That's About The Size Of It

Beer, games, music, dogs and posts about Pitch Perfect or Hot Rod.

[kurtbraunohler]

All Direction Moving in Eatontown, NJ Doesn't Care About Your Dead Mom

To Adam at All Direction Moving,

When I called your company to get a quote to move a few of my mom’s belongings, your company gave me a quote. I asked three times, to three different people, including you, if the quote was correct.

Then, after your movers moved all of my mom’s earthly possessions onto their truck, they presented me with a bill for five times the quote. When we called you and explained the situation, you blamed me for being naive enough to believe the quote. You told me I should be aware of moving costs and know that was too low. When we explained that my mom had just died you told us “aww, get a hotel room and hug it out”.

I paid you 5 times what you quoted. Because you had my stuff hostage. But I want everyone to know that All Direction Moving in Eatontown, NJ, and specifically Adam, are terrible human beings.

There is very little justice in this world. But one thing we can do is let everyone on the internet know how awful you are. Here’s their Yelp page. Please review them. Give them one star and make sure you call Adam “a half-man-turd-boy who probably farts in public all the time”. http://www.yelp.com/biz/all-direction-moving-eatontown?utm_source=ishare

I hope, Adam, when you experience a loss as great as ours, no one treats you as terribly as you treated us.

-Kurt Braunohler and Lauren Cook

[arrestedwesteros]

Gene Parmesan: Uh, I’ve got some bad news. I’m… Gene Parmesan. 

Amigos - 2x03

h/t to @ollymoss via @vanaman for inspiration

[kevinmalexander]

Session IPA, Barrel Aged Stout and Amarillo Saison Homebrew Recipes

In my last post I talked about three different beers I’ve made in the last couple of months and I thought I would provide the recipes for them. That hoppy saison is my favorite beer I’ve ever made.

All 5.5 gallon batch size

Session IPA OG: 1.044 FG: 1.010 IBU: 61 SRM: 6 ABV: 4.5%

Pale Malt 2 Row - 88.9% Caramel 40L - 5.6% Avangard Wheat - 5.6%

Mash at 152F for 60 minutes, mash out at 168F for 10 60 minute boil

First Wort Hops - Citra to 28.5 IBUs 10 min - 0.75 oz each of Amarillo and Citra Whirpool 0.75 oz each of Amarillo and Citra for 10 minutes before cooling US-05, Wyeast 1056 or White Labs 001 at 68F for 3 days, 72F for 2 days then 66F for 9 days. Dry hop 1 oz each of Amarillo and Citra at kegging or the final 5 days of fermentation. Carbonate to 2.4 volumes CO2.

Ozymandias - Barrel Aged Imperial Oatmeal Coffee Milk Stout

OG: 1.106 FG: 1.026 IBU: 92 SRM: 38 ABV: 10.6% Pale Malt 2 Row - 62.9% Flaked Oats - 24.7% Black Malt 2 Row - 3.4% Roasted Barley - 3.4% Caramel 120L - 1.1% Lactose - 1lb at 15 minutes (4.5%) Mash at 156F for 60 minutes, mash out at 168F for 10

60 minute boil First Wort Hops - Apollo to 92 IBUs Flameout - 4 oz ground Sumatra Coffee Lalleman Nottingham at 65F for 3 days, 72F fod 2 days then 68F for 19 days

Optional: After fermentation rack to used whiskey/bourbon barrel and age 2-3 months to taste. Bottle with Lalleman CBC-1 and 4.5 oz honey as priming sugar to 2.3 volumes CO2.

Amarillo Saison

OG: 1.059 FG: 1.009 IBU: 43 SRM: 6 ABV: 6.5% Dingemans Pilsen - 71.4% Avangard Vienna - 10.7% Avangard Wheat - 7.1% Crystal 45L - 3.6% Golden Candi Syrup 1lb - 15 minute late addition (7.1%)

Mash at 148F for 60 minutes, mash out at 168F for 10

90 minute boil

First Wort Hops - Amarillo to 15 IBUs 10 min - 3.0 oz Amarillo

Wyeast 3724 Belgian Saison at 72F for 4 days, ramp to 80F over 3 days then hold at 80F until FG is reached, 2-3 weeks. Once FG is close, begin dry hop stages.

Dry hop 2.0 oz Amarillo for 3 days, remove and add a fresh 2.0 oz for 3 more days.

Carbonate to 2.6 volumes CO2

[kevinmalexander]

Fermentation Update

In my last post I threw up a picture of the two starters that were for an upcoming double brew day. That took place back on 6/12/16 with the help of my brewing partner. Our intentions were to brew our 50th and 51st batches since 2009, a session IPA and hoppy saison.

Having done a staggered double brew before, I had a decent idea of how to schedule things. Of course, a schedule is a nice plan and a decent guide to keep you from getting lost, but things almost never go as planned with homebrewing. How many times have you heard a homebrewer say “my brew day went perfect”? Probably not as many times as hearing about what went wrong, I bet.

