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it's exactly what it looks like

I really thought it might be fun to try some of these cheap beers and post about them since you probably won’t read about them in any serious beer publication, internet or otherwise. But I’m about ready to post about some good beers–and I’ve got plenty saved up. But before I’m done with the cheap beers, I’ve got two more to cover. And they’re serious cheap beers.

We’ll start with Natural Ice. Yes. You read it right. Natural fucking Ice. A/k/a Natty Ice.

It’s hard for me to say who this beer is marketed towards and/or who actually buys it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone drinking it–much less buying it. But despite all logic and reason, this beer exists.

Quickly, I’ll cover the taste. To be honest, it tastes about like Beast, but with more sourness. This is not a good thing. Remember how I said Beast wasn’t quite as bad as it’s made out to be (http://typedslowly.com/2010/03/03/drinking-it-all-12-milwaukees-best-tallboy/)? That was me being fairly generous. Natty Ice tastes worse than Beast. So, bad.

Now let’s look at the packaging. The can’s label/design looks like it was put together by a 13 year-old boy who’s into cars with lots of chrome accessories. Also, imagine said design was printed out on a printer from the early 90’s–fuzzy dots covering everything. Enticing? That’s the kind economical design that speaks to the product’s ultimate purpose.

I’ve pointed out the bylines on some of the other cheap beers, so I’ll call attention to Natty Ice’s as well. “Ice brewed for a naturally smooth taste,” says the label in a substantially smaller font than the “5.9% alc./vol” that appears just below (priorities). I do not pretend to know everything about making beer; I know barely more than someone who knows nothing about the process. But. I’ll be damned if something called “ice brew[ing]” doesn’t sound like a big stinkin’ pile of bullshit. And I bet against the probability that there has ever been a person standing in a curb store trying to decide between Natty Ice and anything who notices said byline and figures what he/she really needs is a beer that was “ice brewed.” Could be wrong, but it definitely doesn’t sell it for me.

Not a good beer. Pick something else. I drank it so you don’t have to.

Thumbs up or thumbs down? Down. See above.

Apricot Mango Eye Cream, by Skin

Ingredients- Apricot kernel oil, Jojoba oil, macadamia nut oil, mango butter , olive oil, vitamin E oil, vegetable emulsifying wax, distilled water, glycerin, grapefruit seed oil.  (The first five ingredients are certified organic, and I love that there are so few ingredients in this product.)

Product Description (provided at Carenonline.com, where I ordered this stuff)- “For those who want a truly natural, organic eye cream, free of fragrance, harmful chemicals and even essential oils, this is it!   This is a rich, fabulous eye cream that even the most sensitive will find gentle and easy to use. It has Apricot kernel oil for the sensitive skin around the eye area to smooth and regenerate, jojoba oil for exceptional absorption, mango butter to help heal, protect, aid in wrinkle reduction, and to soften the skin, and macadamia nut oil to moisturize and  help protect the skin. This eye cream goes on creamy but not greasy, yet continues to moisturize the skin around your eye area all day.  Light enough to use during the day under your make-up but rich enough to use as a night cream.”

Price- $24.95 for 1 ounce, and 1 ounce may not seem like a lot, but since it’s only meant for the very tiny patch of skin underneath the eye..this stuff is gonna last forever.

Performance- This cream is ideal for using right before bed. I used it in the morning as well, but it tends to make my eyeliner not stay on as well as it normally does. Overall, I’m into it. Since I’m only twenty and don’t actually need eye cream yet, I don’t have much to say about its effect on fine lines.  I’m really just using it as a preventative measure.

Scent- I expected this to smell really fruity because of the name, but it actually has a really delicate milky/floral scent that can only be detected when first applied.

Rating- This eye cream deserves at least an eight. Two points were deducted since it makes my eyeliner kinda smudgy.

Boar Bristle Hair Brush

I cannot say enough positive things about the boar bristle hair brush that I recently purchased. It makes my hair shiny, soft, and waaay more manageable. Honestly, I did not expect to see much of an improvement in my hair, but I was pleasantly surprised.  Every review that I read before purchasing one said that it evenly redistributes the oils in your hair (from the scalp to the ends, where it’s needed to prevent and repair split ends), but I was still skeptical until I tried it.   It has  actually improved the overall texture of my hair. Also, it was in the neighborhood of eight dollars.  Success!!

