First Annual GBN Convention: A Proposal

Alas, the days when we were all living in one happy commune are utterly spent. As such, Good Beer Nights as they were once known will never be the same. The purity and innocence of these original GBNs will live on in old photographs snapped by Burgoyne, in our hearts, and in the smiles that inevitably materialize on our faces during those occasions when we pop the tops off of tasty brews on Tuesday nights.

But while GBN can never again be what it was, we must never lose the spirit that founded it. Lo! Every end is a beginning; there is always another dawn risen on mid-noon, and under every deep a lower deep opens.

Good Beer Night will reborn! Surpassing what it once was, it presents us with an unprecedented opportunity. Rather than serving to gather us from the corners of Whitman College, GBN can now achieve a feat far greater: to reunite the faithful after we have been scattered across the country and the world.

And so, I propose the First Annual GBN Convention. We will gather in a place where one (or more) of us reside on dates to be determined (but, naturally, including a Tuesday). We will commune with one another as the brothers and sisters we are, while imbibing whatever good brew has been recently released by Brothers Rathwell and Knappe, Brothers Widmer and Deschutes, and any others among us that care to brew and share. Eulogies for those who are no longer with us will be spoken: naturally, Snow Plow, our Brother, Captain and King will be among the first.

I would envision this First Annual Convention taking place in May or June of 2009--leaving us with plenty of time to secure reasonable travel accommodations. And, pending Indy Z's approval, I offer our humble abode as the first gathering place.

Let the discussion regarding feasibility and timing begin--Cheers! Prost! Salud! Kampai! Saúde! and Chukbae! to you all.

UPDATE:

The Dead Collector: Bring out yer dead. 

[a man puts a body on the cart] 
Large Man with Dead Body: Here's one. 
The Dead Collector: That'll be ninepence.

SNOW PLOW: I'm not dead. 
The Dead Collector: What? 
Large Man with Dead Body: Nothing. There's your ninepence.

SNOW PLOW: I'm not dead. 
The Dead Collector: 'Ere, he says he's not dead. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Yes he is.

SNOW PLOW: I'm not. 
The Dead Collector: He isn't. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Well, he will be soon, he's very ill.

SNOW PLOW: I'm getting better. 
Large Man with Dead Body: No you're not, you'll be stone dead in a moment. 
The Dead Collector: Well, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations.

SNOW PLOW: I don't want to go on the cart. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Oh, don't be such a baby. 
The Dead Collector: I can't take him.

SNOW PLOW: I feel fine. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Oh, do me a favor. 
The Dead Collector: I can't. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Well, can you hang around for a couple of minutes? He won't be long. 
The Dead Collector: I promised I'd be at the Robinsons'. They've lost nine today. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Well, when's your next round? 
The Dead Collector: Thursday.

SNOW PLOW: I think I'll go for a walk. 
Large Man with Dead Body: You're not fooling anyone, you know. Isn't there anything you could do?

SNOW PLOW: I feel happy. I feel happy. 
[the Dead Collector glances up and down the street furtively, then silences SNOW PLOW with his a whack of his club] 
Large Man with Dead Body: Ah, thank you very much. 
The Dead Collector: Not at all. See you on Thursday. 
Large Man with Dead Body: Right.

So, yeah... apparently Snow Plow is still alive... just only in twenty-two ounce bottles.