Our plan was to batch sparge using two propane burners with our trusty 8.5 gallon Brewer’s Best kettle and our brand new, uncut 15.5 gallon Bayou Classic that will be the center of our upcoming electric recirculating BIAB system. Brew Days don’t happen that often for us (I’ve got two kids under 3) so we wanted to maximize our opportunity with knocking out two batches that will be good for summer drinking.

I didn’t take a single picture the entire day, nor did I worry about taking PH readings. I wanted the day to be as relaxing as it could be, not to be fretting over numbers and what not. We’ve done this enough to know that we’ll have fermentable wort at the end of the day.

By the end of the day we had heated water, milled and mashed grains, added hops, boiled and then cooled wort. We stayed on top of cleaning as we went along and even had time to eat some pizza. Our two worts were in their carboys in the basement, waiting to even out at room temp before we pitched the yeast. My temp-controlled chest freezer that I would typically use for fermentation has been taken over with actual freezer duty for a while now, so these things were gonna be riding out their fermentations at ambient temps. Luckily my basement is pretty consistent year-round, but I had some doubts about the saison, as they usually are fermented at higher temps. More on that in a bit.

The saison, following a recipe I had brewed last year and loved, reared its head early on as the potential problem child. First sign was that we only got 4.5 gallons into the carboy when we were targeting 5.5. The second was that the wort was measuring an original gravity around 1.083 when the target was 1.059. Considering that we were a gallon short anyway, Beersmith’s dilution tool told me that I could add a gallon of distilled water to get down where we wanted to be. After doing that and letting it settle a bit, I took another reading and got about 1.047...something went wrong. After reversing the math I learned that if I hadn’t added the gallon of distilled water the wort would have been right at its 1.059 target. Don’t know what happened with the reading that gave me a 1.083. Oh well, just gonna pitch the yeast and see what happens.

Both of the beers were kicking the next morning, hovering around 70/72F. A few days later, after the bulk of activity had settled, the beers were sitting around 68F. I left them alone to do their thing, even though I knew that I should figure out some way to heat the saison up. About 10 days later I pulled samples to take readings, the IPA (which had a higher gravity than targeted, now negating the “session” label) was finished out at 1.009 but the saison was giving me a reading in the 1.030s. I immediately regretted not doing something sooner to ramp the temp, but at the time I was taking the readings, I couldn’t take the time to figure anything out.

Last night I finally made time to get the IPA kegged and figure something out with the saison. Considering that we had a better efficiency than planned resulting in that higher OG, I decided to dry hop this more aggressively than I would had it been more of a session strength beer. Where I would have used 1 oz each of Amarillo and Citra, I ended up with 1.5 oz of each along with some leftover Mosaic and Galaxy (0.6 oz each) for a total of just over 4 oz. With a recent Brülosophy post fresh in my head I went for the keg hop method, packing the hops and a few sanitized marbles into a muslin bag then suspending it in the keg with dental floss while it gasses up. If the beer ends up a little grassy I can always crack the lid and yank the bag out. I used my recently acquired sterile siphon starter to push the beer from the carboy to keg, sealed it up and turned on the gas. Should be ready just in time for this upcoming 4th of July weekend.

Finally, it was time to figure out something with the saison. I knew I had an Inkbird ITC-1000 controller sitting on the shelf and a ceramic heater bulb ready to go, just had to think of a way to fake an enclosure to trap the heat. Looking around the basement I landed on one of the big blue tubs that you might use to keep drinks on ice at a party. I put the carboy inside of it and laid a couple of blankets around it for insulation. I propped the ceramic heather bulb close to the carboy without touching anything and taped the temp sensor to the opposite side of the carboy with bubble wrap insulation. It might take a while, but after about 6 hours the temp of the wort had raised about 4 degrees, slowly marching towards its target temp of 75F. We’ll see how it goes. I’ll update as things progress.

Here’s a couple of pictures I snapped this morning in the brewery corner of my basement:

On the left is my 5 gallon Balcones Distillery whiskey barrel that’s got an imperial oatmeal milk stout sitting in it. I added 4 oz of ground Sumatra coffee to the end of the boil then 8 oz of cacao nibs during the end of fermentation. Depending on how it tastes after it’s done in the barrel I may add vanilla bean and/or cinnamon sticks along with some cold brew coffee. Kitchen sink stout, anyone?

On the right is my IPA gassing up at room temp. I also don’t know why I never thought to keep my 5 lb CO2 tank in a bucket before, but it definitely seems safer in there than just free standing.

At the top left of this pic you can see my temp controller sitting on top of the Homer bucket next to one of my mash tuns. At the bottom right is the setup I came up with to try and get the saison to finish out.

