Brewed Musings

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Cup of Green Tea

There is a discussion brewing (no pun intended) within our local swing dance scene on steps we need to take rebuild our community. As always, a topic such as this brings out some very good suggestions and some not so good. And despite the fact that we all cannot agree on everything, we must remember that there are two important factors that are coming out: one is that there is open discussion, and two, that people care about their local communities.

There is a similar conversation going on amongst brewers within the brewing community, especially considering the crisis regarding hop and grain prices and the lack of farmers growing both. The other day, while we were brewing the Glen Hay Falconer Legacy Brew, a few of us touched on the topic. Christine from Craft Brew Cast asked me specifically about my essay which helped win the Falconer Scholarship. A lot of what I wrote was specifically about how we as brewers must take more interest in the smaller things in brewing like grain and hop farmers. We do well within the craft brewing industry with marketing, maintaining the community of brewers, and educating the general public. But the time has come now where we as brewers must be more involved not only with the farmers, but also the local community around our specific brewers.

I grew up in a small, rural community. What I took away from that upbringing was the value of business owners helping out the community when it was down on its luck. People I recognize and admired were men and women like the grocery store owner, the local publican, and the restaurateur. These people went out of their way to help people in times of crisis. How did we repay them? By giving them business even though something cheaper was a mere 7 miles away. We in the community, at least the new breed that seems to be coming up, are very aware of this need as business owners and brewers. Roots Organic, for example, are donating some of the profits from the sale of one of their beers to help with a local watershed. And now with the grain and hop prices the way they are, we as brewers and owners must take more responsibility in those areas.

I wrote in my essay about my admiration for the owner of Stumptown Coffee Roaster. He goes to every farm and inspects it thoroughly. Everything from quality of the bean to the conditions the workers endure. If one thing is wrong, he will not buy the coffee. He was on record for paying the most per pound for a crop of coffee beans. It is this aspect that I believe brewers and brewery owners must actively pursue. We must go to the farmers of the grain and the hops, meet them and take interest in their work. We should be willing to pay them more so in turn they can plant more, make more, and earn a living. If they saw us as a face and not as an image, they may be more willing to help us out and not plant corn instead of barley. We should take care of our own.

So as I was walking my dog, contemplating the plight of the local swing dance community, I could not help but think of what we as brewers need to do to help rebuild our community. People can only handle so much globalization and mass marketing before they realize their identity is being stripped. I think I have been on my high horse long enough. I will get off now because I think I have developed some saddle sores. Support your local businesses.

Prost!

the confucian brewer (soon to lose his anonymity.)

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Half Litre of Surly Fest Bier (Psst! Find it and get Surly!)

Let me get this out of the way right now because I am quite sure it has not crossed your mind, but I am paranoid that it has and want to explain. Over the months of July and August, I was the only brewer in a two-brewer brewhouse due to an injury to the other brewer. I took it upon myself to make sure that production did not halt during this time, therefore I was working 6 days a week brewing 5 or 6 times during the week. To give you an idea of the epic size of this task, on average I would brew 3 times/week, 12 times/month. In this two month span I brewed 39 times - three months of production smashed into two months. Needless to say I was tired and the idea of talking or writing about beer fell to the wayside. Oh, I still drank beer! I will always find a way to enjoy a pint here and there regardless of how much work I complete. With that long and drawn out explanation, let’s get on with the topic of the day: Favourite brewers not favourite beers.

It is inevitable a person ask we in the brewing community what our favourite beer or beer style is when they find out we brew for a living. If I had a nickel (I hate pennies, get rid of ‘em! 99 cents my arse!) for every time someone came up to me and asked me my favourite beer I would have enough money to start my own brewery. Maybe I should start asking for a nickel…Hmmmm…Anyway, most brewers, if they are sincere, will agree that their favourite beer is the one in their hands at the time - one of the many things we brewers have learned from the great (British) Michael Jackson. My friends have learned over the years to wait for me to order before they decide.

