I have tried approaching this topic reasonably. I attempted to craft a logical, facts-based argument in favor of gay marriage. The impact was unfortunately negligible. My mistake was in treating gay marriage as an issue for which reason plays any role. Living in San Francisco has also changed my attitude towards the issue. I had spent a lot of energy trying to understand the conservative viewpoint, but it turned out I didn't adequately understand the liberal viewpoint. The following is an adapted version of a letter I wrote to my uncle. Pierre, I apologize for singling you out when you are no more guilty than anyone on your side, you were just the catalyst.
I know it's surprising and potentially upsetting to think that so many Catholics are ignoring the Pope, but excluding Hispanics from the statistics in the article wasn't actually that disingenuous. The second article I sent says, "For all the opposition by leaders in the Catholic Church, their flock isn’t following. 'Nearly six-in-ten white non-Hispanic Catholics (59%) favor allowing gays and lesbians to marry,' Pew reports, 'as do 57% of Hispanic Catholics.' This shouldn’t come as too surprising. Catholics have been leading the way on same-sex marriage for some time now."
I agree that the emphasis on white Catholics of the first article raises an eyebrow, but at a
2% difference it's hardly something to get up in arms about. Considering that both Hispanic Catholics and non-Hispanic Catholics are roughly 10% more in favor than the national average of 48% from the same report, it doesn't seem far-fetched to generalize that Catholics as a group are a major demographic leading the charge on gay marriage.
As to the question of whether or not these are "real" Catholics, the pollsters do their best, but it would be much more difficult/expensive to parse an additional variable for cross-control (ie. churchgoing rates of respondents). By the flip side of the coin, are you really so interested in disowning the vast majority of those who call themselves Catholic? "You're not a real Catholic unless you single-issue-vote for theocracy, have had sex the same number of times you've had children and flagellate yourself every morning before coffee."
The argument that legalizing gay marriage represents a slippery slope or opens a Pandora's box is absurd. California or New York would sooner pass Jim Crow laws than legalize first cousins marrying (both are cut from the same Southern cloth, in our minds). There is no other "rights" group looking for an expansion of marriage law with even a trace of the sincerity, fervor or political legitimacy of the gay rights movement.
Based on your own very technical definition of "deviant", I will disagree that gay marriage is "merely an attempt to make themselves non-deviant." By your definition, they will never be "non-deviant", but they can be treated like first-class citizens and granted rights that cost the rest of us nothing. Gays are looking for their (theoretically secular) government to acknowledge that they exist in the most sensible legal way available. Don't tell me extensive legal documents or civil unions are the same thing. They are clumsy workarounds to a glaring hole in contemporary law. The hole is one generated by a social reality that's at least 40 years old: gay people act remarkably like heterosexual people. They find someone they want to spend their lives with, they own houses together, they adopt children, etcetera. The elegant solution staring us in the face is legal marriage-- but that's not the argument to endorse it. The real argument to endorse it is that to willfully ignore and actively lobby against that elegant solution is insulting. You're telling people, "fuck you, this may be a secular government, but it's a democracy and you will play your charade of open, legally-recognized homosexuality over my dead body and every other REAL christian this country can muster."
Do you have any idea how ugly your side is? Do you have any idea how many people hate Middle America, the Pope, Jesus because of people like you? I have heard so many people in this city speak fervently about how ugly religion is and, coming from my background, I didn't understand at first. Living here for awhile you realize that nobody cares if a person gay. People don't play guessing games, they don't gawk, they don't ask, they just don't care. That is true non-judgement, not the silly mainline christian charade of "hate the sin, love the sinner". Do you have any idea how liberating, how utopian that feels, even to someone who isn't gay? It becomes very easy to understand why people here think of Middle America as a hell pit of judgement and scorn. I've seen it from both sides and I know your heart is in the right place, but I understand people here when they wrinkle their nose at the idea of living in Louisiana-- too much racism and religious zealots and judgement, they say-- and it's true! Isn't judgement for the afterlife? When did Jesus say that good people should tell other people how to live with their words and, when that becomes socially uncouth, with their votes? Y'know, I don't even care what Jesus said, because that wouldn't make it less ugly.
Showing posts with label mind states. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mind states. Show all posts
Friday, August 3, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Fleeting Contact
Well, it finally happened. I saw her. My train was crossing the intersection of Church and Duboce and I saw her on the corner decide to wait for it to pass. For a second I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. She's dead, my mind said, she no longer exists.
But she did exist, standing on the corner, looking at my train. I thought, she's going to see me for sure, then she looked a different direction. I started waving a slow, plaintive wave, for what seemed like a long time, but was only a few seconds-- maybe a half-dozen waves. I stopped waving. She continued surveying the street. Her head stopped when it came to me, long enough that I was certain. I started waving again. She hesitated for a pregnant moment, then waved back. My train finished crossing the intersection and came to stop in front of my-- our-- old apartment, and then it was over. She crossed behind the train with the rest of the people on the corner, and I turned away from the window and sat back down in my seat.
I looked around the train to see if anyone noticed. I could feel myself breathing hard, feel my brain buzzing with exclamation points. I certainly felt like people should be looking at me, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I tried to take deep breaths. Then I changed my music player to something cathartic. My phone buzzed with a received text and my heart leapt. It was from a friend about meeting later in the evening. Sigh.
When I saw her, I saw a shadow future pass before my eyes. Things that would not be. In those few seconds any fragile illusions that I was over the worst of this, that it would be as easy as I naively hoped a week and a half ago, drained like water from a suddenly cracked plastic bucket. It isn't over. It's not even halfway yet. In a way it was a relief. I will not feel like a sociopath or a bloodless traveler. My love is real and will be real in the future. I was never faking anything.
Things have gotten decidedly harder since Bri left on Sunday. My roommate is gone for a couple weeks and I still haven't cleaned up from Bri's visit. My apartment looks like I am. I am a mess. Music doesn't sparkle the way it did the first and second weeks, but I am at least as emotionally unbalanced. Or maybe my emotions are just more on-target. I miss Sarah and think about missing her on a regular basis now. Each time my mind grabs onto something specific about her, it's sad like sand oozing out between my fingers. I know I'm never going to remember it with that same clarity. If I ever remember it again, it will be an old memory. Alas, such is loss and such is the tragedy of time's passage.
But she did exist, standing on the corner, looking at my train. I thought, she's going to see me for sure, then she looked a different direction. I started waving a slow, plaintive wave, for what seemed like a long time, but was only a few seconds-- maybe a half-dozen waves. I stopped waving. She continued surveying the street. Her head stopped when it came to me, long enough that I was certain. I started waving again. She hesitated for a pregnant moment, then waved back. My train finished crossing the intersection and came to stop in front of my-- our-- old apartment, and then it was over. She crossed behind the train with the rest of the people on the corner, and I turned away from the window and sat back down in my seat.
I looked around the train to see if anyone noticed. I could feel myself breathing hard, feel my brain buzzing with exclamation points. I certainly felt like people should be looking at me, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I tried to take deep breaths. Then I changed my music player to something cathartic. My phone buzzed with a received text and my heart leapt. It was from a friend about meeting later in the evening. Sigh.
When I saw her, I saw a shadow future pass before my eyes. Things that would not be. In those few seconds any fragile illusions that I was over the worst of this, that it would be as easy as I naively hoped a week and a half ago, drained like water from a suddenly cracked plastic bucket. It isn't over. It's not even halfway yet. In a way it was a relief. I will not feel like a sociopath or a bloodless traveler. My love is real and will be real in the future. I was never faking anything.
