Tag Archives: mild irritation

catch the wave.

(Subtitled: Or some other marketing bullshit.)

When I made my rounds on Friday, I picked up a bottle of Iron City’s newest burst of brewing genius — IC Light Mango. My beer folks had been waiting for this one since news of it came out a few weeks ago, and, yeah, I need to try one — one — just out of morbid curiosity.

And tonight was the night.

I had already had a solid western Pennsylvania kind of evening — brats from Parma in the Strip, with a glass of White Magick from Voodoo in Meadville — so something from Pittsburgh’s oldest brewery — sort of — was the perfect capper, right?

Heh.

Here we go. The bag was appropriate, I thought, probably more than the Penn Brewery glass. Let’s take a closer look.

Hm. Looks like a funky Coors Light. But I’m committed here, so let’s see what it looks like in the glass.

After a hard pour, that head held on for a while, thereby exceeding my expectations. But even more important than the look? The smell. Holy mangoes, Batman — the powerful fruit on the nose promised something that would taste like fruit juice. Maybe not so good for a beer, but I was hopeful.

But that’s not what I got.

The nose promises a fruit bomb, but the flavor doesn’t match the nose; in fact, it doesn’t even come close. Going in, I didn’t expect to like this, but I was expecting a cloying, fruity mess, and what I got instead was actually just kind of dull: a hint of the promised mango flavor, and nothing that suggests that any hops or barley had anything to do with the production of the beer.

Here’s the odd part. I hate this kind of marketing crap, when a brewery blindly follows trends in hopes of scoring a winner. But while I wouldn’t recommend IC Light Mango, I didn’t hate it. It is bland, inoffensive and will probably sell by the truckload for the rest of the summer.

And that’s probably my biggest problem with IC Light Mango — there are a bunch of people who will buy this and think they’re being adventurous. And that’s a bummer, especially when there are so many really good fruit beers out there to try. The next time East End releases one of its berry-rye concoctions, get yourself to the brewery in a hurry; they go quick, because they’re that good.

If you want to try IC Light Mango because you’re curious? Fine — go have a taste and see what you think. But please think twice about rushing to buy a case, just because it’s the newest thing from Iron City — you’d be much better off spending your money supporting brewers that put some thought and care into their beer, rather than those that chase marketing numbers instead.

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#ohiotour (monday).

We both had days off, and neither of us had to be back at any specific time, so the drive from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh was a leisurely one. We stopped at an outlet mall. We visited the Andersons store in Pickerington to check out their beer.

And, as I told you before, we ate pretty well.

In fact, our breakfast on Monday makes this whole post worthwhile. We spent Sunday night in Mason, which I had previously known as the town closest to Kings Island, the giant amusement park where I spent many teenaged days being amused. The town itself is a little odd; it’s the home of Procter and Gamble, and the tax revenue provided by the company has to be off the charts. City-maintained landscaping dotted every corner of every boulevard, and the strip malls — including the one where we were headed — were nicely tucked out of view.

Still, it wasn’t hard to find the Mason location of Blue Ash Chili, a 40-year-old local chain of chili parlors which specialize in Cincinnati’s local delicacy. Forgive me if I’ve explained this to you in person, but Cincinnati chili is different. The spices are Mediterranean and not Mexican; yes, that’s cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg and maybe even a little cocoa powder. The beef is finely chopped, so the chili has an almost-smooth consistency.

And it’s served over spaghetti. This is not negotiable.

The base is the three-way, which is usually chili, spaghetti and a mound of finely grated cheddar. Four-way? Add kidney beans. Five-way? Add onions. Oyster crackers aren’t a “way” in and of themselves, but they are practically required as well. Add some shakes of hot sauce, and you’re ready to go.

Mrs. Crappy thought it was a little too early in the morning for something that didn’t resemble breakfast; besides, she had had her heart set on a chili omelette since before we left for the trip.

Yeah, I know I posted this pic already. It was good enough to be worth it.

I have no such hang-ups, so 10:30 a.m. seemed like the perfect time for a five way and a side of fries. Mrs. Crappy’s breakfast looked delicious, but I made the right choice.

Here’s the funny thing. When I first looked at the menu online, I couldn’t help but notice that there were Food Network logos everywhere. This was thanks to a visit by Guy Fieri and his Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives show. I’ve always found Guy to be a little cheesy, but I’ve never had a huge problem with his show (unlike some friends of mine, who seem to react violently to the very mention of his name).

However.

Remember a few paragraphs ago when I said spaghetti was one of the things that makes Cincinnati chili Cincinnati chili? Seeing this on the menu made me snicker:

So let’s recap: Three-way. Four-way. Five-way.

And Guy’s Way? The Wrong-way.

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brain missed the target.

I know I’ve talked about this before (although I can’t find the reference at the moment) — my brain works, um, differently.

I say this thinking specifically of music and what my brain chooses to hear when I come across a snippet of a song. My ears lock in on the melody, often to the detriment of whatever might be happening with the song’s lyrics. Mrs. Crappy is the opposite. After two or three plays, she’ll know the lyrics all the way through — but she might not be able to hum a bar of the melody.

The best example I can offer is Wilco’s Via Chicago. I hear a soaring country song, interspersed with sharp dissonant interludes, something that never fails to thrill. Mrs. Crappy hears the lyrics — “I dreamed about killing you again last night/and it felt all right to me” — and, at least the first time she heard the song, was sort of horrified.

