Perhaps the most disquieting aspect of being in a small Southern/quasi-Midwestern town is that you immediately discount the first 6 beers on tap at any place you go to: Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light, Coors, Coors Light. The trick, then, is to work on the one or two taps that they have that carry "exotics": Most places have at least one other drinkable beer. When the exotics tap, however, is wasted on something parading as a Belgian beer such as Blue Moon, then there is a problem.

So last night Padre and I went to an actual bar. I mean, like with a pool table, jukebox, and musty bartop. Now, for most folks, this is no big deal but when you're in Danville, Kentucky, trust me, this is a special treat. The best they had to drink, alas, was another pretend-micro (Amber Bock).

What we need is a shift in local tastes. A revolution. Taste shocks can happen.