Things have gotten decidedly harder since Bri left on Sunday. My roommate is gone for a couple weeks and I still haven't cleaned up from Bri's visit. My apartment looks like I am. I am a mess. Music doesn't sparkle the way it did the first and second weeks, but I am at least as emotionally unbalanced. Or maybe my emotions are just more on-target. I miss Sarah and think about missing her on a regular basis now. Each time my mind grabs onto something specific about her, it's sad like sand oozing out between my fingers. I know I'm never going to remember it with that same clarity. If I ever remember it again, it will be an old memory. Alas, such is loss and such is the tragedy of time's passage.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
One Week After
Well, it didn't feel how I expected it to. I guess I anticipated too much. The last week was wreathed in the vague numbness of depression. We finished up our bucket list of things we wanted to do together-- visit the Flower Conservatory, eat at a favorite restaurant, visit a certain soju bar in Japantown, try a classic diner on Market, have a last quiet night in. Except for the part where we fit an entire full-size mattress into the
back of Jack's Camry by folding it in half and shoving it in unison, the move Saturday was uneventful. The goodbye Sunday morning was poignant and tear-filled, in spite of my persistent sense of unreality. I spent the rest of Sunday watching TV, trying not to think about anything. The weekend gave way to a strange trip of a week.
I've done something extremely social every day since saying goodbye. I played ultimate frisbee Sunday night and chatted afterwards until late. I visited my coworker Matt in Oakland to watch Breaking Bad and had a great time talking with him and his people. On Tuesday, I had a proper "roommate dinner" with my new roommate Carolyn and we talked for much of the evening. On Wednesday, Cory Logan picked me up in his motorcycle to hang out. I ended up making a new friend, spending the night and being late/hungover for the next morning's staff meeting at work. We played another game of ultimate on Thursday night. Friday, my whole workplace bussed off to go-cart as a team building exercise. I'm still sore from the go-carting, which was incredibly fun and instigated me to talk with many different people at work.
I've spent a decent part of each day in a plain rotten mood, angry at the world for any reason I can find. I've also had some very intense experiences listening to music. Yet, there was never a moment when I was as crushingly sad as I remember from my last breakup. I've felt bizarrely unfazed. I even feel a little guilty for it. A friend of mine was enough of an asshole to suggest maybe I didn't love Sarah as much. I don't think so. I do think this may be an easier breakup; because it's not my first, because our relationship lacked the self-conscious co-dependency of Jill and I's, and because I'm more mature.
So the week has pretty much been an even split between intense music listening experiences, hating everything and positively ecstatic social experiences. Like I said, it has been a strange week. Today is the first day I've really been alone, which is probably good.
I still take the N line to work every day and every time I pass the apartment I crane my neck to look for Sarah, or even Mary smoking or the crazy dancing chinese hat man-- anything to prove it wasn't all just a dream. I keep seeing girls who bear resemblance to Sarah. I had this thought that maybe Sarah had just split into shards of people and dissolved into the tapestry of San Francisco. I keep rating girls' attractiveness and keep being disgusted by how many are ugly. I look at couples with envy. I haven't had any really terrible dreams. This week has taken so long to pass. It's a sort of purgatory. I don't know if I want this all to be over with or if there's anything to be over with or if I like it this way. Maybe this is life, now. It will be for awhile, anyways.
A few people texted me in the middle of the week, "How are you holding up?" I figured they could wait until this blog post. My mom gets the award for calling me the day we'd broken up and taking the opportunity to suggest I become a patent attorney or at least think about my financial future. After being confused by my hostility, she promised to never bring up finances again. I tried to explain to her, "No, Mom, by all means talk to me about my career future occasionally, but please think about your timing. You're kicking me when I'm down." The thing is, Mom specifically broached the subject because she thought it was an ideal time since I'm now unattached. You're a gem, Mom.
I have Bri visiting to look forward to. And I've decided I'm going to make absinthe. Not with European ingredients or according to a recipe, but with my own invented recipe using native Californian coastal sagebrush (a close relative of wormwood), other native or naturalized herbs, and green cardamom and Thai basil, which I plan to pick up tomorrow in Little Saigon. I'll tell you how it turns out.
It's hard to aggressively make friends when you have someone amazing to come home to, so I am approaching my new singledom as an opportunity to make friends here in San Francisco and strengthen existing friendships. Judging by my first week, I am off to a good start.
I've done something extremely social every day since saying goodbye. I played ultimate frisbee Sunday night and chatted afterwards until late. I visited my coworker Matt in Oakland to watch Breaking Bad and had a great time talking with him and his people. On Tuesday, I had a proper "roommate dinner" with my new roommate Carolyn and we talked for much of the evening. On Wednesday, Cory Logan picked me up in his motorcycle to hang out. I ended up making a new friend, spending the night and being late/hungover for the next morning's staff meeting at work. We played another game of ultimate on Thursday night. Friday, my whole workplace bussed off to go-cart as a team building exercise. I'm still sore from the go-carting, which was incredibly fun and instigated me to talk with many different people at work.
I've spent a decent part of each day in a plain rotten mood, angry at the world for any reason I can find. I've also had some very intense experiences listening to music. Yet, there was never a moment when I was as crushingly sad as I remember from my last breakup. I've felt bizarrely unfazed. I even feel a little guilty for it. A friend of mine was enough of an asshole to suggest maybe I didn't love Sarah as much. I don't think so. I do think this may be an easier breakup; because it's not my first, because our relationship lacked the self-conscious co-dependency of Jill and I's, and because I'm more mature.
So the week has pretty much been an even split between intense music listening experiences, hating everything and positively ecstatic social experiences. Like I said, it has been a strange week. Today is the first day I've really been alone, which is probably good.
I still take the N line to work every day and every time I pass the apartment I crane my neck to look for Sarah, or even Mary smoking or the crazy dancing chinese hat man-- anything to prove it wasn't all just a dream. I keep seeing girls who bear resemblance to Sarah. I had this thought that maybe Sarah had just split into shards of people and dissolved into the tapestry of San Francisco. I keep rating girls' attractiveness and keep being disgusted by how many are ugly. I look at couples with envy. I haven't had any really terrible dreams. This week has taken so long to pass. It's a sort of purgatory. I don't know if I want this all to be over with or if there's anything to be over with or if I like it this way. Maybe this is life, now. It will be for awhile, anyways.
A few people texted me in the middle of the week, "How are you holding up?" I figured they could wait until this blog post. My mom gets the award for calling me the day we'd broken up and taking the opportunity to suggest I become a patent attorney or at least think about my financial future. After being confused by my hostility, she promised to never bring up finances again. I tried to explain to her, "No, Mom, by all means talk to me about my career future occasionally, but please think about your timing. You're kicking me when I'm down." The thing is, Mom specifically broached the subject because she thought it was an ideal time since I'm now unattached. You're a gem, Mom.
I have Bri visiting to look forward to. And I've decided I'm going to make absinthe. Not with European ingredients or according to a recipe, but with my own invented recipe using native Californian coastal sagebrush (a close relative of wormwood), other native or naturalized herbs, and green cardamom and Thai basil, which I plan to pick up tomorrow in Little Saigon. I'll tell you how it turns out.
It's hard to aggressively make friends when you have someone amazing to come home to, so I am approaching my new singledom as an opportunity to make friends here in San Francisco and strengthen existing friendships. Judging by my first week, I am off to a good start.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
One Week Before
In one week I will be moving. I've really enjoyed living here in Church/Duboce Triangle/Lower Haight; baby, TV, crazy people and all. Unfortunately, it is time to move.
I am moving because the lease is up and, more pertinently, because I am breaking up with Sarah. After loving the hell out of her for over a year and a half and some time living with her, we are parting mutually, amiably, plannedly and on the conclusion of a lease. I am moving into a room in a place I found on Craigslist with a roommate I just met and my closest friend in the city is moving away. Those of you who've been reading for a couple years may be wondering if this is deja vu. Unfortunately, it is not.
