The Session #111: Round Up (Part 2)

I apologize thoroughly to the writers I left hanging by delaying this second part of the Session round-up. Like I said on Twitter, I have lots of excuses, but none of them are very good, so I’ll just say I’m sorry.

Anyway!

Quick recap: Inundated by politics and petty internet squabbles, beer had me feeling lower than lager yeast. I asked the internet if it was just me, or a larger trend. A bunch of people in the first round-up seemed to think it was just me, but what say the other bloggers?

Tom Bedell, beer and golf enthusiast extraordinaire, writes about his own early beer-life crisis and run in with the dread pirate Ralph Lauren, which lead to him taking off his beer writing hat for some time. A bit like me, he thought the sickness ran a little deeper, affecting his wont to write at all. The good news though, is that he never stopped drinking…er…”researching” beer, as the passion that was temporarily sucked out of his pen, never seemed to get sucked out of his glass. Unlike us whiny millennials, Tom’s got the luxury of perspective to help keep him grounded:

“I have a long view, after all, and remember when things were at a nadir. I’m far from jaded about the existing profusion of choice, although also unlikely to be bedazzled by the next new thing.”

He closes with some musing about being a specialist or generalist, something I think a lot of niche writers struggle with. It’s good to see Tom finding his stride though (he’s writing a book!), as it gives me hope that I’ll find mine. The last line of his post might be the best line of all the entries (no offense to the other wonderful writers), as it speaks to why beer matters, or should matter, or shouldn’t be a chore:

“I find beer more enjoyable placed in a wider context, where it engages, or blends in, with more aspects of one’s endeavors, interests and enthusiasms. I suspect if I ever tire of beer in that sense, then I’ll be tired of life.”

Friend of the program, Doug Smiley, came out of beer blogging retirement to answer my cry for existential help. He describes his own tendency to go all-in on a topic, until he’s had his fill, at which point he quits cold-turkey. That’s not how my brain functions, but I know other people a lot like Doug, and I respect ones ability to know exactly what you want for how long you want it, because the flip side is holding onto worthless stuff and feeling bad that you can’t let go of it. Doug describes the come-down from his beer binge, explaining how he used to keep up with blogs and news site until he realized that a vast majority of it was repetitious and shallow. I can’t disagree with that (seriously, no more articles about cans please please please). I do, however, disagree with the idea that it’s not the writers, but the topic that’s limited:

“And it’s not necessarily a case of the people writing about this stuff being bad writers it’s just that the topic is limited. Salsa bloggers would have the same issue. Maybe we should all take our cue from the Salsa blogosphere and ask ourselves if we really need daily coverage of a food stuff?”

I think this is a matter of lazy or unadventurous writers coupled with publications that won’t take a risk on any article that won’t generate clicks, more so than beer being limited. There are outlets producing wonderful, well researched and written beer stories, but those get lost in the sea of listicles and fluff. Tom Bedell’s quote above resonates with how broad beer can be, with the right context and the right writer. Oh god I just said can. It’s happening to me too.

Regardless, I appreciate Doug’s honesty and candid approach. I think he’s right that we’ve gotten a little carried away with romancing the hops, and that some (most?) people don’t need sociological or scientific analysis to drink and enjoy their beer.

The next entry comes from Draft Magazine, which is awesome in and of itself. Zach Fowle answered my question with a resounding “no, it’s not the industry, it’s you,” suggesting what I was feeling was a “natural stage in the life cycle of a beer geek.” The rest of his piece cleverly outlines the stages, and what one might experience at each stage, which is a great idea and something I really wish I had written. The four stages, Birth, Adolescence, The Crisis (me), and Maturity, are pretty damn apt, and you should really just pop on over to Draft to read the whole thing yourself.

My favorite line, which speaks to this topic directly, comes from The Crisis phase:

“I think you have to approach beer differently. You have to rekindle the love of beer by reevaluating what excites you about it, and generally that’s not driving across state lines to try a few sips of draft-only, no-growler whalez.”

My Montana buddy Alan offers his own mini re-cap of the Session to kick off his exploration of beer burnout. He’s not having a crisis, he says, but admits that he needed a break from writing about beer. I like the idea, as I’ve always found breaks useful, too – a day or two off from running rejuvenates, a day or two off learning a new piece of music somehow helps the melody sink further into your brain. In typical Oliver style, I had over analyzed my sagging enthusiasm, and probably gave it more credence than it deserved, but Alan set me right:

“It’s not so much a midlife crisis as a useful pause. Somewhere in converting from “fan-boy” to knowledgeable, objective observer, there are many choices to be made about how to continue writing about beer.”

Alan goes on to explain that his understanding of beer has changed dramatically since he first started his journey in the 1990s. Which makes sense, because the whole industry has changed, too. His new perspective of the importance of simple quality over hype has brought him back around to writing about beer, and he hopes his readers will respect that his time off will lead to better writing. He’s also looking for help nailing the Belgian character in his homebrew, which leads me to…

…the Belgiany and phenolic Chris Barnes of I Think About Beer! He describes his own issues with the culture that drag his optimism through the mud, mainly cynicism and entitlement (of which, there is way too much to go around in the beer community). I think a lot of my own disillusionment came from interactions with the type of people who would rather condescend than converse, so it’s nice to hear that I’m not the only rampant optimist annoyed by those hop garblers. Chris goes on to describe the niche he found as he settled into consistent writing, and how that niche presented him with some wonderful opportunities, personally and vocationally. He echoes a lot of what other people have said in his closing advice:

“To me, it’s less about each individual beer but what that beer led me to: friends, community, and passion.”

Dave, of AnnArborBeer.com, opens his post with Sam Calagione’s “99 percent asshole-free” quote (which I should also note Alan used, and disagreed with too), but suggests it might need updating:

“Craft beer’s exponentially increasing popularity has brought a host of new people into the fold, and when one takes a look at the larger beer community these days, one has reason to suspect that Calagione’s estimate may need to be adjusted downward.”

His take, which he worries borders on curmudgeon status (I don’t think it does), is a refreshingly honest and candid tirade about how silly a lot of beer trends are. His break down laments the sameness of a lot of “fad beers” and a community who routinely puts rarity and novelty over quality and heritage. Dave and I share at least one of these beliefs: beer is made for drinking, not storing or coveting or using to boost one’s ego:

“All those pictures of your Founders KBS bottles or Alchemist Heady Topper cans you post to Facebook groups? No one cares. It’s beer, not a status symbol.”

