what do you expect anymore

Oh, beautiful chaos!  If there's something noticeable about the world today, it's probably that.  Of course not everybody thinks it's beautiful, although this double IPA from Jakobsland would be hard to say no to.  It's a Galician beer, so they might know something about chaotic weather, which is one thing that is certainly happening (even in Madrid!).

There's a strong hoppy aroma immediately after popping the tab, a little musky and enticing.  It's a nice sunny color, pale white head, goes down pretty fast but maintains a nice little ring just on top.  Sweet citrus comes out right away in scent, although the flavor is more balanced with bitter and even a little savory.  There's a kind of roughness in the aftertaste, giving the beer a hardy and wild feel.  It's a bit strong in fruitiness, a little bit of a tropical fruit salad in fact, but that's a good summer drink right there.  It might seem a little heavy for a quiet drink around the pool or on the beach, unless you're used to some heavy lifting with your glass.  In spite of the heaviness it really is a bright and happy beer, ready to light up your afternoon or evening.  I wouldn't even miss snacks with this one, it's a good flavor all on its own.

Supplier: Cerevisia
Price: €4.10

another down under

It's always nice to find something new at the beer store, a new style or a new place represented.  Of course, when we're talking craft beer a lot of breweries aren't in the position to send their beer very far from home.  Imagine my surprise to see a Chilean beer up there on the shelf!  It's Kunstmann Torobayo pale ale (das gute Bier! says the cap).  In spite of the name it promotes itself as a British style, "popular in the times of Queen Victoria", and both things make perfect sense for a Chilean beer quite honestly.  Hopefully this will take the edge off the rising temperatures at evening lately.

For a pale ale, the color seems awfully dark to me.  Still, very typical beer, slightly bubbly and good white head.  It has that German style aroma, a blend of bitter and sweet grassiness.  The flavor is sweeter than I expected, even a little malty, but again it has a very standard feel to it, a beer that you'd have in the cooler on a summer outing.  It's rather thicker than I expected for a pale ale, sort of oozes down in an ambling way, not the zippiness of an IPA or even a sour.  Although the sweetness is pleasant, it's on the heavy side, not as refreshing as I'd hoped on a warm summer night.  On a cooler evening it would be fine, or in a strongly air conditioned bar.  It's also a beer that begs a snack to compliment it, something salty would be great right about now.  My kingdom for a bag of pretzels!

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €3.50

What Price Pays The Pacifist

Lots of old news and old stories have come up recently, maybe because distance somehow makes them more palatable than new ones.  On one hand, a discussion of the life and values of Utah Phillips, storyteller and pacifist, on the other, another Nazi being punched in public.  Well, at a concert, so not exactly public.

The story is that six years ago, at a Dropkick Murphys concert, members of the crowd surged up onto the stage to dance along with the last songs.  One of those songs was "Skinhead on the MBTA".  So one, apparently only one, man started sieg heiling in time, the band's bassist noticed, whipped of his bass and socked the man a few times before having him ejected from the stage and the venue.  Then, he announced to the crowd that Nazis were not fucking welcome at their concerts!  The crowd was most pleased.  When the story surfaced again on Pharyngula, many fully supported the action taken.  But, there were several people who voiced discomfort, of the same type that there was when Richard Spencer was punched in the face while giving an interview on the street.

The two cases do not seem very similar on the surface.  The concert goer was actively showing his support of a violent and hateful ideology at that moment while Spencer was just having a talk.  Spencer, however, has made his opinions known in other interviews, and his white nationalism is not in any doubt.  Even though he was not actively threatening any particular person at that moment, his ideology is a constant threat.  The concert goer is actually some random man, who we know nothing about, including his actual politics.  He may in fact not be a complete Nazi.  On Pharyngula, and on the linked story, most comments were supportive of what had happened.  The concerns on the original story were about other songs and their possibly rapey content, while there were concerns about fomenting indiscriminate violence on Pharyngula.  While we should be mindful of "stooping to the level of our enemies", it seemed that some oddly felt that Nazis were not by nature violent and dangerous people, made all the more bold by the backup of a group (really, a gang).

It shouldn't be any surprise that there is rough and tumble activity at a punk show.  Maybe it got out of hand, but that's not any sort of news in itself.  On the other hand, what would the pacifist's reaction be?  I can imagine Utah Phillips, who said that the pacifist not only will not punch back when knocked off their stool but offer to shake hands, would probably invite dialogue.  He might ask the guy on stage, if he was just in the audience, express curiosity in his ideas and values and allow an explanation to be given.  It sounds like a mature, generous and fully human reaction.  Unfortunately, for many people it might not be an option.  Phillips himself recognized the privilege he had as a white man of a certain age, privilege that many people who work against Nazism and fascism do not have.  It is all well and good to say that we should try to uphold the values of pacifism and tolerance, but individuals also have to protect themselves.  They have to send a message of what is acceptable and what is not.  While wondering about the humanity of people who do not look like you is impolite, just wondering is not necessarily a threat.  We should be clear on the fact that Nazis and like-minded groups are not wondering.  They are completely sure and feel perfectly justified in using violence at every turn.  Sometimes the right answer is a punch in the face.  And sometimes, just sometimes, it is also the right statement.

all dice #2

alien/coffin/spiderweb/spider/briefcase/car/smiley sun/table setting/speech balloon/banana

So I went up the stairs like I was in a dream.  I felt that same disconnection from reality that dreams have.  I put my feet right on the glowing prints, because it seemed like what I was supposed to do.  There was practically no sound either, like everything was muffled.  The walls were covered in spiderwebs and little shiny-eyed spiders stared at me as I passed.  I could have sworn they were laughing at me, but that was a little to far for this particular waking dream.  I walked slowly down the hall to the bedroom at the far end.  The door was slightly open.  It was the only room that I couldn't see into, even though there still weren't any lights on anywhere.  I pushed the door open all the way and in a flash I saw what I needed to do.

The next thing I knew I was standing on the street in front of the house and Janelle was screeching up the curb.  I had my phone clutched in my hand.  I got into the car, moving the little monster to the dashboard and Janelle roared off, without even telling me to put on my seat belt.  She was pissed, for sure.  So much so that we didn't even go home, we went to get super omelettes at Norbert's Nook, famous for its breakfasts throughout the county.  It was Janelle's big comfort food.  Sausage, mushrooms and hot sauce.  Way too much for me.  I waited until it was on the table in front of her before explaining what had happened in the house.  I was expecting her to interrupt and tell me I was full of shit many, many times, but she stayed quiet through the whole story.  When I finished she took a big bite of omelette and stared at me while she chewed and I waited.  Finally she swallowed and said, "You think I'm going to yell at you, but I'm not.  Weird shit went down at home last night and it actually doesn't surprise me that weird shit happened to you."

"What?  What happened at home?"

"First, I think Nick's dead."

"WHAT?  You think?  And you still have the car?"

Janelle sighed and looked out the window, blinking in the brilliant early morning sun.  "I went to give him the keys last night when you were taking such a damn long time, and I assumed you would either get a ride for yourself or call in the morning.  No answer.  I looked in the window and everything was all messed up inside.  Door's locked and no windows open, so I don't think there was a break-in."

"But why do you think he's dead just because of a mess?"

"They told me.  The voices."

Well, shit.

"I mean, I know they're not completely reliable, they make mistakes and they lie.  But it would make sense as a warning.  We got the car from him, after all."

"But it wasn't just that."

Janelle sighed again, now looking down at her plate, picking at the remains of her omelette.

"There was a lot of noise from downstairs all night too.  Lots of squeaks and growls.  Dragging things."

"But from the basement?  The hell was down there?"

"It sounded like it should have been the basement, but I went down there with the bat, with mace and with the talisman, and there was nothing actually there.  There were still noises, but like a TV in another room when I was actually in the basement.  Not from ... below."

"Wait, you got out the talisman?  I thought you always thought it was a bunch of crap."

"Well, what do you want, I was scared and ready to try anything.  I mean, not scared to enough to just leave the house.  But I felt like I needed something less, I don't know, worldly."

