Though the bottle art (newly redesigned featuring images of fish, gators and a rising sun) adds a little intrigue to the eyes, there is really nothing notable that separates this offering from the other styles of lager floating around. The label reads “born and raised in the sunshine state…somewhere between the water and the sun” and contains unmarked freshness dates on the bottles of the six pack I came across at Total Wine & More.

Native Lager is brewed and bottled at Indian River Beverage in Melbourne, FL exclusively for the Native Brewing Company in Fort Lauderdale.

Poured from a 12-ounce bottle into a pint glass, a fluffy white head dissipates into a cloudy golden hue. The lager is nearly aroma-less except for the scent of wheat or yeast, which matches its taste. It’s heavy and bland on the pallet, followed by a rustic aftertaste that leaves taste buds yearning for something more.

– More about Native Lager –

- Reviews at Rate Beer

- Reviews at Beer Advocate

- Review at Mike Loves Beer

– The last drop –

The following appears on the six-pack carton… “the native lager was first conceived under the shadows of palm trees in a backyard in south florida. while developing this recipe, we dreamed of making a beer that was light and crisp yet flavorful and full bodied. the result of these trials was a smooth golden lager with no aftertaste. a beer that finishes so clean you have to have another sip just to believe it! Flavorful yet refreshing, native lager is the perfect beer for the warm tropical florida climate.”

Take it for what it’s worth.

When you’ve got too much time on your hands the littlest things in life tend to amaze you. I’ve been reading the newspaper quite a bit as of late. Just trying to do my part to keep the industry up and running, I suppose…

A Penny For Your Thoughts

Another reminder of how our white ancestors have attempted to rid the Native Americans from our collective consciousness came and went last week with the 100th anniversary of the American penny, at least the version we currently recognize.

On Aug. 2, 1909 the likeness of former U.S. President Abraham Lincoln replaced the Indian Head on our 1-cent piece of currency in recognition of the 16th president’s 100th birthday. It was then-U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt that made the call on that change. To celebrate Lincoln’s 150th birthday the Lincoln Memorial then replaced the wheat shock on the back of the coin in 1959.

Now, 200 years after Lincoln’s birth, there will be four brand new special-edition pennies hitting the streets themed after Lincoln’s life in Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois and Washington D.C.

Not that I mind the penny floating around in our everyday lives, but couldn’t the U.S. Mint find a cheaper way to make a piece of currency that values in at just a cent? It costs approximately 1.4 cents to produce a penny.

Take This Job Or Get The Fuck Out

Remember the good old days when you had choices of where, and where not, to earn a paycheck? Well they’re all but gone for now, my friend. And more American than ever are stuck with applying for jobs that they not long ago found appalling.

I recently read somewhere that many people are now applying for jobs that they otherwise thought unthinkable in the past, at prisons, sewage plants and slaughterhouses, to reference those that were mentioned in the story.

Be warned though, your new low-society co-workers are poised to greet you like inmates in a penitentiary shower. Just kidding. But they’ll get a good laugh at your lack of experience on the factory line.

Maybe that’s the only good think to come out of this current economic condition we’re in. Money snobs get a taste of the shit we’ve been shoveling for far too long.

In all seriousness though, wrap your mind around these numbers that were included in the story: a net total of 6.7 million jobs have been slashed since the recession has begun, making it “the most punishing job destroyer in at least 60 years.”

Watch Out For The Crazy Guy In The Corner

You might figure that such stress-inducing measures as not having a job would drive a man insane. But insane enough to shoot up their local fitness club? Crazy.

That’s what George Sodini recently did outside of Pittsburgh, killing three and wounding nine, before taking his own life. The mystery about it doesn’t even include professional troubles as the guy actually had a damn good job.

Excerpts from Sodini’s blog makes mention of his troubles with trying to find a date. That he hadn’t been out with a woman in 19 years. Which leads me to wonder if his expectations were a bit too high. Maybe he should have been looking in other places, for women a little lower on his grading scale.

What’s worse is that the blog was posted online for the world to see. Only the world apparently didn’t think much of this piece of shit to read it in the first place. The problem now is that somewhere, as you read this, there’s some other angry loner with an agitated mind that’s continuing to deteriorate as he shines his own guns.

You see, that’s why I don’t keep those things in the house.

Billy The Kid Was A Rat

Four months before being gunned down by Sheriff Pat Garrett, in a world that seems oh so far from here, legendary outlaw Billy the Kid penned a letter to Governor Lew Wallace of New Mexico in March 1881.

That letter, along with another from around 1979, is now on display at a history library in Santa Fe. In that first letter he tells the Governor that he witnessed a murder the month before and would testify for the state if protected from enemies and the indictments against him. That trial came and went with no word on his release.

The second letter was written because the pardon never went through on his behalf. So what’s a man to do as he faces sentencing, an eventual hanging, and an angry mob of people he ratted out? Bust out of the joint, that’s what.

His run from the law didn’t last long though.

When you’ve spent an entire life paving your own path there’s no reason to change the approach all that much at this point. It’s a lesson John Jackman has lived by over the past several years while following his instincts and bringing comic book characters to life through his own imagination.

