It's that time of year again. Barely spooky ghosts, wax-fanged vampires and slutty witches haunt the streets, and in some cases your office Halloween party. I've DNB'd my costume this year. No inspiration.
No inspiration seems to be plaguing me lately, particularly when it comes to running. Xenia thoughtfully tells me I've got to average more than 28 miles to reach my goal of 20 miles per week for the year. Even her chiding comments don't urge me to action. What do I care? I got my sub-four marathon. I'm resting on my laurels.
All aboard the fail train. I've got a first class ticket.
Wherein running talk has given way to music and beer. I'm not complaining.
Barefoot Josh has a failing memory to blame for this comment: "Have you heard Split Lip Rayfield? Forgive me if we've discussed them before."
Answer: You are forgiven for your amnesia. I saw SLR on Kirk Rundstrom's final tour, during my "anything with banjo" phase. Groups like them, the Hackensaw Boys and Old Crow helped push me deeper into my current musical psychosis.
Virginia passes along some advice on improving the taste of the porter: "My boss is an experienced homebrewer and keeps reminding me that it is worth the wait to shelve for at least 4 weeks after bottling. This is tough to do, but definitely makes a difference!"
Answer: I like BrianFlash's idea better.
Happy Hour is nearly upon us, teammates. Have a finely brewed weekend. Don't let any sparkling vampires bite your throat off. Run well and drink well. Cheers!