Times have changed since the halcyon hedonism of yore, when Hunter S. Thompson — the most celebrated master of the fine art of spending a spell in a faraway locale, imbibing and debauching on someone else’s dime — was staggering drunk, weaving his half-remembered adventures into fabulist prose. Nowadays, when a beer at lunch is looked at askance, there’s a palpable button-down mentality that frowns on overindulgence. I prefer zippers. So when the folks at the Brewers Association gave me the green light to hang at the Craft Brewers Conference for a few days and a few hundred pints, I headed to Portland, Oregon, to rehabilitate the junket as art form. The following are a photos from the affair, without captions, of course.