Where and When Did I Get to Watch Brian Eat a Lemon?

I'm worried about Brian, at this rate he might shut the blog down and go back to work as an engineer or something.

Still better than what we witnessed last night. 

I ate a lemon, and after last night my mouth still tastes like defeat and ass.

You watched the lemon eating on a late autumn night in 1984.  The final leaves were falling to the ground as you sipped a scotch on the rocks.  The small, secluded lake town you had found yourself at that week had little in the way of entertainment or culture, but the local watering hole had bore a special place in your heart.  Rusty had become used to your visits, striking up polite conversation as he kept the bar for the few patrons that stopped in.  On this particular night, however, the remaining barstools were bare.  At one point, a cold breeze shot through the dark room as a lost traveller opened the door, asking for directions.  Rusty's advice was succinct and as quickly as the sunshine illuminated the bar, the traveller was gone.  That last bit of light and the cold air reminded you that autumn was behind you, yet again relinquishing itself to the oncoming winter.  And there you sat, alone with your scotch while Rusty wiped down tables.

But then something caught your eye.  The television that sat in the corner of the bar must have been more than a decade old.  The reception was usually spotty, but in an odd manner the picture was crystal clear as you looked up.  A man was on the screen.  This was a man of an older time, like yourself.  A man who liked simple things: his local football team and quality food, for instance.  This man pulled out a lemon.  It was the most glorious lemon that could have existed, a beacon of bright yellow in a malaise of grays.  As the man ate the lemon, something overcame you.  You realized that despite the final leaves falling and the cold in the air, the sun was still up.

As you stood up, Rusty gave a nod and a smile.  You walked out the door and let the sun shine on your face.