party at the moon tower

There are important questions in life.

What happens after we die?

Are we alone in the universe?

And perhaps most importantly:

What beer do you bring to a party at the Moon Tower?

You know the one.

Last day of school. The sun is setting over Texas. Randall "Pink" Floyd is trying to decide whether signing a football pledge is worth selling his soul. Wooderson is somehow hanging around high school students despite being old enough to have a mortgage. Benny is looking for trouble. Slater is looking for... well... whatever Slater is looking for.

And somehow, you've been invited.

Now you need beer.

This is not the moment for a double dry-hopped imperial hazy IPA brewed with glacier runoff and blessed by a monk named Chad.

No.

Moon Tower beer needs to be simple.

Cold.

Plentiful.

And cheap enough that when someone accidentally launches a can into the woods, nobody files an insurance claim.

This is where the great American classics shine.

Miller Lite.

Coors Banquet.

Budweiser.

Pabst if you're feeling ironic.

The kind of beer that tastes best when consumed from a cooler that has seen better days and is filled with equal parts ice and questionable life choices.

Could you bring craft beer?

Sure.

But imagine showing up to Moon Tower with a mixed six-pack of barrel-aged sours.

You'd spend the entire night explaining what a barrel-aged sour is.

Meanwhile, everyone else would be having fun.

There is a time and place for serious beer.

Moon Tower is not that time.

Moon Tower is about abundance.

It's about opening a cooler and seeing enough beer to survive until sunrise.

Because there is an unwritten rule of party etiquette:

Bring enough beer that nobody remembers how much you brought.

Bring too little, however, and your reputation may never recover.

After all, Clint didn't come here for moderation.

As he famously explained, he only came there to do two things:

Kick some ass and drink beer.

And judging by the look on his face, the beer part was not optional.

Of course, the older I get, the more I appreciate another timeless truth:

The best beer is rarely the most expensive one.

It's the free beer.

The after-work beer.

The pre-game beer.

The airport beer.

The shower beer.

The "I finally finished mowing the lawn" beer.

The beer handed to you by a friend before you even ask.

That's the magic ingredient.

Not the label.

Not the brewery.

Not the tasting notes.

The moment.

And if that moment happens to be under the Moon Tower on the last day of school, surrounded by friends, music, and absolutely terrible decision-making?

A cold Miller Lite sounds just about perfect.

Alright, alright, alright. 🍺