Skip to main content

My Justin Timberlake Experience .. and my shameful beer snob status

I have seen some great legends live in concert over the years.  Paul McCartney, Billy Joel, One Direction - to name a few.  But one in particular - Mr Justin Timberlake aka Justin Bart or JB as he goes by - was one for the ages. 

I got to enjoy this spectacular human with my beard wife Rose last night at the Prudential Center, in the city of dreams, Newark NJ.

Woman were swooning over his every move. Guys alike, doing the same.  More men had their phones out than girls.  This can be simply because their date wanted him to take the video so she can watch it again later and fantasize.  Who knows.

What I do know is that as a child some shit happens to you:  you see a cool movie, rock show, bad ass fireman, Hulk Hogan and you instantly want to be that person when you grow up.  Well, i can say, as someone who is turning 40 in October, I want to be Justin.  I will now rock orange Lebron sneakers and a denim jacket. Shits done changed.  I am also going to be taking hip hop classes because that's whats up.  Music world be prepared. 

But this story isn't about the heart palpitations I had seeing JB performing Cry Me a River while my hands were reached out in front of me towards his presence.  No. This is about the liquid that entered my body at the start of the show... 

Due to our baller status, we got to score box suite tickets from a friend of ours.  My wife and I walked in like we have done this at every concert.  "Oh. Suite.  Yes.  We know. Elevators to the right.  Yup.  S1" is what came out of our mouths as we oozed with coolness past security. So we thought.  I was rocking a back to the future-esque outfit with a "cool" JCrew puffy vest, some pink checkered flannel that only a "man in the woods" would wear, and a custom made Justin shirt that I made prior underneath it all and some tight jeans that should have said Swag on my ass.   Boom status.  People were looking alright, like "Dammmmm that dude is way too old to be rocking that shit" but I didn't care. Its Justin time.

Prior to arriving at the event, we knew the beer game would be terrible.  Therefore, my wife and I hit up a local "beer bar".  There we stood in front of a giant chalkboard of 30 beers on tap that were all terrible.  Seriously.  How do you open a "beer bar" and not have good beer.  Quality over quantity people.  We settled for a Kane Head High because its just awesome.

Side note:  for those who dont know me, i am a huge beer dork.  Yes. I like beer. 

"I should have had 5 more Head Highs" is what went through my head upon entering the box suite and being greeted by my buddy, the host, arms out for an embrace with a shitty awful beer in his hand.  I went in for the hug.  Eye on what he was holding. 

It appeared to have a slightly short neck with a white labeled body. Its face had a La Mesa-ish type font that spelled out a word that made me swallow my pride and burp up my manliness and beer snob status.  

L-I-T-E was spelled out on his bottle in blue letters. The L reaching under the I to support it, just like my buddy was doing with me as i felt faint.  It was then I saw in front of me the large bucket of beer and I had to regain composure, take control of the situation at hand and get my shit together.

Miller Lite and Michelob Ultra.  4 words that can be interchanged with shit, crap, are you fucking kidding me, vomitosis, check please, piss, stepping on a slug barefoot, Lady Gaga.  

I had to take a moment. It felt like 30 minutes but I believe it was only 5 seconds.  "You wanna beer?"  as  the host took out a Lady Gaga and handed it to me.  

I didn't know what to say or do.  I stood there.  Frozen.  My wife looking at me in horror.  Mind reading me like Marshall and Lily from How I Met Your Mother.  

She mind said to me "Sweety. You have to.  You don't know anyone in this room.  Dont be that guy. Come on honey. You got this. Drink that Lady Gaga and get this shit over with!"

I looked at her in horror.  She was right. I had to man up.  There is no way that i can start talking about flavor hop profiles of Citra and Mosaic and how Cascade and Amarillo make a killer base but Summit hops taste like green onions to me and is killing the NEIPA movement and how bourbon barrel aged stouts make my teeth tickle and insides happy with pure exuberance, in my snobby humble opinion.  

