Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
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.
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.
Yes, I confess: I’m a coffee snob.
I can’t abide most American mass produced ground coffee, like Folger’s, Maxwell House, and Hill Bros. Worse of the worse is Sanka instant.
No, worse of the worse could be the Folger’s Instant Coffee Crystals. Instant coffees taste off to me, as though the coffee has been recycled.
I have friends who swear by Dunkin’ Donut’s coffee. Not me. Dunkin’ Donut cofffee provides a taste that I imagine comes from a dirty tee shirt being soaked in coffee and then wrung out in a cup. Just below it are the foul offerings provided at McDonald’s, Burger King and other fast food establishments. I haven’t had coffee from any of those places in decades. Haven’t eaten at them since around 1992, when I returned to America from Germany.
I became such a snob, as with many things, when I was exposed to offerings in other places. Being stationed in Germany was the changing point for my appreciation of not just beer, but coffee, pastries, asparagus and French fries. German coffee seemed so very strong and clear that I was instantly drawn to it. I started buying different Italian coffees available in Germany, examining flavors the way others do with wines.
The same process was followed with wines, and then beers, along with cigars, ports, whiskeys, fruits, chocolate, cheese, fish, oils, vegetables and meats. I learned that an experienced palate will be drawn toward fresher, clearer flavors. Becoming more mindful among the differences in flavors, I became more mindful as I consumed food and beverages. Fresher and more refined foods offered unique flavors on my tongue.
Of course, it ruined me. Returning from Germany and settling into the Bay area, I drove by a KFC. KFC chicken! I remembered eating it as a child. A sudden nostalgic flame consumed me. I ordered a chicken dinner. The eating experience ruined my memories of KFC and made a skeptic of me about all my American favorites.
So, I’m a coffee snob, but I’m also a beer, wine, chocolate, pie, cheese, fruit, vegetable, meat and pastry snob. I’ll eat things because they’re sustenance, and it’s my nature to accept that food is fuel. But I now know that some foods don’t work nearly as well as fuel.
Something about the eating and drinking experience also affected my reading, news reporting and movie watching. Overall, I became a snob, more watchful, more critical, more mindful. Part of me often wishes that I wasn’t a snob, that I can just turn on the television and be titillated by the latest number one show like so many others, or that I don’t need to research and vet news headlines and reports for the truth and accuracy, or that I can just trot on down to a fast food place for a meal.
With that, time for breakfast, locally sourced and organic, featuring berries and fruit we picked and froze ourselves, and a cup of coffee. It’ll be Major Dickinson today, from Peet’s.
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.
Everyday has a feel. Lot of that feel is conditioned into us by work and school. It’s hard to shed the feel.
Today is Thursday but feels like Friday. I could blame it on my friends. Fifteen of us met last night and hoisted a few beers. I enjoyed the Caldera Brewing Pilot Rock Porter, a most excellent beverage. I had two point five points so I don’t believe that’s the problem with today.
I worked and exercised, of course. Walked six miles, which is about my average, so no great shakes there. Had roasted veggie pizza for dinner. I don’t think that’s the problem nor why today feels like Friday.
No, I believe my problem resides with less than sufficient sleep. The Fitbit reports I had less than six and a half hours. For that, I blame the cats.
The four of them seemed very very. I don’t know what – very very catish? They ate their food and wanted more. They were inside and wanted out. Then, OMG, it’s cold outside, LET ME IN! Hearing the others, they would present a need to go investigate to see what HE’s up to without knowing who HE is. The four are male cats, felines who wandered in from the streets and declared our house is their house. Each has one issue or another.
My wife claims a big problem is that they’re all males, full of themselves and territorial. “It would be different if one of them was a female. Cats are matriarchal. A female would create some order.”
She could be right but I’m not getting a fifth cat to prove it. There is a fifth, a female. Pepper lives next door but loves our front porch and hangs out there about twelve hours out of a twenty-four hour period. She doesn’t seem to be establishing any order. Her only thought to order is, “Hey, hey, hey, give me something to eat. Hey, hey.” And I do because cats have established mind control over me.
So it feels like Friday because I feel tired. I’m ready for the weekend even though the weekend has no concrete meaning for me. It’s just Saturday after Friday, and Sunday after Saturday, and the day before Monday. Other than the spelling of the days and the hours of some businesses, they’re all Anyday and Everyday.
Okay, rant over. Got my mocha. Tastes awesome. Another sip or two and I’ll be ready to write like crazy, at least one more time. I’ll see where the story takes me.
I just realized that in the space of my future, there are no days of the week. It’s all Anyday and Everyday.
Imagine that.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
The beer group met last night, and I attended. Naturally, conversations rotated around weather, movies, literature, science, Trump and murder.
The murder is the worse topic of the moment. A twelve-year-old boy, Zeke, stabbed his fifty-two-year-old Mother to death and injured his older sister. We were asking why this happened. Three of the beerites personally know the family. Zeke was a loner, without many friends. The family seemed well off, living in a 4,000 square foot home in a good location. They’d just moved in in 2015.
The father was away. He flew home to this situation yesterday afternoon, his wife in the morgue, killed by his son, his son in a juvenile lock-up, and his daughter in the hospital, injured by his son.
Returning to more comfortable topics, several members told of bad weather experiences, sliding off roads, breaking axles, encountering abandoned vehicles, having chains snap. Then it was to the movies, where nobody save me has seen anything recently except ‘Rogue One’.
