There was a summer that I lived in the San Fernando Valley, Reseda, California to be exact. It was the summer between my freshmen and sophomore year at UCLA. I was still playing football but had no place to live in Los Angeles. So, in a stroke of luck, a buddy offered me his place in the Valley to crash during the week. I had to get up each morning at 4:30 AM to get to early morning workouts, which sucked. I had to drive 30 plus miles each day to Westwood, which sucked. I barely got to do anything because I had to go to bed early and be up before the sun, which sucked. What didn’t suck was that thing of beauty sitting in the kitchen. Each day when I returned home, after workouts and summer school, was a shiny kegerator. It was set up masterfully and delivered a perfect pour every single time. My room mate and I weren’t rich (I think we were pouring Keystone light), but the fact that I always had fresh beer waiting for me was amazing.

Ever since that summer I knew I wanted to have a kegerator in my home. Unfortunately, I haven’t gotten that job that allows me the kind of income necessary to get my very own kegerator. But the dream of pouring that ice cold, delicious beer is still very much alive within me. Every time I see a kegerator I get a little jealous, luckily its usually the personal property of some big-wig that I work with, so at least I’ve been able to say “Someday, that will be me.” That was until …

This past weekend I visited the home of one of my new co-workers. Since I’ve moved to a new town meeting new people has been a bit of a challenge. Recently, my employer decided to add a new member of our marketing staff. A young man close to my age, from an area not far from where I grew up and with an affinity for the same beer as myself. Stoked to see someone else in the office younger than 35, I asked if he would like to go for a couple cold ones after work. Equally happy to make a new acquaintance, he told me we should go to his house before we hit the bars. I said OK, and after work we headed straight to his place. And there it was …

It was beautiful. Sitting near his kitchen was a big, black kegerator. He asked me if I’d like a beer. Staring at his kegerator lovingly, all I could do was shake my head. Still shocked I managed to mutter, “Where’d you get that?” Seeing the adoration in my eyes he replied, “Oh man, I’ve wasted so much cash on canned and bottled beer. I thought this was a great investment. Do you know how much money I save with this thing?” That’s when I told him about the beer blog and that, yes, I knew all about kegerators. Then he asked such a simple, yet obvious question, “So why don’t you have one, dude?” I told him I’ve moved so much over the last few years, I never really felt like anywhere was home and that once I can put some roots down I’d pick one up. He laughed and said, “OK, man. This thing right here, this will make anywhere home.”

I need a kegerator.