Brandon asked if it was awkward living with someone you know you're breaking up with. I said to him that once you're living with someone, a mutual, planned breakup is about the most graceful way to go out. Of course, the direct answer to his question is yes, though "weird" is a more accurate descriptor. The last few weeks have been emotionally all-over-the-map and I don't expect that to abate any time soon.
That said, I'm glad I moved in with Sarah last year. It made it a lot easier to leave Davis and move to a major city, something I really needed to do. I've had a great time sharing a room with her, exploring the city together and having someone to support and be supported by.
For many reasons, I really wanted to marry her. She's intelligent, beautiful, self-assured, fascinating, shares my values, has excellent taste, takes turns wearing the pants and makes me feel beautiful, both physically and mentally. She will bear beautiful, intelligent children and she will raise them well. I'm already envious of the guy who will have the privilege of fathering those children. Obviously, I've offered my services if she ends up marrying a girl.
I'm not going to get into why all those wonderful things weren't enough for either of us. Suffice it to say that we did our best.
I will be moving in a week to a room in *Upper* Haight, just a few blocks from the famous intersection of Haight and Ashbury. I will have a whole room to myself in a decidedly uncrowded two bedroom apartment. The apartment has plenty of natural light and a view of trees. On the other side, the building opens up onto the panhandle of Golden Gate Park. It is remarkably quiet inside and so far I really like my roommate-to-be. For the first time since I moved to San Francisco, I don't think I'll feel like I'm living as a temporary guest of the primary leaseholder. My commute will be a little longer and I will pay a little more in rent, but Upper Haight is a beautiful and fascinating part of the city.
So wish me well. Send me your love. Call me. There's a good chance I'll be calling you. Bri is coming up to visit me in a couple of weeks. I've been through this before, so I think I'll be okay. I'm putting my tray table up and my seat back in the full upright position.
I am moving because the lease is up and, more pertinently, because I am breaking up with Sarah. After loving the hell out of her for over a year and a half and some time living with her, we are parting mutually, amiably, plannedly and on the conclusion of a lease. I am moving into a room in a place I found on Craigslist with a roommate I just met and my closest friend in the city is moving away. Those of you who've been reading for a couple years may be wondering if this is deja vu. Unfortunately, it is not.
Brandon asked if it was awkward living with someone you know you're breaking up with. I said to him that once you're living with someone, a mutual, planned breakup is about the most graceful way to go out. Of course, the direct answer to his question is yes, though "weird" is a more accurate descriptor. The last few weeks have been emotionally all-over-the-map and I don't expect that to abate any time soon.
That said, I'm glad I moved in with Sarah last year. It made it a lot easier to leave Davis and move to a major city, something I really needed to do. I've had a great time sharing a room with her, exploring the city together and having someone to support and be supported by.
For many reasons, I really wanted to marry her. She's intelligent, beautiful, self-assured, fascinating, shares my values, has excellent taste, takes turns wearing the pants and makes me feel beautiful, both physically and mentally. She will bear beautiful, intelligent children and she will raise them well. I'm already envious of the guy who will have the privilege of fathering those children. Obviously, I've offered my services if she ends up marrying a girl.
I'm not going to get into why all those wonderful things weren't enough for either of us. Suffice it to say that we did our best.
I will be moving in a week to a room in *Upper* Haight, just a few blocks from the famous intersection of Haight and Ashbury. I will have a whole room to myself in a decidedly uncrowded two bedroom apartment. The apartment has plenty of natural light and a view of trees. On the other side, the building opens up onto the panhandle of Golden Gate Park. It is remarkably quiet inside and so far I really like my roommate-to-be. For the first time since I moved to San Francisco, I don't think I'll feel like I'm living as a temporary guest of the primary leaseholder. My commute will be a little longer and I will pay a little more in rent, but Upper Haight is a beautiful and fascinating part of the city.
So wish me well. Send me your love. Call me. There's a good chance I'll be calling you. Bri is coming up to visit me in a couple of weeks. I've been through this before, so I think I'll be okay. I'm putting my tray table up and my seat back in the full upright position.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Maturity
It started maybe a year ago, after I'd just finished my first real relationship and gotten my first real job. People started commenting about how I much had matured. They talked about how I let stupid arguments go unargued or how my writing on this blog had become more sophisticated.
I am twenty-four years old. People rely on me. I do genuinely "uncle" things like teach my niece and nephews how to build a fire, paddle a canoe and drive a vehicle. When I went to Louisiana for the summer I picked up social obligations without comment or awkwardness. I care about how much money I make. I complain about aches and pains. I'm not afraid to touch any bodily fluid. I enjoy talking about relationship issues with my friends, including the increasingly prominent topic of marriage. I drink freely at family events without embarrassment. These, I've found, are hallmarks of maturity.
The realization that I am becoming mature contains, of course, an element of terror. Embarrassing health problems, declining energy levels, the nine-to-five workday and the alarming acceleration of time's passage all weigh heavily on my soul, not to mention the loss of the peculiar brand of frenetic magic I brandished in this blog's earliest prose. The person I was in high school, the radical, has given way to the moderate and that sense of ceaseless, inspired warfare has gone with it. Or rather, it sputters rather than roars. My cutting word and desire to change the world has not diminished, but it is wielded casually now, without pretense or fervor. These are sad things on their own, but make no mistake: I am proud of the person I've become and I am happy to have become it. It took time and concerted effort to arrive where I am now and that arrival is not without its rewards.
The most important rewards, of course, are trust and respect. I've realized that prestige in adulthood is far more dependent upon being a person of character than I'd imagined in childhood. For someone without particularly stellar career prospects, this is very good news.
More intangibly than trust and respect is an increasingly persistent sense of grace. There is an ease that comes from knowing the world and what I'm capable of. I still haven't found my occupational place in the world, but I have found my personal place. I am a good friend, an affectionate lover, a critic, a thinker and a dilettante.
I know that there are much more interesting and intelligent people in this world, but I am comfortable that my talents are worthy enough to merit raising my voice. I am not satisfied by boring people or interesting people holding themselves to low standards. I am an asshole, particularly in that regard. I try not to be a hypocrite.
I will have children. They will consume much of my life and drive me crazy. They will also be awesome. I will get old and feeble and, if possible, more curmudgeony. People will silently laugh at me for things I am not aware of and audibly laugh at me for things I cannot control. I will not grow taller. I will continue to grow more hairy.
I am at peace with all of these things. That may be the most telling part of all of this. What happened to going down kicking and screaming? When did I become so irritatingly pragmatic? Clearly, I am getting old.
I am twenty-four years old. People rely on me. I do genuinely "uncle" things like teach my niece and nephews how to build a fire, paddle a canoe and drive a vehicle. When I went to Louisiana for the summer I picked up social obligations without comment or awkwardness. I care about how much money I make. I complain about aches and pains. I'm not afraid to touch any bodily fluid. I enjoy talking about relationship issues with my friends, including the increasingly prominent topic of marriage. I drink freely at family events without embarrassment. These, I've found, are hallmarks of maturity.
The realization that I am becoming mature contains, of course, an element of terror. Embarrassing health problems, declining energy levels, the nine-to-five workday and the alarming acceleration of time's passage all weigh heavily on my soul, not to mention the loss of the peculiar brand of frenetic magic I brandished in this blog's earliest prose. The person I was in high school, the radical, has given way to the moderate and that sense of ceaseless, inspired warfare has gone with it. Or rather, it sputters rather than roars. My cutting word and desire to change the world has not diminished, but it is wielded casually now, without pretense or fervor. These are sad things on their own, but make no mistake: I am proud of the person I've become and I am happy to have become it. It took time and concerted effort to arrive where I am now and that arrival is not without its rewards.