[kevinmalexander]

Got a double brew day coming up on Sunday, so that means tonight we make yeast starters. US-05 going in one for a session IPA and Wyeast 3724 Belgian Saison for a hoppy Amarillo saison in the other.

[kevinmalexander]

Racked the stout I brewed a little over two weeks ago into a freshly-dumped whiskey barrel from Balcones distillery. Gonna let it sit in there for a couple of months, see how it goes! For now, the laundry area doubles as brewing area as well.

[kevinmalexander]

This past Friday I snuck in my first Brew Day since July! Making up an imperial oatmeal milk stout with coffee and cacao nibs that’ll be barrel-aged. Here’s some photos. 1. The equipment all set up nice and early on a beautiful, warm Friday morning.

2. Giving my new Cereal Killer grain mill a spin for the first time. Definitely want to get a dedicated motor for it.

3. Looks like I’ve found the capacity of my mash tun.

4. Missed my mash in temp by 2 degrees. Was shooting for 156.

5. Decided to let the pump handle vorlauf recirculation.

6. First runnings.

7. It was the morning, so a Breakfast Stout was in order.

8. We’ve reached boil and I’m draining/cleaning the mast tun.

9. Sunday morning blow off. You can also see the future home of this beer once primary fermentation is complete.

[unicornbattleground]

Guns N’ Roses at the Troubadour: A full account of the most metal day ever.

The number one rule to living in Los Angeles is: “It’s not what you know. It’s who you know.”

And apparently everyone in town knows Axl Rose’s assistant’s friend’s cousin who works at 31 Flavors.

Late Thursday night (April Fool’s Day Eve) I received a text from a longtime friend.

Guns N’ Roses play the Whisky tomorrow. Ticket sales are in-person only, 8am. Don’t tell anyone. 

After some back and forth, he sent a screen shot with the intel he received from his source connected to Axl’s assistant to prove that this was not an elaborate April Fool’s prank and establish his true motive.

If you get more than one ticket I can be your +1 since I told you about this : )

Sounds fair to me. 

Screen shot from my source’s source.

At 6:29am the following morning, my phone started blasting Welcome to the Jungle, a handy reminder of why I was waking up two hours earlier than usual. I fell out of bed, showered, had a little breakfast, and hopped on my bike to pedal the four miles over to the Whisky a Go Go.

Grinding up San Vicente Blvd towards the Whisky, I couldn’t help but feel more than a little smug. All these people scurrying to work and I’m the only one who knows what’s about to go down. As I crested the steep hill to bring the Sunset Strip into view, I expected to see hundreds of people already lined up because in LA secret shows are the world’s worst kept secret.

My eyes about popped out of my head when I saw the only person there was the blind guy who’s always standing on that corner yelling at the sun. Holy Clark W. Griswold. I was the first one there. I was half an hour early but a 30 minute wait to get tickets to see Axl and Slash together on-stage for the first time since 1993 would be totes worth it.  

Rumor was Hollywood Roses was a code name for GnR. 

A couple minutes later, common sense kicked in. Something wasn’t right.

I checked Twitter for any clues. The first thing I saw was a seconds-old Tweet from a buddy from my Nebraska hometown who lived in the neighborhood. The real line was a couple blocks away at the old Tower Records building and was growing by the second. He confirmed this when I ran into him as he was strolling home from his long night out.

I slid into the back of the line which was well over a 100 people deep and continued to multiply. The first 50 or so had been there since the night before. Things were mostly quiet but as the sun took its place in the sky, people began getting to know each other. The big topic of conversation was how everyone knew what was supposed to be a bigger secret than who really shot Kennedy.

Keanu watches over the line.

“I can’t say how but I got a buddy who knows a bartender who knows someone who’s connected to Slash. He told me everything. The show will be right here at Tower tonight. I’d show you his text but he made me delete it.”

“Oh yeah? My guy told me it’s at the Roxy.”

“I still think it’s gonna be at the Whisky. Hollywood Roses playing tonight is dead giveaway. Plus, they mysteriously refunded everyone’s tickets just so they could sell them at the door? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“But did you see the marquee down at the Troub? They changed it to say ‘Not in this lifetime.’ That’s a pretty obvious clue, man.”

No one’s story of how they were tipped off was identical to anyone else’s yet, somehow, we all managed to show up at the right place.

And just in time too.

By the time the “official” announcement was made at 10am (my source’s source was only off by two hours) that tickets would be on-sale at noon, the line was several hundred people deep. Those who showed up at noon were way out of luck.

As the hours of ticked by, the vibe of the line was like Heavy Metal Parking Lot: AM Edition. While the backbone of LA is a population base ready to blow off responsibility and obligation at a moment’s notice, many attempts were made to be productive members of society. Everyone guarded each other’s spot and fended off any would-be line cutters. Calls to bosses were made. Appointments were rescheduled. Cars were moved to avoid getting towed. A communal bottle of sunscreen was passed down the line. I was responding to emails as fast as they were coming in to give the illusion that I was hard at work. Someone even offered to make a Jamba Juice run for the West Hollywood Sheriffs Deputies monitoring the line. We were utopian society living on the sidewalk.