I was starting to feel like things were coming together.  If anyone was afraid, it wasn't us this time.  I had never been in Nick's house, there's no reason to think he was dead just because of some mess.  Maybe he was just, like, messy.  And the noises that didn't belong anywhere?  Just a sorry attempt to freak us out.  Janelle, anyway, I was probably known to be away from the house.  But there wasn't anything really threatening that could be done, the noises didn't even stay in the basement.  I was feeling more and more sure that we could do this.  I needed to get a little bit of information.

"We should go to the library.  I don't want to go home and give any clues about what we need to find.  You have your laptop, or mine?"

"I have mine in the car.  Lemme finish this up."

Janelle started shoveling the last quarter omelette into her mouth.  It was reassuring to see her invigorated.  In a matter of minutes we were out the door and on our way.  The library had wireless so we didn't even have to go in, we could just sit on the picnic tables around the back and do our search.  Except that then it started to rain.

We were blocks away, under a sunny morning sky, almost cartoony.  I half expected to hear the birds singing Disney songs.  But then clouds rolled in, again, like in a cartoon, and somebody turned on the shower.  Rain poured down in curtains and the car started to slide.  All over the road, worse than in winter.  Winter has ice, this we could feel was slime, thick, sticky, slippery, the kind of stuff they use in kids' game shows to gross everyone out.  Now this was scary.  We started to go sideways, turn around on the road, by some miracle there were no other cars and we slid, unimpeded, right up to the library steps.  The back of the car scrunched against the concrete and stopped, just like that.  Janelle and I looked at each other and grabbed for the laptop case.  She got it first.  I let go.  "Sorry, it is your laptop."  She nodded and tore out of the car and up the steps to the door.  I followed, trying to keep my phone dry so I could call a tow truck.

The security guard and one of the librarians were at the door, watching the rain in awe, and only nodded to us as we dashed inside.  The just-opened building was still empty and we had our choice of study rooms, so naturally we went all the way to the end.  Janelle pulled the laptop out of the case and opened it up.  I cracked my fingers and said, "Time to find some medicine."

(some stores)

There are a few wine shops here and there in Madrid, but specialty alcohol stores were few and far between.  Over the past decade the beer stores have made a place for themselves, but even then they have found themselves a little bit of flexibility.  The first ones were bottle shops, with some tastings and homebrew workshops.  It took a few years before the first taps showed up.  A few stores gave up the bottle part and became fully bars rather than try to blend the two, maybe because they started to see the importance of food along with the drink.

Más Que Cervezas is still lined with oodles of bottles, but there is a reasonably wide selection of alcohol, including cider, wine, and hard alcohol, so they may find that enough.

Birra y Paz, Espuma, Cerevisia and La Buena Cerveza are still primarily bottle shops, but have a couple of taps.  They seem to focus on local or national beers for the taps, and Espuma has a second pint half off offer on Thursdays.

La Birratorium, Be Hoppy (of late), Cervecissimus, and (formerly) La Tienda de la Cerveza maintain a good selection of bottles on the shelf and in the fridge, but also have a number of taps to rival many normal bars in the city at 6-12.  Although there always seems to be a local/national beer on at least one tap, there is also a strong international presence in the beers.  La Birratiorium and Be Hoppy moved to new premises and opened up the number of taps, while Cervecissimus expanded sideways to make a bar area.

La Buena Pinta was always a combination of bar and bottle shop, and while the taps have multiplied and the bar feeling has been cultivated, there are still plenty of shelves full of a wide variety of craft beers of all types and origins.  Prost Chamberí started along the same lines, more bottle shop than bar at first, but the bar and the tapas took more and more precedence, until it became a beer focused eatery.  The Beer Garden followed the same path as Prost Chamberí it seems, with beginnings as a bottle shop that started offering beer on tap and finally converting to full bar with a location change (Cerevisia took over their previous location for a while).  La Tienda de la Cerveza also became a bar with a change of address.

The vanished Cervezorama and Palma Brew also started with bottles before trying to expand into more bar-like capacities.  Cervezorama also changed location for a larger space with more room for the bar (and not a lot of expansion in the bottle space, as I recall).  Palma Brew had only a couple of taps, a modest number of shelves, and perhaps tried to focus more on events than on product sales.  In the end, both disappeared.

all they ever wanted to say

It's always a joy to find a beer with a good pun of a name, or an in-your-face shouty name.  La Calavera already has a great name for a brewery, in my opinion, and their cognac barrel stout has the latter sort: Blue Blood Fuck You!!  With two exclamation points, at that.  It's an interesting bottle too, all delicate looking and reminiscent of stronger alcohol than beer.  Although, we should take into account the strength of our modern craft beers, climbing into double digits.  Especially the barrel aged ones.  At 11.8%, this one isn't even that powerful, but it's a damn fine glass of beer.  I only wish the label was more, let's say, explicit.

Should I put a pirate flag in the hallway or something?  Looks boring from here

That barrel aged beer always has a special aroma about it, whatever is in the barrel.  The Blue Blood is no exception: sweet, candy, a tiny bit of woodiness, it's all present.  The color is great, opaque and black as an elitist heart.  Didn't get it to foam too much, but that's probably my pouring mistake.  It's less sweet than the whiskey barrel aged beers, there's more smoke and wood.  It's toasty.  There isn't a very strong alcohol sensation at first, although there is a hint of it that might develop more.  It clings to the sides of the glass when you put it down after a sip, which is interesting since it doesn't have that stickiness in the mouth.  It's thick, but not syrupy.  Some stouts that aren't heavily sweet at first get a little scratchy as they warm up, and there is a touch of that in the Blue Blood.  It develops more of a woody taste than an alcohol fuzz, which brings wine more to my mind than hard liquor.  The beer does get a little bit heavier, as one might expect, but for a barrel aged beer I find it remarkably light and easy to drink.  Quite the danger!

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €5.85

more dice #2

bird/footprints/smiley face/car/tea/frowny face

I managed to convince Janelle to come with me to the meeting, promising we wouldn't stay for more than an hour.  "I just can't stand that New Age crap," she told me, "It makes me feel like I'm on one of those hidden camera shows.  I mean, who really, but really, believes it?"

The sun was going down and it was getting pleasantly dim on the street.  I couldn't see any spiderwebs anywhere now.  Either got cleaned off or they're invisible in the dark.  Like most things, I guess.  The house was way on the other side of town, so Janelle had begged our neighbor's car for the evening.  I didn't much like it.  It was the blandest thing I had ever seen, I don't even know what kind it was.  It was gray.  And four door.  Probably made of plastic.  Janelle kind of liked it though.  She was humming some song as she got into the driver's seat, made all the adjustments and started it up.  We didn't turn the radio on.  I had heard it enough when neighbor Nick came up his driveway, he was a big fan of bass heavy electronica.  Not for us, thank you.

We drove up to the house a scant 10 minutes later.  It was, in fact, not much like the photo.  It was a little scary looking even so, with a sharply pitched roof and tar black windows in the twilight.  There were little flickers of light inside, candles I assume.  "They're really playing along with the natural angle, aren't they?"  I was trying to encourage Janelle.  She stared hard at the house without even taking off her seat belt, and finally she said simply, "Fuck this.  Not going in."

"Oh come on, you think I want to go in alone?  I know it was my idea and everything, but what it Gertie's there?"

"I don't give a shit, you can deal with her.  Tell her there's a spider on her shoulder."

In the end, I did get out alone.  I told Janelle I'd send text her to pick me up when it was time, probably an hour like we had planned, and she nodded stiffly and drove off.  I don't even know where she went.  Could have just gone home, I suppose.  I had to go into this creepy giant cottage house.  I knocked on the door and waited.  Like in a horror movie.  No answer.  I knocked again, looking around for a doorbell and not finding one.  And just like in a movie, as I turned to go to door opened.  I was expecting somebody witchier.  Or at least female.  I guess the guy was a little gothy, so he went with the house.

"Yeah?"

"Uh, sorry, there's a meeting here tonight?"

