Quite a few things in my life changed with the new year.
Howard finally moved from Davis. He's helping his parents out for awhile and then he's going to move to Santa Barbara and live with his sister.
I got a new girlfriend. Her name is Sarah. She is cool and things are going very well. We went to San Francisco last weekend and had a blast. Props to Mereb for his restaurant recommendation (Burma Superstar). I bought some random stuff in Chinatown (6.50 a pound for dried shiitakes!). We hung out with Matt and Cory and I finally got to see at least a part their brewing process.
I got a pea coat and an mp3 player for Christmas, both of which have been in near-constant use since I returned to Davis.
The mp3 player has caused kind of a music renaissance in my life. Basically, it's allowed me to listen to music of my choosing at work and in transit. I've been able to give a lot more music my undivided attention and I've started to intensively research and download music again. I've been working on developing a taste for emo and the Rolling Stones. Somewhere along the way I acquired a taste for Sunny Day Real Estate, Supergrass, the Beta Band, Fleetwood Mac's Tusk, the Jayhawks and the Vapors. I also reaffirmed my relationship with the Shoes and Wilco, finally listened to John Cale's solo work and finally acquired the two fabled power pop albums by the Searchers that I had been looking for since last spring.
Amidst all the fun and turnover, the application deadlines for various graduate programs have been rolling in. Which is why I'm apologizing for not posting anything else this month. It's not that my mind is not brimming with good post ideas, it's that I can't justify making good on them when I could be doing something so urgently useful. So, wish me luck. Heaven knows I can use all the help I can get to turn in a few halfway decent applications by their deadlines.
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label winter. Show all posts
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Dandyism, Slobbism and Manliness
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Max's Old-Fashioned Cocktail
Given its name, the Old-Fashioned is unsurprisingly among the most venerated of cocktails. I was initially discouraged by my spectacular failure at making them early last summer (using an abridged form of the IBA recipe). It wasn't until I went home for Christmas break and my Dad made some for the family that it felt like I had even the remotest understanding of the drink.
There are intense debates concerning what constitutes a "real" Old-Fashioned and recipes vary wildly. Some call for many citrus fruits, some call for just a lemon twist for garnish. Some specify that you muddle those garnishes, most not. Some include sweet vermouth, but most only have Maraschino for color. Some demand adding soda water while others damn to hell those infidels who would do so. Bitters are used for most recipes and the whiskey choice varies considerably from Canadian to American Sour Mash to Bourbon to Rye.
My father's recipe included a juiced slice each of lime, lemon and orange, with liberal application of maraschino juice, Jim Beam, and diet 7up. The result was rather confused and watery for my taste, but it did impress on my mind the importance of citrus fruit, the lack of which had doomed my first attempt at the drink. I surveyed the various online recipes and came to understand the ins and outs of making this classic cocktail. The defining principle is the balance of liquor, sour, sweet and bitter within the drink. The resulting drink is too well-rounded to be edgy, but too beautiful to ever truly go out of style.
I put together my own recipe using Meyer Lemons, a citrus fruit that I adore in general and that is particularly suited to Old-Fashions. I found that Rye works better with Meyers' floral aromas and I decided that muddling is deliciously Californian because of the emphasis on fruit. As always, my regards to the Apple House Taste-Testing Team (aka my roommates).
1 large slice Meyer lemon
1 teaspoon granulated white sugar
1 Maraschino cherry
1 teaspoon Maraschino cherry juice (you can substitute the sugar with a couple more teaspoons)
2 dashes bitters
ice
1 shot Old Overholt Rye Whiskey
Add lemon, sugar, cherry, juice and bitters, then muddle ingredients, juicing and crushing the lemon and dissolving the sugar. Mostly fill the glass with ice, then pour whiskey over the concoction and stir till ingredients are mixed and ice equilibriates. Enjoy!
There are intense debates concerning what constitutes a "real" Old-Fashioned and recipes vary wildly. Some call for many citrus fruits, some call for just a lemon twist for garnish. Some specify that you muddle those garnishes, most not. Some include sweet vermouth, but most only have Maraschino for color. Some demand adding soda water while others damn to hell those infidels who would do so. Bitters are used for most recipes and the whiskey choice varies considerably from Canadian to American Sour Mash to Bourbon to Rye.
My father's recipe included a juiced slice each of lime, lemon and orange, with liberal application of maraschino juice, Jim Beam, and diet 7up. The result was rather confused and watery for my taste, but it did impress on my mind the importance of citrus fruit, the lack of which had doomed my first attempt at the drink. I surveyed the various online recipes and came to understand the ins and outs of making this classic cocktail. The defining principle is the balance of liquor, sour, sweet and bitter within the drink. The resulting drink is too well-rounded to be edgy, but too beautiful to ever truly go out of style.