For me it is doubly hard to answer this question because my tastebuds play tricks on me almost every other week. I swear! I must have gotten my mom’s lust for chocolate in beer form. An example came just the other day while I was riding home. As I turned the corner, a very dangerous corner making this revelation even more amusing, my mind turned to a German Sausage and a litre of Oktoberfestbier. This was completely out of the grey (now that it is October in Oregon, blue equals grey.) My favourite beer can go from Walking Man’s IPA to Ninkasi Believer to Saison du Pont to Hidden Treasure Alt (I had to throw one of my own in there for promotion!)

So, naturally, when someone approached me and asked me to give them my top 3 favourite beers, I smiled a shy little smile and told them that was impossible. “I could geek out and give you a small list of my favourite brewers. But my favourite beers changes more often than the seasons.” Apparently she was not interested in learning about the people who make my favourite quaff, just about the quaff itself. But you are somewhat of a captive audience, so I can enlighten you friendly folk out there in cyberland. And by enlighten, I mean bore.

For me, and any who know me already have heard this, the beers, at least the beers I tend to drink, are really just an artistic extension of the person who makes it. Unlike the commercial breweries like Miller and St. Louis Bud, the microbrew industry tends to be less concerned with reaching the largest body of consumers. The brewers in my industry seem to be more concerned with making a more flavourful brew. These brewers brew what they like to drink. And, in doing so, their brews are steeped with a bit of their art. Leave it to me to make something as simple as a favourite brew into something deep and complex. I can see all my friends rolling their eyes, saying to themselves, “Here he goes again…Want to go shoot some darts til he is done?”

Unlike the concerts I made you wait months for, my favourite brewers are not in any kind of order. They are just names that pop into my head when I ponder the utmost important question to any brewer, “If you could have one last beer before you die, who would you want to brew it.” Actually I just made that question up. Stay with me people…

The brewers I tend to enjoy a lot are the ones that inspire me and challenge me to skew my already tight lines of brewing. My favourite, at least for now, is Thomme Arthur of Lost Abbey Brewing in Southern California. He does some amazing things with his brews that I am left speechless every time I have one. Currently, my last beer before I pass on would be Lost Abbey Avant Garde. But after Thomme, there are other brewers just as influential to me like John Maier from Rogue Brewing in Newport, OR, or Alan Sprints of Hair of the Dog here in Portland, or Sam Caglione of Dogfish Head Brewing back east. Finally there is one brewer in town that I know on a more friendship level that, without his knowledge, inspires me and challenges me even more than Tomme and that is Jason McAdam at Roots Organic Brewing. I have known Jason for 5 years and he never ceases to amaze me.

Well, I think I have bored you enough with this jibber-jabber. Besides, my dog, Tess, has been waiting patiently for a walk and is right now doing her best imitation of a kangaroo. Damn! It does feel good to be writing about beer again. Thankfully I now have another brewer to torment back at the brewery, giving me more time to torment you in my most unusual way. Hopefully I have given you brew for thought and you will think about the man or woman who brewed your beer. Ask to see them next time you go to your favourite brewing establishment. But, please, do NOT ask them about their favourite beers. I need your nickels!

Prost!

the good-to-be-back confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: There is not one for this instance…

O.K. I must get on my soapbox because I have not in a while and I have been touched by a column written by Shaun Powell of New York Newsday. (Thanks to Dan Patrick, who was maligned on his show today, for bringing this column to my attention.)

When I was in grade school growing up in Waterford, Wisconsin, I was called “N- Lips” by many of my class mates, only to find out years later that my brother was also called this. I was too young to really understand what the N-word meant, but I knew it was bad. Several years later my brother and I were riding our bikes home from getting some baseball cards when he told me he had gotten one of my favourite players on a card. I, in turn, called him a son-of-a-bitch. He immediately reprimanded me and told me that by using it I was calling our mother a bitch, which obviously was not my intention. I have never used that phrase again towards another human being…swearing while alone in the brewery…yes…not at another living person.