He blinked, "Meeting?"

"Yeah, it was on the webpage.  It didn't say anything about calling ahead so I just came..."

He looked genuinely confused.  Then something seemed to occur to him.  "Hang on a second," and he darted inside the house.  He left the door open, so I could hear voices mumbling from some darkened room within.  I suddenly had a horrible feeling that I was doing exactly the wrong thing.  I couldn't quite feel out if these people were going to betray me or if I was going to get them mixed up in their worst nightmares, but I was about to turn around and walk right home.  But then Goth Guy came back.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't recognize you.  You can go into the side parlor with everybody else, they're working on the equations now."

"Uh, yeah, I've never been before..." but now he was smiling pleasantly and showing me the way to the "side parlor".  So damn fitting.

Everyone in the room looked disappointingly normal.  Jeans, tees, light sweaters, Crocs, nothing that would say magic and New Age to me.  A woman seemed to be leading the group, holding up a notebook with numbers and formulas slathered all over the page.  I pulled a little stool up behind a couple others and listened.

"As we know, each part has to balance.  It's basic science, just like chemistry.  The problem is knowing the exact contents of each ingredient, in order to find the correct balance, but if you get the purest ingredients the numbers are exactly those in your pink books.  If you have reason to doubt the purity, you might have to muddle around a little, so keep a very close eye on the color and the smell when you mix.  It has to remain neutral, colorless and odorless."

Oh god, what did I walk into?  I guess it was a little like witch's brew class or something, but since I had missed the introduction I didn't know what they were trying to cook up.  And pink books?  Paraphernalia it sounds like.  Stuff they gotta sell.  I more or less tuned out the rest of the talk, glancing over the attendees.  Gertie was thankfully not there.  I didn't know any of them, in fact.  They all had a weird ageless quality to them, I couldn't quite tell how old they were for some reason.  Something about the eyes told me middle aged or more, but hands were smooth and free of signs of age.  At some point the speaker said something about breaking into groups and everyone smoothly gravitated towards three natural groups.  Everyone except me.  Dammit, I hate being out of place, but what else should I have expected.  The speaker glided up to me and smiled.  Genuinely, in a truly friendly way.  I don't know why I was so surprised.  Maybe it was the bird on her shoulder.  I hadn't noticed it before.  "She's a pirate witch?" I thought, although the bird wasn't a parrot.

"It's always nice for new people to take an interest in our work," the speaker said.  "It's a shame you didn't read through all the introduction so you knew where to get the materials to work with."

"Well," I huffed defensively, "How do you know I didn't read it?  Maybe I just wanted to check things out before making the investment."

The speaker laughed like fucking Tinkerbell, I swear to god, and the bird gave me the evilest I have ever seen.  "No, nobody does that," she said, still giggling, "but nice try.  Isn't it Mr. Pickywick?"  She and the bird exchanged looks.  "Come with me, you can try something easy for beginners, before making any 'investment'".

I don't know why that was as insulting as it was.

We hustled off into the kitchen and the speaker started pulling dried herbs and powders out of drawers and cupboards.  A bottle of vodka came out of the freezer.  Ah, now things will get good.  "You have to start with clarity," she said, pouring the alcohol into a large clear bowl.  Then with swift movements she started adding a bit of this and a bit of that, mashing with a spoon along the side, giving a quick stir, and I was disturbed to see the liquid not change color at all.  The herbs were that normal dried herb greengraybrown, but the powders were all kinds of colors.  And nothing, nothing, gave that vodka any tint or texture at all.  Everything just disappeared into it.  "This is what you need," said the speaker, handing the bowl to me.  It was surprisingly warm.  Chemical reactions?  "Bottoms up," she said brightly while the bird looked away in disgust.  I realized with a start that I could see everything perfectly in the house even though it was night and not a single light was on.  I hadn't even noticed any candles, although we had seen those little spots of light from outside.  And during my revelation my hands brought the bowl to my mouth and I took a big drink.  It was water.  Hot water, but water.  I looked at the speaker, about to say something, and she was nodding at me in satisfaction.  Then she pointed to the hallway.  Instead of grumbling, like I wanted to, I put the bowl down on the table and went to look.  I saw a trail of glowing footprints leading to the stairs and to the upper floor.  And I felt exactly no surprise.  Nor did I feel surprise that my feet were automatically following the prints even while a voice in the back of my head started up a piercing shriek of rage and terror.

It felt like all the answers were going to fall into my hands that night.

(some fairs)

Feria de la Cerveza Artesana

The beer bag is less distracting than the hallway, yes?

The very first beer fair in Madrid, to my knowledge, was in cooperation with the artisan foods association.  The food still has a fair at Casa de Campo once a month, but without the beer being a major part of it.  It was one spring weekend, with plenty of stands for breweries and beer stores, a guide with a list of the beers on offer, and other activities like tastings and workshops.  You had to buy your glass to get the beers, at €3 if I recall, much like Beermad and San Lúpulo later.  After the first one at Casa de Campo, the Feria moved to a more central location - l'Europe!  The bar hosted four more fairs without charging for entry, although you could buy a commemorative glass if you felt like it, with breweries coming from all over the country, and even a few international crafts making an appearance.  After number five, craft beer moved out into other events and l'Europe started hosting a cheese and beer Sunday once a month, among other things.

Artesana Week

Towards the end of the Ferias, the neighborhood of Lavapiés, with its numerous bars offering numerous beers, started to get in on the fun.  From 2015, a number of bars and restaurants have participated in this springtime excuse to get out and about, with special offers on exclusive beers and tapas, as well as meet-the-brewers, tastings and other activities.  Since every business serves you with their normal glasses, there isn't a need to purchase a special glass, but it does leave you without a souvenir.  Take a lot of pictures, I guess.

Beermad

The first Beermad was held outside the Railroad Museum at Delicias, and I missed it!  I heard about it after the fact and made a point to keep a lookout for the next one, which was at La Caja Mágica way down south.  Numerous stands of beer, food, and accessories lined the walkway under the tennis stadium's stands, and with your €3 glass, Beermad was your oyster.  The first two were free to enter and consumption was with your purchased glass, but the next two required a paid entry, plus the purchase of the glass.  What you got with your purchase was the right to wander around and a token that would pay for most beers.  One drink with your entry, basically.  The latest Beermad returned to Delicias, free to enter, but without the map of stands and participants that they had at Caja Mágica.  Music and other performances were featured as well, and the weekend schedule made it a possibility for a family outing.  Numerous children were in attendance when I was there.  The Ferias also had a certain family-friendly atmosphere, although in a much smaller space.

Beergote

To my knowledge, this fair only happened once in 2017.  Similar to Beermad, it hosted a collection of stands for breweries from around the country, as well as food and musical performances, a little more on the dance and electronic side than what I'd seen before.  The slightly problematic location of Chamartín station in June made it hard to just hang out and enjoy your beer, since it was too hot outside and too crowded inside.  It was a valiant effort, but seemingly a one-off.

San Lúpulo

This is another one I haven't been especially vigilant about.  This minifest is organized by the beer providers in Mercado de Vallehermoso, home to Prost Chamberí, Craft 19, Drakkar, a La Virgen bar, and now has Labirratorium across the street.  Like Beermad, drinks are poured into the official glass that serves as your entrance fee, but even though the market is not centered entirely on beer, there are plenty of opportunities to try something new.  A number of breweries have small stands set up and a number of the regular stands have special offers on food and drink.  While Artesana Week takes place in the spring, San Lúpulo will be your excuse to indulge in the fall.

Founders Fest

I wonder if this one isn't a little different from the others.  It was another one-off so far, the only one being held in 2017.  It was also specifically organized by one brewery, Founders, with the presence of a number of others, from a fascinating variety of countries.  Yes, American breweries dominated in numbers, but they were hardly the only ones there.  Music was prominently offered, food trucks were catering to hungry drinkers, tables were set up to relax and enjoy at.  Unfortunately, a rainy weekend made the patio at Conde Duque less enjoyable than it otherwise might have been.  It was slightly annoying to have to buy tokens to "pay" for the beer and food, but I guess that adds to the specialized atmosphere.  It was also limited to people of drinking age, so no children running around this one.  I'm not sure if this was just American sensibilities or if some other factor was at work.