This quirk of my synapses nearly drove me nuts earlier this week. While watching Dancing With the Stars — strictly for work, I swear — I noticed a newish Target commercial. There’s a kid, trying to drag one of those giant plastic balls out of one of those giant bins; he knocks several balls out on the floor of the store … and then Target erupts into a swirl of summertime activity: grilling, setting up tents, sliding on Slip ‘n Slides and other general merriment involving products you can purchase at a Target store near you.

And of course, I am paying attention to the music. It’s a Sixties song, with a pretty distinctive fuzzy electric guitar riff. I know the song. But something in my brain locks up, and before I can hear even just a snippet of the words — which is more than enough to find a song title these days — the commercial is over.

Crap. I know the song. And for the life of me, I can’t recall what it is.

I took to Twitter; Gina saw the commercial too, but with her family and 18 dogs and cats running around, she didn’t hear the music. The spot is apparently new enough that it hasn’t yet shown up on any of the sites I usually hit to find out the name of that song in that damn commercial I just saw.

If my brain were wired differently — if I heard the words first — I would have been able to look up the song title before the commercial break was done. And while most of the time this arrangement between my brain and me works out pretty well, this time my brain definitely left me hanging.

As soon as Dancing was over — Did I mention that I was watching strictly for work? I did? Allow me to stress that once again — I marched upstairs and fired up iTunes, thinking that Apple’s Essentials mixes would lead me to the promised land.

After an hour of searching, I came up empty. And I would have searched longer, but Mrs. Crappy arrived home from the school board meeting she had to cover and she needed the iMac to write up her story and email it to her newsroom.

I went to bed, defeated.

I was saved the next morning, though. I woke to find a tweet from @LeeDrever, a dude from Vancouver, who had the song title and the artist all ready for me. I don’t follow Lee and he doesn’t follow me; I have no idea how he came across my tweets about the Target commercial, but if I ever meet him, my brain and I are going to buy him a beer.

The song?

How’s that for a bit of obscure Sixties bubblegum psychedelia?

My brain is filled with this kind of stuff; my fear is that it will only become harder and harder to retrieve as the years pass. But my brain and I will be OK. As long as it continues to help me out once in a while.

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mapped.

To anyone who knows me even a little, this map shouldn’t be a surprise.

This shows where me and my iPhone have been since August, when I upgraded to whatever version of Apple’s iOS started tracking users whereabouts.

We got all excited yesterday when a couple of data scientists released a nifty little app yesterday that digs up the data from iPhones and iPads and displays the information on a map. Take a look at mine. It picks up with our little trip to Kelleys Island late last summer; it’s pretty obvious that football season — and the subsequent trips to Columbus — is included; there are stops in Youngstown (Vintage Estates) and Butler (haircuts, Gorillo’s and Natili north); and plenty of time in and around Pittsburgh.

(Also noticeable — our Groundhog weekend trip to Mohican State Park is absent from the map, because once we got past Steubenville, I turned off the iPhone in favor of the Droid. Hey, AT&T — can you hear me now?)

Yes, I am concerned that Apple has been collecting this data without my permission. Wired references a letter prepared by Apple last summer that explains why it needs location information (improving its location-based services, primarily); the same letter, however, seems to promise that the data wouldn’t be stored anywhere — and that is definitely not the case.

But take another look at that map. Is anyone shocked that I spent time in Columbus and northern Ohio in the last few months? Also, I tend to talk about my travels incessantly, in real time on my Twitter account (which is public) and usually after the fact here.

(Yes, I’m a little more careful with other platforms. Only actual friends get to see my Foursquare account and while I’m pretty comfortable with Facebook’s unnecessarily complex privacy settings, I avoid all of its location-based stuff on the chance that I’m missing something there…)

People are upset about this, and I understand why. But I can’t logically claim to be upset that information about my travels is available on my phone because I make it available so many other places. And even if I didn’t, I think I’m probably predictable enough that you guys could figure it out anyway.

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damn.

I used to be good at this.

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25. ugly.

We’re not quite ready to officially award points in the Sixth Annual Uncle Crappy NCAA Final Four Challenge (Brought to you by Bocktown), but I have a few tidbits to tide yinz guys over until we have the actual Final Four set Sunday evening.

  • Of the 38 SAUCNFFC participants, just 14 of us still have our eventual champion still playing. Ouch.
  • We’ll go through everyone’s point totals on Sunday, but I would point out that 12 of us correctly picked UConn to make it to the Final Four and just one of us thought Butler would return this year. You each get two points for that pick.
  • If Kansas doesn’t make the Final Four on Sunday, a whole bunch of you are screwed.
  • The number of people who could possibly win this is larger than I might have thought; because of the scorched-earth upsets, it’s not inconceivable that someone could win this with just a couple of correct picks.
  • That means some of the people whom I might have written off previously could not only be in line for a few points but could also be contenders.
  • It also means that the tie-breakers — your best guess as to the final score of the championship game — will likely be very important when I’m trying to figure out who won this thing. I STILL NEED TIE-BREAKERS FROM THESE PEOPLE: AAA, KimLy, Fred and my mom. I’m not going to be a huge stickler here guys, but before the Final Four games next weekend, OK?
  • It is customary that I pick on the participants who might not have performed well as we get into the meat of AUCNFFC, and I started to do so last week. As pointed out previously, just about all of those folks could actually eke out a couple points in this thing. You know who will get exactly zero points in SAUCNFFC, because every one of his teams has already been eliminated? Yes. That would be me.
  • Thank you all for playing. If you need me, I’ll be twitching over in the corner over there, patiently waiting for the start of baseball season.

 

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