By the time I had gotten into my senior year in high school I became very intolerant of any kind of discrimination. My dad used the N word in front of me and I immediately got up from my chair, pointed at him, and told him to never use that word in front of me again. Days later he thanked me. I have yet to hear that word from him since. One of my ex-girlfriend’s brothers used that word one too many times and got punched in the stomach…by me. Of course I felt bad…still do because I do not find violence as the key to solving life’s problems. And if you think it is just the N word or bitch that chaps my skin, you are wrong.

My best friend, Charity, was a lesbian and she taught me to never use the word “dyke.” I was not using it at all but had heard people at work using it. If it was not for her, I would not have been able to tell one of my co-workers and friends to not use the word. Of course their response is, “Why not? I hear lesbians use it all the time. Why is it o.k. for them and not us?” I then tell them that it is not o.k. for them to use it, but we are talking about you and I.

Shaun Powell had the courage to write down what I had been thinking for decades. Gay men should not use the word “faggot.” When Eminem said he was not a homophobe for using the same word because he was using it as a put down of other rappers, we as a society should have said, “So what! It is still wrong!” All these words come from ignorance…Faggot, Dyke, Nigger, Chinqs, etc. Gay men using Fag, black men using the N word may take the word’s power away from the dominant society of white males, but it is still a powerful word of dominance and ignorance. It definitely does not make it right.

I agree with Shaun Powell that it is through education that we overcome this malaise. Should Imus have been fired? Sure, but he should also have been made to use his last program to educate his listeners through the use of guests like Mr. Powell. Last night, I was asked if I thought a woman who had used the word faggot to describe John Edwards should be fired. I was not familiar with the woman at the time and kind of danced around the subject. But today I would say she should have been given the same treatment as Imus. The definition, the power of certain words will never change no matter what the context.

Of course I live in a Confucian dream world where everything can be solved through education. Imus’ listeners would still feel the same way if they got to hear people like Shaun Powell. We are always going to have an Imus. There will always be people who try to put someone down to build themselves up. My hope is that through education and simple thought we in society will only hear those others as a babbling brook in the background.

I must get off this box now because it cannot support my weight. Next time I will get an apple crate instead of a soapbox.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

PS: Thanks to all who have educated me, corrected me, and inspired me to stand up and speak.

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Hair of the Dog Doggie Claws 2005 (If you can find this beer, get it! Try the 2004 if you can as well.)

In a unfortunate decision by the Oregon Liquor Control Commission, minors will not be allowed onto the festival grounds for the Oregon Brewers Festival at the end of July, thus ending a tradition of 19 years. As I have found out, the topic can cause heated discussions about whether or not minors should be allowed at any beer festival. My argument is, regardless of whether or not you agree with the presence of minors at a beer festival, it should be up to the festival organizers to decide if they want to handle the extra “burden” of minors and not up to government organizations such as the OLCC. But, even though this horse of a topic was beaten to death on a different website, it is not what I wish to discuss today.

Believe it or not a minor in a pub is not as immoral, unhealthy, or irresponsible as one might think. I speak from experience on this topic. Much of what I know and some of the best parts of my personality were borne in the pub. A high respect for my elders and an ability to hold conversations with everyone from my father and mother to the complete stranger at the barstool next to me came from my time with my dad at the local pub. Also developed through my time in the pub was a quite healthy view on alcohol consumption and moderation. Finally, thanks to pub life, I developed a fondness for ethnic tradition and culture.

On any given Sunday, I could be found with my dad and his friends at either the Waterford Bowl, which doubled as a bowling alley and a pub, or at what was JD’s, a small pub on Main Street. From the time I walked in to the time I left, my soda glass was never empty and there was always a quarter for the pinball machine, Pac-man video game, or the dart board on the far wall. And, thanks to Mr. And Mrs. Malison at the Waterford Bowl, along with my family, I learned to use the words “please” and “thank you.” In fact I did not get my soda until I said those magic words.