The most important rewards, of course, are trust and respect. I've realized that prestige in adulthood is far more dependent upon being a person of character than I'd imagined in childhood. For someone without particularly stellar career prospects, this is very good news.
More intangibly than trust and respect is an increasingly persistent sense of grace. There is an ease that comes from knowing the world and what I'm capable of. I still haven't found my occupational place in the world, but I have found my personal place. I am a good friend, an affectionate lover, a critic, a thinker and a dilettante.
I know that there are much more interesting and intelligent people in this world, but I am comfortable that my talents are worthy enough to merit raising my voice. I am not satisfied by boring people or interesting people holding themselves to low standards. I am an asshole, particularly in that regard. I try not to be a hypocrite.
I will have children. They will consume much of my life and drive me crazy. They will also be awesome. I will get old and feeble and, if possible, more curmudgeony. People will silently laugh at me for things I am not aware of and audibly laugh at me for things I cannot control. I will not grow taller. I will continue to grow more hairy.
I am at peace with all of these things. That may be the most telling part of all of this. What happened to going down kicking and screaming? When did I become so irritatingly pragmatic? Clearly, I am getting old.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
September Update
It's been a long and interesting month. I'm just starting to feel settled into my new living arrangement.
This September was immediately preceded by moving out of my old house and moving Jill to Santa Cruz, where we broke up. After a week chilling with my sister, I returned to my new house. My three roommates were near-perfect strangers, my room was too full of boxes to fit a mattress and Jill wasn't the only person close to me to have moved on from Davis, just the most recent.
I started work again with Monsanto on the seventh. I'd gotten the job on the basis of an excellent recommendation from my old boss Staci, who I worked under during my internship. I knew I'd be facing a cut in pay, responsibility and interest of work. I'll be doing a complex assay to detect disease contamination in tomato seeds all year. I recently told Staci that my erratic thought-patterns are sub-ideal for the rather meticulous job, but that I'd get the rhythm of it soon enough. The tediousness of the job is saved by the pleasantness of the work environment. Everyone there is very cool and the nature of the job affords us some opportunity to talk.
It also turns out I won the roommate lottery. Mike is a nerdy but affable guy of understated intelligence that I think I could eventually become good friends with. Mereb and Celeste have the master bedroom. I was concerned that their hippy quirks might drive me crazy, but they're really open-minded and not even vegetarians. They turned me onto an awesome beer made by Pabst called Olympia. It's just as good as PBR, but the flavor is corn-driven instead of rice-driven. I suspect they used Cascade-style hops, which is kind of cool. Everyone is interesting to talk to and has a surprising number of things in common with me. I finally have a player for my records, I got my butt handed to me playing Axis and Allies and we might even get chickens soon.
Most of my free time this month has been spent in long conversations with old friends and writing this blog (four thousand unique hits and counting). A few you who know more than how to count will observe that it's been my most productive month of blogging thus far.
I've also been dabbling in TV shows, music and bonding with my new people. Mereb picked up a ping-pong table this weekend. I'd forgotten how much I liked that game. I went to Fry's with Mike on Sunday to check out computers. Yesterday I went to Vacaville Outlet Mall with coworkers and picked up some new shoes (green and white plaid converse, fyi).
I went to a KDVS show last week in Sac with Kern that his band was playing at. He and I both loved one of the bands there (Fall of Electricity), which embodied an intense, proggy drummer/guitarist formula that I've seen work really well a few times (other notable examples being the two-person incarnations of Afternoon Brother and Lightning Bolt). I bought Fall of Electicity's cassette, but I don't have a cassette player, so I'm going to download the mp3's it entitles me to and give away the cassette to the first person who asks, as per the guitarist's suggestion.
Howard has reclaimed an old mini-fridge and is trying to splice in a thermostat so that we can temperature-control fermentation for making sakes and lagers. The plan is to start a doppelbock this weekend and have bottles of it ready for Christmas. I've been scurrying to put together a recipe worthy of my "North Swell Bock" concept.
I've been thanking my lucky stars that Howard ended up sticking around for at least a little while longer. New friends are great and phone friends are great, but having a concrete piece of familiarity is priceless. It's interesting to chat with Howard on a one-on-one basis too. I've hardly ever had conversations with him as personal and thoughtful as they have recently been.
I've kept in contact with Jill and I think there's a decent chance the friends-afterward thing will work. She visited me last Sunday, partly to drop off the next books of a series she got me addicted to. We walked to Borders and talked. We don't talk like nothing's changed, but the familiarity is still there and it's nice. The whole visit was intensely bittersweet, though. Our hugs were the stuff of poetry. After she left I took a nap to both sort out my thoughts and disrupt their endless flow. I was off balance the whole rest of the day.
For those of you who keep asking me why we didn't stay together, please go back and read this. The reasons haven't changed and I have yet to (seriously) reconsider the decision.
For those of you who keep asking me how I'm doing, I'm doing fine. I'm doing better with each passing week. I have my moments, but mostly I feel surprisingly okay and that's getting more true with time. I think the good terms we parted on and the constant talk with friends has helped a lot.
That said, I've been dwelling a lot on the past and it is occasionally depressing. It's not just Jill, it's everything. I miss college things like watching TV and drinking beer with Brandon, bullshitting late at night and John Lazur giving me dubious advice. My being disgruntled about change should be neither surprising nor worrisome to any of you. I never pretended to like change, just to know it's good for me.
This September was immediately preceded by moving out of my old house and moving Jill to Santa Cruz, where we broke up. After a week chilling with my sister, I returned to my new house. My three roommates were near-perfect strangers, my room was too full of boxes to fit a mattress and Jill wasn't the only person close to me to have moved on from Davis, just the most recent.
I started work again with Monsanto on the seventh. I'd gotten the job on the basis of an excellent recommendation from my old boss Staci, who I worked under during my internship. I knew I'd be facing a cut in pay, responsibility and interest of work. I'll be doing a complex assay to detect disease contamination in tomato seeds all year. I recently told Staci that my erratic thought-patterns are sub-ideal for the rather meticulous job, but that I'd get the rhythm of it soon enough. The tediousness of the job is saved by the pleasantness of the work environment. Everyone there is very cool and the nature of the job affords us some opportunity to talk.
It also turns out I won the roommate lottery. Mike is a nerdy but affable guy of understated intelligence that I think I could eventually become good friends with. Mereb and Celeste have the master bedroom. I was concerned that their hippy quirks might drive me crazy, but they're really open-minded and not even vegetarians. They turned me onto an awesome beer made by Pabst called Olympia. It's just as good as PBR, but the flavor is corn-driven instead of rice-driven. I suspect they used Cascade-style hops, which is kind of cool. Everyone is interesting to talk to and has a surprising number of things in common with me. I finally have a player for my records, I got my butt handed to me playing Axis and Allies and we might even get chickens soon.
Most of my free time this month has been spent in long conversations with old friends and writing this blog (four thousand unique hits and counting). A few you who know more than how to count will observe that it's been my most productive month of blogging thus far.
I've also been dabbling in TV shows, music and bonding with my new people. Mereb picked up a ping-pong table this weekend. I'd forgotten how much I liked that game. I went to Fry's with Mike on Sunday to check out computers. Yesterday I went to Vacaville Outlet Mall with coworkers and picked up some new shoes (green and white plaid converse, fyi).
