Friday, November 30, 2012

The SMWS 27.97 (30 ml holiday shopping accelerator bottle)

[Here is another in a long line of current offerings from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.  We didn't get to the last batch in time and were lost.  Alas.  But we're back now, rockin' the Lo-Mob effex on the pix.  Check out the beginning of this other post for more on these reviews.  If you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit]

Tasting notes: 
     This has got some stankiness in it. It’s like a daub of belly button funk scooped out with a Sterling Silver Gorham Japanese Nut Picker by a bored baby sitter in greater need of supervision than her charges.  Or a Buzzbee flying disk tossed too far from the beach and into sparsely attended ceremony of a couple renewing their vows after only 17-months of marriage.  I’m struck by the density of the whisky from nose to finish; it’s a lead-filled yam that shatters the rifled barrel of a potato gun.  On the mouth, half-popped popcorn kernels soaked in Armagnac and then strung together on a Christmas tree by truly inspired mice.  Less briny and more estuarial.  A bank pen once used to write the words “give me the mony [sic]” on a deposit slip that prompted the teller to smirk, but more recently having touched the palm of a carnauba wax middleman.  Candy corn candies rolled flat then shaped into tiny figurines and placed in scenes from Synechdoche, New York (which is to say, there were dioramas inside of dioramas).  The finish reminds me of that sow’s ear dog treat chewed incessantly in the back of a Datsun travelling from Wetumpka to Sylacauga on Alabama 9 North (which is also Alabama 38 West and US 280 West), then left to dry and nearly reconstitute itself in the afternoon heat.
--On the scale of things that can reconstitute themselves after an attack--
The SMWS 27.97 is Turritopsis dohmii, better known as the immortal jellyfish.--Like the plucky hydrozoan, what this whisky brings would sooner undertake cellular transdifferentiation than disappear into a gustatory memory book. 



Monday, November 26, 2012

The Cardhu 12 (750 ml Lady Vanderbilt-sized perfume bottle)

Tasting notes:
     The Cardhu 12 is sort of lushy-grassy on the nose, if you were sipping it riding a unicycle along a river during the summer; but not a river that reeked rankly; rather a ravishing riveting river whose lush undergrowth shouted, "Spring has sprung! Summer is here, hey nonny nonny!" John found meatballs in rosewater, and while I can't gainsay him that opinion, and indeed, even verify that a human could smell meatballs in rosewater…well, I'll just call that a minority opinion. Corded wood stacked into battlements and trenchguards, aftershock on a Napoleonic battlefield with the memory of cannon-fire still clanging in one's mind, constantly reignited by the sharp cordite smells. Watery runoff from a pink circus elephant's afterperformance loving scrubdown from Guilietta, the only human whom he abides.
     On the mouth, tangy, refreshing, and Twiggy: a model profile. [John: Bill! That's 'twiggy' as in 'tastes like twigs,' not 'Twiggy,' as in the model!] It's light, like a titanium and balsawood model airplane or a forgettable weekend romance. With a ferret whom you'd be ashamed to bring home to meet Mater and Pater. [Stephen: Bill! Enough with the ferrets!] Fine, it's like sucking on a Tootsie Roll™ that explodes into a Pop Rocks™ mini-frenzy, which quickly cools and slowly oozes down my throat like 'a'ā (slow lava, for you non-vulcanologist, non-native-Hawaiian, non-Scrabble™ players). And then: clean and powdery-floral, like the reality depicted in a talcum-powder ad.
     At 80 proof, it's a lovely swig and a gulp, and we wondered to each other what a cask-strength release would be like. How would it differ? Even at 86 proof, would that extra 7.5% of proofiness bring a little street cred, much like when Justin Timberlake braided his hair into cornrows? On other tangible intangibles, the bottle is really distinct: decanter-like, a tesseract lost in Euclidean 3-space morphing into a Kingdom of Crystal Skulls.

--On the scale of easy-listening awesome 70's pop music--
The Cardhu 12 is the Eagle's Greatest Hits--While watchin' another Tequila sunrise, I got a peaceful easy feelin', like I been out ridin' fences for so long now, takin' it easy while takin' it to the limit, and drinkin' a glass one more time.



Our thanks to Leah Eagel, Alex Conway and Diageo for the sample! 

