, once again — and I never get tired of saying this — for free.
Anyway, that’s my story. Maybe not as overtly humorous as many posts around here, but hopefully, you enjoyed it. Or you’re at least able to see the beauty of it all, and live vicariously through me for a night. And hey, maybe you can get in on the hootchie-cootchie yourself — check out the Guinness website, or even better, the Guinness Believer RSVP site, where you can sign up to attend.
(I’m not sure whether the winter events are still being held, or the full list of venues, but check out the site, and you’ll find out. I’m not gonna do all the work for you, now, am I?)
So, there you go. A long, winding, blathery post about a Tuesday night beerfest. But not just any beerfest, as I hope you’d agree by now — this was a tour de force, a smorgasbord, a plenary feast for Guinness drinkers, and the invited guests who love them. Really, I’ve never been to anything quite like it. And I can’t wait to go again. I’m getting thirsty just thinking about it. Yum!Permalink | 1 Comment