I went to a KDVS show last week in Sac with Kern that his band was playing at. He and I both loved one of the bands there (Fall of Electricity), which embodied an intense, proggy drummer/guitarist formula that I've seen work really well a few times (other notable examples being the two-person incarnations of Afternoon Brother and Lightning Bolt). I bought Fall of Electicity's cassette, but I don't have a cassette player, so I'm going to download the mp3's it entitles me to and give away the cassette to the first person who asks, as per the guitarist's suggestion.
Howard has reclaimed an old mini-fridge and is trying to splice in a thermostat so that we can temperature-control fermentation for making sakes and lagers. The plan is to start a doppelbock this weekend and have bottles of it ready for Christmas. I've been scurrying to put together a recipe worthy of my "North Swell Bock" concept.
I've been thanking my lucky stars that Howard ended up sticking around for at least a little while longer. New friends are great and phone friends are great, but having a concrete piece of familiarity is priceless. It's interesting to chat with Howard on a one-on-one basis too. I've hardly ever had conversations with him as personal and thoughtful as they have recently been.
I've kept in contact with Jill and I think there's a decent chance the friends-afterward thing will work. She visited me last Sunday, partly to drop off the next books of a series she got me addicted to. We walked to Borders and talked. We don't talk like nothing's changed, but the familiarity is still there and it's nice. The whole visit was intensely bittersweet, though. Our hugs were the stuff of poetry. After she left I took a nap to both sort out my thoughts and disrupt their endless flow. I was off balance the whole rest of the day.
For those of you who keep asking me why we didn't stay together, please go back and read this. The reasons haven't changed and I have yet to (seriously) reconsider the decision.
For those of you who keep asking me how I'm doing, I'm doing fine. I'm doing better with each passing week. I have my moments, but mostly I feel surprisingly okay and that's getting more true with time. I think the good terms we parted on and the constant talk with friends has helped a lot.
That said, I've been dwelling a lot on the past and it is occasionally depressing. It's not just Jill, it's everything. I miss college things like watching TV and drinking beer with Brandon, bullshitting late at night and John Lazur giving me dubious advice. My being disgruntled about change should be neither surprising nor worrisome to any of you. I never pretended to like change, just to know it's good for me.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
The Chime of Silver
There's no easy way to get through a breakup, but every cloud has its lining. The silver lining of breakups is that they make music sound fantastic.
Did you leave those mopey, angst-ridden bands of your youth behind? Does that magnum opus no longer sparkle with the immediacy you remember? I'm here to tell you to take them for another spin in the midst of a breakup.
Talk about power. It's like there's a twisted monster crawling through those once-too-familiar chords making them seethe with new and dangerous life.
And if, after awhile, the music recedes into normality as you slip into the comfort of denial, just think about the person you've lost and all the things you'll miss about them and how you'll never have them again until your eyes begin to prick with tears.
The music will perk right back up. It will sing to you symphonies of life and love and pain. It will tell you stories of anguish like caverns and thorn bushes, of loss like the ocean and you, the boat on its storm-harried surface, flying through space with the deftness of the waves that chase you. And when those waves catch you, as they inevitably and repeatedly will, it will feel so good and right and the sky will open up and every star will burn so brightly that heaven will buzz with electricity and sparkle like the sea.
While a good sad-song mix cd has its charms, there's nothing like a depressing or just thoroughly perturbed album to set a mood and carry you through it in beauty. Here is the list of albums that have done right by me:
Radiohead - OK Computer and The Bends
Radiohead - Kid A and Amnesiac
The Beta Band - The Three EP's
Sparklehorse - Good Morning Spider
REM - Automatic for the People
Wire - Chairs Missing
His Name is Alive - Mouth By Mouth
Big Star - Third/Sister Lovers
Catherine Wheel - Ferment
Lady Gaga - The Fame Monster
The Smashing Pumpkins - Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
Weezer - Pinkerton
The Rolling Stones - Sticky Fingers
-round 2-
John Lennon - Plastic Ono Band
Old 97's - Too Far to Care
Sunny Day Real Estate - The Rising Tide
Finn - s/t
Emmylou Harris - Wrecking Ball
Ever since the breakup I've had an appreciation for love songs that I've never really had, happy and sad ones both. I've long been a fan of songs about "new love", but the ones about old love finally speak to me. Also, I think I've been paying more attention to lyrics.
Did you leave those mopey, angst-ridden bands of your youth behind? Does that magnum opus no longer sparkle with the immediacy you remember? I'm here to tell you to take them for another spin in the midst of a breakup.
Talk about power. It's like there's a twisted monster crawling through those once-too-familiar chords making them seethe with new and dangerous life.
And if, after awhile, the music recedes into normality as you slip into the comfort of denial, just think about the person you've lost and all the things you'll miss about them and how you'll never have them again until your eyes begin to prick with tears.
The music will perk right back up. It will sing to you symphonies of life and love and pain. It will tell you stories of anguish like caverns and thorn bushes, of loss like the ocean and you, the boat on its storm-harried surface, flying through space with the deftness of the waves that chase you. And when those waves catch you, as they inevitably and repeatedly will, it will feel so good and right and the sky will open up and every star will burn so brightly that heaven will buzz with electricity and sparkle like the sea.
While a good sad-song mix cd has its charms, there's nothing like a depressing or just thoroughly perturbed album to set a mood and carry you through it in beauty. Here is the list of albums that have done right by me:
Radiohead - OK Computer and The Bends
Radiohead - Kid A and Amnesiac
The Beta Band - The Three EP's
Sparklehorse - Good Morning Spider
REM - Automatic for the People
Wire - Chairs Missing
His Name is Alive - Mouth By Mouth
Big Star - Third/Sister Lovers
Catherine Wheel - Ferment
Lady Gaga - The Fame Monster
The Smashing Pumpkins - Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness
Weezer - Pinkerton
The Rolling Stones - Sticky Fingers
-round 2-
John Lennon - Plastic Ono Band
Old 97's - Too Far to Care
Sunny Day Real Estate - The Rising Tide
Finn - s/t
Emmylou Harris - Wrecking Ball
Ever since the breakup I've had an appreciation for love songs that I've never really had, happy and sad ones both. I've long been a fan of songs about "new love", but the ones about old love finally speak to me. Also, I think I've been paying more attention to lyrics.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Hey After
After nearly two years since our first date and having lived together since March, Jill and I broke up on the 28th after I moved her into her Santa Cruz apartment. It was an amiable breakup, as I mentioned previously. This is an edited version of my first correspondence with her since that fateful Saturday.
Hey Jill,
I want to talk to you SO badly, but like I promised I won't call you until the denial has passed more completely. Tell me if this is cheating too much. I graduated to using the correct tense in reference to our relationship, but I know it's still only partially sunk in.
I've talked about you a lot, such that I feel like I understand you and what we were better, but it was really just putting words to things I'd known deep down. I talked about all your flaws and all your good qualities and all the things I love about you. The tragic irony is that we broke up when the good things outweighed the bad by far (as they always did), something I've long said was true and something I've always been terrified you didn't truly believe. Bri says that amiable breakups heal cleaner and faster.
I think about you at least every few minutes. At the same time talking has confirmed to me that the things I liked about you far outweighed anything I didn't like, it also confirmed to me that breaking up was the right decision. My increased confidence in the wisdom of that decision has come hand in hand with doubt so severe I frequently feel like a ship without a rudder near shoals. I doubt the decision every few minutes. I'm constantly afraid that I'll betray myself and what I know is right to chase those things that I miss so much. Of the stages of grief, I think I've moved past outright denial through anger (which flashed in the last few seconds before you walked out the door) to bargaining. I keep trying to think of ways that I can have you again.
Bri's done a better job taking care of me than even you could have hoped, I think. That girl has wisdom beyond her years. She shamed me out of writing this letter (while tipsy) Sunday night. Now I'm taking advantage of having woken up before her, but I think her main point was that one day was too soon, even though the thought of you unpacking your room alone after your mom left was tearing me up.