At 11am security started moving fans into the Tower Records parking lot ten at a time. Once they received a lime green wristband that ensured their golden ticket, they were free to hit the Border Grill or Dogtown trucks for complimentary tacos and hot dogs or buy some hot-off-the-press Guns N’ Roses merch. A DJ cranked some tunes.

In total, 180 people received a magic green wristband. Mine was number 175. Another couple minutes of loitering at the Whisky and I would have been out of luck. As it was wrapped around my wrist, I was given some simple instructions.

“This wristband guarantees you one ticket and one ticket only. $10 cash. If you tamper with it or take it off you won’t get a ticket. Look around and grab some food. Just be in queue to buy by noon. Go have fun.”

The go have fun part killed me. It was a gorgeous (even by LA standards) spring Friday and I was ditching out on real-life to score a Guns N’ Roses ticket for $10 AND I was getting free tacos? This was already the greatest day ever.

Our little society that was established out on the sidewalk continued on the inside. Anyone who was short on cash was taken of by their new friends. At noon, the gates were opened to everyone who’d be missing out on a ticket so they could buy some stuff and get a consolation taco. They rushed in like caddies going for dip in the Bushwood Country Club swimming pool. Many of them tried scamming or bribing their way into our hallowed line but were turned away. A small platoon of stripper chicks tried their best but were rebuffed too. Their stunned expressions made it pretty obvious this was the first time they were ever hearing the word no.

The lucky ones who got tickets & those trying to slide in.

The line to get the golden tickets moved quickly. Once we were inside, the green wristband was snipped off and replaced with a cloth wristband that was physically locked in place. The spiel stayed the same. “You tamper with this and you won’t be getting in. Doors open at 10. Show will start sometime after 11.” 

The interior of the old Tower Records had been transformed into a seedy night club with GnR projected onto the wall. It was half museum, half art installation. 

Inside the old Tower Records.

Tables were littered with beer bottles so I connected the dots and found the bar. A cold beer would really hit the spot before strolling into my office four hours late.  “I have whatever’s on tap, please.”

“Sorry but we’re not serving anything. This is all fake,” the bartender said as she gestured to the array of empty bottles behind her. “We’re only selling t-shirts.”

“Oh. You mean the t-shirts hanging from the ceiling where nobody can see them?”

“Yep.” 

“I wasn’t the only one who tried to order a drink am I?”

“Nope. Everyone has. This wasn’t the smartest idea.” 

Mission accomplished. 

For the next 11 hours or so, the only thing on my agenda was to not lose my right arm or the wristband attached to it. The closest I came to bricking that plan was when I nearly killed myself in the shower trying to bathe one handed. I had my arm draped over the shower curtain rod to keep the wristband from getting wet and the whole thing came crashing down with me following close behind.

I left the house around 7:45 just to play it safe. We live three miles from the Troubadour and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I could crawl there by 11 if I had to. On the way out, my lovely wife asked if she’d be able to buy a ticket at the door. I nearly fainted when I realized she wasn’t kidding. “There are people on craigslist offering to pay $3,000 for a wristband. Sorry but I don’t think their will be any extras.”

Twenty minutes later, that price had jumped up to a confirmed $4,000 with rumors of someone offering up to $5k. Deep pocketed sharks were circling the line outside the Troubadour but weren’t able to bite. Even Houdini wouldn’t be able to slink of a wristband without damaging it.

The line was long hours before the doors even opened. 

The final hours went by quick. The energy in the line was equal parts exhausted and excited. It had been a long day for everyone. I stood in line with a couple from Vegas who drove out on a hunch early Thursday night and hadn’t slept since. It didn’t matter that they had tickets to see Guns N’ Roses play next Friday back home in Vegas, they were going to see their FIRST show. Even after securing their tickets, they were too nervous to nap back at their hotel so they did the next best thing and went for beers at the Rainbow Room before walking down.

On the way in, our wristband got a wristband and then our wristband’s wristband got one for good measure. All phones were literally locked away and wouldn’t be unlocked until after the show. That measure would prove to the be the best part of the night. After a full-service pat down by security (I maybe could have sneaked in a GoPro duct taped to the backside of my hairy coin purse), the final gauntlet before stepping into hallowed ground was a security guard tugging your wristband to make sure everything was legit.

I’ve been to the Troubadour dozens of times and suddenly it looked smaller than ever. You could hear first-timers gasping at how tiny it was. The GnR banner and drum kit already overpowered the place and the band wouldn’t be hitting the stage for at least another hour.

Unless of course, this was still just an extraordinarily well-planned and cruel April Fool’s Day prank.

