It's Friday night before a three-day holiday weekend. I plan on sneaking some booze into the new Indiana Jones tonight then drunkenly groping Donna as we leave the theater.

What are you drinking this weekend? What's your favorite drink? Share your favorite libation recipes and drinking games. Don't forget to come back later and comment when you're drunk too.

I'm leaving our fair Zion for yet another babysitting... err... business trip today. This time to St. Louis, MO. Well, Ofallon, to be specific.

I enjoy travel, for the most part but have become weary of traveling with co-workers and spending my time in offices. Business meetings in conference rooms are exactly the same everywhere as they are here. Exactly. The. Same.

But, off I go. To rescue this project and be the only one of three vendors who meet our deadlines only to have the entire project delayed at the hands of less-in-every-way companies who can't manage to look at a calendar and realize that it's been a week since our last meeting and they've done nothing at all. Such is my life.

After an unbearably difficult day at work I was looking forward to a cold one and some barbecue bratwurst. I've been thinking of trying the new offering from the Miller Brewing Company, Miller Chill. A lime and salt alternative to Corona, I presume.

The night began badly when I found that the gas grill had been so badly damaged by last week's wind that it is now totally unusable. In fact, it looks not entirely unlike a crushed U-boat at the bottom of the Atlantic.

The moment I realized my brats were relegated to the George Foreman grill was the moment I opened the first beer. I figured I would need a head start.

Every now and then a few people from the office get together for a beer after work. It's never a formal affair and it's not always the same exact group of people. It's more one of those, hey if anyone wants to go for a drink we're meeting at the bar down the street, kinds of things.

Yesterday was one of those days. A couple people mentioned that, some people were getting together and did I want to come? So I dropped by long enough to have a beer and be on my way.

I was the last to arrive and there were only three others there. All women. Let me take this formal opportunity to say that I did not plan for this to be me and all women. I had no ulterior motives. I made no scheme to arrange to be the only guy in the group. It simply worked out that way.

A coworker justifiably outed me as a beer snob today when I scoffed at the idea of drinking beer from a can. It was then that I sheepishly admitted to buying beer fram a grocery store. And not just any beer... an Anheuser-Busch beer.

Now, before all my fellow beer snobs go judging me, this particular beer is AB's summer brew in their seasonal draught series, cleverly branded and cheaply-labeled in order to weasel their way into the increasingly popular craft brew market, Beach Bum Blonde Ale. A zymurgy-wolf in sheep's clothing, I figured, but my curiosity got the better of me so I plunked down seven bucks for a sixer.

I bought the stuff fully expecting a re-packaged Budweiser Select, or something close to it. I've become pretty picky since I started drinking my own homebrew to the point that even some of the authentic craft brews from the local pubs aren't always a sure bet. But, surprisingly, Beach Bum is really, really good.

Uh oh. I've put myself in a bit of a pickle.

A couple weeks ago a brewed a special batch of beer made with, among other things, Deseret Brand dried apples. Church Apple Cream Ale, I'm calling it.

It brewed up perfectly. I fermented it and racked it to a secondary fermenter along with the apples where it sat until last Sunday. On Sunday, I put most of the beer into 2-litre bottles to carbonate. This plan was supposed to get the beer ready to take with me on my forthcoming eight-day Grand Canyon excursion. Or, as I'm calling it, Certain Death By Sun Exposure. Only a handful of glass bottles were filled as they won't travel well on the trip.

The vacation I've been yearning for is now in my future.

My tree-hugging, river-running Uncle Roger has been guiding tours on the Colorado River for years. Roger's such a pro that last summer he guided Laura Bush, the twins, a few of Laura's friends and a dozen or so Secret Service and Navy Seal types through the Grand Canyon. He even managed to snap a really amazing picture of Jenna Bush climbing off a boat in a bikini that would just about make you want to lobby for the removal of presidential term-limits, if you know what I mean.

Roger called this week wondering if I wanted to help out as a "swamper" on an 8-day float in July. Without hesitation I agreed. I could figure out how to arrange the time off and explain it to Donna later.

I'm back at work today after an extended weekend camping trip with my old friend Danny.

Camp as a row of pink tents.

Our extensive and scientific research tells us that there's nothing about cold rainy weather that will keep you from sitting around a fire and drinking large amounts of beer. It also seems, though the data is sketchy, that the more beer you consume the more hilariously entertaining it is to melt beer bottles in a campfire.

The camp awaits us.
Not quite spring or summertime.
Beer will be consumed.

"I was talking with a couple of my friends the other day about you making beer."

"Oh yeah?"

"They asked if you 'get drunk and stuff'. I couldn't help but laugh. You hardly drink at all and when you do, it's not even a big deal. Just one or two beers now and then."