Dave’s piece seems to be touching on another common thread: a lot of beer burnout comes from dealing with the worst kinds of people in the community. He worries it’s him (as I did), but maybe, just maybe, it’s actually them. If so, overcoming boils down to having a thicken online skin or rising above the less savory people that will inevitably join the industry as it gets more popular. Either way, Dave, I don’t think you’re an old grouch, and even if you are, I’m starting to think curmudgeon is a synonym for wisdom, not bitterness.

The last entry in this Session comes from Derrick Peterman, of Ramblings of a Beer Runner. He opens with an admission that he’s been through an actual real life crisis, one he couldn’t even resolve with an expensive sports car. He segues into a discussion of the natural waxing and waning of enthusiasm for things you love, in his case, running. I run too, and can very much relate with the off and on love affair of destroying one’s knees while improving one’s heart. Derrick’s description of running (and how even with enhancements in shoes and tech, remains pure and simple) draws a whimsical parallel for my love of the basics of beer:

“the sport still retains it’s simplicity of putting one foot in front of the other and repeating this over and over again to propel yourself as fast as you can over some distance.”

Ultimately, despite any crises or slight down turns in energy, he finds talking to brewers and developing an understanding of the complicated reality of beer as a business drives him and keeps him motivated. I can get behind that idea.

So I understand why lots of people, possibly including our host Oliver, might find themselves less committed to beer than they used too.  And that’s OK.  But as for me, just like running, my relationship with beer is constantly changing, but has never been stronger.

I’d like to thank everyone who contributed to this iteration of the Session, and apologize again for taking so long to finish my recap. I plan to participate in Boak and Bailey’s 113th Session tomorrow, as the topic is equal parts investigatory and voyeuristic. You should join in too!

The Session #111: Round Up (Part 1)

(Preamble: if the Session continues to stick around for a while, I think the submission period should be a week [first Friday of the month to second Friday of the month]. I got a lot of great entries well after the Friday deadline. 2 cents.)

I suppose I should have been a little clearer in my description of the Session topic. I wasn’t (as Stan Hieronymus hinted at) experiencing an actual mid-life crisis with existential meltdowns and brightly colored Corvettes. I’m only 30, and my life is pretty damn good. It was more a mid-hobby crisis. Fortunately, it seemed a topic lots of people wanted to discuss, and lead to some very thought provoking posts.

The good news: aside from a few outliers, pretty much everyone responded with, “It’s not beer, it’s you, Oliver. Get over it or get out of it.” It’s reassuring to hear, as it means the industry isn’t collapsing under its own weight, as I had oh so hyperbolically thought. It’s also reassuring on a personal level, as it means my own beer writing salvation is but some time and introspection away.

But I digress. Back to the matter at hand. We had sixteen (16!) entries this month. I did my best to corral all the entries from the different media streams, but my apologies if I missed you. Shoot me an email or tweet if I did, and I’ll amend the recap.

I’m also splitting this into two posts, as each roundup ran nearly ~1500 words and I don’t want to kill people with walls of text. Here we go!

Boak and Bailey, our blogger friends from across the pond, responded first, describing their version of lagging beer interest as a “Wobble” (with some excellent use of Willy Wonka lyrics to open). Despite being jaded, they weathered the wobble, and found their enthusiasm for the drink and industry revitalized. To those feeling wubbly or wibbly or wobbly, they suggest one of two courses of action: 1) “Leave the learning and exploring phase and enter steady state” (read: enjoy your beer and the fact that you know too much about it peacefully) or 2) “Embrace the mania fully” (and be “that” beer guy). I won’t deny the appeal of the first, but the second seems far more fulfilling, if a tad more annoying to your friends and family.

In what I believe is a Session first, Michael Kiser of Good Beer Hunting chimed in. Mr. Kiser flattered me enormously (yay!) but then directly disagreed with my assessment of the state of the beer union (boo! just kidding). He goes on to describe himself as ripe for an aforementioned actual mid-life crisis, but feels beer has been his agua de vida in ways, and his connections to the people that define the future of the industry are what keep him excited. An anecdote from the Craft Brewers Conference showed a natural juxtaposition between those who view new breweries as competition, and those who seem them as opportunity. As writers, we are the latter, and if Michael taught me anything here, it’s that I should ignore the political industry noise and embrace the new people and perspectives: “when they look across the tap lineup at their neighborhood bar, they don’t see AB or MillerCoors. They see you.”

On that note, Tom Cizauskas of “Yours for Good Fermentables” wrote a post titled simply: “Enjoy the beer, forget the hype.” Tom got this idea rolling early, with a comment on Alan McLeod’s reaction to my initial Session announcement:

“There’s beer as a business; beer as tax revenue; beer as science and technology; beer as one (small) study point in history; beer as an alcohol delivery system; beer as a diverting avocation. Each except the last is specific to a limited concern. A loss of interest in the last calls for a new hobby. There’s little semiotic about it.”

I want to thank Tom, as this is something I really needed to hear. I have a tendency to over-analyze and over-internalize, seeking meaning and the resulting epiphanies constantly, even where there might not be any. Especially related to those things I’m most passionate about. In his post, Tom encourages us to assuage our ennui by letting go – of “craft” and solipsistic declarations of identity – and instead “meditate on the joyful pleasure implied by the simple phrase: “Let’s go grab a beer.”” This is good advice that I plan to follow.

In his expected form, Alan McLeod gave us a post with a touch of history and some great insight, including this, which hit home for me:

“Good beer writing should be directly dependent on an interest in beer and brewing. But there seems, if social media reporting on tavern and bar attendance at #CBC16 is anything to go by, to be the idea that a commitment to daily strong drink is a requirement as well. Why is that?”

I find myself drinking much less these days, and if my thinking is aligned with that implied in Alan’s quote, perhaps that explains my disconnected feeling. But he makes a good point. You don’t need to be a lush to write about beer. In fact, clearer heads probably lead to better writing. He goes on to suggest that beer writing has been pigeon-holed and “framed too narrowly.” I can’t disagree.  His closing is wonderful advice for any beer writer, from newbie to veteran:

“Once you realize that you do not need to join the herd, you may see there is so much more to explore. Once you realize so much of what’s touted in the glass is overpriced yawn water you can detach yourself from the need to impress – or be impressed – and explore this massively rich but still largely untouched seam of human experience, the lode of beer and brewing.”