Like many young ‘uns I was a very shy boy. But at the pub I was a local hero. My elders spoke to me like an adult. Well…a young adult. They treated me as one of the community. I loved sitting at the bar and talking with the old men. They told some of the best stories as they milked their beers and watched the Green Bay Packers lose yet another game. I heard war stories, stories of their youth, stories of marriages, stories of deaths of loved ones, stories of family. All the while I sat and sipped on my soda hanging on every word. Not only was I learning, but these people were getting something that they may not have gotten elsewhere…an interested ear. I was a wee tyke therapist. They gave me an education and I gave them the beloved ear of someone who actually cares.

Over this time I also began to develop a rather healthy view on the consumption of alcohol. Unlike most teenagers of my time, I did not drink until my late teens. And even when I did have a drink, it was at my house under adult supervision. I did not have the desire to drink partly because what I learned from my time at the pub. And while not every image from pub life was rosey, what picture from life ever is? I have seen my fair share of alcoholics and drunks. Show me a person who has not? The fact that my family trusted me enough to not shield me from it says a lot. In fact I think had I not spent the time at the pub with dear, old dad, if my parents did not trust me, if they did actually shield me from the “dregs” of alcohol consumption, the desire to drink at an earlier age may have reared its ugly head.

Finally, thanks to pub life, as well as the community within, I developed a great fondness for ethnic culture and tradition. For those who do not know, SE Wisconsin, especially Milwaukee and her surrounding areas, was settled by ethnic immigrants from Europe as late as the 1920s. The culture of Germans, Irish, Italians, and Poles could be seen and heard for as far as the eye can see and the ear could hear. And even though by my youth the German bier gartens were two to three generations past, the community fostered in those places could be found in the local pub where farmers gathered to discuss crops, workers gathered to unwind, the local off duty cop could sit next to the accountant down the street. Everyone knew everyone. Pubs, bier gartens, weddings, festivals, etc. were not truly about consuming mass amounts of alcohol as they were gathering places for the community. They were places to celebrate life and its ups and downs. There was nothing seedy about it. Nothing to be ashamed of. There was nothing to hide. The pub was as important as the butcher shop, the bakery, and gas station.

Today I find myself in an unusual situation. I am fighting to have minors present at the Oregon Brewers Festival. Foreign to me because I was not brought up in an environment where alcohol and its consumption was closeted. And while I may not “win,” I will be doing my part to foster change in how we view alcohol and its consumption so that my great-grandchildren can grow up in an age where drinking in moderation is an afterthought and pubs can go back to their original intent: a gathering place for the community.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice:  Lindemann’s Kriek Lambic (I just finished a book on brewing with wild yeasts…)

Soundtrack of the Day:  Seems to be Cool Blues by Jimmy Smith

Where to start.  O! Where to start!  As I walk the White Wonder all around town I find, or rather she finds, the remnants of a lazy society, a society whose greatest concern is consumption regardless of whether or not it reaches totality.  As we walk the wet streets she finds with the help of the finest nose this side of the Mississippi the scattered remains of food we toss out without regard to the ones who may pass.  She finds, in no particular order, pizza, fried chicken, bread pieces, taco bell, mcdonalds, old milk, slices of turkey, chicken or beef, etc. etc.  To this I yell at the top of my lungs, “It is called a fucking garbage can!  USE IT!”

It makes me glad to have the parents I have.  The extended parents of my family, the patrons of the local pub, the school teachers and principals, the shopkeeper, and the residents of the neighbourhood.  It is because of them I can use a trash can.  It is because of them I find myself using the words “Thank you” and “Please” without even thinking about it.  It is because of them I actually care about my neighbourhood to the nth degree.  It is because of them I have more respect for my elders, my neighbours, and the visitors to my neighbourhood.