BUT:

If your hair is super fine or super thick, then steer clear of this  product.  Fine hair tends to fly in several different directions when brushed with a boar bristle brush, and thick hair may have tangles that a boar bristle brush can not easily conquer. I have normal hair, so it works like a charm form me.

It just fell out. You know, I was standing around, my mouth was open, and then, Boom. There it was, a whole sentence, a sentiment of ontological bent, floating around the room.

Now, I usually say things for two reasons: Either I like the way it sounds (which is a sort of philosophy in and of itself), or I’m not aware of what I’m saying (which is more often the case).

Of course, far be it from me to retract a statement. Unless it’s slander or the like. No, I’d much rather pretend I meant I knew what I was saying and argue you down. It’s part-hobby, part-the-way-I-am. It’s also how I learn.

Because if I pace myself, and you know as well as I do that Argument is a finely-drawn art, I can find my way out by digging my way further in. In other words, I find some half-baked flaw in my own self-designed debate and make a remark a la “Didn’t I say that?”

To which the response is, No, I don’t think you said that.

And then, I’m pretty sure I did, why I was say anything else? That doesn’t make any sense.

If the wine has been forgiving, so will the other person, and before you can ask for the rest of the bottle, the whole point has been forgotten, or has been turned into a “teachable moment.”

This, by the way, is a phrase too often bandied about in my family, most often used at what I’d considered an inopportune moment, as an attempt to cover over what is more likely a cry for help than education.

For instance, Wynn got his head stuck in the wrought-iron fence during Christmas (as have all of us, at some point or another, be it Christmas or a Tuesday evening) that for some unknown-1960s-esque-decorating reason lines the sunken, inner den at Nana’s house. He has a big head; we don’t affectionately refer to him as Chunk just for the hell of it.

He pulled and gawed and hollered, until finally, he figured out how to remove his head from the grip of the twisted iron.

It was, we concurred, a teachable moment for him.

This only works if it doesn’t happen a second time, though.

The other night—and this has been a month back— it was my head, not Wynn’s, stuck in a verbal bit of ironwork, also known as “chit-chat.” I was browsing around, admiring the handiwork of original artists, at an event known as First Fridays, a local venue that showcases, as you might have guessed, new and original art. I love attending and when able, purchasing some of this art. I’ve lined my walls with it.

And this was a particularly interesting First Fridays that was highlighting the work of what I assume was, by all stretch of the imagination, an “avant-garde artiste.”

Every piece of his objet d’art was rumor-worthy, trust me. There were the usual “attacks on modern society,” such as the reconfigured computer keyboard, and the smashed-out TV set hypnotizing the bowling pins carved into the shape of an armada of swans, if you will.

All clever, indeed.

He also, single-handedly, wrapped every item he possessed in newspaper (the comics, naturally), and made every person in attendance open a present, which he filmed. I ended up with catnip and a collection of CDs by artists I couldn’t have cared less about, but the idea of it, that was appealing.

Even the glass ornaments he’d personally filled with urine.

I know. Right?

I only mention this rather engaging visual (if unsettling) because it was there that this sudden burst of philosophy fell from my mouth, skipping the rim of my glass of Moscato, and thrusting itself upon the ears of those standing beneath these balls of pee with me.

“Is that so, Kris?”

“Is what so?”

“What you just said…if something’s possible, then it’s necessary?”

Tongue-in-cheek-like, I pointed to the glass ornaments of yellow liquid, “Well, it explains this, doesn’t it?”

A tight laugh.

“Yes, but not really.”

I countered, “So, what are you saying? That everything has to have a point?”

What followed was a discussion of Being tinged with Purpose, which I admit I didn’t quite follow to the “flat middle of a solid T,” but I did begin to sense a deeper truth: We just plain don’t like thinks that don’t make sense.

We are a people of Order. And I mean that quite literally.

This artist, for whatever reason, had collected his urine into glass ornaments and then hung them in degrees of yellow hue from the ceiling. From a distance, it was rather nice to look at, because it was “in an order,” a design. Once we discovered what it was in truth, then the opinion shifted and we were, at various levels, appalled, disgusted, confused, intrigued.

Without Order, we couldn’t approve because approval requires labels. And labels, if they’re good ones, don’t need explanation.

Which led to: Is there such a thing as art for art’s sake? and Do we have to “know” why?