+100 internet points to Bryan Roth for being the only other blogger than me to use Lionel Richie lyrics in his Session post title. Given some time to digest the other entries first, Bryan noted how he’s actually feeling great about his place in the beer world, finally realizing that his remote pipe-dream of being a functioning member of the industry is now, some years later, a very near reality. He echoes Michael Kiser’s comments about 2000 new breweries meaning 2000 new opportunities to meet new people and see new places, and more and more space to grow and write about they myriad aspects of beer. Bryan is a perfect example of Boak and Bailey’s advice to embrace the mania. I dig it.

The Beer Nut (the special Irish variant, not to be confused with the 250,000 American imitations) opened his post with an acknowledgement that he has witnessed a steady thinning or his beer blog RSS feed. He then goes on to explain that he doesn’t feel his energy or enthusiasm waning, part in thanks to keeping “governing rules:” his regular posting schedule keeps him too busy to get introspective and worry about silly things like a beer mid-life crisis. As someone whose blogging schedule is little more than what comes to him in the shower that morning, I can’t help but envy his discipline. He even adheres to his own rules in the Session entry, giving us brief introductions to five Irish beauties. This particular line stuck with me, as I had blamed this concept in part for my flagging interests:

“the industry itself (at least in the US where Oliver is) seems to be suffering a bit of an upheaval. It’s hard to know where you stand as a fanboy blogger when your favourite brewery is liable to be snatched away from you by a grasping multinational”

Gary of “Beer et seq” noted that to him, keeping interest in beer is all about taste. Literally. Gustatorily. He posits that flavors define the mystery:

“It never really ends, there is always more to learn. The beer palate is the core of it for me.”

I agree with Gary. All manner of information and ideas can be derived from how any why a beer got to its final, taste-laden form. Going back to ones roots to focus on what matters (to you, specifically) is usually a healthy recommendation. I would more likely return to homebrewing and recipe building, but really, all things considered, that would just be the other side to the same coin: refining your love and continuing your search for those elusive, ideal tastes.

Barry Masterson (friend of the Beer Nut, and also an Irish expat living in Germany) says in his post a lot of what I’ve been feeling. Like me, he had many conflicting obligations (pesky “jobs” and “responsibilities”) going on in his life that kept him from going all-in on beer, until, as he puts it, “With my lack of time and money, to a degree it felt like watching from the outside.” It’s as if Barry took those words out of my brain and put them into his own. There’s nothing quite like being completely immersed in something then taking a step back for unrelated reasons, to make you feel like an impostor and outsider where you once felt part of the inner clique (weird and shallow, I know, but honest I hope). Also like me, Barry never actually lost the love his love for new beers or brewing in all of this, despite his cynicism. Barry closes with some good news: if I’m really anything like him, I’ll rebound soon enough, if not quite in the same capacity as I did before.

Tune in tomorrow for Part 2!

The Session #111: Are you there Beer? It’s me, Oliver

At 3:00 PM on a Thursday, I found myself almost alone in the local hombrew shop.

Maryland Homebrew is a popular store. I’m used to sharing the mills with several other people, chatting about recipes while waiting my turn to crack. The yeast fridge is often crowded by homebrewing newcomers searching for a specific strain, while veterans reach past them for tried and true favorites. On any given Saturday, the warehouse space in the back hosts a smattering of curious DIY brewers, all of them sitting, laughing, sipping, while they watch a pot boil.

But this time, short of the staff quietly going about their work, it was just me. Just me and all that potential beer.

I took some time. And I mean took it. Gathered it up in my hands and consumed it. Spent each minute purposefully, deliberately, methodically.

It had been too long since I’d taken some time to be with my hobby. The stresses and obligations of life had turned it into perfunction, another box to check so my brain wouldn’t keep me awake all night with constant reminders of unchecked boxes. I had, in a way, distorted my fun into a form of work, disfigured my avocation with nasty scars of predictable routine.

I let the Maris Otter tumble through my fingers into the whirring maws of the mill. The exposed starch piled up in pillowy white hills. As I waited, I popped a few kernels into my mouth.

The next day, I brewed. Ten gallons, split into two batches of five. The batches are wedding bound; a simple Amber and Brown requested by the bride and groom, respectively. I normally brew alone, but my mom, staying with me before her trip to England, played an eager Igor. She’d had my beer before, but never actually participated in the brewing.

She asked questions I’ve long filed away as “known;” reminding me clearly of how much beer- and brewing-related information I’ve squirreled away in this caffeine addled brain. But her naivety was refreshing, if not down right rejuvenating. There stood a 59 year old woman who has seen and traveled and tasted the world, asking me, in earnest with sparkling curiosity, about the very basics of brewing beer.

And with that, on my front porch, drinking a Yuengling, stirring in an eye-balled half ounce of centennial hops, my heart broke. I saw in my mom myself, the me of 10 years ago, when all this brewing stuff was shiny and new. A version of me all but gone, replaced by some jaded asshole who thinks too highly of himself.

I had forgotten why. Why any of this mattered to me. What a hand-me-down kettle, some malt extract, and a dirty party tap on an old Coca-Cola corny meant to me when I first got it into my brain that I was qualified or skilled enough to make something as delicate as beer.

Forgotten all those hilarious stories of growing up with a dad who made his own beer-of-questionable-quality. Lost, in the wheel-spinning bullshit of Tweets and petty internet squabbles, the fact that I fundamentally love creating beer.

I’d let the demons of politics and pride in, stood by idly as they painted the walls, rearranged the furniture, and created a space I was no longer comfortable in.

And then I had the audacity to blame anything but myself.

It’s a weird thing to rediscover a wayward portion of yourself. Like firing up an old video game and finding a save file that you made, years ago, but having only vague recollections of what you did in the game to get to that point.

I just fired up that old save. I’m a little lost as to where I am exactly, but I do remember how to play this game.

Let’s just hope I can actually beat it, this time.

Announcement – The Session #111: Surviving a Beer Midlife Crisis

The Session, a.k.a. Beer Blogging Friday, is an opportunity once a month for beer bloggers from around the world to get together and write from their own unique perspective on a single topic. Each month, a different beer blogger hosts the Session, chooses a topic and creates a round-up listing all of the participants, along with a short pithy critique of each entry. Sean Inman, of Beer Search Party, hosted the 110th session which involved lots of beer and lots of Twitter. You should check it out!

