I Feel Odd About My Ipod

I was a pretty late Ipod adopter. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.

The older I get, the longer it takes me to adopt new technology. I bought a CD player the moment I could afford one (1989?) and had a yahoo account ahead of the curve. Heck, I even used pre-internet dial up services (prodigy?) and may have been the first person (hello, Al Gore) to anonymously use a dial up provider to hook up with underage teen aged girls (hello, To Catch a Predator) Let's keep in mind I was 15 myself when Prodigy was around, but I was ahead of the times, as all kids are, I guess; still, I should have patented internet dating.

I find myself to be either increasingly critical, ignorant, or dismissive of new technologies, like MP3 players and just about any internet enriched experience. I rarely watch any video on the web, but whenever I go over a friend's, almost any conversation results in a video download of the subject matter, whether it be an iphone demo or a you tube video. It was only a few months ago I was made aware of youtube's existence (folks did not believe me and thought I was putting them on at the time) and I think I have yet to visit it on my own. I primarily use the internet for information, in the form of entertainment and job searching, and it has been vital in my newly launched beer education; it's also great for finance and paying bills. Otherwise, aimlessly surfing the internet when I'm bored seems a bit like going to the mall food court when I'm hungry: inherently unsatisfying and kind of a bad decision.

Surely I sound like a Luddite to a lot of you. And I know for a fact that many of you who spend a lot of time online don't wander aimlessly, but really have lots of places you regularly visit and enjoy. Also, there are many folks more adapt than myself at finding good information online, just as I could find a very good beer anywhere in the US I happened to be, while you would drink shit. It's all just part of knowing what you want, I guess, and knowing how to get it, which has never been a strength of mine.

In a very circuitous thematic way, this brings me to the Ipod. I first came to know and dislike the Ipod as a manager at a book production warehouse. People on my team all suddenly started wearing them, almost like a uniform, seemingly overnight. It's telling, too, that I choose the word "wearing" as opposed to "listening," and, while I choose it for a few reasons, I choose it mostly because you can't hear someone else's Ipod, so, to an observer, you see it more than anything.

At first, Ipod wearing at work seemed innocent. The work is fairly monotonous and repetitive, so zoning out to music is expected, to a certain degree. But, I noticed that Ipods made people noticeably more individualistic and less communal. And for reasons beyond knee jerk impatience, I disliked having to get someone's attention physically when talking to them. Ipods seemed more prevalent than headphones for a CD walkman ever did and they also seemed to make people more distant. It was harder to manage. Fewer people brought in music to share with others. Newer people had a harder time getting to know people. One woman who worked for me would curtail unwanted male attention, regardless of the level of interest, by putting on her ear buds. I don't blame her one bit (I can get pretty grabby, as all my female employees will attest), but there seems to be a petty message there: don't bother me, I'm doing something more important than talking to you, namely, listening to the music and/or podcasts I chose for my individual listening program today.

Is this a concern to anyone? Fuck the work example. The reason I bring it up today is that I went for a 5 mile walk today and, for the first time ever, brought my Ipod along to listen to a 2 hour podcast. I have been in a bad mood lately, so I thought this would be sure to liven me up and keep me in good spirits. And I did enjoy the program and it took my mind off my problems and mood, so mission accomplished, right? The thing it, it felt extremely odd and unnatural to me. I very much felt like I was more or less telling the world and anyone that ran across me that I had better things to do than talk and listen to them. That the podcast I was listening to was more interesting than anything they might have to offer. Readers might ask, how often do you really talk with or interact with strangers when you go for a walk and my answer is: less than I used to. The image of 15 twentysomethings in a Portland coffee shop, IMing their friends on their laptop and laughing to themselves (instead of talking to anyone actually in the shop) has long since failed to faze me or be remarkable. It used to make me think back to over 15 years ago, when I worked at a suicide hotline and a older guy walked in one night (you could do that). He told me that he had just been outside the Store 24 in Kenmore square, trying to pick out a guy to jump so that he could hold his knife to the guy's throat (and he shows me the knife) and tell him that he wasn't going to hurt him, he just needed him to sit and listen to him for a few minutes. The story sounded theatrical to me when he walked in and showed me his knife; after I spoke with him for 30 minutes, I had no doubt he was telling the truth had been on the verge of pulling his knife for the reasons he gave. He was just incredibly lonely and, like all of us, needed someone to talk to.

I don't think I would listen to my Ipod on a walk again, at least not regularly. I think they're great for taking with you, so that if you sit down for awhile and want to get lost, wonderful. But there's something limiting and egocentric to me about having a preprogrammed soundtrack of your life to take with you everywhere. Are you really that important and self-interested?

I had dinner with (name-dropping follows) Vikram Chandra in a group last year and he was wondering why all the Americans he met seemed to, inevitably, tell him that Americans felt disconnected and that American communities seemed to be eroding, in the popular, nostalgic sense. I told him that I thought it had something to with self-importance and self-obsession.

