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The Lois Beer Club

Viewing life through the bottom of a Pilsner Glass

Posts Tagged ‘George Wendt’

Drinking with George – Exerpt 1

We all know Norm from “Cheers” as the Great American Beer Drinker.  His counter part George Wendt is also a well respected beer connoisseur.  His book “Drinking with George” entails how our favorite libation intertwines throughout his life.   Check out some exerpts from his book.  If you like it click on the link at the end to buy the entire thing.

Loudmouth Soup  

Everyone knows that beer is a social lubricant, but even scientists have trouble explaining why. The most popular theory is that alcohol affects the amygdala — the brain’s pleasure center — producing extra gamma-aminobutyric acid, or GABA, which makes us feel happy and reduces stress. So now you know: It’s GABA that creates the gift of gab.

While the loss of Littleton’s was definitely a bummer, Terry and I weren’t going to let it get in the way of our quest for beer. We heard a story about a neighborhood bar in South Shore that might be amenable to serving the age-impaired, so we hopped on a bus and headed on over. Jackpot! Not only did the old men inside ignore our peach fuzz, but the drafts were just fifteen cents a pop. At that price we could drink like kings. Which we did.

Unlike kings, we had no royal coach to take us home. By the time the bar closed the buses had stopped running for the night, and we’d drank away our cab fare hours before. And since we were engaging in illegal behavior, we couldn’t exactly call our parents to come pick us up.

Fortunately, we had a time-honored tradition at our disposal: fare ditching. We called a cab, and while we waited for it to arrive, we concocted a plan. There was a stop sign at 91st and Leavitt. When the cab came to a halt, we’d jump out of the back and escape down some nearby alleyways. As long as we remained inconspicuous until the last possible minute, the driver wouldn’t suspect a thing.

We got into the cab and gave the driver a fake address, one that would take us through 91st and Leavitt. When we stopped at the intersection, Terry leapt out and sprinted for the alleyways. He was well on his way to freedom when he realized that he didn’t hear my footsteps behind him.

I’d passed out drunk in the back of the cab.

By the time Terry came back to look for me, the driver was shaking me against the side of the car. I was too terrified to do anything except blurt out my real address. I’ll never forget the way my mother shook her head at me as she settled our fare. Thank God she never told my father.

 

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