It's not that I HATE doing it; I don't. And the whole process has improved since we've moved into an apartment with a tumble dryer and I no longer have to festoon our tiny living room with drying laundry.

Mind you, it has robbed me of a valuable excuse to put it off, now that I no longer have "I can't do laundry; we're having company over" is no longer at my disposal.

Yet, the mountain of laundry still teeters. This is partly due to the fact that there always seems to be something better-- more urgent, more fun-- to that needs doing. Another reason is that I won't just shove a load of towels in the washer and leave the apartment because there is a chance that the machine might explode, or flood the kitchen, or flood the bedroom, or even leak into the apartment downstairs until the floorboards are so weakened that it escapes all together, leaving a hole in my floor and an extremely irate neighbor below.

And if you are a regular reader, you know that this is a real possibility. Aside from the fact that it's happened before (and before that, etc.), water bearing appliances hate me. Really. And you can't be paranoid if they're all out to get you, right?

Except lately I've been wondering if there might be another way. If maybe, just maybe, water bearing appliances hate me simply because they are connected to plumbing of some sort. The fact that plumbing hates me is well documented, unfortunately, so it might just be an explanation.

Let's say that it is. Let's say that, as long as I don't hook the washer into any actual plumbing, the machine and I would get along just fine.

That would be cool, wouldn't it?

It certainly would, because that would mean that I could brew beer.

Yes! Beer! What better way to use a washing machine, no?

Sady, the idea is not my own. It belongs to Father Micheal Fey, of Duisburg, Germany. Apparently, he's been using a washing machine hooked to a computer to brew 30 liters of beer every six weeks. Not only that, he brews according to theReinheitsgebot, or German Beer Purity Law, that has been protecting tipplers since 1516. Which is to be expected, really, seeing as he's a man of God and all.

Father Frey says, "A priest without alcohol, that's the wrong combination. Jesus didn't say, take this healthy camomile tea, he offered wine." Which is a pretty good point, don't you think?

Here is Father's home page. It's in German, but there are plenty of pictures. Note how he has the little children of the parish helping him out, thus serving the additional purpose of keeping them off the streets and out of temptation's way. He's even got recipes.