That was astonishing; ‘Fences’ was a play here last year and several went to see it. It was mildly surprising to learn they didn’t see the movie. I’d seen the movie and was eager to discuss and the rest. A few were talking about going to see ‘La La Land’ because of the Golden Globe Awards won. None had seen ‘Manchester by the Sea’, ‘Loving’, ‘Moonlight’, ‘Florence Foster Jenkins’. Two others had seen ‘Arrival’. Most surprising was that none had seen ‘Hidden Figures’. Several of them were engineers in the space program in 1962 and were working on the problems highlighted in the movie. I’d think they’d want to see how the era was portrayed, if nothing else.
But no; they waxed on about different problems and the creative solutions found for them, and the challenges of new math, or of coping with the complexities of shifting variables very quickly and things never experienced before.
TRump, of course, was villified. Not all were Hillary supporters, but none present can stand TRump. With head-shaking and angry voices, we talked about his press conference, the urine leaks, the Conway interview with Seth Meyers, the recall of the ambassadors, and his plan to turn his finances over to family members.
Ed, celebrating his eighty-fourth year, bought the beer and pizza. The rest of us donated twenty dollars to the cause of supporting STEM in school and after-school activities in local poor and under-privileged areas.
The establishment was still offering that porter that we all detest, and will continue offering it until the keg is gone. Fortunately, we endured with some local Ashland Amber and Ninkasi’s Total Domination IPA. It was a good evening in the warmth of friendship, and a pleasant way to whittle off a few hours of life.
I’ve never had a Snow. Have you? I’ve only learned of it today.
Snow is one of the biggest selling beers in the world. A lager, it’s brewed and sold in China. Some say it’s the best-selling beer but others argue that Snow breweries include multiple ranges of beers, and that if you let Budweiser include all its variations as a single brand, Bud is selling more. Impressively, perhaps, Snow was only introduced in 1993. It’s climbed fast but then, it has state sponsorship to grow and it’s offered in a unique market: China.
As I only rarely drink lagers, I don’t believe I’m missing much by not tasting Beer, a belief that’s flat-out wrong. I don’t know what the beer will taste like. I’m assuming that such a mass-produced lager isn’t going to open my eyes and make me weep with joy at its taste. I could be wrong, though. I understand from reviews of Snow, it has a low alcoholic content and has a mild flavor, tasting like an mass-produced American beer. Those aren’t attributes I seek in a beer.
I learned about Snow courtesy of the big news. Asahi, the Japanese company that brews beers, is buying five beer brands from Anheuser-Busch InBev, the giant beer octopus. Anheuser-Busch, of course, is the American brewer. We know them from their beers like Anheuser-Busch. A-B is owned by Anheuser-Busch InBev, a name that flows like an IPA off the tongue. InBev, of course, is the giant international brewing company. Anheuser-Busch InBev acquired SABMiller in 2015. SABMiller brews Fosters, the Australian lager, and Miller, the American lager.
All of this is marginally depressing. I decry larger and larger acquisitions. I’ve been sucked up into the guts of Tyco and IBM and slightly smaller but still large corporations through acquisitions. Each time, they enthused about how they loved our corporate culture and wanted to change their company culture to incorporate our culture, which is absolute bullshit. Taste it once, you don’t need to taste it again. Then the feasting began. Eventually all that was left of the acquired company’s culture is a few picked over bones, like the name and a handful of employees.
I also decry malls, for kind of the same reasons. Fly to any city and go to the malls and the variations between them are smaller than a pubic hair. They really only change when you go into the fringes of the poor and wealthy. Try it sometime.
These beer mergers and acquisitions would depress me more if I weren’t in the humble Rogue Valley, home of sensational breweries pumping out interesting and tasteful variations on lagers, pilsners, porters, stouts, porters, IPAs, ales and the like. I also live not far from Bend, with its happening beer scene, and awesome Portland. What worries me most is that such acquisitions are often harbingers of things to come. What keeps me sane is that there are many home and craft brewers who keep taking the decision to take their creations public.
A toast to those bold souls. May they ever brew on.
The self-appointed and full of folly brains on beer group met last night. I joined them despite its name, as I was off my green smoothie fast and had endured several weeks without a beer. For that, I felt entitled to be rewarded. The only porter on tap is vanilla infused and reminds me of cream soda. Opting out of that, I enjoyed Caldera Brewing’s Ashland Amber Ale. Although several IPAs were on hand along with Boneyard’s Red Ale, CB’s triple A is a good fallback for any venue.
Ron was celebrating his sixty-ninth birthday, so he bought. The rest put twenty into the kitty to support local schools’ STEM efforts. Conversations naturally skidded toward politics. Several members were leaving early to catch the debates. We’re on the spectrum from Reagan Republican to extreme liberals, and include several stops between those end points. None support Trump; none are enamored with Hillary. Several were Bernie fans. No one else really seemed to garner energy in our group.
Discussion swung around to Oregon issues and dropped into Prop 97. Disagreement bounced up. The most liberal disliked the prop because it was written too loosely. Another objected to 97 and was voting against it because it’s a sales tax and the floor for being taxed was too low. Logic, hyperbole, facts and opinions flew. Nothing was resolved, and nobody changed their minds.
But it was exhilarating to sit with friends and not agree, to discuss points of an issue based on its merits without diving into personalities or spewing invective statements and hate. In the end, we finished our beers, headed for the doors and called, “Good seeing you, see you next week.”
Michael Seidel, writer 