It’s been over two years since I hosted the Session, and I’ve been admittedly spotty in my participation when other people host. But I’m back!

This time with something a little less…odd…than last time.

Full disclosure: I don’t work in the beer industry. OK, yes, sometimes I get paid to write about beer, but that money does not my livelihood make. Despite pouring myself into brewing and beer culture for the last 6 years, I remain little more than an overly involved consumer.

I think that’s true about a lot of bloggers and beer writers. Some may work directly for breweries or distributors or behind the till in a beer store, but a lot of us toil in vocational worlds apart, spending our free time and free dollars on what can only (by definition) be called a “hobby.”

Recently, I’ve found my interest in said hobby waning. The brilliant luster of new beers and new breweries looks now, a few pounds heavier and a bunch of dollars lighter, more like dull aluminum oxide.

The thing I have embraced so fully and spent so much time getting to know and love, suddenly seems generally, unequivocally: meh. It’s like I’ve been living a lie, and everything I’ve done is for not. I’m having a beer mid-life crisis, yo.

Maybe it’s the politics of purchasing or selling. Maybe the subculture has peaked. Maybe this is the natural progression of a hobby that has no real tie to the industry behind it.

Maybe I’m way off the mark, and this whole thing is just a figment of my imagination.

But I’m willing to bet it’s not. All that talk of beer bubbles might prove true, but instead of a dramatic *pop* we’ll might see a slow deflation followed by a farting noise as some of the air leaks out and the hobbyist move on the spend their time and dollars elsewhere. It’s impossible to see the future, but if my fall from rabid beer fanboy to dude-who-drinks-beer-and-sort-of-wants-to-be-left-alone is indicative of a trend, I’ve got some signs to make a doomsaying to do.

What say you?

Do you find it hard to muster the same zeal for beer as you did a few years ago? Are you suffering through a beer-life crisis like I am? If so, how do you deal with it?

If not, put me in my place!

Post your responses in the comments of this post on Friday, May 6th, or tweet them to @OliverJGray. I’ll do a round up on the 16th so if you’re a little less than punctual, no worries.

I’m really looking forward to hearing everyone’s perspective. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me in the comments, on Twitter, or at literatureandlibation at-sign google mail dot com.

 

Nom De Bier – Starr Hill Habañero King of Hop by Donald J. Trump

This is entry #3 in the series “Nom de Bier” – good beer reviewed by famous auth…er…people (as emulated [or parodied] by me). I do not claim to speak for these authors, nor am I an expert scholar in their particular style, so please feel free to correct/admonish as you see fit.

The following is a transcript of Donald Trump’s rally at the 2016 Great American Beer Festival:

(Patriotic, 80s inspired rock music plays loudly)

ANNOUNCER: Good evening ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the next president of the United States of America: Donald J. Trump!

(Applause)

TRUMP: This is so. So incredible. Beautiful. Really.

(Applause)

We…we have had, no matter where we go…you know, it’s a movement, folks. This beer thing is a movement.

Well first off, let me just say, and people love this about me, but I know beer. I’ve been around a lot – to so many places, Germany, England, I have a jet. And you know people know me as a beer person. I’ve had all the beers. So many beers. Even ones that no one else has heard of. I know. That’s the thing. I know beer.

(Applause)

It came out recently that we’re at 4000 breweries. Four thousand! We had to send 700 breweries away. We have by far the most breweries. It’s not even a contest.

Can you believe it? All these babies crying about it and the media telling lies. You can’t believe it. You can’t believe the lies. Brewing business is huge. It was a mess but now it’s gonna be huge. We’re gonna make American beer great again.

HECKLER: “American beer is already great!”

(Boos from crowd, Trump signals to security)

TRUMP: Can we get that guy out of here? Jeez.

(Eruption of applause)

You know it’s always the same thing with these people. Unemployment is eighteen percent. Twenty percent. And these guys whine about jobs. The brewing industry made jobs. And we’re gonna create even more jobs. Even Greg Koch called me – he’s a good friend, he loves me – and he said Donald you know what you’re doing is amazing. It’s a movement. And we’re gonna talk about it. Love that guy. Beards are great.

(Applause)

But we gotta be tough with these people. You know. We gotta take back brewing. No more imports. There are eleven million imports in this country and they’re stealing sales from American beers. When Mexico sends beers, it’s not sending its best beers. They’re not sending American IPAs. They’re sending beers with lots of problems. They’re sending lagers. They’re clear bottles. And some, I assume, are good beers.

And how are we gonna fix it?

(Crowd shouts in unison, “Ball!”)

That’s right, we’re gonna make them can their beer with Ball®! We’re gonna make Mexican breweries pay for Ball® too. People say it can’t be done, but we can do it. America can do it. We’ll work with Ball®. Working with Ball® will create jobs. Should only cost, what, maybe four dollars. I can do it for less. Cans are cheap. Maybe three dollars. And there will be a truck from Ball. We get rid of all the imports, and only let the best ones back in.

(Eruption of applause)

But that’s just a start. We need American breweries to win again. None of this second to China. China. American beer will win again. People wanna hear the truth, so we’re gonna talk about that too.

We have a disaster called the big lie – distribution, distribution. Yesterday it came out that costs are going, for people, up 39, 39, 49 and even 55 cents a six pack. The price of bombers is through the roof. You literally have to get hurt during a brewery tour and sue to afford anything, it’s virtually useless. It’s ridiculous. un-American.

(Applause)

But there’s beer here, good beer. That’s cheap and not made by China. I know because I have tasted all the beers. When I was in Virginia – great state, great people. Virginians love me. I got this beer from Charlottesville. It’s got peppers. Peppers. Peppers in beer. Only in America. It says “king” on it, so you know I like it.

(Laughter)

It’s good. You know. Big. Bold. American. There are hops. So many hops. This beer isn’t a sissy loser. You won’t see Hillary Clinton drinking this beer. She’d say “ooooh, it’s too spicy” and the lie and say it wasn’t spicy. It’s spicy.

(Mr. Trump pantomimes Mrs. Clinton waving her hand in front of her mouth to cool it down, followed by laughter and applause)

OK. OK. You know? I’m just saying this beer is good for America. What? It’s a great beer. I know great beer. Seven point five percent. That’s huge. Huge. Better than our GDP under Obama. It’s a winner and we’re all gonna win soon.

