Toxic Beer Syndrome

It is Sunday night as I write this, and barring some remarkable incident, I expect to hit "post" tomorrow morning. I'm taking the week off. I've had to spend too much time thinking about beer lately. For the first time in six years writing this blog, I am just tired of it. I may actually enjoy a beer in the next week--I hope to--but I won't blog about it.*

Meantime I'll leave you a picture of Portland's diviest of dive bars (more here if you're in a mood), the Pirate's Cove on Sandy Blvd. (Click to enlarge, which I recommend for the full experience.) It was originally called the Sandy Jug because, if you shape your pub like a moonshine jug, you're pretty much not into subtlety. When I stopped by to snap this pic, a guy tried to sell me scratch lottery tickets out front. I declined, and for good measure, waited for him to disappear back into the tavern before I took the shot. It's wrong to judge people, but he didn't look like the kind of guy who wanted his picture taken. I believe it does a nice job of capturing toxicity, so.

See you next week--

*Unless, of course, I do. Bloggers are shifty and unreliable, so I wouldn't trust this statement if I were you.