We saw Avatar in 3D yesterday. It was everything you or anybody else said it would be. Twice in the movie theater, I forgot that Bri wasn't you next to me and did a double take. We made intricate plans to backpack to Santa Cruz from Monterey and plans to go home to SoCal. Both fell through, so now we're just going to chill for the remainder of the week. It's probably just as well. I don't think seeing my parents would be helpful.
As much as I look forward to the day when I can look upon these times with a knowing smile, I want to remember you and our relationship in all the beauty and color you and it deserve, and I will do you and it justice by embracing the pain of loss with curious wonder and a desperate thirst (anguisette that I am).
Please tell me how you're doing and call me if it'll help even a little. I'm sure you know I'm secretly hoping you will.
Love,
Max
Hey Jill,
I want to talk to you SO badly, but like I promised I won't call you until the denial has passed more completely. Tell me if this is cheating too much. I graduated to using the correct tense in reference to our relationship, but I know it's still only partially sunk in.
I've talked about you a lot, such that I feel like I understand you and what we were better, but it was really just putting words to things I'd known deep down. I talked about all your flaws and all your good qualities and all the things I love about you. The tragic irony is that we broke up when the good things outweighed the bad by far (as they always did), something I've long said was true and something I've always been terrified you didn't truly believe. Bri says that amiable breakups heal cleaner and faster.
I think about you at least every few minutes. At the same time talking has confirmed to me that the things I liked about you far outweighed anything I didn't like, it also confirmed to me that breaking up was the right decision. My increased confidence in the wisdom of that decision has come hand in hand with doubt so severe I frequently feel like a ship without a rudder near shoals. I doubt the decision every few minutes. I'm constantly afraid that I'll betray myself and what I know is right to chase those things that I miss so much. Of the stages of grief, I think I've moved past outright denial through anger (which flashed in the last few seconds before you walked out the door) to bargaining. I keep trying to think of ways that I can have you again.
Bri's done a better job taking care of me than even you could have hoped, I think. That girl has wisdom beyond her years. She shamed me out of writing this letter (while tipsy) Sunday night. Now I'm taking advantage of having woken up before her, but I think her main point was that one day was too soon, even though the thought of you unpacking your room alone after your mom left was tearing me up.
We saw Avatar in 3D yesterday. It was everything you or anybody else said it would be. Twice in the movie theater, I forgot that Bri wasn't you next to me and did a double take. We made intricate plans to backpack to Santa Cruz from Monterey and plans to go home to SoCal. Both fell through, so now we're just going to chill for the remainder of the week. It's probably just as well. I don't think seeing my parents would be helpful.
As much as I look forward to the day when I can look upon these times with a knowing smile, I want to remember you and our relationship in all the beauty and color you and it deserve, and I will do you and it justice by embracing the pain of loss with curious wonder and a desperate thirst (anguisette that I am).
Please tell me how you're doing and call me if it'll help even a little. I'm sure you know I'm secretly hoping you will.
Love,
Max
Sunday, August 8, 2010
End of the Davis Era
There's suddenly a chill to the dawn air again. To be sure, there are still hundred degree days ahead of us in Davis, but the worst of the summer is over. As with every year, I face summer's end with the melancholy of anticipated change.
This year I have particular cause for melancholy. Jill starts a PhD program at UC Santa Cruz this September. Brandon left for Washington DC in June and Howard will be leaving for home when his lease finishes at the end of the month. My job with Monsanto finishes this Friday the 13th and after that I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not going to Santa Cruz. I'm not staying at my house in Davis either. My lease finishes the same time as Howard's. I plan to help move Jill into Santa Cruz and then take the month of September off, backpacking with my sister and maybe surfing a little back home.
After that is anybody's guess. I've started applying to Monsanto full time positions, microbreweries and tech jobs. I'm at a stage at my life where I can take a job anywhere in the country. We'll see what comes of it. Cross your fingers. Whatever happens, even if I get a Monsanto job in Davis for the year, the end of this summer marks the end of an era. There's no longer anything left for me in Davis in terms of people.
Jill and I are parting ways when she moves to Santa Cruz. It was something we'd known was coming since we started going out, but it's been a year longer than originally envisioned. As you can imagine, too, it's something we've made an effort to blot out. It's coming quickly and soon enough denial won't be sufficient to insulate us.
My sister wisely pointed out that mutual breakups are hardly ever mutual. I think Jill would very happily do the long distance thing. I however, besides hating the idea of a long distance relationship, need more diversity of experience before I can contentedly commit. The idea of marrying my first girlfriend is many times more terrifying to me than a return to loneliness. Between you and me, that is saying something.
So I can look forward to either moving back in with my parents to a town I love but with only a handful of friends remaining or a year of gainful employment in a place completely without friends. Gosh, guys, post-college is a blast from start to finish. Tell me when it's over.
This year I have particular cause for melancholy. Jill starts a PhD program at UC Santa Cruz this September. Brandon left for Washington DC in June and Howard will be leaving for home when his lease finishes at the end of the month. My job with Monsanto finishes this Friday the 13th and after that I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not going to Santa Cruz. I'm not staying at my house in Davis either. My lease finishes the same time as Howard's. I plan to help move Jill into Santa Cruz and then take the month of September off, backpacking with my sister and maybe surfing a little back home.
After that is anybody's guess. I've started applying to Monsanto full time positions, microbreweries and tech jobs. I'm at a stage at my life where I can take a job anywhere in the country. We'll see what comes of it. Cross your fingers. Whatever happens, even if I get a Monsanto job in Davis for the year, the end of this summer marks the end of an era. There's no longer anything left for me in Davis in terms of people.
Jill and I are parting ways when she moves to Santa Cruz. It was something we'd known was coming since we started going out, but it's been a year longer than originally envisioned. As you can imagine, too, it's something we've made an effort to blot out. It's coming quickly and soon enough denial won't be sufficient to insulate us.
My sister wisely pointed out that mutual breakups are hardly ever mutual. I think Jill would very happily do the long distance thing. I however, besides hating the idea of a long distance relationship, need more diversity of experience before I can contentedly commit. The idea of marrying my first girlfriend is many times more terrifying to me than a return to loneliness. Between you and me, that is saying something.
So I can look forward to either moving back in with my parents to a town I love but with only a handful of friends remaining or a year of gainful employment in a place completely without friends. Gosh, guys, post-college is a blast from start to finish. Tell me when it's over.
Monday, May 31, 2010
If I Were to Start a Microbrewery
This is one of my dilettantish whims that faces incredible odds of ever seeing fruition. I'm realistic, though, so I decided that if I were to ever seriously talk about starting a microbrewery I'd have to have perfected a couple of homebrew recipes and won a few awards for them. We'll see how far I get, but until then it's way too fun to daydream.
If I were to start a microbrewery I'd call it Beach Cities Brewing. I'd need to find a bar or restaurant to ally myself with and I'd want to round out a selection of thoughtful, innovative beer offerings. To kick around beer ideas and as the natural next step to being as obsessed with beer as I am, I've started researching recipes for typical beers.
Pale Ale (California Sunshine Ale)
I've noticed the classic American Pale Ale is a little too heavy to drink on a hot summer day, but the briskness of the hops always makes me think that it should be more refreshing. I think there's a gaping niche in the American craft beer market for a lighter-bodied pale.
Mad River Brewing makes an Extra Pale Ale, but frankly it's too light, too bready and too innocuous for my taste. What I want in a summer beer is one that's light enough to be quaffable like a macrobrew lager but that pairs well with (especially grilled) food the way amber ales do.