One more glass...

There are so many more beer fairs that I haven't seen and will never see (I don't drive so I can't get to the little towns, and if I did drive I wouldn't drink so there wouldn't be any point!  Can't do it all, I guess!)

agitated amber

Stocking up for the possible dry spell in August can be daunting, and Espuma tried to encourage their clients by having an 8-for-7 sale.  If only I had that carrier, coulda taken 8 bottles home pretty easily.  As it was, I didn't get that many.  I'm leaning towards the black beers as always, but maybe an amber ale would be a nice change.  And La Pirata's Sansa gives you a feeling of dark events happening on the label.  It definitely puts me in the mood for Halloween, in August at that.  Who am I kidding, I'm in the mood for Halloween as much as I'm in the mood for stouts, which is to say pretty much always.

Filling the bottle at the secret cat beer pond

It's a substantial looking beer, with a dark orange color, kind of opaque and pumpkiny.  While it has a hint of amber sweet, it's more of a citrusy ale aroma that comes off it.  The taste is also well within ale territory, with a touch of citrus and a good helping of bitter.  It's an easy drinker, with a good presence in the mouth, even to the point of feeling almost creamy.  It takes a little while for a strong taste of bitter to build up, but it does show up eventually, staking out the back of the tongue.  It's a nice little pumpkin pie of an ale, even if it has nothing to do with pumpkins.  If only I could bring it to a certain horror movie...

Supplier: Espuma
Price: €2.95

Not What You Are, What We Think You Are

After (yet more) shootings in Dayton, OH and El Paso, TX, many people who do not support Donald Trump have all but blamed him directly for the violence.  Some have even said it openly.  It seems that the Ohio shootings were just good old misogyny rather than racial hatred, but certainly we can blame the pussy grabbin' prez for promoting that too.  His photo ops are heavily criticized, the family of the orphaned baby receive furious messages for allowing Melania to hold him next to a grinning, up-thumbing Donald.  In response, Trump's supporters almost plaintively cry that he is not racist, has said and done nothing to promote racial violence, and this unfair idea of the president does nothing but polarize us further as a nation.  The thing is, the exact words that Trump uses and the actions he takes do not matter.  They have not mattered since he took office, and probably since he was named candidate.  He as a person is basically invisible; all we see is what he represents.

It would take a truly deluded view to say that Trump does not represent all sorts of prejudice.  He is a rich, white man, loud and thoughtless, used to getting his way one way or another and skipping out on responsibilities.  He represents the typical privileged white man Americans have always revered.  He does not need to openly advocate racist actions for himself or by the populace, he represents approval of such actions.  His existence confirms their appropriateness.  The big winner in the American game is the one who uses every single advantage he (and I do mean he) has, at the expense of everyone else.  He represents the pure 20th century American dream, where anybody can build an empire of obscene wealth (always forgetting the part that it helps if you start where somebody else left off).  His brash and pushy way of dealing with everyone around him is the aggressive businessman's technique, and the businessman is the true American, at least for the past hundred years or so.  Even if he has supporters among the rural and anti-urban segments, they admire him for his purported self-sufficiency.  Remember, he won the dream through his own work, not through government aid, grants, or any such handout for the weak.  Or so we hear.  His businessman's government should do what old-time Republican governments did, which was let business run itself.  Why, don't you remember the "Roaring Twenties"?  Product of business doing business that was!  Let's just forget about the Great Depression that came after that, that was obviously the real Russian meddling.

Many Trump supporters are frustrated and confused by being called racists/misogynists/homophobes etc. by the simple fact of being a Trump supporter.  Weirdly, a man calling himself Jesus Christ on a right winger's Youtube show made a good argument for why they might be so sensitive to it.  Basically, we have all accepted that it is wrong to be racists and racists are bad people.  However, we are good people.  We do not beat our loved ones, kick stray dogs, or go to Klan rallies.  We do not even demand segregation to be enshrined by law again.  We are not bad people.  Therefore, when somebody points out some statement or action that could be thought of as racist, it must not be because only bad people are racist.  As good people, by default nothing we do or say is racist, sexist, homophobic, anti-Semitic, classist, etc.  Now, if we support the president because we think his hands-off policies on domestic business and pushing around imports will improve the economy, and our own economy specifically, that has nothing to do with race at all!  Yet, if the president is racist that makes him a bad person, and we as good people cannot support bad people.  If we support him, he must, by default, be a good person without flaw.  Donald Trump represents a strong America for his supporters, so no matter what his policies bring, they will support him and be deeply hurt that they are labeled racists.  By the way, the Youtuber was either so offended at being an implied racist or just so nervous to be next to "Jesus Christ" that he did not even try to make one of his slick arguments, he only repeated, "Everything you said is incorrect."

Of course, many of his supporters truly are racists and otherwise terrible humans, and back him up for that very reason.  He represents approval of violent dissuasion for the "wrong people" to participate in society.  He represents bullying softer, weaker voices into submission so the loud and violent can do whatever they want.  This is why, even after Trump has said that he does not support white supremacy, neo-Nazis and white supremacists wink at those words and boldly demand public visibility in their America on the right track.  Trump himself can deny his approval all he wants, and he may genuinely not approve, but he probably does not strongly disapprove unless there is serious violence and people try to smear his name with it.  In any case, it does not matter what his words and actions are, because his figure is all the approval necessary.

This is not limited to Trump, of course.  Obama was also more of a representation than a man.  However, he represented something very different.  Where Trump is not only the stagnant status quo and even a slide back into a more oppressive past, Obama was a signal of movement forward, to a fairer world for everyone, a society where maybe everyone did have a chance to succeed.  His background, his rhetoric, his campaign on "hope and change", gave the clear idea that progressive ideals were being taken seriously and a better country for all was in the works.  It did not matter than he failed to close Gitmo, that he authorized drone attacks that killed many civilians in the warzones that he also did not finish with, and even the fact that children being separated from their parents at our southern border became commonplace under his administration means nothing.  Obama represented a truly kinder nation and one that looked to the future.  What he represented was more important that practically anything he did or intended to do.  He won a Nobel Prize for being not-Bush, for god's sake.  Maybe he will win another for being not-Trump.  All he has to do is represent.

fewer dice #2

eyeball/fuzzy monster/angular house/spider

So I went home at a brisk walk, surprised that Janelle wasn't waiting in the front yard to yell at me for running off.  She was in the kitchen with a big glass of water and a pack of ibuprofen, grumbling to herself.

"Hey."

She looked up but didn't answer.  Her eyes were red and watery.

"Headache?"

She nodded, still not speaking.  I went to her room and got her little wild thing.  That's what she called him anyway, it was a monster doll from I don't know where.  I put him on the table next to the tablets and said, "I had the weirdest experience with a Young Republican a little while ago."

Janelle sat back, rolled her bloodshot eyes, picked up the monster, and went to the living room.  "So what, is he going to be the sacrifice for weirding you out?"

"It was a she, actually..."

"Well then she deserves it, doesn't she, self-hating woman for sure."

"I also ran into Gertie-"

"Aw Christshit!"

"No, I got rid of her pretty fast.  Turns out she's afraid of spiders.  There's a fuck ton of 'em out there today."

"Maybe all the ones from the basement, posted all over town to watch us," shuddered Janelle.  Could be, I thought to myself.  That might explain it.  "Did you lock the garage when you put your bike back?"

"Um..."

"Oh fucknuts, you want us to get robbed?  They've been breaking into garages all over the place for weeks!"

"Maybe we should stake it out and sacrifice them," I offered lamely.  Janelle huffed and squeezed the monster in her arms.  We stayed where we were in the living room for several minutes, trying to think of something to say.  At least there weren't any whispery voices right now.  No visions from the corner of my eye either.