Without phones to be distracted by, the home stretch to showtime was full of strangers talking to each other (just like in the 80s!) and people reunited with their line mates. There were hugs all around. I had the foresight to wear a watch and became our area’s official timekeeper. One thing that came as a surprise was how dead the bar was. Getting a drink wasn’t worth the risk of losing your spot. I chatted with a girl named Johanna who flew in from Brazil the day before just for a chance to see a show that may or may not have been happening.

“What was it that made you decide to fly to LA?”

“I have a Google Alert for Guns N’ Roses and on Monday it started showing things I’d never seen before and they kept popping up. By Wednesday I knew I had to be here. I go back home tomorrow. The only flight I could get was LA - Vegas - Miami - Rio. How far did you travel?”

“About four miles. But I rode my bike and it was uphill the whole way.” I then thanked her for not stabbing me. 

Sound techs scrambling around on-stage kept everyone in suspense that the show would soon be starting but the only indicator you needed were the celebrities filing into the balcony. Slash wasn’t about to keep his high school classmate Lenny Kravitz waiting for long. 

At midnight the lights dimmed and a tech walked on-stage to make the grand introduction that everyone had been waiting 23 years to hear.

“Alright. Thanks for coming out. They’ll be out in a minute. Have fun tonight.”

OK, sir. We shall try our best. 

Slash was the first one out followed by Axl and the crowd erupted. It. Was. Really. Happening. Nobody knew what to expect or who the full line up would be. All day long people had been sharing their theories about who would be joining Axl, Slash, and Duff on a stage they first played back in 1985. 

But this wasn’t the time for pleasantries and introductions.

Guns N’ Roses had an audience’s ass that needed kicking.

They threw a curve ball by opening with It’s so Easy followed quickly by Mr. Brownstone and another curve with Chinese Democracy. Looking back, this opening trio of songs was probably nothing more than chance for the band to warm up and and find their footing, playing together in front of a live audience for the first time in decades.

Axl grew stronger with each song. He started out like a guy who’d kill it in a Guns N’ Roses tribute band but by the time Slash tore into the opening riff of the fourth song, a little ditty called Welcome to the Jungle, he had transformed back into Axl Fucking Rose.

From that moment forward, the show and audience erupted into a frenzy that wouldn’t slow down for another hour and a half.

In the middle of Welcome to the Jungle I gave a silent shout out to the surely long departed nun who tried to scare our 7th grade Catechism class straight by playing the Welcome to the Jungle video and breaking down the hidden “Satanic” messages line-by-line.

“Fun and games. Satan loves to tempt you.” 

“Feel my serpentine. Satan often takes the form of a snake.” 

“You’re in the jungle baby, you gonna die. Is the jungle place you want to be?”

Sorry, Sister Whatever-Your-Name-Was. I made it the epicenter of the jungle and it was glorious.

Just how good was Welcome to the Jungle? Even Lenny Kravitz took off his sunglasses to get a better look.

The VIP MVPs of the night were Andrew Dice Clay and Nicolas Cage. Those two dudes sat up in the balcony judging each song like Statler and Waldorf. Somebody really needs to get them a sitcom. Live and Let Die hit Nic so hard, he clapped multiple times.

New super group: JC/ADC/NC

Sweet Child O’ Mine and Knocking on Heaven’s Door absolutely destroyed the crowd. Anyone who managed to sneak in a camera or phone had long since been kicked out. Sorry, Snapchat. Each of these songs were once-in-a-lifetime moments that you could only share with those around you. Strangers were hugging and slapping high fives with anyone in reach, including Axl. A biker who looked like a giant version of Danny Trejo stood frozen, soaking it all in. There’s no doubt this guy had seen some serious shit in his day but it was clear this was his best day ever.

Heck, everyone there was having their best day ever. A dream so impossible that you wouldn’t even dream it was coming true before our eyes.

Nightrain shredded so hard that the crowd had no choice but to work itself up in a swirling pit of mayhem. The only exception from shows of the past is now that the audience is a little older and (marginally) more responsible, anyone who hit the floor was instantly picked up by their fellow crowd members. We all had each other’s backs. When things got too crazy even for Axl during the closer of Paradise City, he shrieked at the crowd to ‘back the fuck up’ and give some space to those who were getting pressed against the stage. Everyone snapped to attention faster than a soldier at boot camp and moved back so quickly you could feel a breeze.

They continued without skipping a beat and brought it all home. Aside from incoherent screams of joy, the crowd was speechless. Nobody exhaled until the band walked off the stage for good and then the only chatter was a confirmation of what we had just witnessed really happened.

I ran into my new friends from Vegas on the way out and offered them a ride back to their hotel. The five minute drive down Santa Monica Blvd alternated between pointing out the local landmarks and trying to wrap our heads around an unimaginable experience.

For one day at least, LA truly was paradise city.