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Discount for the Nth 2013 Show by Universal Whisky Experience-- Cyber Monday Only!!!

That's right:  get a 10% discount to the Nth 2013 Show in Las Vegas to be held March 1st and 2nd, 2013.  Stephen's given you the details on this supremely high-end tasting event before, and it's a crackin' event.  Now make it even more of a value with 10% off!  Makes a great gift for your favorite whisky connoisseur/aficionado/love bunny, or for Stephen, John, or Bill (please?!?).  Enjoy!  We hope to see you in March!


Get your tickets and discount here:


Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Caol Ila 12 (750 ml dark green understated sexiness bottle)

Tasting notes:
     The Caol Ila 12 has a classic nose, but one a house cat pissed off from too much teasing had chomped hard enough to warrant application of a full-sized Band-Aid™ to staunch the bleeding.  Oddly enough, the nose also presents with notes of the furnace room of the White House in 1812 before the Brits burned it down and spat on the floor.  Caol Brittania? Nay, Caol Ila.
     The mouth clears out the cobwebs in my brain, and harrows the white matter it finds there.  Cavities in my teeth have scampered for cover; enamel extends to fill the gaps in an unprecedented dental survival adaptation.  This stuff is like Chuck Norris used to be and Nate Silver has recently become:  plaque, bacteria, and halitosis all commit ritual suipathogencide rather than face immediate and humiliating death at the hands of the Caol Ila 12.  As the carnage recedes, it's as though Drunk Nate Silver is swabbing an ulcer in my mouth with a Q-Tip® fashioned from spun salt.  Oh, and he's wearing a wreath of dahlias. Of course he is.

     The finish is long, peaty, oily Dremel® moto-tool assault on my esophagus.  But in a good way.  Oh, and there are Gastarbeiters pulling sticks out of the peat.  I don't know why.  That's just what they have them doing.  Overall, this singular dram is ideal for a cold winter's night by the fire, where its bracing awesomeness can bathe you in alcohol-induced warmth and peat heat the likes of which you will not find elsewhere.

--On the scale of types of fireplaces in the home--
The Caol Ila 12 is, ironically enough, a set of clean-burning natural gas logs--I know, I know, but you're wrong.  Go try a set for one winter, never having to haul in dirty, wet wood from outside, and you'll see I'm right.



Our thanks to Leah Eagel, Alex Conway and Diageo for the sample! 

Friday, November 16, 2012

The Benrinnes 14 Year Old MoM* Single Cask (3 cl MoM* mini)

[This is one Master of Malt sent us just to get us to review it for them (see our Disclaimer here). It took a while to get the sample to us, and as we go to press, it is now sold out.  Something like this has happened to us before:  see our reviews of their Cragganmore 20 and their Cambus 18.  But in those cases, it was really our delay that led to the problem.  Here, we got to this in good order (though it did take a while to get to us).  It's just that they sold out of this one really quickly--yet another testament to the brilliance of the Master of Malt folks and their choices of single cask products.  We hope you enjoy the review nonetheless.]        

Editor's note:
Up front, we should say that we really enjoyed this whisky.  It was wonderfully singular, presenting us with a complex profile the likes of which we'd never come across before.  But as we were tasting it, John just blurted out with this all-too-brief review, and we immediately felt we had to run with it.  Please keep in mind:  we view The Malt Impostor as equal parts humor site and whisky site.

 Tasting notes
    This is like a weird Armenian meat pie.

--On the scale of Armenian meat pies--
The Benrinnes 14 Year Old Master of Malt Single Cask is weird--Ok, so that's not the fairest or clearest rating (or review) we've ever given, but I'll be damned if it isn't totally apt in some strange way.



*--Master of Malt   (Benrinnes 14 Year Old Master of Malt Single Cask)
Check out other Master of Malt Drinks by the Dram here
Check out Master of Malt's Facebook page here and their Twitter feed here.

