The Beer Tree

I was with a friend at a concert last night. He drank a Bud Light while I enjoyed a 10 Barrel Apocalypse. He always drinks Bud Light.

Cool for him. My beer buds don’t align well with Bud Light. I find it too thin, and lacking in depth and flavor for me to claim as a regular, or even to have in my rotation.

I contrast this with my Wednesday night experience. One of the BoBs regularly brews his own, and brought a couple bottles for us to sample. He called it an Imperial IPA. From his description, it sounded like a double IPA. However you reference it, this beer was fantastically smooth and flavorful. He’d bottled it in May, so it was just under two full months old. I’d expected high I.B.U.s and hoppiness, but neither were present. With an A.b.V. of eleven point two, it had a kick.

What impressed me that night was first, his explanation of the ingredients, and how he brewed it. Next, another friend’s insightful questions about where the hops were sourced and other factors surprised me. In retrospect, it seemed like he’s contemplating brewing his own.

As I do when drinking beer – or wine – I became contemplative. I ended up contemplating beer over my coffee this morning. My coffee choice is much narrower than my beer choices, but it’s evolved to that point. For my morning coffee, I like a French or Italian roast, without milk, cream, or sugar. For my writing session, I prefer a four shot mocha.

For beer, I have a choice tree. I prefer dark beers, so they dominate my beer tree, but my beer choice depends upon the food, event, and offerings. At the top of my list are Imperial Stouts. They usually deliver a significant kick, so they’re not often chosen. Dropping down the list, I’ll look for stouts and porters, followed by ales and I.P.A.s, Pilsners and lagers. Besides enjoying dark beers, when sampling one of the others beer variations, I’ve discovered I like citrus overtones, especially grapefruits. I don’t usually like fruity beers, but this year, I enjoyed several delightful beers with watermelon. I’m not surprised, as I enjoy buying and drinking watermelon juice.

And yes, I like my beer cold. I’ve tried it warm, several times (you know, to get a data set), and I prefer cold beer with a moderately small head. As an aside, I’m not fond of coffee in beer, unless it’s in an ice cream float. A coffee flavored stout with vanilla ice cream on a hot day is a damn fine dessert.

The thing with all of this, as with so many things, is that our individual choices are unique, and our reasons for reaching them are often more complex than the thought we give to them. While I give my beers a lot of thought and like to taste from a large swath of samples, because you never know what might impress you, my buddy preferred his Bud Light because of its light flavor, low alcohol content, and the lack of need to think about which beer he’ll drink, and whether he’ll enjoy it.

Which is why I’ve made the coffee choices I’ve made.

 

 

Today’s Theme Music

Had beers (Caldera Pilot Rock Porter for me, thanks) with my friends last night. A staid group, they’re retired materials and sound engineers, doctors, university professors, and physicists. A small group, just eight last night, I’m the youngest by eight years. None of those present last night knew this song. Hope you do.

Here’s ZZ Top performing “Beer Drinkers & Hell Raisers” on their nineteen seventy-three album, “Tres Hombres.” I listened to this album a great deal during my junior and senior high school years, especially in art class.

Love Those Search Engines

I decided on a whim to look up my grandfather. He passed away long ago, and I was curious about what the Internet would uncover. It’s actually because I’m killing time while KDP manipulates my files.

So I put in “Paul Seidel Pittsburgh PA” to begin.

The search results were quick: “We found Patricia Seidel.”

Who is Patricia Seidel, and why is she coming up when I’m searching for Paul?

Besides Patricia, I found Paul Seipel and Mary Seidel. They did also find Paul Seidel, but not nearly as often as Patricia Seidel. She, I thought, must be amazingly popular or mourned.

I decided that I would add “obit” to see how results changed. That made a fundamental difference; besides adding Robert Seidel to the results, John, and Jonathan, I was also presented with the latest in Pennsylvania obituaries, and Harrisburg, PA. All references to Paul Seidel were now gone, except in my query.