"When I grew up, Vikram, my mother and grandmother thought it was important for them to get along with and know all of their neighbors, even the ones they didn't like. At my birthday parties as a kid, they would invite weird old neighborhood widows, who gave shitty presents and smelt bad. But my mother thought it was important to try to include and take care of people like this, because, essentially, she did not believe she was better than anyone else and that everyone in our neighborhood deserved respect."

"Today, we often migrate to cities and places different from where we grew up and no longer feel this responsibility. I tend not to get along with, like, or interact with the majority of my neighbors. Sure, I'll be nice and hang out with the people I LIKE, but I won't make the effort to get along with someone I don't like or who is different. And, whether or not I acknowledge it, I consider myself smarter, better looking, funnier, better educated, kinder to animals, and a better lover than my neighbors. I think I am above them from a social status point of view and they see my crappy car and feel the same way about me."

Obviously, Vikram liked my answer and is writing his next novel about me. But, seriously (and that was practically verbatim), I think there's some truth there, and it extends to my feelings about wandering with my Ipod.

Thank you for bearing with a sentimental and thoughtful post. My next post will review Time Travel in Einstein's Universe (terrific) and Three Floyds Dreadnaught and will be thoughtless and misanthropic. Upcoming books are In the Line of Beauty and Black Swan Green, topical books you may have actually heard of.

Oregon's Brewer Fest 2007 Round Up

Well, OBF 2007 is in the books and I think it was one of the most impressive gatherings of beer I have ever been to.

I don't have good notes on individual beers, as I drank a lot and was very unprofessional (read: salacious) in my behavior at OBF, neglecting to write very much. But here are my impressions:

Overall, an outstanding collection of beer. I was surprised by the variation of styles; this isn't even close to a summer beer fest. I'm not even sure that summer-esque beers dominated the selection. There was a great offering of Belgians, Imperial/Double IPAs, and other big beers (like Widmer's 9% Noggin Grog). Here's what I remember:

Russian River Pliny the Elder - Easily my most anticipated beer. All I have in my notes is that "drinking this beer is like a sacrament." Serious fucking stuff, people. You can't get it at all in Oregon, so try some RR next time you're in California. Pliny the Elder is a super well balanced, rich and complex Imperial IPA that I could drink until the Rapture. Rating = 9

Flying Fish Bourbon Aged Dubbel - An odd beer. I have had bourbon aged beers before, but never with such an overpowering bourbon flavor. I'm not embarrassed to say that, in the spirit of my previous post, I can't really tell you why I liked this beer so much, except that it was different, ambitious, accomplished, and intriguing. I kept expecting the novelty of the super bourbon palate hit to fade, and it didn't. My notes are "unique, smoky, sweet, delicious, what's your phone number?" I don't think you can buy this beer in Oregon or that I got anyone's phone number. Rating = 7

Ommegang Hennepin Saison - Well, when I rated Jolly Pumpkin's saison below, I admitted that I was new to saisons and maybe needed to develop a taste for them. Maybe, because I loved this beer. I think it's probably better than JP's beer, too, so that helped. My friend hated this beer, so yeah, maybe saisons are tough to get into. My notes are "light, yet rich and complex; overly sweet and very carbonated." This beer is available in Oregon and well worth your time.
Ratig = 7

I also remember enjoying Widmer's Noggin Grog ("high octane sweet wit, best thing from Widmer for awhile"), Terminal Gravity's Tripel, Pelican's Hefeweizen take, and something called Whoop Pass IPA, which was a delicious Double IPA from God knows where. Look, I was very drunk and the blog should reflect this.

For more beer you cannot buy in Oregon and thus have no reason to read about, here's a review of Three Floyds Pride and Joy. Those in the know will realize that Three Floyds is special stuff from Indiana that you cannot get in Oregon. In addition to the respectable Pride and Joy, they are known for their legendary beers Alpha King, Dark Lord, and Dreadnaught (don't they just sound good?). In fact, the infamous Imperial IPA Dreadnaught has long sat atop my most wanted beer list, my most wanted beer list containing only non-retired beers I have a reasonable chance of finding were I only to travel widely enough.

Well, Dreadnaught no longer populates any such list for me, as 22 ounces of it are sitting in my fridge right now. All Three Floyds products were given to me by a very dear person very desirous of more public attention than I am giving here. But, nevertheless, I remain extremely grateful. Here's that review and let me know when you are headed to the Midwest.

Three Floyds Pride & Joy Mild Ale
Pours a hazy pale yellow. Nice citrus hints and a strong hoppy aroma. Hits the palate a bit thin, but then gives way to a fuller mouth feel. Quite frothy and carbonated. The head takes quite awhile to subside, no matter the pour. Finish is remarkable; a rich, deliciously bitter hop trail. A stunning, complex pale ale. The drop hop finish is super clean and stunning and the beer's standout quality.
Rating = 7

Try it at = You can’t buy it in anywhere in the PNW.
Try also = It’s somewhat reminiscent of the under-rated Bridgeport Blue Heron

NY State of Time - A Review of Heyday by Kurt Anderson

Historical fiction is inherently problematic. It's considered reasonable to slap the genre label on any fiction set in the future (sci-fi), but books whose chief plot device is to be set in the past are supposedly a notch above pure genre in literary terms. Well, I don't buy it. Heyday is a good illustration of why I don't buy it, as there's really no point for this novel's existence without the setting. Unlike, say, The English Patient, which could have been set in a different war time and still retained most (if not all) of what makes it brilliant, Heyday is pointless without the events of 1848.

