I recently bought a coffee table book called The Art of Manliness for a Christmas gift exchange coming up. The book argues for a return to the ideals of manliness as embodied by Theodore Roosevelt and Benjamin Franklin. The book isn't trying to ignore or counter feminism, it is simply throwing its weight into a comeback of old-school masculinity updated for the modern era.
It advocates chivalry, hats and the man hug while proffering advice on how to braid your daughter's hair, start a fire with sticks and practice good etiquette on Facebook. While I differ on many things in the book there is no doubt that the median American male is woefully deluded with regards to what it means to be a man.
Manliness is not about being dirty, stupid, crude or wearing earth tones. There was a time when all significant intellectual contributions were produced by men, when male friends professed love for one another, when they spent just as much on their clothes as women and knew how to dance. While I applaud womens' increasing level of education, status and pay, I believe firmly in reversing trends towards men becoming less civilized.
The first threat to manliness is homophobia. Only 35 years ago "flamboyant" shirts were the height of men's fashion. Years ago, gay subculture wisely appropriated components of 19th century Dandyism. Heterosexual guys are too concerned about not "looking gay", "talking gay" or "acting gay". An entire wing of English vocabulary has been red-taped as "gay", including the word gay itself. Sometimes even including vocabulary itself. Everybody needs to chill the fuck out. I refuse to allow my self-expression to be hemmed in by subcultures I don't identify with, particularly ones with such good taste.
Being confused for being gay has a simple fix. Fears of such confusion are never primarily motivated by practical considerations. Furthermore, there is no necessary conflict between being (or seeming) gay and being manly. As the Greeks understood, homoeroticism reeks of manliness. That and the simplicity of interacting with men make homosexuality attractive to me, such that I occasionally find myself regretting my orientation. Though Jill finds me frustratingly heterosexual, I normally find my admittedly unidirectional sexuality rather enlightened.
I like things that are pretty. I'd like to look pretty, not to mention ostentatious and self-assured. I find myself buying the most radical clothing offered to men. Fuck earth tones. I got a pair of tight-fitting bright red pants over Thanksgiving. My mom thought they looked gay, but red pants are rock star pants in my book. Truth be told they're more scene than gay anyways, but I shouldn't care because that's missing the point. Wearing bright colors is fucking badass, whether it's pink or lime green or purple or fire engine red. "Paisley Dress Shirt" has been on my Christmas wish list for three years in a row, but good ones are damn hard to find.
Having a large vocabulary and physically touching men are also things hampered by homophobia. I've found it interesting how little physical touch is required to inspire paranoia in friends of mine; a brush of the shoulder, touching someone's hair or physically guiding someone's body or hand are all socially innocuous when done to girls of proper familiarity. Also, I've gotten my fair share of raised eyebrows for my vocabulary from strangers with whom I'm conversing. Men and women, gay and straight, should all feel entitled to the full range of the English language.
The second threat to manliness is the feminist movement. Make note that just as with homosexuality this is in no way a disparagement nor a complaint against feminism. Much of masculinity and femininity are necessarily defined by sexual dimorphism. That is, by natural opposition. Masculinity consequently includes being big, strong, emotionally stable, analytical and aggressive. However, this opposition extends into the more arbitrary aspects of sexual distinction. The aspect I am most concerned with is studiousness.
It used to be assumed that men were the most intelligent, artistic and studious sex. Science has since contradicted most of this and society has demonstrated womens' equal capacities. Unfortunately the culture of masculinity, once so gloriously self-celebrating and productive, has begun to stigmatize learning, creativity, demonstration of intellect and other formerly manly academic endeavors. This is reflected in statistics showing boys earning lower average grades and having lower admission rates to college despite studies showing that they are still just as smart as girls.
The fact that boys are told, whether explicitly or implicitly, that getting good grades is neither cool nor manly is an inadmissible sin both for its effect on men and on society as a whole. We must work to change culture to celebrate true men as being academically driven and fashionable, not boorish slobs.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Saturday, December 12, 2009
Craft Breweries: Style and Iconoclasm
Inevitably, as I continue my exploration of craft beers, patterns begin to emerge in the flavor profiles of American craft beers. I've got a feel for some of the most popular styles. However, with the possible exception of IPA's, American's innovation and resistance to convention has kept the craft brew world in a constant state of flux. In fact, the strongest patterns in craft beer that I've found are breweries' identity. Many breweries, particularly the ones who got their start with a winning formula, have a distinctive style that is distinguishable throughout their beer lineup.
The first brewery that deserves mention of this is Sierra Nevada. They earned their name on the strength and influence of their Pale Ale. Its sharp bitterness set it apart from Pale Ale's British forbears and inaugurated an industry-wide trend towards heavy hopping. That the floral hops were belied by an unsung malty sweetness, I think, was the key towards its enduring status as one of the most respected craft beers in the business.