Then I had a thought.  It was almost like a vision, the memory was so clear, I saw Gertie and her witch's boots hippety hopping beside me down the street.  Witch's boots.  Spells and incantations.  Power.

"I have an idea," I called as I sprinted out the door.

"Well don't tell me anything right away, jerkass!" Janelle shouted after me.  She'd get over it.  She had those ibuprofens.

I ran to the spot where I rammed the tree and collected my bike.  I wasn't really surprised that it was still there, but I expected to see a nasty note or two taped to it.  People don't like to see anything left on the street in this town, not at all.  I dragged the bike with me, holding the front part up and letting the back wheel along, looking for the way to Gertie's house.  I hadn't been for a long time, but I thought I could probably find it.  Turns out I couldn't.  A couple of frustrating hours later I was back home, sweaty hands and messy hair.

"Did you lock the garage this time?" asked Janelle from the computer.

"Yeah," not at all sure that I did, "Listen, look for new age or neopagan groups in town."

Janelle turned and gave me a look that said, "Use your own laptop for that shit," but then she shrugged and typed in the search anyway.  Most of the results were connected only the most distant way to magic or community, but towards the end of the page one looked promising.  I reached over Janelle's shoulder to another smoldering glance and clicked.  I couldn't tell if it was the same group that Gertie was involved in, I rather hoped it wasn't, but it looked like it might be what we needed.  And there was a meeting scheduled for tonight!

"You're not serious," groaned Janelle, "These idiots are just playing around, they don't know anything about supernatural shit.  I mean, look at the house in the picture they have."

It was the most Scooby Doo/Addams Family house I had ever seen in a photograph, that was true.  But it probably wasn't their actual house or meeting place, it was just to give some of the right feel to their page.  I was already looking forward to going.

(sell outs?)

It probably comes as no surprise that the industrial beer manufacturers were none too thrilled with the boom of craft beers.  Nobody likes an upstart.  Still, they behaved in a more or less civilized way, simply buying up those breweries that they could and allowing those companies to produce their goods in a more controlled way, giving them more reliable product in terms of taste, color, aroma.  Some small beers jumped at the chance to use big money.  They saw it as an opportunity to increase their production, their quality, and even get more creative with the types of beers they were making.  Some entrepreneurs took it as a good time to bow out and try a new project.  Some try to hang on to the bitter end, promoting themselves as true artisans and their beers as examples of authentic craftsmanship.

Interestingly, Spanish industrial beer was not so dismissive of the appeal of craft beers - and this in a country were craft makes up less than 1% of beer consumption - and did their best to appeal to those tastes.  It may also be an appeal to some national nostalgia that worked in their favor as well.  Mahou began to put out signboards with the old fashioned "Casimiro Mahou & Hijos" in loopy curly-q font.  They also produced four "special" beers, labeled at first with street names in central Madrid, adding to their product line styles that were now firmly in the public consciousness as "craft".  Well, when people were aware of them at all.  Amaniel (lager), Jacometrezo (ale), Maravillas (strong lager) and Marcenado (wheat) featured old fashioned designs on the label and artistic looking bottles.  The brand was clearly looking to stimulate longing for days gone by, when life was simple etc, etc.  Representatives also appeared at fairs and festivals around the city to give lessons on pouring the perfect "caña" at the taps.  More than distinguish themselves from the craft beers, Mahou seemed to want to have a foot in their camp, while also maintaining a more modern image for the typical neighborhood bars.  The company put their money where their mouth was in another way: several American craft breweries were invested in, although not purchased outright, including Founders of Michigan and Avery of Colorado.  Founders in particular found this investment to be a great stepping stone to a European market, appearing in a number of bars and beer stores around Madrid, even hosting a beer festival in June of 2018.  The fruits of their collaboration are also found in the newest thing on Mahou's product list, a session IPA.

Spanish craft beers were also willing to step up to the next level.  Cervezas La Virgen was purchased by AB InBev in 2015, leading to more regular beers and an expansion in the types produced.  Cibeles was not completely purchased by Heineken, but 51% of the company now belongs to that multinational.  Cervezas La Sagra, a busy brewery with quite a number of products to its name even as a craft brewery, reached "an agreement" with Molson Coors in 2017 to get a bigger piece of the beer pie.

Despite the consolidation of some, there are still literally hundreds of craft breweries in Spain, many depending on collaboration with other breweries to actually make their recipes.  Not only that, but home brewing as a hobby has become a fairly normal activity, with clubs and courses not hard to come by.  Several of the beer stores, in particular La Birratorium, offer brewing ingredients as well as bottled and canned craft beer from all over the world.  It seems likely that there will always be room for the little guy at this point.

gift from the trees

I stubbornly resist the demands of summer for light beer!  Not always, I have my IPA every once in a while, but damn if I won't take every opportunity for stout.  Even a maple stout.  Arbor Ales Goo Goo G'joob is there to do the job.  Gah gah g'job?  That'll sound better after a beer.

The syrup comes right on top in the aroma, and really it's a very breakfast-y smell.  I can even imagine buttery pancakes hiding somewhere.  It has a heavy look, opaque and dark tan head.  Although that maple sweetness does slide across the tongue, there's a lot more smoke than I expected.  It's a nice balance between sweet and bitter, not letting the beer get too sticky.  It might be a tad on the bitter side, leaning towards the ales in that sense, but the maple lends it a darker feel than the typical citrus and meadow notes of ales.  Several sips in bring out the woodiness, the reminder of barrels resting quietly in dark cellars, patiently releasing their essence to their contents.  It's fairly strong at 12%, but the texture is light and frisky.  It wouldn't be too hard to drink too many of these, actually.  With chocolate or salty snacks, several could be consumed before you know it.

Supplier: Be Hoppy
Price: €4.80

Bad Education

I like to watch old films, and Film Preservation has a bunch of them on their website to stream or download.  A lot of them are educational, commercial, or propaganda films, which are very interesting indeed.  One I watched recently was Crowded Out, showing the difficulties faced by schools during the Baby Boom and redistribution of population during the '50s, what with lack of funds for new schools and more personnel, leading to crowded and uncomfortable classrooms.

More than uncomfortable in fact, detrimental to the learning process for a number of children.  Not only were the "slow learners" left behind by the teachers who had no extra time to dedicate to them, but the "gifted" students finished their work early, got bored, and got busy making trouble for themselves and their classmates.  Some of them also stopped trying due to lack of stimulation I would imagine.  I had always thought of traditional schooling as the lecturing teacher and the crowd of students, with group work being done under strict supervision and everybody on the same page, so to speak.  Only rarely would students be allowed to explore their educational opportunities on their own.  If course it happened in some "alternative" schools and school systems, and in this short film, nearly 20 years older than the first, we see children using more hands-on and self-guided techniques of learning.  The teachers have their goals, but let the children find their own way, so it seems.  But those styles were stamped out by the overburdening of the classrooms or the desire for regimented thinking among the nation's young.

Why would people not want their children to learn at their own pace and in their own way?  Obviously money has a great deal to do with these choices, as public schools depend on a certain amount of "generosity" from the taxpayers and private schools depend on whoever funds them.  Even if people prefer a more individualized method they might not be able to provide financially for the necessary resources, human and material.  My feeling, though, is that another factor is even stronger than money, and that is control.

The control I mean is the rigid training of the young to fit the mold(s) of society and not have the confidence to question why.  Everyone keeps their head down, follows the status quo with some amount of willingness, and doesn't rock the boat at all.  Sure, we do find anti-war protesters of the '60s and '70s who must have been stuffed into their school boxes, but they are a bit of a blip on the radar.  While some things have loosened up, much depends on the individual districts and schools to get away from the regimented, factory-style of education that the second half of the 20th century saw as normal.  More than that, many people saw and still see it as "correct".  They bemoan attempts to give children more freedom in the classroom and more resources to stimulate their own learning and learning styles.  And that's not to mention the problems of underfunded public schools in poor districts.  The overcrowding and lack of resources continue in many places, and the most idealistic and energetic teachers are no match for the utter nothing that they get from the system.