Monday, November 12, 2012

The Laphroaig Càirdeas Origin (100 ml just-takin'-the-edge-off flask)

Tasting notes: 
     The first shall be last, and for this dram, the first will last and last and last. It is the Tao of Laphroaig; ancient wisdom inscribed with a golden pen and crushed diamond ink on the finest vellum, greased with the fat of lambs sacrificed to Zeus to keep it supple. The nose is unmistakably Laphroaig, but creamy, like a pineapple meringue, dipped in ghee, wrapped in Arnold Palmer's argyle socks, and then smoked in a brier pipe with hazelnuts and Eau de Laphroaig, Coco Chanel's greatest (and least known) creation.  It's a Caesar salad made with quail eggs, baby flying anchovies, rye bread croutons, and asiago cheese; the whole thing sautéed in rendered bone marrow and cream skimmed from the lovingly caressed udders of Vermont's finest dairy herds. Et tu, bootay? 
     Heat at the front of the mouth suffuses outwards, somehow violating the partial differential heat equation: but Mother Nature doesn't mind being controverted in this case. It's a sin, if sinning was beloved by a merciful (and fun-loving) god. Prickly warming happiness and a glorious oily mouth; not a virgin olive oil, a really slutty olive oil tarted up with garters, paprika, and the white hot passion of a young woman pining for her high school paramour who defriended her on Facebook.
     It's Chef Ming Tsai committing East/West nuclear fusion on an orange cross-pollinated with starfruit. It's a punchy pungent profile writ large in craggy granite, carved—but not battered—by the elements. By the second sip, my mouth has surrendered to the tender mercies of the master blender.
      The finish is repeatedly running a cedar comb through the raven black hair of…of…hey, you get to pick this one yourself! (My choice is Lisa Edelstein from the show "House".) Although this is strong medicine for the spirit and soul, it's not as medicinal as the milepost-marking epic Laphroaig 10, not even if you added lemon juice filtered through pure smoke. It's a chaotic attractor pulling the smoke into a vortex, swirling it round all over erotically through my sinus system. [Stephen: Bill! You mean, "ergodically"!] No, Stephen, this dram is making sweet, sweet love to my olfactory and pharyngeal systems.
     And what would a Laphroaig review be without mention of the peat notes? They poke up in the Càirdeas Origin, like fife-playing piping plovers, like an organic landscape hinted at by a mohair afghan covering a mo' hairy Afghan. (Am I allowed to write that? It felt so…wrong. How about, "by an Angora afghan covering Dora the Explorer"? Or perhaps "a merino serape swaddling a fino señora"?) You get the idea: Bumps, peaks, valleys, vales, dales, clefts, hollows, crags, and the rolling, rolling waves of the ocean.

--On the scale of indescribable experiences that must be, um, experienced--
The Laphroaig Càirdeas Origin is snowboarding through several feet of fresh powder--It's like, well, actually, it's impossible to describe, but it should be experienced. Soon. Often. Pray for snow, and pray for Càirdeas (Origin).



Our thanks to Simon Brooking and Laphroaig for the sample!

Friday, November 9, 2012

WhiskyFest New York: Stephen's review

     Sadly, John and Bill could not make the trip to NYC for WhiskyFest:  Bill had plans to lend his cryptography expertise to Anonymous for an assault on Justin Beiber's website (he must be stopped!); meanwhile, John was busy aging a small amount of high-quality grain spirit in one of his bunions.  But instead of flying solo on this one, my childhood buddy David came along for the ride.  [David, it was great hanging out.  Sorry it got weird there before the night was out.  Probably should’ve thought twice before letting that shady Russian guy take us to that "club."  At any rate, thanks for putting up with me.]
     I was curious to see if the Grand Tasting at WhiskyFest NYC would be as overwhelming and huge as I had found WhiskyFest SF to be the year before.  It wasn’t.  And this was rather surprising, given that the seminars were held separately from the Grand Tastings at this event, whereas the ran concurrently in San Francisco, thinning the crowds slightly.  Perhaps two nights of Grand Tastings had this effect.  If so, I heartily endorse this change. 
     A quick note on the Saturday seminars:  I did not attend them (I did not have $325 to spare, and I was visiting my friend, David), but by all accounts, they were a big success and well worth the money.  You can find more details on the seminars here, but the four words I heard most often about the seminars were:  “Gold Bowmore” and “John Glaser”.  More on those latter two words below.