I got my hands on a few other styles by Sierra Nevada in recent months. Unfortunately, they're shamelessly derivative of their flagship Pale Ale. Their Stout is pretty good, it just tastes like a Stout version of their Pale Ale. Less can be said of their Anniversary and Celebration Ales, which taste is as if the Pale Ale was just amped up into an IPA. More gravity, more hops, until the original balance that made the Pale Ale so beautiful is flagrantly destroyed.
Samuel Adams, on the other hand, manages the tricky feat of finding new ways to present a winning formula. This may have to do with the fact that their trademark style is malt-driven rather than hop-driven. By varying malt composition and gravity, the two seasonals I've tried have been even more impressive than their famed Boston Lager. Their Octoberfest has a higher gravity, greater charred character and a more substantial hop backbone than their classic brew. Their Winter Lager calls itself "a Dark Wheat Lager". It has a thick buttery richness that warms the soul.
New Belgium seems to revel in a charred undertone that characterizes their beer. The most prominent example of this is their near-black 1554, but see if you don't find the same dark note in sunnier beers like Fat Tire and summer seasonal Skinny Dip. I'm all for it though, because it's that subtle char that really sets their amber ales off. All three of these beers come highly recommended, particularly if you're serving them with food that's got some of its own char.
Anchor is a San Francisco brewery that I've found I just don't like very much. Something about the creamy-toasted quality that underpins their generally light-tasting beer rubs me wrong. The creaminess isn't justified by the light hops and malt, and the toasted quality just seems out of place. I found that of their flagship Anchor Steam and I had the exact same criticism when I tasted their Bock. It was the striking similarity in Anchor's treatment of these two ostensibly different styles that inspired this investigation into the internal stylistic conformity of so many craft breweries.
For some breweries, their trademark style works well and imparts a continuity to their broad range of beer styles. For others, this identifying stamp acts as a straightjacket that prevents their other offerings from ever escaping the shadow of the breweries' flagship beer.
I'd also like to talk about some new leads I've found in the craft beer world. I have only cursory knowledge of the following breweries, but one of their beers came out and spoke to me. These are American originals that I look forward to following up on.
Dogfish Head is a name synonymous with American beer's iconoclasm. Dogfish Head stands in proud opposition to the stylistic uniformity evident in the aforementioned breweries. Talk about bizarre, yet exquisitely crafted beer. This endorsement was mostly inspired by their 90-Minute IPA. I am sick of American IPA's, but this didn't taste like any IPA I'd ever had. Sure it was hoppy and alcoholic, but the standout quality of the 90-Minute IPA was that it was creamy, estery and sweet. I'm not sure I want more, but they obviously had an off-the-wall idea in mind and they hit the nail on the head. Incidentally, I've never felt wealthy enough to purchase any Dogfish Head with my own money; their experiments are expensive.
North Coast's Red Seal Ale follows in the footsteps of Sierra Nevada by pairing striking bitterness with understated fruity sweetness. Red Seal is in fact even more aggressively bitter than that iconic Pale Ale. I'm a sucker for a good red and these guys really struck the perfect, bleeding-edge balance.
Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale has a buttery-sweet quality to it similar to Samuel Adam's Winter Lager that is practically chewy like a cookie. This quality underlies the Amber Ale rather than forming the foundation of its flavor the way it does the Winter Lager. It was the distinctive, appetizing flavor and the light touch that made the beer stand out to me. I've sworn to get my hands on some more beer from Anderson Valley ever since.
Sudwerk is a Davis brewery with pretty decent distribution in the Central Valley. Excepting the Czech Pilsener Urquell, they make my hands-down favorite Pilsener. The brewmaster came to speak to my Beer and Brewing class (as well as Ken Grossman of Sierra Nevada, Dan Gordon of Gordon Biersch and the brewmaster of the Fairfield Anheuser-Busch brewery). He said that he was really into the flavor of the grains in beer, and it shows. The Sudwerk Pilsener tastes of grain in all its exalted glory; the bitter-sweetness, the earth, the dry grass. Yet, in Pilsener fashion, this is also an imminently drinkable beer whose subtlety and originality can be just as easily overlooked.
Unlike most American Amber Ales, Alaska's Alt Style Amber has the sweet, smooth, malty quality of a German beer. I have an affinity for American takes on Central European styles, because Central European aesthetics are so understated and American craft brews so boldly creative. For this, Samuel Adams, Sudwerk's Pilsener and Alaska's Amber earn extra accolades.
