LIVING IN ONTARIO is sort of like being condemned to life as a perpetual teenager. I say that because this province has stupid laws dating back to Ontario’s tight-assed-Protestant days that give the government strict control over where alcohol is sold and who can sell it.

Residents can only buy beer, wine and booze from a limited number of distributors. The Beer Store (as our chain of retail outlets is so originally called) is owned by three large international brewing consortiums, effectively a foreign-controlled monopoly. Our liquor and wine store, the LCBO, is government-owned and operated.

The tightly regulated system means relatively stable pricing and selection, but the stock also could be seen as limited. What’s more, locations are few and far between, even in the heart of downtown Toronto where I live. Worst of all, the LCBO and Beer Store are closed on holidays, meaning mad, last-minute dashes and insane lineups the day before (and good luck to ya if you didn’t stock up properly!)

So it’s interesting to see this Angus Reid survey for the Ontario Convenience Store Association that shows 60 per cent of Ontario residents “support expanding the province’s alcohol retailing system to allow beer and wine to be sold by more types of retailers.”(The survey’s sponsor obviously has a vested interest here, but it’s still a significant finding, I think).

In support of the survey, the OCSA has launched an online campaign, Free Our Beer! “Wouldn’t it be great if we could run down to the local store to more conveniently buy beer or wine to entertain our friends?” the association says on the website. “Our alcohol retailing system is badly out of date. Let’s broaden the system – Let’s free our beer and wine so that more responsible retailers can give hard-working people in Ontario what they’re asking for.”

Other Canadian provinces like Quebec and Newfoundland “already offer the convenience of alcohol in convenience stores,” the OCSA notes. To head off the argument that convenience stores might be more lax about selling to young folks, the association cites a recent “underage secret shopper” test it conducted that showed convenience stores do a better job than either the LCBO or Beer Store at “keeping age‐restricted products from minors.”

The bottom line, OCSA president Dave Bryans says: “Ontario voters are simply asking for more convenience – like being able to pick up some beer for their BBQ on Canada Day. That’s not a lot to ask.”

It really isn’t. Selling beer and wine at corner stores – or better yet, private specialty shops – is a fine idea that should be embraced by a civilized society that respects its citizens. But when your province’s leader is known as “Premier Dad,” you know you’re due for a big buzz kill.

ryan@roadtostarrdom.com

On the floor for Phoenix. Best I could do with an iPhone.

SAW FRENCH BAND Phoenix in concert Friday night here in Toronto.

I’ve dug the group since I heard their hit ‘Too Young’ in the movie Lost in Translation. They’re talented, able to shift effortlessly between alternative, rock and pop; often blending all three with a catchiness that belies the complexity of the songs. Plus they put on a solid live show.

My girlfriend and I hauled ass out to the city’s west end to catch the band at Ricoh Coliseum. When we arrived – seemingly in perfect time, just before Phoenix was about to go on – beer lineups were half a mile long.

So we decided to wait until a couple of songs in and try again. Upon returning to the concession stand, however, we were informed liquor sales were closed. It was 9:45 p.m. I was shocked, but figured such insanity had something to do with it being an all-ages crowd.

I’m not saying you need alcohol to have a good time, but surely no one who’s truly rock and roll can enjoy a concert without a few beers. Ricoh Coliseum? More like Ric-No-Alcohol-iseum (thought long and hard to come up with that one).

Phoenix did their best to lift my foul mood, particularly when they shifted the show from the stage to the middle of the floor for an acoustic set, the crowd rushing to surround them.

With little to no security getting in the way, it made for an intimate and interactive moment between singer Thomas Mars and fans, most of whom had iPhones and BlackBerrys at the ready to capture the moment (myself included):

It was a cool move on Phoenix’s part (guess they’re not concerned about bootlegging) and it filled the place with a good vibe — which, in the absence of a beer buzz, had to suffice.

ryan@roadtostarrdom.com

The Scottish brewery made headlines this week for producing a 55%-alcohol beer, ominously named the End of History.

“This blond Belgian ale is infused with nettles from the Scottish Highlands and fresh juniper berries,” the proprietors say on their blog.

Only 12 bottles of the stuff have been made. Oh, and did I mention that each one comes stuffed in either a dead stoat or the corpse of a grey squirrel?!

This is not a joke. Here’s the promo clip:

“The striking packaging was created by a very talented taxidermist and all the animals used were road kill,” the company reassures customers. “This beer is an audacious blend of eccentricity, artistry and rebellion; changing the general perception of beer one stuffed animal at a time.”

If you think that sounds intriguing enough to try, you’re too late. Those dozen bottles sold out right away and the brewer doesn’t plan to produce any more.

The dead-animal thing is a rather odd/gross marketing gimmick, but BrewDog says it’s goal is to “push the boundaries and challenge people’s perceptions about what beer is and how it can be enjoyed. We ultimately want to show people that there is an alternative to the mainstream, generic beers and make other people as passionate about craft beer as we are.”

End of History is BrewDog’s latest, and last, in a line of extreme-alcohol beers that also includes Tactical Nuclear Penguin (32% ABV) and Sink the Bismarck! (41% ABV). Whoever is in charge of naming these things deserves a raise.

The thought of drinking beer with that much alcohol sounds nasty to me, but apparently these super-brews are meant to be sipped slowly, like a fine whiskey.

BrewDog describes the End of History bottles – the ones that come in dead squirrels and stoats – as “at once beautiful and disturbing.”