I put together my own recipe using Meyer Lemons, a citrus fruit that I adore in general and that is particularly suited to Old-Fashions. I found that Rye works better with Meyers' floral aromas and I decided that muddling is deliciously Californian because of the emphasis on fruit. As always, my regards to the Apple House Taste-Testing Team (aka my roommates).
1 large slice Meyer lemon
1 teaspoon granulated white sugar
1 Maraschino cherry
1 teaspoon Maraschino cherry juice (you can substitute the sugar with a couple more teaspoons)
2 dashes bitters
ice
1 shot Old Overholt Rye Whiskey
Add lemon, sugar, cherry, juice and bitters, then muddle ingredients, juicing and crushing the lemon and dissolving the sugar. Mostly fill the glass with ice, then pour whiskey over the concoction and stir till ingredients are mixed and ice equilibriates. Enjoy!
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Davis Rain
My freshman year at college I wasn't sure that it was possible to get sick of rain. It probably isn't in Southern California. That winter it rained for a month straight and in a brief moment of weakness I yearned for the sun's glare.
It's been raining for about three weeks now without indication of letting up. I'm still enjoying it. My favorite place in the house has become our bathroom because it's the only room with a skylight. You can hear each raindrop hit the glass and gaze up at the mottled grey sky. Never has pondering on the throne been so prime.
I photographed a drippy faucet at work in the Chem Dispensary. Davis water is so hard that most faucets on campus have an impressive encrustation around their taps. This one was particularly spectacular.
The soil in Davis is completely waterlogged. Every pore seems to be oozing moisture and green has been sprouting in unusual places. The weather's starting to warm in spite of the relentless rain, some trees are blooming and in between rainstorms I'm noticing some telltale signs of the Davis spring.
We're not there yet, but the hints have gotten me thinking wistfully of the coming season's heady atmosphere and raucous enthusiasm. It's the time when we revolt against winter's heavy cares and stop giving a shit about school. It's the time when possibilities stretch out. Indeed, spring is the season of Picnic Day.
I won't, as is fashion, be getting wasted this Picnic Day. My mother's visiting. Surely we can appreciate Picnic Day as a multifaceted event that can be enjoyed in many ways? I'm crossing my fingers for sunny weather, though. That KDVS parade I participated in a couple of years ago turned out to be a death march.
It's been raining for about three weeks now without indication of letting up. I'm still enjoying it. My favorite place in the house has become our bathroom because it's the only room with a skylight. You can hear each raindrop hit the glass and gaze up at the mottled grey sky. Never has pondering on the throne been so prime.
I photographed a drippy faucet at work in the Chem Dispensary. Davis water is so hard that most faucets on campus have an impressive encrustation around their taps. This one was particularly spectacular.
The soil in Davis is completely waterlogged. Every pore seems to be oozing moisture and green has been sprouting in unusual places. The weather's starting to warm in spite of the relentless rain, some trees are blooming and in between rainstorms I'm noticing some telltale signs of the Davis spring.
We're not there yet, but the hints have gotten me thinking wistfully of the coming season's heady atmosphere and raucous enthusiasm. It's the time when we revolt against winter's heavy cares and stop giving a shit about school. It's the time when possibilities stretch out. Indeed, spring is the season of Picnic Day.
I won't, as is fashion, be getting wasted this Picnic Day. My mother's visiting. Surely we can appreciate Picnic Day as a multifaceted event that can be enjoyed in many ways? I'm crossing my fingers for sunny weather, though. That KDVS parade I participated in a couple of years ago turned out to be a death march.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
New Year's Update
I've got a girlfriend. I've been dating Jillian Miller for a couple of months now and things are going very, very well. Those counting will realize that that makes Jill my first girlfriend, so on top of absolutely adoring her I am also flushed with the elation that comes when everything is brand new.
I'll be doing a lot of reading this quarter due to my humanities heavy course load. Good literature always makes me want to start writing. Not blogging, mind you, I've always wanted to write the next great American novel. I will too. I've already got the plot outline so now I'm just fleshing it out. It occurred to me that the basic outline is a straight rip from the Star Wars saga, but no worries, most literature is anyways.
After two months of riding Brandon's bike while I procrastinated fixing a simple flat, I'm finally back on the Ash Maiden. After Brandon's beautiful monstrosity, the Maiden feels like a toy in my hands. I forgot what it feels like to fly.
I'll be doing a lot of reading this quarter due to my humanities heavy course load. Good literature always makes me want to start writing. Not blogging, mind you, I've always wanted to write the next great American novel. I will too. I've already got the plot outline so now I'm just fleshing it out. It occurred to me that the basic outline is a straight rip from the Star Wars saga, but no worries, most literature is anyways.
After two months of riding Brandon's bike while I procrastinated fixing a simple flat, I'm finally back on the Ash Maiden. After Brandon's beautiful monstrosity, the Maiden feels like a toy in my hands. I forgot what it feels like to fly.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
The Gift
Christmas is about giving, among other things, and let me tell you, I totally get the whole "joy of giving" thing. I love to pick presents for people I know and love. I even vaguely like giving gifts to people I don't actually care about.