Other variations were tried. So were other search engines. None of it mattered; they had found the results they wanted to present. It’s too bad it didn’t match what I wanted to find. Google was best, coming up with an ad for Family Tree that had seventy-nine death records for Paul Seidel. A few of them were in Pennsylvania. Besides that on Google, though, they found Suzanne Seidel for me – just in case I really wanted to find her, I guess – and Paul Uranker. Paul Uranker was Jayne Seidel’s brother. Boy, that cleared up a lot for me. I always wondered about good ol’ Paul and Jayne, and their relationship, although I never knew her last name was the same as mine. You learn something new, you know?

Google also gave us the results for the Railway Journal for some specific date and month that mentioned St. Paul. Grandpa Paul was a good guy who drank a lot of Iron City beers, worked for Montgomery Ward, smoked packs and packs of Pall Mall cigarettes, and rooted for the Steelers and Pirates on TV, but I never heard anyone call him a saint.

 

Of Fitbits & Porters

Eight of us were in attendance at the weekly BoBs to toast Q (our late founder) and Harold Schlumberg. Of those eight, three were drinkers on the dark side. On that day, we were partaking of Caldera’s award winning Pilot Rock Porter. It’s great to be able to support a local business.

The three dark drinkers were arrayed together on one side, not by plan to sit with the other dark drinkers, but by choice about where we preferred to sit. Then, it was noticed that the dark drinkers all wore Fitbits. No one else had one. Further, all the Fitbits were the Charge 2 models.

Coincidence? What is the probability of the three dark drinkers sitting side by side wearing Fitbit Charge 2s while the five light drinkers, imbibing the Amber Ale, did not wear Fitbits?

Hell, I don’t know. You do the math.

The Energy

Hey writers, Ever experience one of those days when small matters happen and escalate in your head? People and animals seem to act unreasonable. You spill something, clean it up, only to spill something else within a few minutes? And the news makes you want to take the vacuum cleaner and suck your brains right out of your head. Then you discover, look at the time, you’re well behind what you’d planned and now you need to rush, but things keep happening to detour and divert you, fueling greater exasperation and frustration.

No?

Well, I’ve had that sort of morning. It’s only minor things, but it’s distracting, enervating and debilitating. In fact, it’s downright degenerating.

Tell you what I’m going to do about it.

I’m taking all that frustration, bitterness, anger, resentment, despair, exasperation, well, all that negative shit spinning me around like a food processor on frappe, and I’m channeling it. I’m putting that crap into my own box and converting that energy into something helpful.

To do it, I have an imaginary bucket. Metal, painted purple with bright blue and yellow trim, it holds about five gallons. Rebel is written in orange cursive writing on its side. I scoop all that negative energy out of my aura and the air around me and put it into my imaginary purple bucket. Then I mime washing that crap clean, because I’m going to re-purpose it, but I want it clean.

Next, I have an imaginary red plastic funnel. I connect it to the imaginary port on the the side of my head. (Note: the head is real.) My imaginary port is up on the right side of the rear of my rear skull, above and behind my ear. (Note: the ear is real.) The port isn’t easily reached but my hat — which is real — covers it so people don’t stare at it, so I like it there.

Holding the funnel connected to my port up, I pour that bucket of negative energy into the funnel. The port has an imaginary tube inside my head. The tube leads to my energy transmogrifier. Originally invented by that amazing scientific team, Calvin & Hobbes, the transmogrifier can turn anything into anything else. Today, I’m changing that negative energy into positive writing energy. Once the transmogrifier has done its work, I press an imaginary button on an imaginary panel. The panel has a wireless connection to the transmogrifier. Once the button is pressed, the transmogrifier releases that fresh writing energy into my bloodstream and nervous system.

It feels great. It feels like I’m sitting on a warm, comfortable beach being courted by a wide aquamarine sea that teases me with a balmy, fresh breeze. An cloudless, azure sky acts as an umbrella against the world’s evil, mundane, and hate. I sip an icy cold IPA, just because, close my eyes and sigh with contentment.

Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Cheeseburger and Beer Ice Cream

I’m working on the chapter, “Ice Cream Headache”, which is part of the science fiction novel, “Long Summer”. I’ve been writing about the cheeseburger and beer ice cream that Carla once made for Brett.