Buckbean's Schwarzbier also falls into this category. Few American breweries attempt the black lager style. I encountered it in the middle of an Apple House beer tasting of Bocks and Dark Lagers, and this Nevadan beer certainly stood out from the German Schwarzbier offering. The German one was a smooth and mellow meditation on dark malt, whereas the American was characterized by the distinctive, nutty flavor of mesquite, with the darkness only a backdrop.
You can find an earlier post about craft beer here.
The first brewery that deserves mention of this is Sierra Nevada. They earned their name on the strength and influence of their Pale Ale. Its sharp bitterness set it apart from Pale Ale's British forbears and inaugurated an industry-wide trend towards heavy hopping. That the floral hops were belied by an unsung malty sweetness, I think, was the key towards its enduring status as one of the most respected craft beers in the business.
I got my hands on a few other styles by Sierra Nevada in recent months. Unfortunately, they're shamelessly derivative of their flagship Pale Ale. Their Stout is pretty good, it just tastes like a Stout version of their Pale Ale. Less can be said of their Anniversary and Celebration Ales, which taste is as if the Pale Ale was just amped up into an IPA. More gravity, more hops, until the original balance that made the Pale Ale so beautiful is flagrantly destroyed.
Samuel Adams, on the other hand, manages the tricky feat of finding new ways to present a winning formula. This may have to do with the fact that their trademark style is malt-driven rather than hop-driven. By varying malt composition and gravity, the two seasonals I've tried have been even more impressive than their famed Boston Lager. Their Octoberfest has a higher gravity, greater charred character and a more substantial hop backbone than their classic brew. Their Winter Lager calls itself "a Dark Wheat Lager". It has a thick buttery richness that warms the soul.
New Belgium seems to revel in a charred undertone that characterizes their beer. The most prominent example of this is their near-black 1554, but see if you don't find the same dark note in sunnier beers like Fat Tire and summer seasonal Skinny Dip. I'm all for it though, because it's that subtle char that really sets their amber ales off. All three of these beers come highly recommended, particularly if you're serving them with food that's got some of its own char.
Anchor is a San Francisco brewery that I've found I just don't like very much. Something about the creamy-toasted quality that underpins their generally light-tasting beer rubs me wrong. The creaminess isn't justified by the light hops and malt, and the toasted quality just seems out of place. I found that of their flagship Anchor Steam and I had the exact same criticism when I tasted their Bock. It was the striking similarity in Anchor's treatment of these two ostensibly different styles that inspired this investigation into the internal stylistic conformity of so many craft breweries.
For some breweries, their trademark style works well and imparts a continuity to their broad range of beer styles. For others, this identifying stamp acts as a straightjacket that prevents their other offerings from ever escaping the shadow of the breweries' flagship beer.
I'd also like to talk about some new leads I've found in the craft beer world. I have only cursory knowledge of the following breweries, but one of their beers came out and spoke to me. These are American originals that I look forward to following up on.
Dogfish Head is a name synonymous with American beer's iconoclasm. Dogfish Head stands in proud opposition to the stylistic uniformity evident in the aforementioned breweries. Talk about bizarre, yet exquisitely crafted beer. This endorsement was mostly inspired by their 90-Minute IPA. I am sick of American IPA's, but this didn't taste like any IPA I'd ever had. Sure it was hoppy and alcoholic, but the standout quality of the 90-Minute IPA was that it was creamy, estery and sweet. I'm not sure I want more, but they obviously had an off-the-wall idea in mind and they hit the nail on the head. Incidentally, I've never felt wealthy enough to purchase any Dogfish Head with my own money; their experiments are expensive.
North Coast's Red Seal Ale follows in the footsteps of Sierra Nevada by pairing striking bitterness with understated fruity sweetness. Red Seal is in fact even more aggressively bitter than that iconic Pale Ale. I'm a sucker for a good red and these guys really struck the perfect, bleeding-edge balance.
Anderson Valley's Boont Amber Ale has a buttery-sweet quality to it similar to Samuel Adam's Winter Lager that is practically chewy like a cookie. This quality underlies the Amber Ale rather than forming the foundation of its flavor the way it does the Winter Lager. It was the distinctive, appetizing flavor and the light touch that made the beer stand out to me. I've sworn to get my hands on some more beer from Anderson Valley ever since.
Sudwerk is a Davis brewery with pretty decent distribution in the Central Valley. Excepting the Czech Pilsener Urquell, they make my hands-down favorite Pilsener. The brewmaster came to speak to my Beer and Brewing class (as well as Ken Grossman of Sierra Nevada, Dan Gordon of Gordon Biersch and the brewmaster of the Fairfield Anheuser-Busch brewery). He said that he was really into the flavor of the grains in beer, and it shows. The Sudwerk Pilsener tastes of grain in all its exalted glory; the bitter-sweetness, the earth, the dry grass. Yet, in Pilsener fashion, this is also an imminently drinkable beer whose subtlety and originality can be just as easily overlooked.