     I found it easy to move around the huge room, to access the tables I wanted to visit, and to get to the food.  There was a lot of food, and really high-quality food.  I’d say that it was clearly better food than was served at the San Francisco event the year before. 
     If I were a newspaper reporter, though, my headline for this event would be:  “Single Cask Nation’s Coming Out Party.”  (close second:  “Single Cask Nation’s Debutante Ball”)  Seriously, though, the SCN whiskies—especially their Benriach 17 year-old—was the talk of the Grand Tasting I attended.  Joshua Hatton, Jason Johnstone-Yellin, and Seth Klaskin were swamped all night, getting the word (and the juice) out on their exciting new venture.

Compass Box founder John Glaser with Stephen
     Another highlight for me included chatting with Compass Box founder John Glaser about the 11th release of the Flaming Heart (it’s a crackin’ great whisky, let me tell you) and the Great King Street New York Blend (also wonderful).  And the man who’d wowed the crowds earlier in the day was kind enough to don the Grouchos with me.
     I was also thrilled to try some Nikka expressions new to the U.S. market and to chat with David King from Anchor Distilling about them.  Another thrill was tasting his Old Potrero Hotaling’s Single Malt Whisky—it’s brilliant.

     It was also great to see that Balvenie’s Tun 1401 Batch 6 more or less made its debut at WhiskyFest NYC, and it went fast.  It’s no wonder:  John, Bill, and I have been fortunate enough to try batches 2, 3, 4, and 5, and they are right up there with the finest whiskies we’ve tasted.  Period.  And Balvenie Global Brand
Balvenie's Sam Simmons with Stephen at the SCN table
Ambassador and friend Sam Simmons was also kind enough to sport the glasses for me as we chatted next to the SCN table (though I have to apologize for the fact that the lighting was less than optimal).
     Other whisk(e)y highlights:  David Perkins’ High West Campfire (tasting notes coming soon); Simon Brookings’ pulling the Laphroaig PX out of his boot—and then following it with the Greenore 19 (amazing); David Blackmore pouring me a ridiculously large dram of Ardbeg Galileo; Richard Paterson talking me through the new Shackleton release; Manuela Savona introducing me to the Bowmore Dorus Mor (a.k.a. "Tempest" in the UK); 
Steve Hall giving me a taste of the spectacular Balblair 1975 #2; Karen Stewart talking me through the Wemyss malts recently released in the U.S.; Charles Daucourt introducing me to the seductive French whisky called Bastille; and Steph Ridgway reuniting me with an all-time favorite and hall of famer, the Highland Park 30. 
     If that highlight reel of whiskies doesn't impress you, you're most likely a Baptist or a Mormon.  But even if you're not, you can take that list as a clear indication of the level of goodie that WhiskyFest has to offer.
Dominic Roskrow and Dave Broom with Stephen
     Non-whisky highlights included chatting with Whisky Advocate whisky writers Dave Broom, Dominic Roskrow, and Jonny McCormick.  If you aren’t familiar with their writing, you should be.  Actually, I’ll go you one further:  if you read us, but you don’t read them, you’re doing it wrong.
     And last but incredibly far from least, the moment that made the night for me  was being photographed in full Groucho glory with the man behind the event itself, John Hansell, Publisher and Editor of Whisky Advocate.  The pic came out a tad blurry, I'm sorry to say, but it's nonetheless a classic.  
Whisky Advocate's John Hansell with Stephen
Thanks, John.  You’re a good sport and you put on one helluva whisky event.  I’ll see you next year at WhiskyFest New York, if not sooner.



-Our thanks to John Hansell and Joan McGinley from The Whisky Advocate for the press pass to the event! 

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

The SMWS 93.47 (30ml post-election hair of the dog bottle)

[This is the fifth of five reviews (in this batch) of current offerings from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.  Check out the beginning of this other post for more on these reviews.  If you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit]