Unlike many things in their society, her concoction wasn’t compiled, but was handmade. As an expert in Earth culture with an emphasis on the twentieth and twenty-first century in America, she likes sampling ‘the real thing’. The cheeseburgers are one inch in diameter, with real cheddar, bacon, onion, mustard and pickle, as Brett likes them. After freezing them, she made ice cream with Venus Mon IPA, folding the frozen cheeseburgers into it, “Just like they did in state fairs,” she says.

She scoops it into a malt cone ‘that she made herself’. Brett restrains himself from his observations about her use of bots. She’s always using bots but claims she does things herself. In a flash into the future, he knows he eventually tells her this, causing a rift that can’t be mended.

Before letting him sample the ice cream, Carla asks if his taste buds are turned off. See, the sensory input from taste buds in the future can be controlled so you never taste anything foul by your standards. But she wants him to have the real experience, not something filtered by his taste buds and his preferences index. He lies, telling her, “Of course, it’s off,” while checking with his systems to turn it off. Then he samples the ice cream.

The sample is not the one I described, but another one, a moderately dark chocolate flavored with bourbon, with small chips of bittersweet chocolate, nuts, and marshmallows and swirls of salty caramel. This is one of the problems with being shuffled through moments of now. One thing is being experienced and then details change.

For some reason, after writing all of that, I now want a cheeseburger and beer, followed by some ice cream.

Time to go eat.

The Compulsion

It was between his second and third, or maybe fourth and fifth, pints of a Pacific Ale that he realized he, and his friends, had become zombies.

Mouths slack, they were snarling and growling. Part of his brain still functioned sufficiently to observe and think. Those in the pizza place who were drinking beer were becoming zombies. A young family was about to be attacked and eaten on the other side of the room. The family, and perhaps a few kids that weren’t part of the family, ignorant of their impending fate, were still laughing and yelling and eating pizza. The young parents had their hands full.

There was no more conversations at the table. His friends were eyeing other people as possible meals. Ron was already staggering to his feet. Anyone watching might think he was drunk and going off for a piss.

Screams and shouting with tinges of shock and horror broke out. All his friends rose up, rushing to eat others. He wanted to go to, but —

Beer remained.

He reached for the pitcher. He understood his compulsions and what kind of zombie he was.

The Truth About Beer

It’s been some time since I’ve written about the invention of beer and the truth about why it exists.

Michael Quirk provided me with this theory. Michael was the originator of our weekly beer gathering. The group is composed of retired scientists, engineers and doctors to discuss science and technology. Michael himself, now deceased, was a retired Army light colonel. He’d served in Vietnam as a helicopter pilot, surviving two tours. After that, he’d become an artillery officer and ended up programming specific artillery systems that were being introduced. He eventually ended up as a globally sought subject expert on the matter. After retiring from the Army, he was hired as a consultant by DARPA so he could keep working on and advising about the artillery program. His daughter is an Air Force colonel who is now a deputy base commander.

I met Michael through an art museum fundraiser. His wife and my wife went to the same exercise class at the local Y. Several of these wives enjoyed each other’s company. It was contrived we should all go to this fundraiser and share a table. Naturally, the wives socialized, leaving the men alone.

Michael and I both enjoyed science fiction, so we chatted about that. He then told me about the weekly beer group and invited me to join. Not having much education and not being a scientist, engineer or doctor, I declined, and told him that’s why. “But we drink beer,” he explained. “You drink beer, don’t you?”

“Yes, but — ”

Nothing else mattered to Michael. I drink beer, so I should join. I finally agreed just to shut him up.

I started going, and the time became something I looked forward to, largely because I was very fond of Michael. It was during one of those weekly beer gatherings that he told me about his theory regarding the invention of beer. Noting that beer had been invented about eleven thousand years ago, he claimed that women invented it.

Naturally, I was curious. “Women invented beer?”

“Yes, they invented beer to control men.”

“I see…. Why?”

“Because women are aliens who came to Earth eleven thousand years ago. They invented beer to control men.” Michael went on to cite the chromosome difference as evidence that women are not humans like men. Besides, they think so differently.