(Applause)

Bernie Sanders, President Obama, I highly think you should drink this beer quickly. It might teach you something about America, OK. You know, America? But the media won’t report this. They hate me, the media. They hate the truth. Very dishonest people. Print this. Print this. Drink this beer. It’s American. Not an import. We don’t want imports here. Drink this beer. They won’t print that.

(Laughter, applause)

But don’t sit back and just say, Donald Trump is doing well. Trump will save breweries. The more we can win by, you know, the more power we have in a sense, because it’s like a mandate. But you have got to go out and buy beer. And I will tell you this. It has been an honor to be here, I love this beer, I love the people here. It’s been an honor.

But we will make America great again, I promise. Thank you.

(Uproarious applause and yelling, partially drowned out by patriotic 80s inspired rock music)

Grammarian’s note: I reviewed transcripts and videos of Trump’s recent debates and rallies, and found several consistent syntactical patterns. His grammar is canonically wrong in many ways, but his off-the-cuff speaking style masks a lot of errors until you actually see them written down in transcripts. He relies heavily on repetition, single word fragments, unqualified superlatives, and simple sentences. The language tends to be vague and full of generalities, and because he rarely uses transitive verbs, feels plodding and choppy. When he does use compound or complex sentence structure, it’s usually with periodic, middle-branching sentences that include non sequitur information. Occasionally, he will structure a sentence with an introductory clause or phrase, but then not finish the thought syntactically, ending abruptly before moving on to the next sentence. There’s also a lot that is difficult to classify, so I’ll just say it reads sort of like Hemingway if he’d recently been struck in the head by a tire iron.

Beer Packaging: What Other Metals Cannot, Aluminum Can

A new brewery opens, or an old brewery rebrands. They announce a new line-up with a regionally appropriate IPA. The internet hums with marketing and social media buzz.

A press release goes out: they’re putting their beer in cans.

This, by itself, is unremarkable. As Tom Acitelli notes in his All About Beer article from 2013, Oshkosh Brewing (no affiliation to the clothing, I don’t think) released a red “craft” lager in cans in 1991. Oskar Blues has been putting its Colorado born beer into cans since 2002. Budwesier has probably the longest (still existing) pedigree for canning beer, as its first cans date back to 1936. In the time it took modern beer to “rediscover” the can, those original cans could have been recycled ~680 times. Canning isn’t exactly hot-n’-trendy in the harsh light of historical accuracy.

The Aluminum Association (yes, that’s a real thing) notes that over 500 breweries are now canning over 1700 products. People seem stuck on this move to pop tabs over bottle caps, perpetually repeating the same canned cliches: cans protect against light and oxygen exposure, are lighter and more portable, are cheaper and more sustainable, and don’t shatter into a million potential wounds when dropped onto a hard surface. These are all good things and I admit I sometimes prefer my beer in cans and hooray for options.

But this focus on how we’re using cans often ignores the fact that cans are incredible. From a scientific and engineering standpoint, at least.

Aluminum (a periodic element; #13 if we’re being specific [which we are]) is the most common metal found in the Earth’s crust (8.23%). That sounds like a geologists smorgasbord until you realize that it is never found in a “free” state, and always exists as a compound of some other junk. Those compounds are called “alums.” Not only do these alums not have to field donation calls from their alma mater twice a month, they also contain trivalent metal ions, which basically means they’ve got metal in ‘um, but the metal is naturally hard to get at.

For most of human history, aluminum did not exist. We had managed to discover many other metals that exist in a free state (gold, silver, copper), and were inventive enough to realize that by melting rocks, we could get at other, less obvious metals. We even got smart enough to start blending them together, which lead to the first alloys, like steel (iron and carbon). Say what you want about our ancestors, but you have to admit they were pretty igneous…sorry, ingenious…when it came to rocks.

Up until 1787, the world relied mostly on nickel and iron for all of its metallurgic needs. But some plucky scientists noticed an unknown substance that appeared in a lot of their samples, and theorized it was another metal that they had been so far unable to extract.

They were correct. Hiding in the middle of potassium and sulfate (or more colloquially, KAl(SO₄)₂·12H₂O) was a metal that would change the world, and eventually house your beer.

The unknown metal postulation wouldn’t be proven for another 38 years, when Hans Christian Oersted, a Danish chemist, managed to isolate aluminum in aluminum chloride. By 1845, a German named Friedrich Wöhler collected enough aluminum to determine its basic properties, and in turn, possible applications. Prior to his research, metal was considered strong but heavy. Aluminum proved strong too, but also incredibly light.

Like Hunahpu and Ann, aluminum could only be found in very small quantities. This made using it for things like cars and airplanes and beer cans notably difficult. Thankfully, by 1886, two enterprising chemists (Charles Martin Hall and Paul L. T. Héroult) discovered a way to extract aluminum from aluminium oxide (Al₂O₃). This chemical advancement, coupled with the discovery of Bauxite (an ore that contains copious amounts of Al₂O₃) lead to a rapid expansion in the availability of aluminum, just like Goose Island after the ABI purchase.

With wide availability came wide use. The engine in the Wright brother’s biplane was made from aluminum, and so were ship components and radar chaff used in World War 2. When Edison first started his electrical transmission network in 1882, aluminum was still rare. He opted to use copper instead, but given its affordability and light weight, aluminum is considered the most effective metal for electrical conduction in modern day applications.

In a somewhat ironic twist, the technology to produce lighter and stronger aluminum alloys (that would eventually be spun into modern beer cans) began during the years leading up to the American Prohibition. The Great Depression saw the creation of the Works Progress Administration, whose work lead to the refinement and production of aluminum for hydroelectric and other civil engineering projects.

With the repeal of Prohibition in 1933, breweries saw the opportunity to put their new metallic abundance to use, and the first canned beer (Krueger’s Finest Beer and Krueger’s Cream Ale) entered the market on January 24, 1935. These cans weighed nearly 4 ounces; doesn’t sound heavy, but today’s modern, super-thin aluminum cans weigh 14.9 grams. There are 28.35 grams in an ounce. You do the math.

They were heavy because early cans were not usually made from aluminum. Coors introduced a two-part aluminum can in 1959, but the first all-aluminum can was brought to market by Budwesier in 1965. Today, approximately 75% of all beverage cans are made of aluminum alloy. Unlike glass and plastics, they are infinitely recyclable, too, and will often be back on the shelf in as little as 60 days. About 180 billion cans are produced annually, and they remain the single most recycled product in the world.