Instead, I did the opposite of what I have ever done in this situation.  I took the beer from his hand, opened it by FUCKING TWISTING IT OFF and NOT using my wedding ring to open the beer as I would with any real beer, and cheers to him and this wonderful event.

Just prior to putting it to my mouth, I caught a glimpse of Rose, mouth agape, staring in horror.  I closed my eyes, released the liquid to my mouth and swallowed.  Hard.

When I was a small boy, i recall a time sitting at the dinner table crying because I did not want to eat my carrots. I could not eat my carrots.  In fact, I hated them so much, I literally choked trying to eat those fucking orange death sticks.   And yet, Mom and Dad said that I cannot have dessert unless I eat my carrots.  This feeling came back as I swallowed that beer.  My body leaped out of my physical form and went back to all the awful experiences I have had in my life and pointed each and everyone of them back to my physical body and brain like the Ghost of Bad Beers Past.  I stood there staring at my buddy like a defeated man staring out from the high hill as his men are getting slaughtered one by one by the enemy.  Miller Lite aka slug stepping being my enemy. 

The next 20 minutes seemed like an eternity. One other couple that we knew were there with us.  The 4 of us cramped up into a corner and shot the shit and caught up on kids and how bad they suck and steal the lives out of us.  But all I can hear was "Waa WaaaaaWaaa Waaaa wawwwaaa" like any adult in the Peanuts cartoon, and my brain telling me to stop drinking this shit.  

Somehow I got halfway through and kindly put in on the side when nobody was looking.  I then politely excused myself and took a quick walk to go and buy something that at least equated to beer.  I saw the Founders sign and my heartbeat evened out a bit. The slight lower back sweat that started to form from the torture slowly dissipated.  I was breathing a bit better. I was back.  

I waited in the long line and then ordered my 15 dollar tall boy Founders All Day IPA.  To note, I pay 16 bux for a 15 pack of these but whatevs.  I payed and walked away. Beer in hand. Smile on face.  I took a sip.  WTF!!!  Fucking malty as shit.  I looked at the bottom of the can as people walking by were looking at me strange. It could have been my outfit. Who knows.  I do know this, that fucking date on the bottom of the can said October 2017!!!  That shit is 5 months old!!!

Frustrated at life, I walked back to the suite and into the room where everyone was looking at me like I was drinking Four Locos.  I had to explain that it was beer that I bought and bit my tongue to not talk about the expiration date on the bottom of the can.  Instead, I vegged out a bit and then started to work on my dance moves when JB took the stage.

I sipped cheap girls wine and water the rest of the night while making a fool of myself trying to dance like JB.  A few solid beers would have helped me make myself look more of a fool but made me feel like I got moves like Jagger.  Thanks bad beer for an almost perfect night. Boo me. 



Popular posts from this blog

The Christmas Glitter Bomb

Its that time of year again.  A time when people and family members that you haven't talked to, well, since last Christmas, reach out with open arms and send you their annual Christmas card.  We took part this year as we now have a newborn.  We both felt obliged to show off our little one to everyone on our wedding list and beyond.  It felt nice.  It's more of a hey-look-how-cute-our-kid-is behind a Merry Christmas message.  Regardless, our card was a simple photo that did NOT have a surprise waiting as you opened up the envelope. A surprise that jumps out at you and says "SURPRISEEEEEE!!!oh and merry christmas"  I'm talking about the glitter bomb.  You all know who you are.  

The Perineal Massage..

My wife is approaching her 37th week of pregnancy.  Apparently, in your 37th week you are supposed to begin massaging your perineum.  "What's a perineum", you asked as so did i?  The perineum is basically the taint.  "Ahhhh.. ok.  I get it.  But massage it??", is what i asked.  Yes, massaging it helps with the pain when the baby crowns during childbirth.  "So just rub it or sumthin?" (in Chip Chipperson voice .. Opie and Anthony fans anyone??)  Not quite.. 
Here are the instructions on how to successfully massage your perineum: