“Beer! Beer! Beer! I like to drink lots of beer!”

This, by the way, is what Nanny Ogg claims all comic opera is basic’ly about.

So last night I picked up the last of the neighborhood survey forms from the last surveyor volunteer.  Now, somehow, I have to find the energy and the awake-time to go through and review all the forms, to make sure nobody missed anything major, before I turn them in.

I ran over to Austin Homebrew this afternoon, after taking the car to my mechanic because I finally got it to make The Noise and I wanted him to hear it (verdict:  probably ain’t rod or lifter noise, because it’s faint and not getting worse, so he recommends living with it until and unless The Noise gets worse—which is good, because now I can start planning for the brake job that I’d been putting off until I could find out about The Noise and whether it meant the car was about to die).  I got makings for a British Pale Ale and a Gingered Ale, so now I only gotta find the time to get them started.  The guy at Homebrew was good enough to warn me to reduce the amount of ginger by half when I told him I was planning to use fresh instead of powdered.  He explained that if I substituted fresh for dried one-for-one, I’d get a beer that tasted of nothing but ginger.  Which wouldn’t necessarily be a disaster, since we like Blenheim #5 around here, but he said that other customers who really liked ginger had told him a full ounce of fresh ginger was Too Much, once they’d tried it.

The Hand filled up his radioactive jet at the service station.  Fnord.