Which actually brings me to Christmas and the encouragement I am glad to receive from my parents.  As I opened the gifts my mom and dad sent me this year, I was not hit with the thought “What the fuck is this? AND when will I ever use this?”  For as long as I can remember, my parents (and this includes Merry, Joe, and Charity’s Grandfather) have encouraged me to be whatever I want to be.  They have encouraged me to read and write, to study.  So while I opened up said gifts it struck me, “What other parent would encourage their kid’s geeky study in the history of Milwaukee?”  “What other parent would encourage their kid’s religious study of brewing?”

It is not that all parents don’t encourage their kids.  I am sure they do.  But I have seen far too many of them live vicariously through their children, pushing sports, medicine, law, or other glamourous position without a thought of what their children really want.  And don’t get me wrong, there were times where my parent were less than encouraging, but they did know when to let the wee duckling go off on their own.  And to that I say, it is their fault I am a geek.  Blame them!  Damn encouraging parents!

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: Anything but PBR!!!

At an early age I knew I was a different individual. As I said to a friend of mine at Thanksgiving, ‘I knew at an early age I was different. From second grade on I knew I had to either conform to the rest of my class and be popular, or take comfort in my different-ness and be ridiculed by everyone in my class and those who knew me.’ For those of you who have the benefit of knowing me, the second road was my choice regardless of how much I was ridiculed. And be sure, I took a lot. But tonight I hit a rut in the road I have constantly hit since moving to Portland. Some of my friends admitted they see me as a ‘hipster.’

As my family and close friends know, I do not do things to be ‘hip’ or ‘cool’, nor have I ever done such things. So when I heard this tonight I was hurt on a different level because I thought my friends knew me a bit better than that. Of course it is all classifaction and why would I care. On most levels I don’t because it is merely a classification. But on a different level, it goes beyond just a classification. It is the product of a surface generalization.

For those of you who do not know what may define a hipster I give you the following definitions which can be found on the internet:

Hipster - One who possesses tastes, social attitudes, and opinions deemed cool by the cool. (Note: it is no longer recommended that one use the term “cool”; a Hipster would instead say “deck.”) The Hipster walks among the masses in daily life but is not a part of them and shuns or reduces to kitsch anything held dear by the mainstream. A Hipster ideally possesses no more than 2% body fat.

or

Since the 2000’s, the word hipster has been redefined to refer to members of a different subculture. Modern hipsters are those devoted to ironic retro fashions, independent music and film, alternative comics, and other forms of expression outside the mainstream. They are often associated with indie culture.

More generally, trendsetters in fashion are sometimes called hipsters, though this use is distinct from the hipster subculture, whose fashion sensibilities are specific and not usually destined for the mainstream.

Granted I do wear clothes from second hand stores, and my glasses are ones made famous by Elvis Costello, and I am proud to be part of the counter-culture. BUT, I DO NOT DO THESE THINGS OR WEAR THESE CLOTHES OR BELIEVE WHAT I BELIEVE BECAUSE OF SOME FAD! I cannot remember the last time I did something to be popular or to look cool or to fit in. I wear second hand clothes because I cannot afford most of the clothes on the market today. I bought these glasses because they were the cheapest pair of frames that did not make me look like some moron from the middle ages. Most of the music I enjoy or have enjoyed since I was younger has spoken to me not because it was popular or hip, but because it literally ’spoke’ to me.

Hipsters will abandon their way of thought if another one comes along that will benefit them more. I on the other hand will never turn my back on my history. Hipsters think they are better than the rest of society because they are outside the norm. I am outside the norm because that is where I feel most comfortable. That is where I grew up. Plus I do not think I am better than the rest of society. I am just different. All this has made me who I am today…a Non Hipster-Hipster. If you ask my close friends if I am a hipster, the most common response is, ‘No way! You have too much class and intelligence to be a hipster.’ My friend from Milwaukee who now lives in the Rose City believes it is completely different here because being hipster in Portland is much different than being hipster in Milwaukee. In Milwaukee, we would be seen as just everday folk. In Portland, Milwaukee’s everyday folk would be considered hipsters.