Tasting notes: 
     Still residing in the analytical wholly-water-of-life vial, I get tar paper shack basking in the southern sun, old anodized tin roof, and bacon boiled in carrot ginger soup. Poured into a glass, lemon grass and blackberry reduction on seared T-bone steaks derived from a calf force-fed lemon grass. Unripe cantaloupe rind sharing a tidepool with a lonely sea anemone. On the mouth, uni spiked with black peppercorns and awash in wasabi (lots of wasabi!). The finish, as I type, like Zeno's Arrow, has yet to reach the finish line. I'm more than halfway there, and each second brings double the sensation and tortoise shell mandolin pick flavor. (You may wonder how I know the flavor of a tortoise shell mandolin pick. That's an interesting story; let me tell you. When I was working as a merchant marine in Tulsa, Oklahoma, I first met... [Stephen: 17,000 words were redacted by the Official Malt Impostor Germane (Content) Only Device, aka OMIGOD. And you're welcome.]
     With water, grilled Chilean sea bass liberally doused in a pineapple chutney, perhaps overcooked beyond the tender flaking stage. Bath soap and loofah in a granite shower stall used by a woman allergic to scents. The mouth becomes hotter and the finish longer, like the scene in my favorite movie…[John: Redacted again. I believe that movie was banned in at least five southern states.] Rubber kitchen gloves cleaning Wedgewood china.
      Accidentally adding LOTS of water to my final taste, the nose is lemon-water with mint in a kiddie pool. On the mouth, it's sweetish like a very ripe heirloom yellow tomato or wild red pepper. The finish is muted, like Miles Davis, and iconically cool, like Miles Davis.
--On the scale of Miles Davis albums--
The SMWS 93.47 is Round 'Bout Midnight--If you've heard--and love--the album, you'll know what this means:  Buh! Buh! Bweeee! Buh!  Man, that's awesome, as is the John Coltrane solo that follows.  


Monday, November 5, 2012

The SMWS 85.23 (30 ml early voting line tolerator bottle)

[And this is the fourth of five reviews (in this batch) of current offerings from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.  Check out the beginning of this other post for more on these reviews.  If you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit]

Tasting notes: 
     The SMWS 85.23 opens with a moray eel, reeking of coral, smoking a handrolled "Drum Tobacco" cigarette. You may wonder how the eel, having no hands and cursory fins, accomplishes this feat. I wondered, too. (And just how is a raven like a writing desk?) Also, a herd of cloven-hoofed oranges, or maybe it was just a cloved ham whimsically enrobed with a duck à l'orange sauce. Light chevril notes, too. (Was it a French eel? All signs point to "yes.") Pouring the 118.8 proof dram gingerly into my mouth leaves me with few tastebuds with which to form an opinion. The finish is like heartburn, but after eating foie gras, beef wellington, and ostrich medallions. (Thank you, Commander's Palace in New Orleans.) Cinnamon red hots mellowed by Luden cough drops, koala droppings, and the onset of gout.
     Adding water changes it to a sprat in room with red velvet divans in which clove cigarettes and hashish lately had been smoked. Also: lemon cake frosting, made from buttercream churned by frogs, and lemonade in oak bark drinking vessels. On the mouth, pussy willows, sandal wood inkstands, nephrite shaped into kidney beans, hobo slumgullion (with leeks braised in California-style Chardonnay vinted in Australia), and the cherubic-scented intimations of immortality awaiting a true believer. The finish, like an old soldier, never finishes; it just ever-so-slowly fades away, like an old soldier. [John: Bill! You already wrote that!]
--On the scale of Scottish novels--
The SMWS 85.23 is Robert Louis Stevenson's Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde--This puppy is all Mr. Hyde until you add water, and then it's the worldy and inquisitive Dr. Jekyll; the kind of guy you'd happily vote for alderman or appreciate as your deacon.



Sunday, November 4, 2012

The SMWS 33.113 (30 ml Florida polling line survivor bottle)

[Here's yet another review of one of the current offerings from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.  Check out the beginning of this other post for more on these reviews.  If you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit]

Tasting notes: 
     On the nose, it's clearly the innards of a molded orange, preserved by the thick skin that refused to let the rot through, until it smashed against my head and split open, the juicy flesh sliding past my ear as I shake off the shock of the blow and then get back to my creamsicle.  On the mouth, the creamsicle persists, but there are hints of high quality charcoal, too, half-cooled and striking the other side of my head.  Who's doing that?  Is there someone attacking me?  Actually, it's hard to focus on the answer to those questions, the mouth is so big and powerful.  Cruising across my tongue and down my throat, the finish is an up close and personal conflagration, covering everything, it seems, like the stray piece of charcoal that found its way into my shirt pocket--and spread from there.  Add a little water, and the shirt stops burning your flesh, but the mouth also gets a lot sweeter and rounder and a little lemony-er and maybe even slightly better.
--On the scale of odd attacks on unsuspecting victims--
The SMWS 33.113 is my roommate pelting me from the apartment window with the fruit I left too long on the kitchen counter and the contents of the hibachi grill I left to cool in the kitchen sink--Look, it's the best I could do to wrap up this pseudo-plot in short order, okay?