I think the best way to do it would be to combine the significant Cascade dry hopping of pales with small quantities of the darker malts that give that toasted flavor to New Belgium's Fat Tire or Flying Dog's Pale Ale. The loser in the equation would be the crystal (or caramel) malt that gives both amber and pale ale styles their foundational sweetness.
Prototype Pale Ale
Ingredients:
5 lbs Light Malt Extract
2 lbs Sugar (standing in for flaked rice)
1/4 lb Crystal Malt 50L
1/4 lb Carapils
1/4 lb Chocolate Malt
0.25 oz Magnum Hops (60 min)
0.5 oz Perle Hops (30 min)
0.5 oz Cascade Hops (10 min)
0.5 oz Amarillo Hops (10 min)
0.5 oz Cascade Hops (0 min)
1.0 oz Amarillo Hops (0 min)
Optional dry hop of another 1.0 oz Amarillo
Wyeast American Ale Yeast 1056
3/4 cup priming suger
Directions
Put the crushed malt in grain bag and steep for 30 minutes in 1.5 to 2 gallons of water. Heat to approximately 170F (not exceeding 180F), remove grain bag, bring water to boil, add extract and boil one hour adding hops at appropriate times.
Ferment in primary one to two weeks. Watch your ferment temperatures, try to keep them in the 63F to 68F range. (Optional) Dry hop in secondary for one to two weeks. Add priming sugar and bottle
Servings
5 Gallons
Expected stats based on online calculators:
5.3% ABV
36 IBU
This is definitely the first recipe I'm going to try out when I get my hands on some brewing equipment. Firstly because it's the concept I've thought the farthest through and secondly, because ales are usually easier to make and harder to drink large quantities of. It makes sense to brew an especially drinkable ale if you're making 5 gallons at a time.
This prototype represents about three simultaneous experiments: Can a pale ale be essentially watered down and remain compelling? Will chocolate malt mesh with the hard-edged hops that constitute the basis of the classic American pale ale? Do Amarillo hops really taste like grapefruit and do I like them?
Amber Ale
I'd also want to have an Amber in the lineup because it's an awesome food beer and the style I've been most interested in lately. It's also got a lot of flexibility. I've had Ambers that range from toasted and refreshing (New Belgium, Rogue) to borderline creamy (Alaska, Anderson Valley, Full Sail) and I've loved them all. In short, I need something to fill the mid-body, mid-color position in the line-up, but I have no idea how I'll craft something as original and refined as many beers in the style..
Bock (North Swell Bock)
*Pictured: Full-suit clad surfer heading up and over a thick, steely-gray wave*
I'd want to shoot for the gravity of a regular bock, which is considerably heavier than Shiner Bock. Some combination of honey malt, wheat and especially ginger would give it the warmth required to celebrate winter surf.
American India Dark Ale
Once my adoring fanbase develops, there will be an understandable demand for a Beach Cities IPA. I will both sate and confound the hopheads by instead releasing this. Instead of pushing hop complexity, I'd push malt complexity while retaining the generally nuclear malt/hop balance of an IPA. It would mess with IPA doctrine the way Dogfish Head's 90-Minute IPA did, but instead of crisp malt sweetness, I'd go for a rich toasted malt flavor.
If I were to start a microbrewery I'd call it Beach Cities Brewing. I'd need to find a bar or restaurant to ally myself with and I'd want to round out a selection of thoughtful, innovative beer offerings. To kick around beer ideas and as the natural next step to being as obsessed with beer as I am, I've started researching recipes for typical beers.
Pale Ale (California Sunshine Ale)
I've noticed the classic American Pale Ale is a little too heavy to drink on a hot summer day, but the briskness of the hops always makes me think that it should be more refreshing. I think there's a gaping niche in the American craft beer market for a lighter-bodied pale.
Mad River Brewing makes an Extra Pale Ale, but frankly it's too light, too bready and too innocuous for my taste. What I want in a summer beer is one that's light enough to be quaffable like a macrobrew lager but that pairs well with (especially grilled) food the way amber ales do.
I think the best way to do it would be to combine the significant Cascade dry hopping of pales with small quantities of the darker malts that give that toasted flavor to New Belgium's Fat Tire or Flying Dog's Pale Ale. The loser in the equation would be the crystal (or caramel) malt that gives both amber and pale ale styles their foundational sweetness.
Prototype Pale Ale
Ingredients:
5 lbs Light Malt Extract
2 lbs Sugar (standing in for flaked rice)
1/4 lb Crystal Malt 50L
1/4 lb Carapils
1/4 lb Chocolate Malt
0.25 oz Magnum Hops (60 min)
0.5 oz Perle Hops (30 min)
0.5 oz Cascade Hops (10 min)
0.5 oz Amarillo Hops (10 min)
0.5 oz Cascade Hops (0 min)
1.0 oz Amarillo Hops (0 min)
Optional dry hop of another 1.0 oz Amarillo
Wyeast American Ale Yeast 1056
3/4 cup priming suger
Directions
Put the crushed malt in grain bag and steep for 30 minutes in 1.5 to 2 gallons of water. Heat to approximately 170F (not exceeding 180F), remove grain bag, bring water to boil, add extract and boil one hour adding hops at appropriate times.
Ferment in primary one to two weeks. Watch your ferment temperatures, try to keep them in the 63F to 68F range. (Optional) Dry hop in secondary for one to two weeks. Add priming sugar and bottle
Servings
5 Gallons
Expected stats based on online calculators:
5.3% ABV
36 IBU
This is definitely the first recipe I'm going to try out when I get my hands on some brewing equipment. Firstly because it's the concept I've thought the farthest through and secondly, because ales are usually easier to make and harder to drink large quantities of. It makes sense to brew an especially drinkable ale if you're making 5 gallons at a time.
This prototype represents about three simultaneous experiments: Can a pale ale be essentially watered down and remain compelling? Will chocolate malt mesh with the hard-edged hops that constitute the basis of the classic American pale ale? Do Amarillo hops really taste like grapefruit and do I like them?
Amber Ale
I'd also want to have an Amber in the lineup because it's an awesome food beer and the style I've been most interested in lately. It's also got a lot of flexibility. I've had Ambers that range from toasted and refreshing (New Belgium, Rogue) to borderline creamy (Alaska, Anderson Valley, Full Sail) and I've loved them all. In short, I need something to fill the mid-body, mid-color position in the line-up, but I have no idea how I'll craft something as original and refined as many beers in the style..
Bock (North Swell Bock)
*Pictured: Full-suit clad surfer heading up and over a thick, steely-gray wave*
I'd want to shoot for the gravity of a regular bock, which is considerably heavier than Shiner Bock. Some combination of honey malt, wheat and especially ginger would give it the warmth required to celebrate winter surf.
American India Dark Ale
Once my adoring fanbase develops, there will be an understandable demand for a Beach Cities IPA. I will both sate and confound the hopheads by instead releasing this. Instead of pushing hop complexity, I'd push malt complexity while retaining the generally nuclear malt/hop balance of an IPA. It would mess with IPA doctrine the way Dogfish Head's 90-Minute IPA did, but instead of crisp malt sweetness, I'd go for a rich toasted malt flavor.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
End of Summer Melancholy
There's always a certain melancholy associated with the break between school and summer. Part of it was mixed feelings about school, but more of it, I'm now realizing, was the loneliness from most friends being on vacation. At the same time, it's also a time for unprecedented partying if you're still in Davis. There's nothing like a half-blacked-out night followed by a long day with nothing to do and no personal contact for some sobering self-reflection. Also, a lot of emotion comes from the hunger from forgetting to eat, which happens when you spend an entire day doing nothing.