I have been called a hippie by someone I know and it hurt because as a ‘beat’ I see hippie-ism as the counter culture that took a good idea and ruined it. Now being called a hipster, I question whether or not my friends really know me or why I do things. And it is not their fault. And it is not my fault. I am not yelling loud enough for them to hear. And they are not using their headphones to pick up on my subtle sounds. I guess I am wondering…does it take a hipster to know a hipster? Or will I ever embrace ‘hipster’ like I embrace ‘geek?’ Or even better, would ‘hipsters’ want to be ‘hipsters’ if they had to walk a mile in my shoes to be ‘hip?’ Probably not.

prost!

the confucian hipster

Clarification:  Apparently the joke is on me because my friends have cleared things up.  From now on I will remember that most of my friends keep the staightest faces when joking so you can never tell if they are serious or not.  So now the whole ‘hipster’ instance seems a lot funnier because they got me good.  Damn it!  

Brewed Beverage of Choice:  A Pint of Anchor’s Merry Christmas/Happy New Year 2006 Winter Ale

As I brewer I am often question as to why I am a brewer or what got me into brewing.  My first response because it is easiest and needs no further explanation is, ‘I am from Milwaukee, ’sconsin.’  You would be surprised as to how many people actually take that as my only answer.  Most people end the conversation saying, ‘That makes sense,’ or ‘Oh, so it is in your blood.’  But last night at the pub I shared a moment that helped define why I became a brewer.

Our brewery reached its 4000th brew in August and to celebrate it we held a Brewer’s Dinner to release it to the public.  Interested beer folk paid a certain price to hang out with the brewers, drink beer in the brewery which is a rare occurence, and have a wonderfully prepared meal paired with wonderfully prepared brews.  For three+ hours I got to be surrounded by simple folk who simply like beers and good food…people like me.

For those of you who know me personally, I do not do things for personal gains.  This includes brewing as a career.  I do things to see how it affects people, to see the smile on their faces when a good brew is consumed.  I brew because as a craftsperson I do my part to keep a culture on a path.  Brewing aids my immediate community.  My kids, if I have ‘em, can take over for me as I age (this includes ‘lil T in Saukville or my neice and nephew in their part of the world.)  My pub can be a place where the community can meet.  In Native American circles, it is called taking care of the Seventh Generation.  We do not do things for our generations.  What we do affects the Seventh Generation.

So as I was on the way to my front door, I thought to myself, ‘This is why I became a brewer.’  It is as simple as that.  There is no shiny answer.  There is no glamourous answer.  I am a brewer for YOU.  And I hope that my product reflects that.  So go hug a brewer today…and enjoy their fine wares.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Oatmeal Stout from Goose Island

While perusing my list of blogs to read I came across this story worth reading.

CAMRA’s attempt to save local community pubs

or CAMRA’s story link

The vision of my brewpub, when I get the chance to open it, is similar to those local community pubs in the UK. It will stress more involvement in the community and be a place for the locals instead of being just another brewpub. Many of my fondest memories as a child growing up in a SMALL farming town in Wisconsin were spent in the local pub/bowling alley.

Unfortunately the pubs are following the trend of other business by becoming a “consistent”, large business aimed at pleasing a wide variety of people. Rock Bottom comes to mind. The beauty of the local pub is it is a mirror of the people and visions of the community surrounding the pub. For example, I live in Buckman in Portland. It is a blue collar , somewhat liberal neighbourhood just outside of downtown. The pubs, bakeries, and coffee houses try very hard to be “players” in the neighbourhood, and the locals thank them by going to their establishment.

In the small towns this is more important. I am saddened by the fact that Hardee’s/Carls Jr, Pick ‘n Save, and Starbucks have invaded the peace of Waterford, Wisconsin. Now my hometown has the same feel as Burlington and East Troy and the surrounding communties. It is not the same. Of course this falls into a greater philosophic argument that I do not have time for right now.

Please support your local businesses and farmers! They are far more important to your community than a Fast Food chain.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of Choice:  A Pint of Roots Toasted Coconut Porter (Stomach Thing-y finally gone!)