All that history and science, just to get a beer into your hand. And that’s just what it took to get to the point where we could mass manufacture aluminum cans.

The element itself is incredible, too.

Since it doesn’t contain any ferrous compounds, it cannot rust. Instead, aluminum oxidizes, reverting back to aluminum oxide. Unlike rust that eats into and weakens the metal around it, this oxidation actually strengthens and forms a protective layer on the aluminum. Canning companies have to add a lining to cans (debates about the evils of BPA can be directed elsewhere), otherwise the oxygen in the beer would react with the aluminum in the can, and ruin all that lupuliny goodness.

The weight (or lack thereof) is nothing to scoff at, either. As I noted above, the average aluminum can weighs about 15 grams. With ~2.5 times the density of aluminum, a modern steel equivalent (same size and width) would weigh ~37.5 grams. That doesn’t sound like a lot, but 2.5 times the weight on thousands of BBLs of beer would increase logistics costs substantially, which would probably in turn raise how much you had to fork over the for the finished product. Kegs can also be made from aluminum which, while potentially less structurally sound than their stainless steel sisters, are much easier to lug around a cold room.

TL;DR: Aluminum is sort of amazing, you guys.

The next time you slip your fingernail under a tab, and listen to that relaxing exhalation of escaping carbonation, take a second to appreciate that the can you’re holding isn’t just a gimmick, or marketing tool, or some fad in beer. It’s more than just a vessel that sails you off into the weekend unknown. It’s more than just a footnote in a PR campaign.

It’s a time-honored example of human scientific ingenuity. I also hear they’re pretty good for shotgunning too, whatever that means.

This bears repeating

Man Complaining About Beer Seemingly Oblivious To Living Conditions in Third World Countries

PORTLAND, OR – In a baffling display that can only be attributed to ignorance or plain old cruelty, local man Ryan Balmer spent last Saturday complaining about beer while several thousand children in the third world starved to death.

Seemingly unfazed by that fact that his beer cost several times more than what nearly half of humanity earns as a daily wage, Balmer raised his glass, squinted his nose, and made a disgusted face after taking his first sip. After several seconds of staring at a product that contains more clean water than is readily accessible to a large portion of human society, the self-described “beer enthusiast” peppered the tired, overworked bartender with oddly specific questions.

“The description says Galaxy hops, but they really tastes more like Citras, if we’re being honest,” Balmer quipped as he demanded a new drink, not in the least deterred that he was about to waste more calories than some people eat in a day. “It’s like, if you’re going to brew it with those hops, it better taste like those hops, right? Not like it’s hard.”

As he took a bite of the pizza he’d ordered as an afterthought accessory to his beverage (a meal someone might literally kill him for on the streets of Venezuela), Balmer compared the beer he was drinking to a dozen others, unaware that, in light of the reality that more boys were forced to become child soldiers that very afternoon, no one gave a shit. He then utilized more technology than is available to some small governments, smearing a greasy finger across his phone screen to check the beer in and give it 2 stars on Untappd.

After consuming enough beer to be labeled “a fire demon” by a tribal shaman, Balmer began ranting about the dangers of corporately made beer. “We can’t trust Anheuser-Busch, man. The consumer knows what’s up now. We need to boycott them and all the sellouts they bought,” he lamented, perfectly happy with the cognitive dissonance required to complain about a corporation whose profits exceed the GDP of some nations. “They want to destroy craft beer. It’s immoral and unethical and wrong. We can’t allow that bullshit,” Balmer continued, adding an apparent lack of understanding about economics and business succession to his already below average knowledge of the rest of the planet.

Sitting in a bar that not only had consistent electricity, but also significantly more structural integrity than many people’s homes, Balmer expanded upon the problems in the beer community. “There’s no bubble, man; craft beer is a cultural revolution,” he noted, oblivious to the actual, horribly violent political and social revolutions happening in several war-torn countries. “The world is changing, and beer is the catalyst. I tell you man, it’s happening right here and right now.” Balmer then burped and slammed his fist against his chest in a vain attempt to remedy his heartburn, a feeling and concept entirely foreign to the millions of people who often don’t get the required macronutrients to grow healthy bones.

As he waited for his Uber driver, a visibly intoxicated Balmer began to explain the brewing process to the clearly disaffected hostess, either completely culturally blind to, or just unwilling to admit the fact that the barley used to make his booze could feed entire towns in Africa and South America for months.

Sources confirm that upon arriving home, Balmer sat down in front of his TV, quickly changing the channel from a Christian Children’s Fund commercial before opening another beer.

The Cult of Craft

Bryan’s conversation about “Craft Beer Evangelists” hit a nerve.

Mainly because, for the past few years, I was a member of a cult. A group of single-minded missionaries, of fanboy zealots, of plaid-clad revolutionaries, riding out from California on their own modern crusade.

I didn’t even really know I was a member, but I still played my part. I parroted the virtues of our leaders to anyone who would listen (and many who were only pretending to listen), meanwhile demonizing the unforgivable sins of our “enemies.” To me it all made sense, it made me feel good, and gave me a sense of identity. The group felt like home, a warm and cozy fireside gathering where the other people in the room just “got” me.

I didn’t question or challenge the narrative. I was perpetuation manifest. I was a member of the Cult of Craft Beer.

Ha! Beer as a cult! Sounds ridiculous, right? Perhaps Oliver has been dipping into the rum stash too much, and came out the other side a wee bit hyperbolic?

Perhaps. But perhaps not.

Let’s look at some of the defining characteristics of cult-like behavior (my emphasis added):

• The group displays excessively zealous and unquestioning commitment to its belief system, ideology
• Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished
• The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel
• The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s) and members
• The group has a polarized us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society
• The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members
• The group is preoccupied with making money
• Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members
• The most loyal members feel there can be no life outside the context of the group

Sound familiar?  Trade organizations setting definitions so we know what to drink? People on social media treating honest criticism as inflammatory nonsense? These behaviors rear their heads often, as new people enter the fold, or diehards do their best to keep the group-think thriving. The “Us-versus-Them” mentality is particularly strong, and has a become a defining aspect of “craft,” even though the “devious” Big Beer Companies still produce and sell 80%+ of all beer in the country.

