I don't live in Milwaukee. But I love it.

I love Miller. I love it so much, I married a woman by that name. Unfortunately, she was no heir to the family fortune. Not even a distant cousin of the girl in the moon, no return address on Plank Road, not owned by a faceless international conglomerate. At least she is union made.

I love that the few times I've been to old County Stadium or the newer Miller Park, you can't throw a cheese curd without hitting a Miller Lite and having it ricochet off another one pouring MGD.

I love the smell of hops that envelopes me when I step off the plane at General Mitchell field. Or maybe that's just my natural musky scent.

I love the Miller Brewery tour. Especially that insanely hot room with all the Mr. Wizard stuff going on. Just makes me want a frosty mug of High Life all the more.

I love that almost any bar I walk into, it's nearly impossible to order anything made by those dubs in St. Louis. Wouldn't even pour that stuff in a pail for my donkey.

Call me old fashioned (not a brandy old fashioned, Milwaukee style), but clutching a cold Miller (not my wife) in my hand just makes me feel like all is right in the world. Except for that insane rant by Kramer from Seinfeld. That was just really messed up.