His theory had a lot of problems to me, beginning with, if they were aliens and so advanced they could travel to Earth and invent beer eleven thousand years ago, what the hell have they been doing since then? Also, what happened to the original human women? And, why….?

It was all very tongue-in-cheek. Michael passed away at the beginning of 2015. I still go to the beer group once in a while, just to have a beer. We always toast Q at the beginning.

Sometimes, I remind the others how beer was invented.

Consumption

 

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Walking around, I’ve just recognized how much my little town of Ashland, population about twenty grand, offers visitors and residents. Of course, it’s all about experiences here. On center stage is the the Oregon Shakespeare Festival and the Green Show (free) but there is also the annual Ashland International Film Festival. Southern Oregon University generate learning activities. Your reading fixes can be attended through Bloomsbury, the Book Exchange, and the Book Wagon.

Want a marijuana high or need a medical high? We have you covered. Marijuana is legal in our state, county, and town. Several dispensaries are here to guide you through your choices. You can smoke, vape or eat to fill your need, although you can’t do it out in public, as signs will remind you. Locally produced chocolates are made at Branson’s to handle that munchie or go to Market of Choice and ogle their pastries, breads, pies, cakes, cookies, scones and cheeses, or ice creams, pastries and gelato at Mix, on the plaza.

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Prefer an amber or red ale, pilsner, IPA, porter, stout or lager? Local breweries, led by Caldera Brewing and Standing Stone Brewing, are doing great. Fill your growler at Gil’s or Growler Guys. Gil’s is alongside Ruby’s, where flavorful wraps and sandwiches can be ordered. Ruby’s and Gil’s share owners so you can buy at one place and consume the other. This is pretty cool; Ruby’s has patio sitting available where you can dine in sunshine. Gil’s patio is covered and has fire pits.

Growler Guys also have fire pits. Having a beer as the wind blows your face, the rain falls a few inches away, and a fire warms you as you watch people and cars pass is an an elemental experience.

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If beer and grass aren’t to your taste, you can enjoy wines from multiple local vineyards, like Weisinger, literally down the street from me. Or zip across the valley to Belle Fiori. Don’t want to drink and drive? Don’t worry, you can enjoy tastings at several locations and the local wines are offered in multiple restaurants.

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Yeah, like to eat? As a progressive town, vegans and vegetarians are taken care of, but places like Smithfields will satisfy carnivores. Lark’s is wonderful for more unique dining choices. Although we lack decent Mediterranean and Greek fares IMO, the downtown area and plaza can see you through yearnings for American, Sushi, Chinese, Mexican, English, French, and Italian. Martolli’s sells sensational pizzas whole and by the slice. Louie’s on the plaza is one of our favorite places to eat. Brothers, Breadboard, Morning Glory and Waffle Barn will do you for breakfast and lunch, but you can have an awesome Chicago style sandwich at Sammich. But the Ashland Food Co-op creates some of the best sandwiches and wraps, which are sold in several local stores and cafes.

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Naturally, there is a farmer and grower’s market, run by the RV Growers. Fresh produce, prepared foods like pies are available at the Saturday’s Grower’s Market. The Tuesday’s Grower’s Market has a larger location, and food trucks are present to serve you as you shop. Coffee shops all over the place, less now than there were a few years ago. Noble Coffee is one of several places roasting and grinding their own coffee beans. Zoey’s handles local demands for ice cream and milkshakes. If your burden is clothing shopping, the downtown is full of new and used clothing stores and boutiques. Every Saturday during the summer and fall, the Art

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Or just wander through Lithia Park by the creek, following the trails, or sitting by the ponds, watching ducks or enjoying the deer’s presence as they meander through town and the park, nibbling at plants and grasses, looking at you as you look at them.

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It’s amazing. Prefer skiing, hit Mt Ashland. Want to venture further away, we’re located just off Interstate 5, seventeen miles north of the California border, less than three hundred miles from San Francisco to the south and Portland to the north, and there are many amazing places between those two.

I’d write more about it all, but I’m hungry.

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