[kevinmalexander]

Holy shit, Axl, Slash and Duff actually reunited. This is a great write up.

[latining]

Tabletop Gaming has a White Male Terrorism Problem

I am a gamer. I followed the call of Cthulhu and ran in the shadows with hackers and shamans. I traversed the ancient lands of Greyhawk, Faerun, and Eberron with companions new and old. I swung from an airship and buckled swash over London for the Kerberos Club. I threw dice and flipped cards and ground men into dust playing table-top wargames.

I don’t do that anymore.

Since July of 2015 fans of the game Malifaux have been attempting to overwhelm me with death and rape threats for no other reason than I am a woman who has opinions on the game. Wyrd Miniatures is silent on this matter and hangs up whenever anyone attempts to discuss the harassment. Given that a large number of threats identify the senders by name as Wyrd staff members, I do not find this surprising.

But that’s not what this article is about.

Keep reading

[thathomestar]

This is not mine. From 8ch/v/:

“Gentlemen, I have done it. I have found a way to go slower than was ever thought possible.

You may remember from a few threads ago I made a vintage cars that used all the object data on the largest map possible - “The Wheel Of Life And Death”. The slowest ride with the longest possible track. at the time time i though this was the slowest you could go but I found a way to go slower.

When a roller coaster travels along a track of constant height its speed exponentially decays towards zero but never stops

With this in mind I build a spiral track on the biggest map. The train comes out of the station and hits breaks with slow it down to 4mph. then it travels along the track, always losing speed but never stopping, until it gets to the center. where it rolls back and does the spiral again until it gets back to the station. Calculations show that it would take 210 days to finish. not in game days. real life days.

Kairos - the slow

Just for comparison. Mr. Bones takes about - 70 minutes to complete. Wheel of life - 60 hours (3600 minutes) and Kairos - 210 days (303383 minutes).”

[kevinmalexander]

Mostly I’m just happy to see that people are still playing Roller Coaster Tycoon.

[kevinmalexander]

Remembering Rich Palmay

Today I found out that a man who I didn’t know overly well had passed away suddenly yesterday, yet his death is sitting with me, leaving me unsettled. His name is Rich Palmay. He was a son, father and friend to many who knew him well.

I first met Rich shortly after my obsession with homebrewing beer was beginning to percolate. He worked part time at Keg & Barrel Homebrew Supply when it was still in the Berlin Mart, here in South Jersey. Friendly with greeting and chatting to all the customers. A world of patience to help out those who, like me, were just starting out.

Later I joined the Barley Legal Homebrewers club and started seeing Rich more often at the monthly meetings. Again, always friendly and patient and quick to offer help. I could tell he was the kind of guy who made you feel at home as evidence of how people just sort of gravitated to him.

Not long after I joined the club an announcement was made in the local papers that he, along with his longtime friend and brew partner Vince, were going to be opening up their own brewery in Mount Holly, NJ. This was before the ludicrous brewing laws were loosened and not everyone and their mother was opening a brewery in the Garden State. It was inspiring.

Rich passed away while he was brewing yet another batch of beer for the brewery he co-founded, Village Idiot. It’s easy to point out that the man died doing what he loved, which is very romantic in its own way. Though I didn’t know him like a lot of people did, I can see that while his love of beer and brewing runs deep it hardly scratches the surface on the man he was.

Tonight, after my wife, son and dogs were long asleep I opened my Beer Fridge looking for something that would be appropriate to drink as a toast to a man like Rich and saw Weyerbacher’s Blithering Idiot peeking out at me from behind some other bottles. Not only does the name fit his brewery but even the label looks like their logo. It’s a beautiful beer on every other occasion but it tastes very bittersweet tonight.

Here’s to you, Rich. Cheers.

[kevinmalexander]

And with this pour my first homebrewed IPA that I was truly happy with is kicked.

[kevinmalexander]

Brewed an Amarillo-hopped saison on Monday. Here's a few pics I remembered to take along the way. 1. Was one degree high on my target mash temp. 2. Additions: 0.25 oz Apollo as FWH; 1 tsp each of Irish Moss and Yeast Nutrient; 3 oz Amarillo at 10 min. 3. My wife's favorite brewing-related word: Vorlauf! 4. Boiling nicely. No boil overs. 5. The whole crazy set up with the small kettle storing sanitizer that's running through the hoses, pump and chiller. 6. First time using the temp controller I built with a small chest freezer I acquired from my sister. 7. Wyeast 3724, Belgian Saison is pitched, blow off attached and temp set to 72F. Now we wait to add two different dry hop additions of Amarillo.

[kevinmalexander]

I built a dual stage temperature controller to control a small chest freezer for fermentation. I had to solder shit and everything.