The argument deepened, to drastic depths, which I suppose is an important facet of any conversation regarding philosophy. One doesn’t just “go around” initiating new schools of thought without hearty, healthy debate, it seems.

Not that that’s what I was trying to do.

I’d actually and honestly come up with that “what’s possible is necessary” quip as a means of encouraging myself in my upcoming move to NYC; it isn’t easy to uproot yourself at 33 and leave a good job that you’ve got under your belt—good as in salaried.

I guess it’d been wafting around my mind ever since, because, to me at the time, it sounded pretty heady and important.

But, dear god, let the lesson be learned, by all: you better think through the things you let slip on the lip. Because, that comment as a means of encouragement, Fine, it works. But, if it’s to hold its weight, it has to work in all situations. (And I don’t know, maybe it does).

I certainly had no answer, though, when asked, “So, if I murdered you, right here, right now, that’d be OK because according to you, if it’s possible, it’s necessary?”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to murder me,” I said. My head now firmly caught in its own wrought-iron.

“Yeah, but still…”he said.

I was becoming uncomfortable at this point. I saw no way out.

So instead, I did what Wynn did. I pulled (at my shirt); I gawed (which is sort of like a low, guttural murmur) and I hollered (or, in this case, I laughed, too loudly).

I looked him square in the face and said, “You’ve got to look at it from both sides, naturally.”

“What?”

I had no idea what I meant, but I continued, “…as in, it is necessary that I get some more wine, and it is also…possible.” With that, I slathered on a smile, and excused myself, heading for the Moscato.

Which was safely an entire room away…from him and the urine.

In order to get to know the other students in the class, one of the students suggested in our class forum to post a 5 things list.  I agree with her.

5 Things I am looking forward to:

1. Planting my vegetable garden
2. Growing old with my husband
3. The next project in Indie Biz
4. My trip to Atlanta this weekend
5. Having children

5 Things I did yesterday:

1. I went to a Garden Expo with my husband.
2. I potted the new plants we bought and re-potted my airplane plant.
3. I worked on a journal/planner that I am making for myself.
4. I brainstormed ideas for my first Indie Biz assignment.
5. I snuggled on the couch with my husband and watched the Oscars.

5 Things I wish I could do:

1. I wish I could spend my days crafting instead of working.
2. I wish I could be sitting on the beach on Tybee Island right now.
3. I wish I could understand what is happening on Lost.
4. I wish I could adopt every stray animal that comes near my house.
5. I wish I could play an instrument well.

5 Places I’d like to travel to:

1. The Grand Canyon
2. Niagara Falls
3. Italy
4. Alaska
5. The Galapagos Islands

Living in the city limits, I cannot raise my own chickens, so this place is perfect for that.  I ordered one whole chicken and a dozen eggs.  Both were fantastic!  If you haven’t had farm-fresh eggs, then you simply must find the nearest person who has laying hens and ask for some.  They are wonderful.  Or contact Boardtown Organics if you’re in the area, only $2.50/dozen.  That’s a good dollar cheaper than “free-range” varieties at Kroger.  And so much better, I might add.  Orangey center that doesn’t run all over the place when you break the egg in the skillet.

We should have weighed it, but we didn’t.  Suffice to say that the chicken was huge.  It fed my husband and me for over a week.  We grilled the legs, wings, and thighs.  Pan fried one-half of the breast (which fed us both) and topped it with olives.  Halved the other half of the breast and used one half to top a salad and the other half to make chicken fried rice.  Of course we had leftovers, and those were mostly mixed together for sandwiches, salad, etc.  We also made chicken stock for the first time by using the bones and meat that clings to the bones.  Considering the entire chicken only cost $10, we ate some pretty cheap meals, and all were absolutely delicious.  I have read that truly free-range, happy chickens (I think this makes them happy) that are allowed to roam about and eat bugs taste more “chickenier,” and I can now say that I agree.  May sound crazy, but, somehow, I could taste the chicken more.  It didn’t just taste like whatever I seasoned it with.  It tasted like chicken.

Their Web site advertises a CSA (community supported agriculture) effort this year, but I plan to grow pretty much all I’ll need on my own.  As for chicken, they are almost out of the last batch processed, but I’m told they should have more ready in May.

This is in the biggest bowl we own.

Take a look at that half a breast. Huge. I know.