The cult is alive and Tweeting. Don’t believe me? Here’s a recent conversation I got into with @BrewStuds:

@OliverJGray @beerbecue7 a good chunk of the country is still fighting to have the same freedoms that we enjoy in the more reformed states

— Brew Studs ♥ Beer (@BrewStuds) October 29, 2015

Rhetorically, this is dangerous territory. It puts beer in the same category as emancipation from slavery, civil rights, women’s suffrage. It sounds like we are fighting for some righteous cause, like we’ll go to war if we must for our “rights” (even if those rights only apply to what fermented drinks we can buy). It’s absurd when viewed from the outside, but totally reasonable to someone on the inside.

I challenged BrewStuds and said their thinking was potentially militaristic. Their response: “Militaristic? Passionate maybe.” This argument comes up a lot in conversations about beer, the idea that passion is justification for pretty much any behavior, and the real reason for brewing beer. Not money or economics or science, just “passion.” It tends to trump anything else; in the eyes of the cult, there’s no way craft brewers are anything but open and altruistic, because of their “passion” means they’re making great beer for us to enjoy with no ulteriors whatsoever.

This psychological magnetism to beer isn’t really a surprise, though. It was going to be something, and beer’s timing was impeccable.

With the economy still sluggish and a large chunk of Millennials out of work or underpaid, America is ripe for cultural makeover. Much like Tyler Durden’s “Project Mayhem” in  Fight Club, those joining the craft movement do so of their own free will after meeting others who’ve joined the proverbial fold, seeking some kind of freedom from the status quo, something they can wrap their identity around to feel like they’re part of something bigger than themselves. Beer might seem an odd vehicle for cultural readjustment, but history plus availability plus the clever story of authenticity woven by small brewers has made it a perfect catalyst for social chemical reaction. Plus, humanity has always had a penchant for intoxication.

The first rule about beer club is that you ALWAYS talk about beer club.

Now that I’ve managed to step aside (either through disillusionment), I can see just how powerful the pull is. Many Americans (especially young Americans) are lacking financial and vocational independence, and it makes sense that they’d seek identity through some cultural movement. It makes sense that they’d come together to form a group, and beer, breweries, and bars offer an ideal set of circumstances (regionalism, nationalism, egalitarianism) on which to build a like-minded community.

But all perceived sense aside, a one-sided narrative, especially one fueled by a business-minded trade organization, is not an ideal way to live one’s life. Cults, typically, are not good things. They promote polar thinking and mindless subservience, even if the original goal was something much, much more humanistic and kind.

But cults are also not often an intentional creation, they just happen when one’s message reaches enough people who agree with it.

So is craft a cult? By literal definition, definitely a solid maybe.

Note: I want to make it very clear that I am not against the Brewer’s Association, no more than I’m against ABInBev. I’m a writer, trying to stay impartial. I actually support the BA and what they’ve done for over all US beer. But it’s important to look at all sides, as objectively as possible, without letting your personal prejudice (either way!) color the debate.

Beer n’ Books: Gardening for the Homebrewer

Title: Gardening for the Homebrewer
Author(s): Wendy Tweten and Debbie Teashon
ISBN: 978-0760345634
Pages: 208
Release date: September 15, 2015
Publisher: Voyageur Press
Genre: Nonfiction/How to
Format: Softcover
Source: Review copy

As I watch my attempt to grow barley wither into brown shrivels of failure, I prepare for next Spring. Winter means reading, research, and learning from my mistakes. I took a ton of notes and wrote quite a lot about my experience growing my own beer ingredients this year, but as much as I’ve learned, I’m still seeking something more comprehensive.

There’s not a lot out there for the intrepid homebrewing soilophile.

There’s a 1998 book, The Homebrewer’s Garden, by Dennis Fisher, which includes solid information, but spreads itself thin, trying to cover too many grains, herbs, and other sundry ingredients. It’s also 17 years old; a lot has changed in beer and brewing (hop and barley varieties, just as a start, never mind technology), making this guide feel a bit sepia tone when read by a member of the internet generation.

Then come the Brewing Elements series from Brewer’s Publications. These four are a must read for any brewer (home or otherwise) who has even the tiniest inkling of interest in the science behind the beverage. But for the wealth of knowledge contained therein, these books are still fundamentally informational; For the Love of Hops contains a brief section on growing your own hops, but is moreso dedicated to the history and scientific workings of the cultivar. The same goes for the other three; excellent books, but lacking practical lessons.

Anyone looking to (successfully) grow any beer ingredient at home likely has to turn to the internet (or, for you AHA members, old copies of Zymurgy Magazine). That’s not the worse thing ever, but correlating loose content from various websites can be as tedious as weeding an overgrown carrot patch.

Fellow blogger Ed from The Dogs of Beer was kind enough to CC me on an offer for a review copy of Gardening for the Homebrewer. I happily wrapped my dirty little hands around the book, hoping for a spiritual update to Fisher’s work.

Physically, the book is gorgeous: full-color macro photographs that look good enough to scratch and sniff, color-coded text boxes with faux-decoupage flair, near-perfect formatting that organizes the content brilliantly. It’s really a pleasure to read, and the visuals don’t detract from the writing itself. While written by two people, it reads in one coherent voice, offering direct explanation and guidance with little pomp or fluff.

It’s broken into distinct sections over seven chapters, starting with a basic primer on gardening that’s simple enough for a total rookie, but also contains just enough for the journeyman. Chapter 2 covers beer, but only spans 25 pages. The malting process is described across two pages, with no images or sundry information to guide the reader. If you are looking for a book on the basics of beer before it’s even near the kettle, this has some good information. If you were looking for a more comprehensive guide to barley, malting, or troubleshooting the latter, keep on searching.

More than half of the book is dedicated to “other” which in this case means grapes, berries, herbs, apples, pears, and more. Much like Fisher’s book, Gardening for the Homebrewer reads an inch deep and a mile long. Trying to cover all these plants and ingredients is an admirable goal, but it leaves a lot of questions unanswered, and readers like me wanting more.

From their bios on the last page and a quick Google, it’s clear that both Tweten and Teashon are very accomplished gardeners. What is unclear is if they are homebrewers (or have ever homebrewed). While all of the information presented is factually correct, there’s a sort of disconnect in the exposition, as if they are more focused on the plants than their role as an ingredient in the brewing process. That could be my beerish romanticism pontificating and not an actual flaw, but it’s worth noting there’s next to no brewing-related content in this book. Suggestions for what beverage the plant might go best in, but not a lot about when or how to include it in a typical brewing/fermentation process.

