You know that feeling? April 5

First off, Happy Birthday to my Uncle Johnny.  If you ever went to the movies in central mass from 1975 until 2002, you know the man.  I wasn't able to call him yesterday, but certainly wish him the best.  Uncle, if you're reading this, happy birthday.

Anyway...you know that feeling you get when you're walking out the door at 5PM on Friday and you have good weekend plans.  You're just kind of smiling to yourself at your own private joke.  You're more open to eye contact because you're feeling good and hope everyone else is too.  That's how I feel right now, but better because:

• Its only Thursday
• I'm heading to Spain tomorrow
• Its a 4-day weekend because the British are much more impressed with a Man dying on Friday and still making it home in time for Sunday dinner with the fam

I would say I feel kind of like...no, I would say I feel EXACTLY like this

I passed on the gym again (Kilimanjaro is getting taller and taller...) and walked home.  I'm going to start throwing a dumb bell in my bag and calling it a workout.  

I passed this scene at the very upmarket, woman-trap known as the Barley Mow, which we discussed just the other day:

Check out the coat on this guy?  I think its bear.  I touched it when I walked by to confirm.  This guy ripped about 10 cigarettes and 4 beers in the 10 minutes I creepily watched him from across the street.  I want him to be my uncle or something

 So apparently, its totally a part of life to just drink outside the bar, on the street.  And I'm not talking about a walled off patio.  Look at this scene.  These crazy bastards are outside the bar, off the sidewalk, drinking on the street.  I wish I had a Dave-Attelle-esque sidekick to walk with me to just talk to them about this, but I'm terrified of the guy in the carcass-coat.

Anyway, this phenomenon is not unique to the modern-day Gomorrah that is the Barley Mow.  Apparently, much of Europe is filthy with outdoor drinking.  And they don't even make you put it in a solo cup like the tackyAmericans.  

Anyway, since I'd already been to the pleasure cave they call Barley Mow, I went across the street to another place that caught my eye:

Its not what you think it is...it a bar

I had plans for the night so I just grabbed a quick one here and sat on the patio where I documented the Brit Grizzly Adams unwinding.  I went with:

I liked the pour.  It was aggressive and had a little emotion to it.  This is a long weekend pour, not a Wednesday pour, and that makes a difference.  And it was a proud lager.  As usual, it was warm but had a little more flavor than the ones I'd tried.  I didn't write down what the flavor was though, and now I forget, but it had a little kick.

I'm heading home now (or, I was when I was thinking about writing this...to be totally honest with you its 10AM Friday morning and I'm having a coffee and packing for Spain, but bear with me.  I'm going for a certain narrative flow here) to get ready for dinner with a few old buddies from Tufts who I may or may not have locked in a basement for a weekend in the late 90s. Til then...

Was hoping this came out better to give you an idea of what the menus are like.  Lot of fish, lot of rocket, lot of veggies that don't make the menu page in the US.  I'll take better shots, but the program I use doesn't let me tilt landscape shots the right way, so we're limited by technology.  I'll solve this problem