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look out, this beer's in a "specially lined can"

The next stop in cheap beer land is Keystone Light. This beer is Coors Light’s little cousin, just as Beast is Miller Lite’s little cousin. The fact that I’m not a drinker of Coors Light, or really any Coors product, should make this review fairly objective (or that’s what we’ll say).

There’s a label on this beer’s can that claims it’s “Always Smooth.” These two words are trademarked as well, so just imagine I put the small capital TM after Always Smooth. This post is in no way an attempt to usurp Coors’ trademark of “Always Smooth.” Ok. We’ll just say they’ve taken some creative liberties with the word smooth. Interested yet?

Keystone Light is, admittedly, a beer I’ve had a fair amount of times prior to the one I’m drinking right now. I’ve been to frat parties, and I’ve also been to establishments that serve cheap beer from Coors taps when said taps’ lines run back to Keystone kegs. (This is only heresay/conjecture. Take it as you like.) However, the 4-pack of Keystone Light that I bought for this post is the first I’ve actually purchased Keystone in longer than I can remember (we’ll say at least 6 years, possibly more).

So how does it taste? It tastes about like you’d think. (Excuse the rhetorical ?’s.) I can’t think of a beverage that exemplifies the term watery more so than this beer. Please remember some of the ways I’ve described beers in previous posts, or go back and read some if you haven’t already, and now understand that basically none of those terms apply to this beer, Keystone Light. This beer tastes about like someone made a sun-tea with regular beer ingredients then added alcohol. But somehow it’s also sour. So sour water that tastes mildly like beer. But it has alcohol.

This is a party beer, plain and simple. Not something to be had in any situation where drinking a case of beer in one sitting isn’t a medal of honor (sorry about the double negatives–I think it makes more sense though).

Also, this beer boasts an interesting byline: Specially Lined Can. I’m no metallurgist, but this beer tastes like the can could have been lined, specially, with tepid water. Or less-than-mediocrity. Whichever’s funnier, you tell me. It’s a shitty beer.

Thumbs up of thumbs down? Down. You could specially line the can with gold and I wouldn’t buy this beer (again)–at least not to drink.

April 1, Huff and Jenny sat in the diner eating their #3 specials, steak finger baskets with fries and large cherry Icees. Huff finished his third cigarette and began to cough. Huff had been carrying around a cough for several years now, and the cough didn’t seem that unusual.

Jenny said,”Daniel Wayne, are you allright?” Huff looked at her, then fell to the floor.There was nothing the EMT’s could do. The heart attack was too swift in delivering it’s deadly blow.

Wal-Mart sent a nice wreath of flowers to the funeral, and some of the employees that knew Huff and Jenny showed up to pay there respects. Daniel Wayne Huffman, Veteran, husband, father, teacher was laid to rest with a full military ceremony. Jenny cried tears onto the folded American flag.

Two weeks later, Jenny sat alone at their favorite table, sipping her Icee. Shirley Weaver, who had been at the funeral, saw Jenny and walked over and sat down. She held Jenny’s hand and held back the tears in her own eyes. She said,”Jenny it’s time to be strong and go on with your life.”

Jenny said, “I know, but I just don’t know what to do.” Shirley smiled and asked,”You ever thought about getting you a job here at Wal-Mart?”

The End

This story is dedicated to the Greeting Lady at Wal-Mart, thanks.

Jim Walter home with four acres near the Air Force base in Lowndes county.

Even with his bad leg, Huff could still drive a tractor, but he knew that he would

never be able to farm for a living again. Huff took his high school diploma,

Honorable Discharge, and papers for the G.I. Bill and enrolled himself at

Mississippi State University. Nine years later he graduated.

That fall, Huff got a job teaching Industrial Technology at Hopewell

High School, an honorable job, a paying  job, benefits and a paycheck

on the first and fifteenth. A chance, a part of working America,

Huff and Jenny were living the American Dream. Life was good.

Over the next eighteen years, Huff and Jenny raised two children, Mathew and

Lisa Marie. Huff became active in the local VFW and was elected Commander

for a time. Jenny took up pottery, quilt making and collecting Elvis

memorabilia. The time passed by so quickly that it was hard to believe their

children had grown up and would be on their own soon.

Without the kids to tend to, Jenny started adopting stray dogs and cats,

she got a talking bird and an aquarium with brightly colored gold fish.

On the first and fifteenth they probably spent more on pet supplies than on

themselves. Pets made Jenny happy and Jenny’s happiness and love where the

most important things in life to Huff.