“Madmen govern our affairs in the name of order and security. The chief madmen claim the titles of general, admiral, senator, scientist, administrator, Secretary of State, even President. And the fatal symptom of their madness is this: they have been carrying through a series of acts which will lead eventually to the destruction of mankind, under the solemn conviction that they are normal responsible people, living the lives, and working for reasonable ends. Soberly, day after day, the madmen continue to go through the undeviating motions of madness: motions so stereotyped, so commonplace, that they seem the normal motions of normal men, not the mass compulsions of people bent on total death.” [Why do we allow these madmen to] “go on with their game without raising our voices?  There is a reason:  we are madmen, too…Our failure to act is the measure of our madness.” - Lewis Mumford, “Gentlemen:  You Are Mad” (1946)

I came across this quote as I was riding the train to work this morning and it occurred to me that Lewis Mumford could have easily been speaking about the events in this decade rather than the onset of the nuclear age of the mid to late 1940s.  The most important part of the quote to me is not about the madmen running around the hallowed halls of our government.  It is the part about our “madness” for not acting on the measures in front of us.

For the past few years I have made the statement to many of my friends that the decade of the 2000s is truly the 1960s without balls.  We are Eunuchs castrated by fear brought on by the McCarthy-istic Patriot Act.  It shames me to admit that I am one of these Eunuchs.  We were given a chance to look inward after 9/11 and we chose to look the other way.  We have had chances to stop what has been progressing, but have failed to get up as much as a burp.  We want to do something, but have no courage to stand up for what is right.  If our society were the student at Tiananmen Square, we would have run far away from the tank.

But lately I have been kind of re-phrasing my comments.  I still believe we are a society of eunuchs paralyzed by fear.  But if we are a mirror to any decade it is the fifties: the decade of McCarthyism; the decade of the burgeoning arms race with the Soviets; the decade of the suburbs and financial prosperity in the middle class.  But even with the modifications we are Eunuched grandchildren of the fifties because we do not have the Beats as our social conscious.

So far the best I have come up with as my revolt are the “What we need is another …” phrases which I use to raise awareness to our lack of action.  What we need is another Malcolm X!  What we need is another Cesar Chavez!  What we need is another Beat Movement!  It may be small, but it can be effective.

So I got off the train with a lot on my mind.  If we truly are a mirror image of the fifties and things go cyclical, well then I guess the revolution is coming.  Let us hope it as promising and we can all hop on the train as it passes.

Prost!

the confucian brewer

Brewed Beverage of (non)Choice: A Cup of Echinacea Tea - I have a stomach thing-y

The other day as I was riding into work on the train I decided that my mind needed some time off after months of deep, progressive thought.  During this time of thoughts my mind was devouring such topics as Lewis Mumford’s organic regionalism philosophy on urban planning; how silly it is for our Republican Governor Nominee, Ron Saxson, to propose a perfomance pay initiative for teachers - something the Teacher’s Union would never support; and the sociology of the pub.  But my mind became full and so I decided it could take some time off, unknowingly mere hours before the affects of a stomach flu hit me.

And so I thought I would give you a picture of what my mind immediately latched onto right as I stepped off the train with my bike.  Not only will you see how demented I can be, but how much pop culture can seep into anyone’s conscious.  I will lead you into the whole scene because there is no other way without the use of video…and there is no way Matt Groening is going to give me authorization to show that.

Bart Simpson is in a Forestry Ranger Station standing before the figure of Smokey the Bear.  Smokey here is being used as an interactive education device.  On the stand in front of him are two buttons: one labeled “you” and one labeled “me.”  And so the following begins…

The figure of Smokey says, “Only who can prevent forest fires?”  Bart looks at the stand and presses the button labeled “you.”  The figure of Smokey responds, “You have answered you, referring to me.  That is incorrect.  The correct answer is you.”

And so you have an even better idea of how strange I can be.  I tell you it is a lot funnier in my head.  And now back to my stretch of recouperation.

Prost!

the confucian brewer