THE SMWS 26.84 (30 ml absentee ballot filler-outer bottle)

[Here's yet another review of one of the current offerings from the Scotch Malt Whisky Society.  Check out the beginning of this other post for more on these reviews.  If you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit]

Tasting notes: 
     Strawberry shortcake in a rum puddle, a garden gnome blanketed in fondant, three perfumed women in elevators all rising, unbeknownst to each other, to meet the guest in room 2133.  This is a special whisky for special occasions.  Lighter in the mouth than a teeth-whitening appointment at an anxiety-free dentist.  Who also, it seems, is an accountability-free dentist.  A little water brings out--oh, who am I kidding?  I didn't add a single dropit is splendid exactly as it is.  Bottled at a proof that is the equal of my body temperature, I find my lips forming the word, "simpatico" over and over.  The offer of friendship from this whisky is warmly received.  A finish of subtle tanginess, a whisper of osso bucco remnants in a copper pot, and candy clutched in the determined grip of a middle child. 
--On the scale of scales--
 The SMWS 26.84 is the balance beam--One one side, you've got Stephen's need for peat and sherry (or Pete and Sherri?). On the other, you've got Bill's love of smoothness, modulated finishes, and ferrets.  Astride the beam is John in all of his moral rectitude.



Saturday, November 3, 2012

The SMWS 5.35 (30 ml flex-fuel booster bottle)

[Again, here's one of many shorter, (largely) linkless reviews we've been doing on current Scotch Malt Whisky Society offerings--and applying Lo-Mob effects to the pics.  Check out the beginning of this other post for more on these reviews.  If you want to find out more about the SMWS or their bottlings, visit]

Tasting notes: 
     The nose presents with hazelnuts grilled in lemon butter, then ladled generously over paper-thin pieces of pickled papaya.  Let it sit for ten minutes in the glass, and it transforms slightly into tangelo oil designed specifically for light colored wood furniture located in cabanas.  The mouth is somewhat watery, but succulent and subtly fruity nonetheless. There's faint prickliness on the back-end of the mouth, then the finish blossoms into a bouquet of shellacked chrysanthemums and orchids.  Yes, it is that  yummy.  A tangy astringent flavor mixes with a hint of brine, and the two linger on the finish, get together not-so-surreptitiously, and spawn a lovely, abiding fruity savoriness--if such a hybrid love-child is possible.  Actually, as I enjoy this dram, I can assure you:  such a possibility has been actualized.  Find it.  Taste it.
--On the scale of yummy, funky hybrids--
The SMWS 5.35 is The 2012 Honda CR-Z (U.S. market version)--A manual transmission in a hybrid?!?  Whodathunkit?!?  Though it has only two seats and clocks in under 40 miles per gallon, that's still pretty hot.


Thursday, November 1, 2012

Universal Whisky Experience Tasting Dinners


      Haven't had enough of whisky festival season yet?  The good folks at the Universal Whisky Experience have been running some top-notch dinners featuring the Dalmore Constellation Collection, which features 21 different whiskies valued at $220,000.  Good Lord.  Typing that hurt me a little.  Wow that's a lot of money.  Included in that bunch is the Astrum, a 40 year-old Dalmore finished in Matusalem Rum casks.  Stephen had the chance to try the Astrum at the Nth 2012 Ultimate Whisky Experience in Las Vegas--or at least he's pretty sure he did.  He can't say now for sure.  He kept saying something about "So many amazing 40 year-old whiskies at that event, I can't keep them straight in my memory" and "Did I have the Astrum or the Aurora, the 45 year-old Dalmore?  I can't--", with that last bit being what he said just before John and Bill beat the crap out of him out of sheer jealousy and spite.  At any rate, the UWE folks have run a number of these dinners already in October, but there are 3 left:  in Cleveland, OH, Gibsonia, PA, and Avondale, PA.  Fortunately, the election will be over by then, so the campaigns will have cleared out, thus rendering parking possible again.

For more details see below or go here:
For tickets go here:


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