Again I ask, why do people not only allow but insist on this?  It is control.  Children who can't think are easily led.  They will do the bidding of their betters, pushing out who needs to be pushed and continuing the trends for the promises of treats.  Uneducated, miserable masses will be desperate, they will fight wars far away for a chance at a better life.  They might also kill each other in frustrated despair, taking care of the problem at home.

There were always good ideas about furthering education and respect for learning.  There were always people who were afraid that the wrong people would learn they were people.

all dice #1

spider/(ghost noises)/witch's shoe/coffin/speech bubble/elephant/alarm clock/frowny face/eye/hand

Well, the cat didn't do any damage to my bike, and I don't think I hurt it too much, just gave it a good scare.  It was the tree that I swerved and skidded into that mashed the wheel all up.  Just what I need now, no bike.

With nothing else to do, I started walking.  As I said before, I didn't really have anywhere to go, I just didn't want to be at home.  It was a summer morning, but not too hot yet.  Still, I could feel it in the cheerful rays of early sun that it was not going to be too comfortable on the street in a couple of hours.  I might as well be a vampire with how much I can't stand hot days.  I've spent entire weeks in the basement during July and August.

So, just a leisurely walk then, no hurry, no particular destination, just out for some air.  No need to draw attention to myself.  But of course-

"Hey, long time no see!" came the voice that was just about the last one I ever wanted to hear again.  Gertie means well, but...let's just say there are problems with boundaries.  I shouldn't have turned around, I should have kept walking like I had earbuds in and didn't hear anything (almost unbelievable with her voice, but worth a try), but I automatically turned my head.  And shoomp she was right next to me and plastered onto my right side.

"Hello Gertie," I managed before the floodgates opened.

"Oh my god, I have to tell you all about this new club I joined!  It's so cool!  We do all these craft things with natural ingredients and stuff!  I feel like I'm in a witch's cult!  You should come with me next time!  It's just the best!"  I couldn't even bring myself to correct her use of "cult", I just wanted to find an excuse to get away and into a calmer space.  I let her chatter for a while, looking for some object of interest to fob her off on, cursing myself yet again for living in a small residential town instead of someplace with a shopping district.  You don't even see people in their front yards most often.  But, as I was dragging my new accessory down the street I started to notice a much higher number of spiderwebs than normal.

Now, they weren't like in those pictures of towns covered in blankets of spiderwebs that go viral and it turns out there's a migrating spider population or something, they were normal kind of fine webs, but like...lots.  One between fence slats and one on a car mirror.  One over the top of a garden bush.  One stretched over a streetlight.  And as far as I could tell every one had one spider right in the middle.

"So I just had to get these boots 'cause I think they go with the whole atmosphere, you know?  I think Wolf will really like them, he hasn't seen them yet, but what do you think, aren't they great?" Gertie was hopping along beside me, holding out a tightly booted foot to be admired.  I don't know if it was footwear for a witch or not, I would have said it was more, I don't know, steampunk or something, but what I said at that moment was, "Hey, aren't there a lot more spiders than normal?"

I learned something about Gertie that day.  I learned she had a bad case of arachnophobia.   I feel a little bad about making her tear off down the street swatting herself all over as if she was crawling with bugs, but I did get her off my nearly literal back.

Now that I was alone again, I wandered down to the high school, where they were setting up for some summer school theater thing.  I was never much into theater myself, but I was impressed by the props and scenery that these kids often made.  They were real artists, some of them.  I hope they got into creative professions.  Now, I don't know what play they were putting on this year, but it looked like something with a Halloween theme.  The parking lot was full of foam gravestones and cardboard coffins, which made for a weirdly organized looking cemetery feel.  I browsed the stones to see if they had put any joke names on them, but no luck.  Not even funny epitaphs.  Must not be a comedy.  Then, by a stack of brown stained coffin boxes I heard a low moan.  I looked around grinning, thinking some kid was playing a little trick on me, but there was nobody close enough to make the noise.  It sounded like it was right next to me, inside the coffins in fact.  I was going to lift the lid of the top one just to make sure nobody was hiding inside, but I realized as I touched the top of it that there was no lid.  It was all folded and taped shut.  I was ready to go through the pile to see of one of them did have a lid and a body inside it, but I was accosted by yet another bouncy voice.

"Excuse me, have you registered to vote?"

"There isn't even a campaign on right now."

"You should be registered anyway, elections happen all the time.  Our local elections are important too!"  Certainly the peppy teen wasn't old enough to vote herself, but I couldn't fault her enthusiasm.

"Well, I mean, can I even do it here?  I don't have anything to do with the school..."

She laughed like a cheerleader and said, "No, we just give you the information here and tell you where the best place for you to register is.  You can find everything online too, of course, but a lot of people just want to hear it from a human voice."

"A little nostalgic maybe?"

"The human touch is always welcome," she stated firmly.  Who did she remind me of?  Young Reese Witherspoon maybe?  I noticed the elephant on her button.

"Are you guys going to complain about whatever weirdness this play is going to be?  Corrupting youth and that?  No ghosts and blasphemy?"

She laughed again, with real amusement I think, and answered, "We're Young Republicans, not Young Fundies.  I know what a lot of people in the party say on TV, but our group is firmly in favor of separation of church and state.  It's constitutionally correct!"  Then she leaned in and seized my arm with fingers with perfectly painted nails, looked me dead in the eyes and let the words pop out like cubes from an icemaker: "We're the good ones."

She let go of me and cheerily walked off, calling back a reminder to register over her shoulder.  I swear the cold dead eyes my senator shoots through the TV screen aren't as scary as that Young Republican's secularism.

It might have been the weird happenings of the morning that made me more susceptible, but I was starting to feel the tingle of observation.  The pressure was growing in my throat, and the sensation of little voices in the back of my head was picking up.  I wished I had a job to go to.  Maybe I should look into something on my way back.  Problem is, if I have to deal with people there will be incidents.  Just like there were when I was working before.  I guess it's time to go back home and see if Janelle has seen more spiders than normal too.

(beer develops in Spain)

Spain does not traffic on the reputation of its beers, although plenty of them deserve it.  Rather, Spanish cuisine plays up the underappreciated wines.  It is true that wine has had a much bigger presence on the Spanish table and in the Spanish tavern for the last few centuries, but beer has a much longer history in the peninsula than one might suspect.

Before Roman settlement, the Iberian peoples made a sort of "beer juice" from the same grain they used to make bread, at only around 2% alcohol.  Even after the promotion of wine as the drink of choice in Roman Hispania, beer continued to be made in small quantities.  Even in the areas of Muslim domination non-Muslims would be allowed to produce and consume beer and wine (paying the proper amount in tax, one would assume).

"Modern" beer is said to be the gift of Charles V, a man raised in the north of Europe, where beer had a much higher profile.  He brought master brewers from the low countries to make beer for himself, although we might imagine he would share with dinner guests with pride.  The royal patronage did not, however, create much popularity for the beverage, and the few factories that were established petered out with lack of interest in their product and high interest in their profits as sources of tax revenue to fuel the wars of subsequent kings.

Like so many other things, drinking preferences were subject to change in the Industrial Revolution.  The numbers of workers packed into the cities, working hours in stuffy, hot factory buildings, would favor a cold drink over a warm one, and that cool beer was made possible through new processes and modern methods of food preservation.  Certainly, the "chato" or little drink of wine did not go out of favor, but the "caña" or little beer definitely gained its solid footing through the consumption by 19th century tavern-goers.

The most successful breweries, that is the ones still active today, were not founded by Spanish people, interestingly enough.  Casimiro Mahou was from Lorraine, cousins August Kuenstmann and Joseph Damm Alsatians, and the southern winner of the beer race Cruzcampo was founded by the liquor making Osborne family, originally from England.  In fact, among the big names of our time, only San Miguel, now owned by Mahou, was formed by Spanish hands, and those hands were in the Philippines at the time.  Spanish industrial beer promoted itself as refreshing and as good in quality as its German counterparts, relying on similar flavor profiles that became popular in other countries' industrial beer industries - light lagers with a touch of bitterness.  And cold, cold, cold bottles!