I’ll say. I don’t know what’s more disturbing: the idea of drinking 55%-alcohol beer out of a stuffed rodent, or paying more than $1,000 for the pleasure. Fortunately, it looks like I’ll never get the chance to decide.

ryan@roadtostarrdom.com

Gates, Crowley and the president at the much ballyhooed 'Beer Summit'

Long before Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates Jr. and Sgt. James Crowley arrived at the White House for beers with President Obama, the media had turned the get-together into a full-blown circus sideshow.

Obama intended for the gathering to ease tensions among the three men after weeks of racially-tinged controversy.

As anyone who follows the news likely knows by now, less than two weeks earlier Crowley, who’s white, had arrested Gates, who’s black, after Gates appeared to be breaking into what turned out to be his own home in Cambridge, Mass. (In fact the door was jammed, and he was trying to get it open.)

Asked about the matter at a news conference a few days later, Obama said the police had “acted stupidly.”

>> Watch video of his remarks here.

The president later expressed regret for his choice of words, but to no avail; the damage had been done. His remarks set off a national maelstrom – so much for the “post-racial America” his election was supposed to have symbolized.

Obama sought to quell things by bringing the parties together for beers in the Rose Garden Thursday night. (Vice President Joe Biden was also on hand, for some reason.)

The so-called beer summit sent the media into palpitations.

Cable news networks had countdown clocks for the gathering, as if they were waiting for polls to close on election night.

The New York Times even live-blogged the event, and dutifully reported what beers each attendee chose:

Mr. Obama had a Bud Lite, Sergeant Crowley had Blue Moon, Professor Gates drank Sam Adams Light and Mr. Biden, who does not drink, had a Buckler nonalcoholic beer. (Mr. Biden put a lime slice in his beer. Sergeant Crowley, for his part, kept with Blue Moon tradition and had a slice of orange in his drink.)

For all the ballyhooed build-up, though, the beer summit turned out to be quite lame – at least, judging from the voyeuristic view television cameras offered, from 40 feet away, of the meeting of this “Coalition of the Swilling,” as CBS News dubbed them.

There was no beer pong, or quarters, as some bloggers had hoped for, nor the sort of drunken hilarity that a New Yorker writer dreamed up. (How could there be with light beer?) And the president certainly didn’t whip out a Marlboro and light up.

Rather, what we ended up seeing on TV – for all of one minute – was the men sitting around a patio table, chatting over frosted mugs of beer. The only real action I could decipher was Biden and Obama shoveling handfuls of nuts into their mouths. Bo-ring.

So the beer summit was hardly a watershed moment in U.S. race relations. But then, Obama and the other men never sought to portray it as such (though there were rumblings of this being a “teachable moment,” a catchphrase I can’t stand).

Not surprisingly, it was the media, particularly the broadcast folks, who gleefully blew it way out of proportion. Meanwhile, the U.S. economy is teetering on the brink, Obama’s attempts at health care reform are faltering, and the country is embroiled in two intractable wars.

But the cable news networks don’t much care to focus on such substantive issues if they have an excuse not to.

Why focus on real news when you have these two?

After all, none of that stuff is as much fun to cover as the president quaffing beers in the Rose Garden (“Ale to the chief,” as one outlet put it), and certainly isn’t as intriguing as Michael Jackson’s sad demise, Sarah Palin’s latest idiotic utterances or Octomom’s new reality show.

To be fair, I’m not convinced the average viewer or reader cares a whole lot about those other weighty matters either.

And these days, when attracting eyeballs is the overarching imperative for struggling media organizations, it’s really all about what’s important to Joe Sixpack.

ryan@roadtostarrdom.com

Get ON my back, woman

I’m not married, but from what I gather, most husbands usually want their wives to get off their backs, not on.

So it was with great intrigue that I read about a most bizarre competition in Finland last weekend: the Wife Carrying World Championships, in which male contestants race through an obstacle course while a female teammate hangs on for dear life.

>> See video of it here.

Estonia has traditionally dominated wife carrying, having taken home the gold in 11 of the last 13 competitions.

But this year Finland ended Estonia’s reign. With Kristiina Haapanen on his back, the unstoppable Taisto Miettinen bounded through the 250-metre course – which included a pool and two hurdles - in 62 seconds, beating the Estonian couple by a mere 0.1 seconds.”You have no idea how good this feels now,” Miettinen said afterward. No doubt a heartbreaking defeat for Alar Voogla and Kristi Viltrop, though.

The rules of wife carrying are simple, and amusing. The wife may be your own, or you can borrow one from your neighbour, but she has to be at least 17 years old. She must be a minimum of 49 kilograms or else she has to carry a backpack filled with extra weight to make up the difference.

The fireman's carry: 'Hang on, honey'

The wife can be comported in a number of ways: piggyback, fireman’s carry (over the shoulder), or “Estonian-style” (she hangs upside-down with her legs around the man’s shoulders, holding onto his waist). BTW: I once saw this done in an adult movie, ‘Position Impossible’, but that’s not really relevant here…

The sport of wife carrying, which began in Finland, hearkens back to a time when, according to legend, it was common practice for brutes to steal women from neighbouring villages. How delightfully medieval.

Competitors come from around the globe to take part in the Wife Carrying World Championships. Former NBA star Dennis Rodman took part in 2005, which only reinforces how strange a spectacle this is.

If you figure this is simply some crazy northern-European thing, however, it’s not; there is also an American wife carrying championship, UK and Australian versions, and one right here in Canada.

The best part? In addition to all the pride and glory, the winners of these contests get to take home their wife’s weight in beer. I always thought having a fat wife might be a bit of a bummer (unless you’re one those dudes who is into the girls who go boom, and many are.) In this case, however, the bigger they come, the more sauced you get.

Sounds like a great deal. Now I wonder if my neighbour has a fat wife I can borrow…

ryan@roadtostarrdom.com