Happy Birthday Alexander Keith!

Today is October 5th and were he sill alive Alexander Keith would be 211 years old and no doubt if he were still alive he's be one cranky old shit! The famous Scotish brewmaster whose Indian Pale Ale carries his name also holds the fine distinction of being interned in the only graveyard to have a traffic light. Located in midtown Halifax this graveyard, of which the name escapes me at this moment, is in the Guiness Book of World Records for this fact, strange as the only reason the traffic light is in there was because of poor city planning and the light had to go on the corner inside of the fence. His tombstone is a modest one of red granite with a bronze inlay of his family crest, modest as in about 18 feet tall which is in fact modest when you consider he was easily the wealthiest man in Halifax back in the day. One can also pick some killer magic mushrooms at his gravesite at the right time of the year and then stroll down to his original brewery, which is still standing, and get so hammered you might bloody well think you were back in the 19th century.
Like that Irish holiday, St. Patrick's wake, Maritimers one and all celebrate this birthday event around the world by drinking way too much followed by fighting and fucking. Here in my new homestead of Toronto, I will be attending a lobster boil at the local Irish pub which has hardly any Irish clientel but rather is filled with a mix of English, Scotish and Maritimers who all drink, fight and fuck too much.

The big draw for this local event being held at Murphy's Law is the raffling away of a Keith's mini bar, which in reality is nothing more than a wooden beer keg that somebody took a ban saw to, slapped some hinges on and threw a couple of shelves in. I can just see some blasted git staggering home with this damn albatross over his back. This is even stranger when you consider Murphy's is located on a strip of Kingston Road property which was host to one of the bloodiest English troop losses in history. Seems the English soldiers, who were notorious for drinking, fighting and fucking way too much, got into some kegs of some bad hooch and starting fighting each other and when the dust settles a fuck load of them had kicked the bucket! Hell of a way to beat the hangover I say.

So, the hour is approaching and I have a rubber lobster with my name on it. Wherever you may be, raise a pint to old Alexander and let the bibulous fornicating and bickering begin!