In the 20th century, Spain became a destination for tourists seeking sun and fun, many of which also wanted the cold beers they relaxed with at home.  It was another big push for Spanish industrial beer, but foreign influences would also eventually start the craft beer industry.  Despite the presence of beer in the peninsula for centuries, there is not really a culture of small breweries or local brews as there is in other European countries.  The craft revolution would come at the hands of those who had enjoyed the bright, snappy and undeniably modern IPAs of the US and the local real ales of English pubs.

in demand

I was prepared to take a moderately long walk to Be Hoppy and checked my Google Maps real quick to make sure I was on track...turns out they're in a new location, closer to where I was than the old one.  It's a somewhat larger store, with bigger refrigerators, and more taps.  That seems to be the way things go, start selling bottles, end up pouring drinks right there.  I decided to be a little daring, and appropriate for the season, and pick up a Berliner weisse.  It's a special one, though, with ginger and lime, so extra kicky and refreshing.  Stand In Line is a promising name, although the design on the can makes me think of a much heavier sounding beer.  Maybe I'll be surprised by the ginger.

While it looks like a pretty normal beer, there's a sharp sourfruit aroma that you really ought to expect from a weisse.  Especially with fruit.  Not as sour as expected at first, but give it a few seconds and oh boy.  It's not too over-the-top, really something like sour candies that aren't going to make you turn inside out, but it does give you a nice kick in the face.  To get your attention, you know.  Paying close attention does identify some sweetish lime in there, coming out towards the end of the sip.  The ginger takes a while to build up, like with Thai food.  It seems sweet or just savory at first, but keep on stuffing your mouth and it won't be long before you'll be looking for a nice milkshake.  Or a milk stout?  It's a respectable 4.5% but that leaves room for something stronger later on.  The lime gets stronger and stronger, leaving a taste like window cleaner smells.  The ginger, sadly, loses strength as the lime gains, so it's not super well balanced in that regard.  Or maybe that is exactly the balance, the two guest stars taking turns.

Supplier: Be Hoppy
Price: €4.15

Once I Thought There Was Reasonable Dialogue

The debate about abortion rages back and forth, each side gaining and losing ground at different times, each side accusing the other of inhumanity and cruelty.  Most civilized countries have come to the conclusion that abortion needs to be available, although it would be better if it were not necessary.  Some countries (cough, cough) are not on board.  Many of their citizens think it a crime in a metaphorical sense for abortion to exist, and they would be pleased for it to be so in a legal sense as well.  What if we truly wished to eliminate the act of removing a fetus from its mother from practice?  What would be the consequences?  Are they acceptable?  How can we ameliorate or avoid them altogether?  The opponents of abortion are not happy about considering the real results of their dream.  They wish fervently that we could all live in a baby-worshipping utopia where no pregnancy is ever a burden or a danger and no child destroys the life of its mother, and other family.  How possible is it?  Not very.  However, we might imagine what a humane society would do if it were determined to stamp out as much abortion as possible.  The causes of abortion and the results of its lack must be examined.

The obvious cause of an abortion is an unwanted pregnancy.  If we dig deeper, though, we should ask what makes a pregnancy unwanted.  In most cases the answer is simply the devastating effect it will have on the mother's life and possibly the lives of her loved ones.  Despite pregnancy and birth being the natural ways for animals to reproduce, both of these circumstances can be terribly dangerous to human women.  I think we are all well aware of the stories of maternal death from centuries past, and those deaths are not exclusively attributable to ignorant doctors' filthy hands.  Pregnancy can cause any number of health problems for the mother, including gestational diabetes, incontinence, and deafness.  While the diabetes is normally (always?) temporary, the other physical effects are permanent, lifelong conditions that diminish the quality of life for the mother, even to the point that they may limit her possibilities of employment, another blow to quality of life.  This is why the answer is not simply to give away babies in adoption.  There are other reasons why that cannot be a universal solution, but let us start here: The problem is not just the baby, but the pregnancy itself.  Women who may have wanted to generously donate their young to others can find themselves risking their health and even their lives to do so.  They might abort with a heavy heart, but also with the certainty that they will be able to try again when their circumstances have improved.  Now, how can we alleviate the problem of the problem pregnancy and thereby reduce the number of abortions needed to resolve them?  I see two areas of attack: health care and employment.

Health care is problematic for "regular" people in some countries anyway, let alone for pregnant women and their children.  Yet, it seems perfectly logical that by giving people access to care, they will be healthier to begin with when they come into stressful and demanding situations like pregnancy, and they will be in a better position to deal with possible problems.  Not only will the mother be healthier and better able to care for herself and her child, before and after birth, but also the developing child will be healthier and in a better place when in comes to survival.  We should not forget that health care for children should be a consideration as well.  The difficulties of caring for sick children do not need the added burden of uncertainty in finding care in the first place.  This also connects to the question of employment and employers' policies for parents.  Even a wanted pregnancy can be an enormous sacrifice for a woman in terms of her worklife, since she will undoubtedly have to take at least some time off.  An unwanted or problematic pregnancy will only multiply the trouble and stress.  Of course, this is not merely a case of employers dismissing women out of pure irrational prejudice; the problems of pregnancy are like any other major health problem that take people out of the workplace, and the absence of the worker can be costly to the business.  Add to this the expense of providing a health insurance plan, as enlightened businesses in a country with no public health service are expected to.  It is not hard to understand from a financial standpoint.  At the same time, there are many who decry the reduction of problem pregnancies to their monetary cost, so it is only fair to do the same for jobs.  A good worker is a good worker, and we all deserve the support of not having to expect job loss for a run of bad health.  Now, it is not only the pregnancy but also the maternity leave that bedevils employers, since many months and in some cases years out of the workforce is unlikely to have any benefit when it comes to industry know-how.  Again, if we make the safe assumption that a business is meant to make money and not a fair and kind society, it is not surprising or worthy of condemnation that mothers are discriminated against.  We can blame the business easily, but perhaps the fault and the responsibility should lie with society at large.

While looking out for women who decide to keep their pregnancies is a necessary step, we must also consider those that will not keep them under any circumstances.  The proper road here must be prevention.  How to prevent unwanted pregnancies in the first place is a question that we have been wrestling with perhaps since we made the connection between sex an pregnancy.  On one hand, we ought to be teaching everyone about sex and pregnancy so nobody is surprised and in a place where they feel out of options.  We should be giving comprehensive sexual education in schools, whether in science classes or as extra informational modules, explaining the ins and outs of the body without embarrassment and shame.  Another very important component of this education is explaining how contraception functions, even if only to help people make an informed decision to avoid it as much as possible.  However, the key word is "informed".  There is quite a bit of misinformation floating around for the purpose of discouraging the use of contraception - and causing more unwanted pregnancies.  Understanding the reasons behind this behavior most likely requires more knowledge of psychology and more empathy than there is here.  Surely, another space will offer a thoughtful analysis.

Is it enough to offer doctors, jobs, and pills (or other birth control)?  Not quite.  In spite of great strides over the last century or so, many old and unhelpful attitudes remain.  These attitudes are responsible for the fact that the mother is the de facto caregiver, even when her job is as important, or moreso, than that of her male partner.  It is perfectly understandable that working women would shy away from children, even if they harbor a desire for family.  The sacrifice of the mother is typically greater than the father's, as she gives up not only her body to grow and nurture offspring, but her time to care for it for years afterwards, and possibly her career and future stability.  If we genuinely want women to feel secure in their choice to produce children, we have to provide the assurance that options will be available.  Nobody will be effectively under house arrest because of their parental status; children will have places to be cared for while the parents are working; illness will be accepted  as a reason to be distracted or temporarily absent from the workplace.  Not only that, but we must make it acceptable and commonplace for fathers to take care of their children by being present.  There is the illusion of free choice on the part of the parents, but the reality is that we act knowing what social pressures there are, and we make our choices accordingly.  Women who do not have a partner, or not a dependable partner, will consider not having children and ending pregnancies.  This is a simple fact.  If we truly want to encourage more motherhood, we must provide security.  Otherwise, we have no ground to stand on when we complain about abortions and social welfare for families in the same breath.  That is nothing but incoherence in a humane person/society.

