AFFORDABILITY: Sierra Nevada is always affordable when you’re a suck-ass white person. (Actually, I’ve never seen a black person drink Sierra Nevada, not even one of those Dave Matttthews Band fan black people.) I am, about half the time, a suck-ass white person. But when you are half-assed, high-end shit seems all the way fuck-this-bullshit. 1 out of 5.
DESTROYABILITY: Sierra Nevada of any flavor is a beer that goes into my body with such an unmistakeably strange taste - very hoppy to get all beer nerd dorkrod on you - that I am unsure if I am getting super destroyed by its contents because all I can think of is my mouth feels like I washed it out with traces of dirt, like eating shrooms, but to a lesser extent. Perhaps this is why hippie types embrace Sierra Nevada so enthusiastically. Personally, I would prefer to just eat some shrooms, and maybe pack four or five tall cans of Schlitz or PBR and a single-serving bottle of Campbell’s tomato juice. When you open each tall can, you take a heavy swig and fill the missing part with tomato juice, and then sip it down at your leisure. If you’re wearing a regular pair of solidly made cargo pants (none of that Old Navy bullshit, which doesn’t hold together on a real man), you can pack three extra tall cans and the tomato juice, one in each pocket, and wander through the woods feeling the psilocybin high twerk through your system. Sierra Nevada is just clunky and dirty tasting, more apt for the posing and posturing of a parking lot scene outside of some doodleriffic concert event than getting your for-real soul searching internal combustion high on. 1 out of 5.
LABEL AESTHETIC: Sierra Nevada labels are always similarly uninspiring. This one has some sort of brewing apparatus, plus some strange ledger book bullshit going on subliminally in the background dark green. Plus the yellow gilded Sierra Nevada scroll that rolls in nine different directions. I am not down, though props for such an effort. 2 out of 5.
CORPORATE MASTER: Sierra Nevada Brewing Company is its own entity, for sure. I’m sure, judging by its fanbase, it contributes to Darfurian refugees and homeless awareness and vampire rights and all that good stuff. I don’t support political causes of any type though, so when a company becomes big enough to force its own personal style of self-righteousness on others, that bothers me. Just make beer, assholes. 2 out of 5.
OVERALL AMBIANCE: I am no longer 22 years old trying to have mad sex with a hippie chick on my 2x4 homemade loft resting on milk crates turned sideways to tuck Taoist books inside of like a bookcase, so Sierra Nevada of any flavor is not necessarily my domain. Sierra Nevada of all flavors also conjures up thoughts of housewives holding onto their looser-spirited youth, but confined in a dog kennel of a suburban house, doing some Martha Stewart ass shit to their walls or an old cabinet they got at an antique store, pretending that that’s a creative infusion into their dreary lives. It makes me sad. Why must we deny ourselves happiness? And then why must we buy into something that reminds me of a previous happiness, which is probably a romanticized memory, but nonetheless we buy into it and pretend we are still happy, for that moment we consume the product attached to our psychological clusterfuck? 0 out of 5.
TOTAL RATING: 1 & 1/5 STARS!
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