It's the kind of melancholy that makes you squirm. Like you want/need something so desperately but you don't even know what it is that you want. That makes you want to do anything to slow the flood of thought. It's the kind of melancholy that makes you feel physically sick, and by the way I might be coming down with something. Sleep is always the most obvious solution, but part of having nothing to do is being irritatingly well-rested. Other solutions are television, talking with friends in person or via telecommunication, and drinking yourself silly.
Sometimes I want to lash out and hurt people around me. It's not an emotional desire so much as a cognitive one. I feel like people take my self-possession for granted and that their lack of control is attributable to laziness on their parts. And maybe, maybe, if you took the same liberties as they do they would respond and treat you with all the attention that you don't get but feel you deserve. But I've found that you cannot get away with the actions of others if you aren't in the same headspace as they are. If you do something malicious on intellectual whim that other people do in passion, you will be held accountable in ways that the passionate person won't be. In short, the world expects of us what we can give. Furthermore, and this should be obvious to everyone: everyone sometimes thinks they deserve more attention than they do, and to base short term actions with long-term consequences on angst and whim is rarely a sound course of action.
It's the kind of melancholy that makes you squirm. Like you want/need something so desperately but you don't even know what it is that you want. That makes you want to do anything to slow the flood of thought. It's the kind of melancholy that makes you feel physically sick, and by the way I might be coming down with something. Sleep is always the most obvious solution, but part of having nothing to do is being irritatingly well-rested. Other solutions are television, talking with friends in person or via telecommunication, and drinking yourself silly.
Sometimes I want to lash out and hurt people around me. It's not an emotional desire so much as a cognitive one. I feel like people take my self-possession for granted and that their lack of control is attributable to laziness on their parts. And maybe, maybe, if you took the same liberties as they do they would respond and treat you with all the attention that you don't get but feel you deserve. But I've found that you cannot get away with the actions of others if you aren't in the same headspace as they are. If you do something malicious on intellectual whim that other people do in passion, you will be held accountable in ways that the passionate person won't be. In short, the world expects of us what we can give. Furthermore, and this should be obvious to everyone: everyone sometimes thinks they deserve more attention than they do, and to base short term actions with long-term consequences on angst and whim is rarely a sound course of action.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Thirtieth Hour
I pulled an all-nighter not for my essay, not for a stupid game I'm newly addicted to, but for the inspiration to write you this. Feel blessed. Actually don't. I was kidding.
I love the loopy feeling of being fucked up by fatigue. It might be my drug of choice if it weren't for the vague notion of my head slowly imploding that assures me with a whispering voice of the certitude that I will come crashing down tomorrow.
Candy tastes amazing and I'm hardly concerned about anything. Perhaps tellingly, my most pressing concern right now is the progress of the aforementioned pernicious game. I have the craziest ideas and then I notice they aren't that crazy. Everything's at once magnificent and dull. Like, one of these jelly beans tastes like carrots and it's wonderful.
My NPB professor is talking about the horizontal vs vertical tradeoff in sound localization and all I can think is, "Why doesn't the owl have three ears?"
I love the loopy feeling of being fucked up by fatigue. It might be my drug of choice if it weren't for the vague notion of my head slowly imploding that assures me with a whispering voice of the certitude that I will come crashing down tomorrow.
Candy tastes amazing and I'm hardly concerned about anything. Perhaps tellingly, my most pressing concern right now is the progress of the aforementioned pernicious game. I have the craziest ideas and then I notice they aren't that crazy. Everything's at once magnificent and dull. Like, one of these jelly beans tastes like carrots and it's wonderful.
My NPB professor is talking about the horizontal vs vertical tradeoff in sound localization and all I can think is, "Why doesn't the owl have three ears?"
Friday, April 10, 2009
A Slice of Good Friday Mania
Today is Good Friday and I feel good. Really good. One cup of coffee and I feel like a demigod: potent, wise and I can practically see Fortune's broad grin beaming down at me. If this is what cocaine feels like, I ought never to try it.
I'm surprised it took me this long to find coffee. My first tentative steps towards the drink left me jittery. Somehow, its effect changed once I drank it with frequency. My hat is off to the people who predicted that. A coffee addiction sounds like fun. I haven't acquired one yet, but I hear it takes a little time.
My neurobiology professor is talking about sodium channels and action potentials and all I can do is silently laugh at the the phrase "refractory period". I wonder if I'm the only one in class who finds that uproarious. I guess information transmission is a beautiful thing...
If I was born to be anything, it was a critic. I love to make fun of people. Of course, it's a sign of familiarity and affection, but that's always been a tough sell for people who didn't grow up in a family like mine. Maybe one of the hangups is the ambivalence implicit in my critiques-- I'm as likely to say something flattering without prompting as harsh. I impose objectivity on unusual circumstances and it throws people off.
I'm surprised it took me this long to find coffee. My first tentative steps towards the drink left me jittery. Somehow, its effect changed once I drank it with frequency. My hat is off to the people who predicted that. A coffee addiction sounds like fun. I haven't acquired one yet, but I hear it takes a little time.
My neurobiology professor is talking about sodium channels and action potentials and all I can do is silently laugh at the the phrase "refractory period". I wonder if I'm the only one in class who finds that uproarious. I guess information transmission is a beautiful thing...
If I was born to be anything, it was a critic. I love to make fun of people. Of course, it's a sign of familiarity and affection, but that's always been a tough sell for people who didn't grow up in a family like mine. Maybe one of the hangups is the ambivalence implicit in my critiques-- I'm as likely to say something flattering without prompting as harsh. I impose objectivity on unusual circumstances and it throws people off.
Friday, August 15, 2008
I BUI
Caius and I were drinking beer on a rooftop at one of my friend Elisa's backyard folk shows and Caius suggested, "Let's go for a bike ride before we lose our buzz." That got me to thinking.
I have always happily biked home from a party with a slight sway to my ride. In winter it guards against cold and in spring against boredom, but I have always thought of biking under the influence as a practical measure. Better than to sleep it off or walk, the act endangers neither myself nor others. Wait-- that's not actually true. Normally I tone it down when I'm returning by machine, but on one occasion I hopped on after more than a few or four or five. At some point one's coordination starts to break down completely and I was perched on just such a precipice, narrowly missing light posts and laughing maniacally all the way home. It was not an occasion to be repeated.
It has occurred to me that biking drunk isn't just pragmatic, it's downright fun. This brings me back to the subject of nightrides. The nightride on which the term was born was fueled by a couple glasses of sherry. The scattering effect of a buzz, the speed of a bike and a peaceful night make a perfect combination. I realized that I have long enjoyed riding home from parties without being conscious of why, and now I know. So drink moderately, ride on bike paths where possible, make sure you have a light and discover the wonder of the recreational BUI.
I have always happily biked home from a party with a slight sway to my ride. In winter it guards against cold and in spring against boredom, but I have always thought of biking under the influence as a practical measure. Better than to sleep it off or walk, the act endangers neither myself nor others. Wait-- that's not actually true. Normally I tone it down when I'm returning by machine, but on one occasion I hopped on after more than a few or four or five. At some point one's coordination starts to break down completely and I was perched on just such a precipice, narrowly missing light posts and laughing maniacally all the way home. It was not an occasion to be repeated.
It has occurred to me that biking drunk isn't just pragmatic, it's downright fun. This brings me back to the subject of nightrides. The nightride on which the term was born was fueled by a couple glasses of sherry. The scattering effect of a buzz, the speed of a bike and a peaceful night make a perfect combination. I realized that I have long enjoyed riding home from parties without being conscious of why, and now I know. So drink moderately, ride on bike paths where possible, make sure you have a light and discover the wonder of the recreational BUI.
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