Sometimes Better Curves Come From Belgiums

"Son, a woman is like a beer. They smell good, they look good, you’d step over your own mother just to get one! But you can’t stop at one.!"

~Homer Simpson

Well there is a paramount truth in the words of a bald man who weaves through his day each week, with the skill and guile of a cartoon half his age. That being said, there are few women (that I have had the wonderful opportunity to meet and disappoint) in my life that hold up like a good beer. This is not to attack the reverence of womanhood, but a well-crafted beer can be satisfying enough and without the usual arguments spawned from miscommunication. The problem of communicating is after you have imbibed one two many of Avery Brewing and Russian River's harmonious effort.























The story of this good, strong ale came at a time when politics were polarizing, the country was mired in a godforsaken land, and the housing market was still safe - I am talking about November 2006. Having discovered that they each brewed a wonderful Belgian by the name of Salvation the proprietors of said brewing companies decided to find a peaceful accord - laughing in the direction of the United Nations, Israel-Palestine, the Kashmir Province, and, of course, Felix Ungar and Oscar Madison. Sure lawyers (and probably a few Barristers) from all over the country lined up - just outside the Trustfarian paradise of Boulder, Colorado - in order to have their day in court and to resolve the conflict in pure American, democratic - not to mention litigious - fashion; however, it seems, the cooler heads of beverage production prevailed. Alas, the lawyers were sent home, only getting the opportunity to sniff each other's business cards like mutts sniffing each other's sweet spot. The result of finding an amiable solution is one hell of a beer. It smelled good, it tasted good, and though I wouldn't step over my Mom - she is smart enough not to get between a good beer and my liver - I would easily brush pass someone deciding between Coors and Miller in order to buy yet another round of this sweet beverage.

I was once told that Colorado has the best beers in the country, well - fuck that - I give credence to no nation-state within the borders of the lower 48 (Give Texas back to Mexico, let Hawai'i and Alaska roam free). Though, I will give it up for Avery Brewing to find happy medium with the good folks at Russian River. I have delved deeply into the Russian River Brewing collection over the last few years, I am eager to try the rest of what Avery has to offer... even if they are from Boulder.

To me learning about a beer is as simples as opening up a beer. I proclaim no insight into the brewing process, hops agribusiness, or the perfect amount of malt to flavor a brewed concoction. The terminus of said musings boils down to the time tested folk credence - "I don't know much about beer, but I know what I like!"

The Relevance of Heroes

A week of work over, a night of drinking capped - what better time to come home, pour a Johnny Walker Red and digest my thoughts. Heroes... not super, not extraordinary, just the regular folks who bring such joy into my life. Sorry to say cops and firemen are not in this list (tonight); yes I know the job is hard, but this about my heroes and not some standard group chosen by a women in stretch pants who read Grisham every night.

Nope my two heroes (at least this week) are Chester A. Burnett and Bill Hicks, and I will explain why. First Chester A. Burnett - better known as Howlin' Wolf. The Wolf was a blues man who came up from the Delta and proceeded to not only provide gritty blues music, but also influenced a great many bands who in turn influenced the next generation of great rock. The American music scene is nothing without the contributions of Black culture and sound. Jazz and Blues... the foundation of everything else, is one iteration or another.

The reason I chose Howlin' Wolf is the overwhelming affect it had on the two greatest British Invasion bands - Led Zeppelin and The Rolling Stones (not a Beatles Fan... at least not above Zeppelin and the Stones). Any who blasts Zeppelin I and II into their ears, as I did during this week's discourse of work should know of the Wolf's influence in both sound and lyrics. Though grittier and enhanced by pulsating electric guitars and feverish drum solos the music of Zeppelin and the sound of the Stones is just a next generation of the Wolf. From Zeppelin and the Stones how many bands have copied their sound? I do not claim to be a musicologist, but the connection is undeniable. I am a person who believes in roots, perhaps other should follow suit.

The second of my weekly Heroes is the man who single handedly brought comedy back from the shitty blazers and bad 80s haircuts that nearly destroyed the genre - Mr. Bill Hicks. I know I am not going out on some anti-establishment plane by claiming the genius of Hicks. Many relevant and contemporary comedians and savvy people already know this. However, it is never too late to chime in my accolades for a genius, whose works transcend time by maintaining a relevance even in today's political and social climate. I channeled ever megabyte of Bill Hicks through my headphones this week as I trudged away on my dual monitors.

His opinions on media, politics, and the general fucked-upedness (if that is a proper noun/ adjective) of society are still viable even in today's political climate. I am sure, without a doubt, Hicks would have a field day prancing around the stage and denouncing the general hypocrisies and bullshit surrounding contemporary political, social, and religious figures. Everyday I see the kind of assholes who were the targets of Bill Hicks' scathing commentaries and jokes.Now more than ever do we need Hicks, even with a spawn of great satirists and comedians like Patton Oswalt and David Cross. My hope is those who have never heard his message and are fed up with ongoings of this country, go out and listen to what Bill Hicks was trying to say.I am no rebel like Bill Hicks, though every word he speaks rings true in my ears, he had balls as big as Buicks and was not shy to use them for any purpose. For those not in the know, feel free to peruse his collection at www.billhicks.com, I promise this is worth your time.

With an ode to my weekly heroes over, it is time I sleep off the numerous amounts of Belgium beer I poured down the esophagus in hopes to appear witty and charming, only to wind up sleepy and cranky.

Entering the Fray

There are two types of stories - man leaves town and man comes to town. I have successfully accomplished both in the last few months. The frontier spirit, alive and well, in Prescott, Arizona has treated me well. It is a place where the tourist runs thick - unbridled and carefree - the way the West was truly won (or at least adapted). Here the goal is to explore (and work to support the exploration) the lonely places not seen by the average citizen. I have always been fascinated with the back alleys and dusty towns of our American Landscape; the places where nowhere is everywhere. The goal is to record the musings of travel; from the extreme to the mundane, anything new offers at least a modicum of interest. I even intend on expanding into the travel of the mind - the reviews, raves, and rants of books, movies, and media that I feel requires some (if not yet another) expression. It is with this discourse that I begin.

In 2006, Cormac McCarthy penned The Road, adding yet another compelling narrative to his litany (in my opinion a guru of the Neo-Noir Western ). The story of "man leaves town" follows a father and son in a post-apocalyptic America annihilated by the fire and brimstone so popular with Southern Baptists, burned-over districts, and country-road-tent-revivalists. Save some basic supplies, a six shooter, and a shopping cart, the boy and the man are without much of the comforts enjoyed by the sedentary, developed societies of today. In the eerie world following an unknown catastrophe the two protagonists follow an old byway/ highway heading south towards a coastal environ and, hopefully, salvation and society. Along the way, faced with starvation, the elements, road warriors, and human harvesters (apparently Soylent Green really are people) the father and son struggle to find not only goodness in the world but goodness in each other. The ending, wrapped with both tragedy and hope, sheds light onto the special bond between father and son.

This book was recommended to me by a friend from graduate school. For those familiar with lost and the battle of grief that ensues, McCarthy's somber world provides fertile ground to realize how much dear ones will be missed after they have passed. By creating a stark environment - where little life exists and humanity is an afterthought - the reader is able to internalize the relationship between the boy and the father without the distractions of what we deem as "everyday life." Truly for those that have a close bond with another, this book hits home; however it does not have to be for those dealing with loss, it can also be a good step forward to recognizing the relationships we have while those close to us are still of this earth. I encourage many, if not all, to pick up this book, rattle out some espresso, and dive into a frightening, yet optimistic, story.