[anthonybourdain]

HIS DREAMS WALK ABOUT THE CITY WHERE HE PERSISTS INCOGNITO

I woke up this morning in Borneo, went for breakfast in a crowded kopi tiam, where I greedily devoured a lip burning, nose running, utterly delicious bowl of Kuching style laksa. Tomorrow, I’ll board a long boat and, for the second time in my life, head up the Skrang River—this time for Gowai, the Iban harvest festival, where I will, I am warned, be drinking way too much rice whiskey. I have asked that my former headhunter hosts give me a hand tap tattoo. Possibly a durian pattern. I have been having regular foot massages—something they do particularly well in this part of the world. My room smells of jasmine, and outside the window, across the river, the former palace of the “White Rajah” of Borneo is visible in the late afternoon light. The muezzin’s calls to prayer will soon echo from the mosques throughout the city, one voice joining another, then another—a chorus from every direction. 

And yet….and yet…in the midst of all this….exotica…my mind runs to New Jersey. 

New Jersey, too, was exotic to me, once. For much of my childhood. The then working class riviera of Barnegat Light where I spent many happy summers. The dark mysteries of off season, pre-casino Atlantic City, with its vast, empty hotels, its novelty shops, boardwalk, salt water taffy and amusement pier. Leafy bedroom communities where I grew up, others where I was later whisked off to school…the hard packed night time slopes of Great Gorge and Vernon Valley…the fabled Pine Barrens, where untold horrors awaited amidst the discarded gangsters and mythical, griffon-like creatures said to feast on little boys. The fastidious, house proud Victorian severity of Ocean Grove right next to the decidedly honky tonk Asbury Park. The Palisades. The meadowlands—a vast wonderland for juvenile delinquents…Even the refineries of Elizabeth had secrets—their omnipresent but ever changing odors, unknowable. I came of age as a passenger in cars driving aimlessly around Route 80, Route 46, Route 4 …cruising for burgers, cruising for girls, cruising just…because….

So, to me, much maligned New Jersey was always magic. Until, like so many of us raised in the Garden State, I left—forever—for better, more “sophisticated” territory. In my case, right across the river to New York City. Everybody, of course, is from New Jersey: Frank Sinatra, Jack Nicholsen, Meryl Streep, William Carlos Williams, Alan Ginsberg, Queen Latifah, Stephen Crane, Glenn Danzig, Peter Dinklage, Donald Fagen, Ray Liotta, Martha Stewart, Lee Van Cleef, Tom Colicchio and..oh yeah…Bruce Springsteen. Anyone else not listed here was probably born there but just won’t admit it.

I get angry now when people speak badly of my home state. (I may not have been born there—but I was certainly raised there from infancy until age 17). And I get angry, from afar, when people abuse it, try to paint it in a bad light. Certainly the reality series, depicting roid-raging, Valtrex popping mesomorphs did the state no favors. But New Jersey hardly has the exclusive on meatheads. I’ve watched in dismay for much of my life as politicians from both Democratic and Republican parties have used New Jersey as their personal feeding trough. And if you think the Christie traffic scandal was no big deal, think about how you’d feel if it was YOUR 6 year old daughter, first day of school, trapped in a school bus for 4 hours, desperate to not piss herself in front of her classmates—all because a bunch of vindictive, spiteful, gloating political hacks were peeved about matters completely outside your control or understanding—and decided to use YOUR kid as a club to beat their perceived enemy with. YOUR dad, waiting for an ambulance or emergency responder.

And certainly, what’s become of Camden, once a principle engine of the industrial revolution, after generations of mismanagement from the other political party is even more egregious. And has anyone, ever, taken as large, as ugly, as steaming a shit on a city as Donald Trump’s ‘Taj Mahal” in Atlantic City? LOOK at it! (We do, in this episode). Can you imagine an uglier, tackier structure—one more oblivious to its surroundings? It seems designed specifically to obscure the beach, the boardwalk, the gorgeous architecture of Atlantic City—the very things that (still) make AC wonderful. Of course, Donald seems eager to separate himself from his leavings these days—not because it’s an architectural abomination—but because it’s apparently become a financial embarrassment.

It would be easy to make New Jersey look amazing if I concentrated on its farmland, its beaches, its parks and its finer restaurants. Easier still if we chose to film in summer. But I thought, let’s shoot this show in WINTER. When New Jersey is supposedly at its greyest, most inhospitable, ugliest. And lets go right to those parts of New Jersey that are supposedly the most fucked up, the places where everything went horribly wrong. It is MY contention that New Jersey is so magnificent, so unique, its spirit so unsinkable and its sense of humor unparalleled that even there, seeing those places—as I do—with affection and respect and no small measure of hope, that those who watch this episode will find my beloved home state awesome and beautiful too. Even the refineries—the sprawl of bridges and highways and clover leafs—there’s beauty there. We worked mightily to show you those things as we saw them. As I feel about them. New Jersey, it is my contention, was amazing all along. It was when we tried to “fix it” that we went astray. Drive Ventnor Avenue from Atlantic City to Margate and look out the window, and you’ll see, still there in parts—what was lost and what could be again. Look at Asbury Park—how its coming back—against all odds. And watch one lone woman’s struggle in Camden to take back, one block and one child at a time, a city she grew up in, loves fiercely and wont let go of. The hero sandwich of my youth. Steamer clams. Jersey Italian. Birch beer. The smell of dune grass. Vanilla salt water taffy. Fried clam strips. These things should be eternal. They are eternal.