My favorite person to buy for is my sister and I give her props for the best gift I received this year: a garden gnome. Gifts like that remind me Christmas can be untainted by commercialism. Gifts don't have to be valuable to be personal and yet they don't have to be handmade to avoid the ominous specter of commercialism. While it is important to exchange gifts of comparable value with peers, the absolute monetary value of gift giving is fairly arbitrary. My sister and I have yet to spend twenty dollars on a gift for one another.
I also love receiving gifts, but not without reservations. I hate improperly chosen gifts ("white elephants") and I hate gift cards. Oh, how I hate gift cards. Gift cards manage to be both impersonal and impractical. Surely nobody really believes that a gift card to Starbucks is more personal than handing me cash? At least cash doesn't take up extra space in my wallet. Using gift cards is a chore, even in the lucky circumstance that I actually shop at the specified retailer.
As the joy of giving is double that of receiving, the horror of poor gift giving is double that of receiving bad gifts, so I hate being expected to choose something personal when I don't know my audience. In fact, the bane of my Christmas existence is the gift exchange for our large, extended family in Louisiana. In it I usually give terrible gifts and receive terrible gifts. It's not like we don't love each other, I just happen to live far away and see them infrequently. Additionally, there are massive age barriers to contend with. My cousins range from 13 to 31 and many of my aunts and uncles don't have children my age. The task is always a worthy challenge, though. I'm starting to think of finding appropriate, interesting semi-specific gifts as quite the art form.
One way or another, I hope you will reflect on the gifts you have given and received this Christmas season. Periodically we all forget to fully embrace the joy of giving and receiving, especially when we neglect to immerse ourselves in holiday movies.
My favorite person to buy for is my sister and I give her props for the best gift I received this year: a garden gnome. Gifts like that remind me Christmas can be untainted by commercialism. Gifts don't have to be valuable to be personal and yet they don't have to be handmade to avoid the ominous specter of commercialism. While it is important to exchange gifts of comparable value with peers, the absolute monetary value of gift giving is fairly arbitrary. My sister and I have yet to spend twenty dollars on a gift for one another.
I also love receiving gifts, but not without reservations. I hate improperly chosen gifts ("white elephants") and I hate gift cards. Oh, how I hate gift cards. Gift cards manage to be both impersonal and impractical. Surely nobody really believes that a gift card to Starbucks is more personal than handing me cash? At least cash doesn't take up extra space in my wallet. Using gift cards is a chore, even in the lucky circumstance that I actually shop at the specified retailer.
As the joy of giving is double that of receiving, the horror of poor gift giving is double that of receiving bad gifts, so I hate being expected to choose something personal when I don't know my audience. In fact, the bane of my Christmas existence is the gift exchange for our large, extended family in Louisiana. In it I usually give terrible gifts and receive terrible gifts. It's not like we don't love each other, I just happen to live far away and see them infrequently. Additionally, there are massive age barriers to contend with. My cousins range from 13 to 31 and many of my aunts and uncles don't have children my age. The task is always a worthy challenge, though. I'm starting to think of finding appropriate, interesting semi-specific gifts as quite the art form.
One way or another, I hope you will reflect on the gifts you have given and received this Christmas season. Periodically we all forget to fully embrace the joy of giving and receiving, especially when we neglect to immerse ourselves in holiday movies.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Mammoth
This weekend we went up to Mammoth. We came in with a storm forecast and hopes for some fresh powder.
Our first day on the slopes we witnessed as Mammoth Mountain was first wreathed and then consumed by a snow storm. You can see mom on the right and a rainbow (snowbow?) over the Mammoth lakes.
The second day Bri and I braved a full blown blizzard. I noticed during this trip that it is much easier to capture genuine smiles when people are genuinely having the time of their lives.
The white out conditions meant we could hardly see the snow we were skiing on and the crest winds nearly blew us over, but the conditions also meant some fantastic powder.
The next day we made our way home through the high desert, passing storm after storm.
Our first day on the slopes we witnessed as Mammoth Mountain was first wreathed and then consumed by a snow storm. You can see mom on the right and a rainbow (snowbow?) over the Mammoth lakes.
The second day Bri and I braved a full blown blizzard. I noticed during this trip that it is much easier to capture genuine smiles when people are genuinely having the time of their lives.
The white out conditions meant we could hardly see the snow we were skiing on and the crest winds nearly blew us over, but the conditions also meant some fantastic powder.
The next day we made our way home through the high desert, passing storm after storm.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Max's Christmas Punch
It's that time of year and this is a girl drink we can all rally behind. I came upon this when Jill told me to have a Cran and Vodka and we didn't have any Vodka. I debuted it at my annual Christmakah party last night.
1 shot Rum (any kind)
2 shots Cranberry Juice
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
I always thought Angostura smelled like Christmas, it just took the right setting to bring the Christmas cheer.
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