What about promoting adoption as a reasonable option?  Many anti-choice advocates remind us that there are many couples desperate to care for children who would be happy to adopt.  They even volunteer to pick up the tab for medical care for poor women and teenagers.  Unfortunately, this seeming great solution ignores the problem of the pregnancy itself.  As noted, the demands of pregnancy can destroy a woman's career path as surely as raising a child can.  It is inhumane to insist that a woman sacrifice her work, or even natural, life under any circumstance.  Those who choose to do so should be supported to the fullest extent, of course, but we must be aware that the demand is extraordinary.  Even for those women who are more than happy to provide their children with more stable lives and other adults with the joy of parenthood, there can very well be emotional difficulties.  Much straw is made over the emotional effects of abortion, apparently ignoring the opinions of the majority of women in the Western world who have the procedure, but nothing is said about the impact of adoption.  After many platitudes about the natural love a woman has for her children, the anti-choicers seem to think she will simply hand them off and go on with her life as if she had only had a tooth removed, perhaps.  There ought to be therapeutic resources available in the case that the pregnant woman or biological mother has negative emotional reactions, either as a result of the hormonal changes in her body or as a consequence of the separation from her child, agreed upon or not.  We cannot have it both ways; women have emotional bonds with their children or they can give them up with a minimum of suffering.  It cannot be the easiest way for those who have no skin in the game.

My conclusion is that abortion is an absolute necessity in a society that claims to value individuals.  We must be allowed bodily autonomy, and the reason the woman's autonomy trumps the fetus's is the same as the reason we do not oblige blood and organ donations.  No person has the right to the use of another's body, even to save their life.  It may be sad to hear, but if we judge ourselves to be respectful of individuals, we must accept it.

many dice #1

sun/eye/moon'n'stars/cat/ladder/bicycle

We sat out in the backyard the next night thinking about what we should do.  It was obvious that we couldn't just run away, we'd tried it before.  At the same time, we had a very clear feeling of impatience building in our ... idol.  Janelle was smoking, even though she knew I didn't like it, and the smoke wound up into the sky, casting a gauzy curtain over the twinkling celestial bodies of the night.  The feeling of surveillance was overwhelming, more than it ever had been before.  Finally, I broke the silence.

"Maybe we should go down to the creek."

Janelle looked at me in annoyance.  She didn't say anything.  Her thoughts were obvious.

"Well, what do you want to do, then?  Buy a goat?  Or a chicken?"

Janelle ground out the remains of the cigarette in frustration and stomped back into the house.  I sat outside looking up at the stars, wishing I were a believer so I could ask for help from something greater than myself.  Funnily enough, I didn't think of the skull as greater.  It had powers, that was for sure, but it was something like a bully you try to deal with for a school year.  They aren't better than you and you know it, but for the moment you can't fight them.  I also wished I was a smoker so I would have a cooler excuse for just sitting on my ass in the yard, doing nothing else.

Suddenly, I woke up with the sun burning my eyes like eye drops you forgot about in the bottom of your medicine cabinet for a couple of years.  I sat up quickly and saw that Janelle was breaking up slabs of wood and dumping them into the grill.

"It's not a wood burning grill, Janelle," I grumbled irritably.  She gave me another look of frustration and kept on with her task.  I tumbled to my feet, feeling like a Russian circus bear, and wobbled over to see what she was actually doing.  I had to get right next to her before I could make out what the wood was from.

"Is that the ladder?"  Terse nod.

"Did you smash it?"  Sigh and understood eyeroll.

"How will we get to the lower levels now?"  Janelle stopped and looked at me with an expression of smug knowing and pity that I had to ask.  I scratched my head and looked around the yard.  It was a splendid morning, truth be told.  Other days I would have been very proud of myself for being awake and out of bed, ready to do some yardwork or something.  Today I was just confused and fearful.

I did absolutely nothing but watch Janelle bring out all the wooden planks and slabs and smash them up and drop them unceremoniously in the belly of the grill, and finally dig out a half-used pack of matches and light one, drop the others on top of the wood, and drop the lit match.  For some reason I expected a fwoosh but it didn't happen.  Naturally, Janelle hadn't put any lighter fluid in.  The fire caught slowly, and smoked with all the years of underground humidity.

After a while I said, for no reason, "I guess I should go to work."  Janelle gave me the evilest eye I've ever seen and I went to the garage to get the car out.  But, sitting in the driver's seat, I had the worst feeling of doom I've ever felt.  Sure, people have premonitions all the time that turn out to be nothing, but when you feel it you know you have to do something, if only for your own peace of mind.  I eased myself out of the car, like I expected to set off a bomb, and gently shut the door.  I hadn't turned the engine on yet.  I stood and looked at it for maybe a minute, and then I grabbed Janelle's bike.

"What the hell?!" she yelled after me as I zizzed down the street.  "The car is out of gas," I called over my shoulder, knowing she would believe that as much as she had my line about work; I hadn't had a job in almost five years.

I hurtled down the early morning streets with ease, weaving from side to side and from curb to curb.  You would think I would be able to dodge an obstacle without too much trouble, but cats are the worst fucking obstacles out there.  Not matter what, they will be right under your foot, your tire, or if they get away it's because you have begun to have a spectacular accident.  And that's what happened to me.

(building pubs)

There is a certain traditional feeling behind the craft beer scene, the sense of doing things your own way on your own time.  It’s something many Americans might associate with a pioneer spirit, flipping off the “big boys” and making something special that can’t be easily replicated by anyone.  Of course, there are also failures, but on a small scale with a broad scope one failure doesn’t have to be the end of you.

The roots of American alcohol are probably the same as anywhere else.  If humans can find something to alter their state of consciousness they will cultivate it with glee and devotion.  The early colonists were by no means drunkards, but as a sort of purification of the water around settled areas, alcohol production was a necessity.  Not all drinks had high alcohol content, of course.  The “small beer”, produced after other varieties had used most of the power of the mash/malt, had perhaps 1-2%.  This was a drink that even the children could enjoy during meals, without much worry about contaminated water making anyone sick.  Other beers were mostly ales.  The reason being, ales are produced with specific types of yeasts which the English had in their homebase, and apparently the Dutch shared those varieties.  The lager yeast would not arrive until mass German immigration in the 19th century.  Colonists produced their own beer, whisky, and other alcoholic beverages, at least until the concentration of housing made it uncomfortable to do so.  Taverns were a natural feature of the landscape, although women were not allowed to enter in the early years of the colonies.  A separate entrance did allow them to pick up an order of beer or whisky, though.

There seems to have been a complicated relationship to alcohol from early times, with the whisky tax and subsequent rebellion after the Revolution, and religious movements through the 19th century promoting an alcohol-free lifestyle, in order to get closer to god.  It is also true that some civil rights movements tried their level best to separate alcohol from the American experience, mostly to protect less privileged populations from its negative effects, even if they were not the ones drinking it.  At the same time, there is an idea of having a right to drink as we please, even though there is no constitutional amendment or anything similar to point to to claim it.  The “English” taverns had the reputation for being fairly unsavory places, for less than correctly behaving people.  However, the Germans who came in the 19th century brought the idea of the wholesome beer garden to the public.  These were areas where adults could relax with a drink (or two or three) while the children played in healthy green areas, or enjoyed carnival rides to distraction.  This was, of course, propaganda.  The Germans at the time were not really Americans.  They didn’t speak English, for one thing.  And they didn’t belong to the right churches, for another.  Still, they persevered and became good “white” Americans, and their beer gardens became respectable places to have a lager beer.  Naturally, there would be trouble when Germany became the clear enemy of the United States in the First World War, but over the second half of the 19th century, Germans were simply hard-working, hard-drinking, wanna-be Americans, the same as the Irish, the Italians, the Chinese...well, maybe more than some of those.