[kevinmalexander]

Bourdain on Jersey.

[comedycentral]

There’s no substitute for Key & Peele. New episodes start July 8.

[kevinmalexander]

Subtext here, for the people who know more about my personal life than others.

[kevinmalexander]

A Homebrewer Never Stops Tinkering

Until a few weeks ago I hadn’t been able to brew since October, my longest drought since I started homebrewing in 2009. I was very anxious to get back to it and will be detailing that in an upcoming post. During the down time between brews I’m constantly reading and researching things I want to do to improve and change my system and set up.

Though I intended to get these all done before that last brew day, here’s a list of projects and changes I had planned to make in preparation:

Hook up a STC-1000 temp controller to a chest freezer for proper fermentation temperature control

Ferment directly in kegs

Building a spunding valve to naturally carbonate the beer

Oxygenate in-line on the output of the plate chiller for healthier fermentation

Try out Brulosophy’s yeast harvesting from a starter technique

I was able to build the spunding valve, but did not fully complete the temp controller. Without the temp controller I didn’t ferment in freezer/kegs, eliminating the use of the spunding valve but I’ll detail the build and parts list here.

Below I’ll detail a couple of builds and parts lists.

Spunding Valve Build

Part of what attracts me to fermenting in the keg, besides racking the beer with CO2 (eliminating as much exposure to oxygen as possible) and the fact that three of my pin lock kegs fit perfectly in my chest freezer, is the idea of trying to naturally carbonate the beer as it approaches final gravity. Normally with a traditional air lock all the CO2 that is produced by the yeast escapes the vessel but if you use a spunding valve you can trap the right amount to dissolve into the beer while the excess escapes like normal.

This mainly requires an adjustable pressure relief valve and a gauge to monitor the PSI. Those two major components also need to hook up to the keg in some manner, so here’s a parts list:

Pressure relief valve, 1/4″ NPT / $7.50 / zoro.com

Pressure gauge, 0-15 PSI, 2″, 1/4″ NPT / $19.33 / zoro.com

Brass coupler, 1/4″ NPT / $2.29 / zoro.com

Brass Y Splitter, 1/4″ male NPT to two 1/4″ female NPT / $7.99 / ChiCompany.com

Flare Coupling Union, 1/4″ FFL x 1/4″ MPT / $5.50 / ChiCompany.com

Pin Lock Gas disconnect, MFL / $5.99 / Adventures In Homebrewing

Here’s a blownout “before” pic:

The trickiest aspect of figuring out which parts to get was finding some way to connect the male flare thread on the disconnect to the Y splitter. Ideally I would have liked to find a 1/4″ FFL x 1/4″ FPT but as far as I can tell, this part does not exist. The flare coupling union to the regular NPT coupler was the best I could do. So while it’s not the prettiest thing in the world, it sits on the keg very nicely and does not add so much height that it interferes with the lid closing on the chest freezer.

With a successful dry-fit test, the appropriately-sized wrenches in hand and plumbers tape on stand by, I assembled the parts in about five minutes.

Here’s the assembled spunding valve:

Oxygenating In-Line

For about a year now I’ve been using a Chugger pump and Duda Diesel plate chiller to chill and transfer the hot wort to a carboy. After not having much luck with using filtered air pumped slowly and ineffectively into the wort via aquarium pump, I picked up a stainless steel oxygen stone with 1/2″ NPT to add on the “wort out” port of my plate chiller where a thermometer is currently located to monitor the temp of the wort leaving the chiller. This required the installation of another “T” fitting, a simple enough installation. Using a basic oxygen tank connector kit and a disposable canister from the local big box hardware store I’m able to crank on the O2 as the beer transfers into the carboy. Pure oxygen encourages a healthy fermentation, making the environment pleasant for the yeast.

Here’s a parts list for my plate chiller build:

Duda Diesel B3-36A 20 plate beer wort chiller w/ 1/2″ NPT

3″ face thermometer w/ 2″ stem

Inline Diffusion Stone, 3/8″ barb x 1/2″ NPT, Stainless Steel

Oxygen Regulator

Oxygen Fuel Cylinder

Garden Hose Quick Disconnects

Various stainless steel fittings from Bargain Fittings

Your choice of hose connections for wort in/out

More Builds, Trials and Errors To Come

My STC-1000 Temperature Controller build is almost done, though greatly lacking in pictures. I’ll grab some of the finished product and provide links in a future post.