Regardless of their identity as brewers, the co-authors do a fantastic job of outlining some of the most practical (and sometimes hard to find, even with a black belt in Google-fu) details of growing. Simple but integral details like appropriate USDA growing zone, spacing, and pruning are included for every plant. Most even have a picture of the mature plant, a surprisingly helpful addition for someone who starts with a handful of seeds and isn’t entire sure what elderberry is actually supposed to look like.

Despite not having what I was looking for, I enjoyed this book, and will continue to use it as a reference. The overview of growing conditions are worth the price alone (there are 52 total, ranging from mint to plums), and the rather thorough section of cider apples taught me a lot I though I already knew (but apparently didn’t).

More a book for gardeners who like brewing-related plants than brewers turned gardners, but well written, edited, and presented nonetheless.

The Session #104 – Blog to Write

(For the 104th Session, Alan McLeod asks us to justify why we should keep writing about beer.)

I’ve missed The Session. Both figuratively and literally.

Directly after discovering Jay and Stan’s blogging braintrust, I didn’t miss a single iteration of the Session. I’d been diligent in following the topics, planning something ahead of time, and being ready for each month like an over-prepared college freshman. I even hosted once, much to the dismay of other bloggers, I’m sure. I miss writing Session entries because they’re fun and thought provoking and, well, easy, in the grand scheme of writing.

But I’ve also missed the deadline to post eight times in a row now (the last Session I did was #95). I know such a long hiatus might make it seem like I don’t have faith in the cause or support the idea, but realistically, it’s more about the timing of significant life events over the past year, and their direct overlap with the first Friday of each month. There are several never-to-be-finished drafts in this here WordPress database, half-hollow husks meant to be Session posts that have been left dangling from the dressform, a mess of patchwork fabric and loose threads.

I don’t want to see the Session die. I understand that I’m part of the problem by not actively participating, but I still think the idea to bring different perspectives together on a single topic has a lot of worth in a community that’s full of young writers still trying to find their voices. It’s also a great prompt for newer bloggers to jump in on without feeling sheepish: a place where everyone is welcome to say whatever they want about beer with (for the most part) little chance of repercussion.

That exists nowhere else that I know of. Other attempts to bring the community together like the Thursday night #beerchat on Twitter don’t really count, for me, as Twitter is too ephemeral and curt to really hash out any meaningful ideas.

I’ve written about why I blog before. That hasn’t changed. I keep writing here because it’s my space. No editors, no deadlines, no rules or stipulations. I’m a writer who writes way more than makes sense to consistently pitch to other publications, and in a style that most publications don’t want, anyway. Here, I’m free to do whatever, sculpt any sentences I can see in the formless clay, play with grammar and be obtuse, because no one is paying me, and the expectations are basically non-existent. For a prolific writer, a blog is creative freedom manifest. A linguistic jungle-gym. An all-you-can-eat buffet of syntactic gluttony.

A blog – if taken seriously and properly maintained – is an incredible catalyst to education. When I started in 2009, I knew comparatively…let’s see…nothing about beer. I thought I knew about brewing and styles and history, but as I began reading and studying more to write posts, I realized how startlingly little I knew. It’s given me an avenue to learn a tremendous amount about the ingredients, the processes, the people, the industry. You’re free to explore and research any topic you want, fumble through your own opinions about complex topics, engage in (and hopefully kick off) conversations that help us grow as drinkers, consumers, citizens, people. If your blogging means more to you than just banging out 150 word nonsense posts during lunch or reposting old articles/generic news pieces written by other people, you’re going to learn, whether you intend to or not.

That’s a good thing, and a reason to blog, if anyone ever needed one.

But outside of personal, artistic justification, niche blogs (and other writing) about niche topics remain important even if the format waffles, because they make up the voice of the consumer-side of the community. In every sub-culture some will rise to the top to speak and inform and possibly evangelize for the people within. Bloggers are those speakers. People who try to evolve into something beyond being that guy at the bar who erroneously explains the difference between ale and lager to his cavalcade of half-toasted co-workers. They take a chance to thrust a shovel below the surface only scratched by others, and put in the work to bring the fertile material below up to the surface for others to see.

That’s the goal. I think. At least. It’s not always perfect, and lots of blogs and bloggers – even those of stout convictions and pounding passions – never do manage more than rote regurgitation. It’s easy to fall into a trap of writing what is easy, repeating what you hear daily, and going with the flow so entirely that you’re lost in the current.

But hey, even the worst are trying. Attempting something bigger and with more reach than rambling to their close friends or boring strangers at parties. They’re adding to a narrative that will one day be looked back upon as historical; not perhaps world-changing historical, but certainly historical as related to the legacy of alcohol in post-industrial Homo sapein culture. And as much as you might want to scoff at the idea of “beer as a piece of history,” we’re already pulling from a mutli-millennium backlog of brewing and beer lore that was deemed important enough to be chronicled as part of human history by our ancestors. Looked at in that light, we’re just scholars recording history as it happens, using the internet as our immortal cuneiform.

And that’s just it, I think. Beer bloggers just so happen to write about beer, but it’s the actual writing that should take precedence. You can tell when a blogger isn’t really a writer, trust me on that one. Passion about a topic does not automatically equate to good or interesting writing, and readers can tell when you’re writing because you think you should not because you want to.

We run these blogs to have our voices heard, opinions aired. I’d submit that most people who write about beer (myself included) only do so because we’ve seen some fundamental truth about human nature either in the science of the kettle, or the behavior behind the bartop. I think all writers write to discover some meaning; beer bloggers (and writers) just use a medium that’s a tad more esoteric than usual.

If the current incarnation of the Session has crossed the finish line of its final marathon, that’s sort of sad, but so be it. I’d implore those who wants to write to keep writing even without  it. In addition to being the main curriculum of your own not-for-profit mini-university, writing is therapeutic and cathartic, and a hell of a better way to spend your time than many other things that pass as “entertainment” these days.

But write with responsibility. Do your best to carefully sift out the nuggets of golden narrative that come washing down the sluice, and do your best to avoid showing off the rocks you found that you think are gold. If you’re going to be a voice of your sub-culture, be a good one. Add to the narrative with humor or wit or education; don’t let misinformation, rumor-mongering, and petty drama take over. We have enough of that elsewhere in the world.

Blog to write. Write to learn. Learn to write. Write to write. About beer or otherwise.