His current recreations of the past will surface in boxes of Spider-Man Archives Trading Cards, due out on Oct. 28. Sketch cards featuring actual artwork from over 80 other artists, including some of the most well known names in the game, will be sporadically placed in random cases of printed cards for collectors. The set features characters that appeared in the first 100 issues of the classic Marvel comic, The Amazing Spider-Man.

(Above and bottom): John "Jax" Jackman fine-tunes some of the original hand-drawn sketch cards that will be inserted into the Spider-Man Archives Trading Card set due out in October. (Below): Randomly selected pieces of artwork Jackman has produced.

As busy as Jackman, a.k.a. JAX, has been with this current project, the self-taught artists says it all started with the simplest of maneuvers – getting more involved in the industry as a whole.

“In this industry it’s all about who you know and whose artwork is good,” said Jackman. Apparently his efforts and enthusiasm have not gone unnoticed.

He’s since made plenty of contacts throughout the comic art community over the years and credits a chance encounter with members of the Vicious Circle Project, as well as many others he’s met at conventions such as MegaCon and FX, for kickstarting his foray into the professional scene. Those relationships helped lead Jackman into a number of random projects such as a 24-hour comic book collective drawing session in Tampa, his first comic book contribution, and a chance to take part in his first illustrated card set a few years back.

“It’s all because I stuck my foot in the door and said ‘hey, I’m here’,” he said. “It was time to get off the coach and get out and do something.”

The first big project for Jackman came in 2006 when he produced 240 cards for The Complete Avengers (1963-Present) card set released by Rittenhouse Archives. As impressive as those turned out to be, despite the rush job he was up against (a production deadline of less than three weeks), the 150 Spider-Man Archives sketch cards currently being finished up proves he’s taking his craft to a whole new level. The world will soon agree.

In a community of grass roots, do-it-yourself artists, there are many places to turn and give thanks when it comes to recognizing how people help people land these types of opportunities.

Among the names that come to mind, when Jackman thinks of lasting relationships, influences and respect he has for other artists, are those of Jason Sobol, James Bukauskas, Adam Hughes, Phil Noto, Joe Pekar and Rhiannon Owens, among countless others. They are all individuals who have a particular style and go about things in their own unconventional ways.

“When you’re doing stuff that nobody’s done before it makes it unique,” said Jackman of continuing to learn and fine-tune his style. “I’ve learned a lot of things, not classically, but I get to try them out and experiment and I think that’s the benefit of never having been told ‘this is how you’re supposed to do it’ because then you end up making stuff that looks like everyone else.”

If nothing else it’s helped make putting his own twist of the villains, bit characters, and guest appearances in the upcoming Spider-Man card set that much funnier to create.

• James Brown – “There Was A Time”

• Lupe Fiasco w/ Jill Scott – “Daydream”

• The Roots w/ Chrisette Michelle and Wale – “Rising Up”

• Primus – “Wynona’s Big Brown Beaver”

• Rob Zombie – “American Witch”

• Xzibit – “Thank You”

• Jay- Z w/ Mary J. Blige – “Can’t Knock The Hustle”

• Bob Dylan – “Forever Young”

– “Feel Good Hit Of The Summer 2″

• Feel Good Hit Of The Summer 2

– “C’mon”

• C’mon

– “White Noise”

• White Noise

– “Millie Fell Off The Fire Escape”

• Millie Fell Off The Fire Escape

– “Mother’s Day”

• Mother’s Day

– “They Always Know”

• They Always Know

   “Sometimes I miss prison.” 

It’s all true. Your life is as fucked up as you think it is. And there’s company, too. How do I know? People are sharing some of the darkest shit their minds have to offer through (not Twitter, Facebook or MySpace) a little project called PostSecret.

   “Knowing you don’t use a condom when you cheat on me bothers me more than knowing you cheat…”

It’s a brilliant creative concept if you ask me. First, have strangers mail in postcards inscribed with some personal info they wouldn’t dare discuss with a dog. Then post the best offerings of deceit, loathing, hope and regret on a Web site for those sick fuck’s to get a rise out of. Then ultimately, turn said submissions into books and sell these reminders right back to the narcissist that mailed them in the first place (such as what Frank Warren has done.)

   “Sometimes I wish I had been sexually abused so I wouldn’t feel guilty about being gay”

Seriously though, the Sunday Secrets page makes for a good early morning read, if not for an eyebrow raising experience. It’s like reality T.V. but without all the miserable fame-starved leaches with stiff personalities. Must be their guilt that attracts me. Maybe it’s my own guilt that gets swallowed each time I relate to one of those postcards.

   “I haven’t smoked pot for a whole week and I am amazed how many things I have accomplished in that time.”

These cards come filled with much more than words. And it’s the accompanying images that set off what’s being confessed. I suppose words can only say so much about childhood memories, erotic obsessions and some of the other randomly complex and/or unethical behavior.

   “He’s been in prison for two years because of what I did. 9 more to go.”

