When I was 18, I met with my collegiate guidance counselor and had a talk about my future.
   
“Well, son, what would you like to do?” he asked.
  
 “Sir, I’d like to draw cartoons and drink beer for the rest of my life,” I replied.
   
There’s nothing like having your guidance counselor laugh at you.
   
While that guy saw college as a means to a good job, I saw it as a way to get better at what I was interested in. And in those four years — maybe five, who’s counting? — I got better at drawing comics and pretty damn good at drinking beer. In fact, my passion for cartooning and brewing evolved together.
   
I got my first cartooning break writing a daily comic strip for my university’s newspaper. I was pumped. I got exposure to something like 40,000 kids a day and the best part: IT PAID — not well, but it paid, and it was just enough for me to upgrade from Bud and Coors to Newcastle and Sam Adams. Once I had a taste of these “gateway beers,” as I call them, I wanted more. This cartooning and beer sampling trend continued (and continues to this day), but unfortunately the paychecks haven’t gotten much bigger. In the meantime, beer like Three Philosophers and Unearthly IPA are only getting more expensive. I persist, nonetheless.
   
During those early days my buddy Josh, a recent graduate of the American Brewer’s Guild, and I started homebrewing. We bought the box-o-homebrew kit. Yes we screwed it up. And yes, we tried brewing again.
   
That was four years ago. Now we brew with an all-grain setup, wort chillers, kegs and so many of the devices that only brewers talk about for hours on end. It’s a small price to pay for that liquid bliss and continual inspiration.
   
The number one question I’m asked concerning my comic strip is, “Where do you get your ideas from, Bill?” And frankly, I’m not entirely sure. Maybe it’s the company I keep. I do, however, know what happens when I get a solid chunk of writer’s block. I break out my newest homebrew and invite everyone over. Then I sit and listen, like a fly on the wall, to the comments made about the brew and about the stupid, knucklehead things we’ve done or are in the middle of doing. Depending on the amount of beer I’ve ingested, most of these nauseating tales of anti-chivalry and debauchery are remembered as a cartoon.  
   
Although the pursuit of cartoon topics and free beer have made me do things that others would question, I think the idea of grabbing a few 12-packs of something new and drinking them with friends under the guise of research is sort of funny. Even more so when we do it while our girlfriends are in the kitchen wondering why we’re shirtless and watching Nickelodeon GAS channel. Research, babe. Research.
   
When you get to the root of these incognito brainstorming sessions, however, it is the comments that are most important: which jokes work, which don’t. The same goes for a homebrew; deciding which tastes work and which tastes are desired. Feedback from others is the best thing that’s happened to both my brews and
my cartoons.
   
The smartest thing I’ve ever done for my homebrewing (and cartooning) was attending a brew club meeting. The first brew club I got involved with was the Central Vermont Brew Club and it was fantastic. Sure, you can give your beers to your brother, or your friends, and I’m sure they will love them — it’s a free buzz. But getting constructive criticism from other brewers is invaluable.
   
In fact, brew clubs inspired one of my cartoons. I always admire “That Guy” at the meeting; the brewer doing something so obscure and weird, all the while flirting with the cusp of brilliance, brewing beers like mushroom and chili pepper stout, or pine needle and acorn pale ale. Those beers that make me think, “Oh man, do I really want to drink this?” More often than not, it’s delicious . . . or at least interesting enough for a second sip!