Unlike most American Amber Ales, Alaska's Alt Style Amber has the sweet, smooth, malty quality of a German beer. I have an affinity for American takes on Central European styles, because Central European aesthetics are so understated and American craft brews so boldly creative. For this, Samuel Adams, Sudwerk's Pilsener and Alaska's Amber earn extra accolades.
Buckbean's Schwarzbier also falls into this category. Few American breweries attempt the black lager style. I encountered it in the middle of an Apple House beer tasting of Bocks and Dark Lagers, and this Nevadan beer certainly stood out from the German Schwarzbier offering. The German one was a smooth and mellow meditation on dark malt, whereas the American was characterized by the distinctive, nutty flavor of mesquite, with the darkness only a backdrop.
You can find an earlier post about craft beer here.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Negative Energy and Thick Skin
The following is an excerpt from a letter to a friend and makes reference to my recently posted Articles of Faith.
In September I had a close college friend attempt to rip a hole in my entire approach to life and dump me as a friend. The reason he said he wanted to divorce himself from me was that my negativity brought him down. I still respect him, I believe he had my interests at heart, and I tried hard to internalize his criticisms (and I think I succeeded). However, he was looking to produce some sort of breakdown or epiphany in me and he was ultimately disappointed.
More and more, I'm starting to enjoy thinking of myself as a person with "negative energy". After all, the world needs its yins and yangs. One of the articles of faith I did not include that I expect most people might is faith in the search for happiness. I've never thought of happiness as a philosophical end-goal. Sure I chase it, but it's almost reflexive. I don't encourage myself to chase it. Partly, I'm probably unrestrained enough in requesting/grabbing what I want that I have never needed to encourage myself to embrace happiness. I seize it unrepentantly, even at the expense of others. Self-love is a bitch.
I'm a critical if not a negative person. I've received my fair share of criticism, because I've asked for it (usually not explicitly, but in the way I carry myself), but it rolls off me like water off a duck. I also dish it out like a mofo. I feel guilty for some instances, but not most. I maintain my intellectual honesty (possibly another article of faith?) and don't do it out of spite or malice to friends or strangers (the rare enemy beware, though). But in my head people can separate objective opinion from malicious intent. That's not always the case, and even where it is, a concerted assault on someone's assumptions and manifestations of person usually produces a negative reaction.
This is not the first friendship I have lost because of my critical nature and I doubt it will be my last, so I'd like to gently warn you that I not only have the capacity, but the inclination to be ruthlessly critical of people, particularly those closest to me. The terseness I sometimes evidence is the product of being raised by a scientist. I have acquired tact through the years, but evidently not enough, so if I ever come across too strong, tell me.
In September I had a close college friend attempt to rip a hole in my entire approach to life and dump me as a friend. The reason he said he wanted to divorce himself from me was that my negativity brought him down. I still respect him, I believe he had my interests at heart, and I tried hard to internalize his criticisms (and I think I succeeded). However, he was looking to produce some sort of breakdown or epiphany in me and he was ultimately disappointed.
More and more, I'm starting to enjoy thinking of myself as a person with "negative energy". After all, the world needs its yins and yangs. One of the articles of faith I did not include that I expect most people might is faith in the search for happiness. I've never thought of happiness as a philosophical end-goal. Sure I chase it, but it's almost reflexive. I don't encourage myself to chase it. Partly, I'm probably unrestrained enough in requesting/grabbing what I want that I have never needed to encourage myself to embrace happiness. I seize it unrepentantly, even at the expense of others. Self-love is a bitch.
I'm a critical if not a negative person. I've received my fair share of criticism, because I've asked for it (usually not explicitly, but in the way I carry myself), but it rolls off me like water off a duck. I also dish it out like a mofo. I feel guilty for some instances, but not most. I maintain my intellectual honesty (possibly another article of faith?) and don't do it out of spite or malice to friends or strangers (the rare enemy beware, though). But in my head people can separate objective opinion from malicious intent. That's not always the case, and even where it is, a concerted assault on someone's assumptions and manifestations of person usually produces a negative reaction.
This is not the first friendship I have lost because of my critical nature and I doubt it will be my last, so I'd like to gently warn you that I not only have the capacity, but the inclination to be ruthlessly critical of people, particularly those closest to me. The terseness I sometimes evidence is the product of being raised by a scientist. I have acquired tact through the years, but evidently not enough, so if I ever come across too strong, tell me.
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