This short Web browsing experience provides some perspective. If nothing else, it really drives home the idea behind the old saying “some things are better left unsaid.” And maybe there’s comfort in knowing you’re not the only sick fuck out there. That you’re not the only angry, condescending piece of shit still breathing this planet’s precious oxygen supply. Or maybe it’s a society filled with unrealistic expectations that’s truly to blame.

   “I will never forgive myself for letting my girlfriend get an abortion.”

These clips should help do the trick. No Erin Andrews here, though. No Brett Favre. No wide receivers shooting themselves in the leg, running over pedestrians, or crying over their quarterbacks. Actually, we’re headed in the direction of that last thing right off the bat. But it’s well worth it.

…Thanks to DJ Steve Porter, the world now has “Press Hop” featuring Allen Iverson, Jim Mora, Dennis Green, Joe Namath, Mike Gundy and Terrell Owens in the finest of press conference moments (or meltdowns…)
                    

…These monster hits and spectacular catches should help get you through the blazing heat of July…
                    

…You’ve likely seen this one before. But it’s always a good time to sit and watch some trick plays tat actually work…
                    

…Classic comedy right here. George Carlin breaks down the differences between football and baseball with such clarity…
                    

You know them. They’re everywhere. Maybe they live next door to you, and through your paper thin ghetto-ass walls you can hear them scream at the top of their lungs at their poor girlfriend to get the screaming little shit of a kid because “I’m playing Xbox!” Maybe you actually heard one of them say to a 3-year old during the fireworks extravaganza you attended earlier this month “thanks a lot for ruining my Fourth of July. I guess I got beer at home to take care of that!” Maybe this makes you want to carry around abortion clinic business cards and stab pro-lifers with coat hangers. Either way, a couple of these fuck-hole members of society should be neutered or spayed faster than autistic alley cats with syphilis.

The first group is the parents with 11 damn kids at the Dollar Store. Every damn one of them running through the store with Big Gulp Code Red Mountain Dews, the world’s stickiest lollipops, and one of those fucking slimy/sticky-hand things from the bubblegum machines out front (which somehow already looks like it’s touched more carpet than Dick Cheney’s daughter.)

Now I have lot’s of friends with children, and all of them, until they get old enough to discover video games and text messaging, are always coated with some sort of brightly-colored flavored corn syrup/mud mixture. And I know when I hug them that I will be forced to go home and change my clothes. But these are my friend’s children. I love them. I don’t give a fuck about your slow-class kids who will no doubt grow up to invent the next generation’s crystal meth or potato gun. So please, next time leave them in the car, preferably with the windows rolled up under the hot sun, instead of keeping them close enough to play Spiderman with the back of my shirt in the checkout line as your personality-challenged ass ignores them all and reads fucking Us Magazine. Those are the typical bad parents. They almost get a pass. They probably had typically bad parents themselves and they just don’t know any better. Bless them.

The next group though is even worse. They are the parents of tomorrow’s suicides. They are a rarer breed, but one that you can spot nearly everywhere if you keep your eyes peeled. They are the over-the-top socially anxious parent. These parents are so goddamned afraid of human interaction that if their child so much as sneezes in public he’s out of dessert until Jesus comes home.

Now, I was recently down in Morehead City, North Carolina taking in some sun and human fuckery with old friends (shout out TimS with a big MC EIHT JEAH!) when I spotted this breed. As I ate a great dinner on an open patio with my back to the beautiful Crystal Coast I was nearly floored by the disgusting act of parenting that I witnessed. Our table was having a good damn time, snapping pictures, making jokes, and enjoying what my crew back home calls “good laughs” when the little man sitting next to me must have felt like it was his turn to join in the festivities, by turning and burping at me. That’s it. Just some silly little mouth gas and a smile.

Now this isn’t exactly good manners, or how he should probably behave, but judging by his mother’s reaction you’d have thought he committed a moral sin against God. This simple bitch proceeded to snatch little dude by the arm, drag him three feet down the bench, and snarl “say excuse me” in a voice that reminded me of Christian Bale as Batman. A little over the top I guess, but still, at this point I’m not ready to choke-slam the hooker. Nor am I about to put any of my limbs within striking distance of her mouth either. Not until she digs her nails into his thigh, and with tears in little dude’s eyes, says with that same snarl, (only whispering now) “You feel that? those are my nails!… you keep it up and…” Now I didn’t exactly get the rest of the threat, maybe the blood flowing into my head from the anger impaired my hearing, but all I know is it took everything I had not to Russian-sickle that dumb hoe into the ocean.

This sorry excuse for life really just dug her nails into her poor son’s leg while threatening him in public with more violence and somehow thinks in her simple fucking brain this is less of a scene then the little burp and a smile? Young man, if by some fucked-up event of fate you ever come across this rant floating around on the internet when you’re older (and searching for some identity), you run far, far away from that bitch. Immediately stop trying to gain her approval and run, dude. It’ll never happen, I barely met her over a half-hour dinner and I can tell you that will be one miserable cunt until the day she dies. Run!