Heyday is a tough book to review. It made the cover of the NY Times Book Review when it came out. I remember having been interested in and hearing good things about Anderson's first novel, Turn of the Century, and, the above notwithstanding, there's plenty of meat in 1848 to pick from and I was curious what Anderson would do. Plus, I'm a sucker for a big intellectual novel and that's how Heyday was marketed.

So, I read the review and the NY Times Book Review is fucking confounding. After I finished the lengthy review, I had no idea what the reviewer thought of the book: hated it, admired it, respected it, detested it: no clue whatsoever. I was having an exchange the other day with an old friend about how book reviews are disappearing from newspapers, how even the Boston Globe and the San Francisco Chronicle have cut back on their reviewers and review space and, while it's a shame, I say this: they brought it on them fucking selves. I spend a fair amount of time on the internet reading mostly poorly written book reviews without a shred of intelligence and insight into the text that they are discussing. But the reviewers are, at least, offering an opinion and trying (and usually failing) to be entertaining. And while the elitist in me (if I can separate myself from that part for a second) hates this trend, I (condescendingly) give these mostly amateur reviewers credit for trying. As someone who has taught English and now is new to beer tasting, I think it is OK to like a book or a beer without being articulate as to why. It would be nice to know, it would be nice if you'd try to figure that out, but it's OK not to know and to say you like it: how do you learn otherwise? I read Proust when I was 20 and I loved it. I couldn't say why, I couldn't tell you a thing about the work (still can't), but I enjoyed it, immensely. And I grew from that into other literature and it led me to study English and on and on.

So, back to Heyday. The review leaves me nowhere and with no impression of whether I might enjoy the book or not, so I give it (and all its 620 pages) a try.

It's a very accomplished labor of love in many ways. For those who aren't clear, 1848 was marked by a series of revolts across mainland Europe, and the young British protagonist of Heyday finds himself inadvertently caught up in France's revolution in Paris. He eventually flees Europe and ends up beginning anew in New York, where he meets the rest of the novel's characters.

Anderson's mid-19th century New York is the novel's main attraction and it does not disappoint. He clearly has a love affair with the city and has done his homework; the book's early descriptions of fire fighting in NY are fascinating and informative. Anderson does extremely well with his boisterous, nascent megalopolis and, in some ways, it's the book's best character. The 5 main characters, though, are flat: two are insane (really fucking crazy insane), one is a free thinking prostitute with an amazing sense of culture and a heart of gold (the minor prostitute characters in Deadwood put her to shame), one is a crackerjack journalist cross of Walt Whitman (who pointlessly appears in the book) and Falstaff, and the British protagonist Knowles is just a young, rich guy running around from one stage of history to the next. The characters all eventually fly west to the California gold rush and that's pretty much that, after 600 pages.

Anderson has a good dozen amazing sentences in this book, but he cannot write characters. The main dramatic moments of the novel are basically written in voice-over style; everyone stops talking while the narrator tells you what happened. It's unforgivable.

Book Rating = 4

Recommended to: Folks interested in mid-19th century America will find much to enjoy here, but, as you can tell, it's a bad sign when the first word in the review's concordance is "pointless."

Read instead: Anything by Charles Dickens you haven't read. I am not a big Dickens fan, but Heyday reminded me a bit of Dickens, mostly in terms of scale, setting, and book length. Any Dickens you might happen to pick up will bury this book.

You Don't Need Another Hero

Heroes. We all have them. My heroes tend to be literary heroes and, lately, beer heroes. More than anyone else in our country, no one combines the two like Oregon's own Fred Eckhardt. For those of you who don't know Fred, that's OK-- I'm so embarrassed that you need not be. Fred is a long time beer scribe and aficionado, who has done more for Oregon beer and beer appreciation than this modest blog could ever hope to describe. Plus, how can you not admire a man who makes a living off drinking beer, writing about beer, and pairing food with beer?

I met Fred for the first time the other day and had a beer with him, which gave me an indescribable amount of pleasure (you should read what he says about me in his blog). Now, those of you who know even a little bit about Fred and Portland will say that tracking him down and talking to him over a beer is about as tricky as getting a girl in strip joint to take her clothes off, given Fred's seemingly ubiquitous nature and love of beer. You are basically correct (and I will probably run into him tomorrow at the Oregon Brewer's Festival) but I will point out that it gives me an indescribable amount of pleasure to see a woman take her clothes off, too, so there. Take joy in the everyday.

Before I get to the momentous meeting, I want to share some other run-ins I've had with heroes and those I would most like to meet. I should note that I have tended to shy away from trying to meet writers I admire; working at author's readings has made me realize how insufferable the fans are (not to mention the writers) and it's usually very disappointing for me to meet someone I admire anyway. I am of the camp (it's a small camp) that if you have a question for an author, you should re-read their work. Numerous times. If you still want to know something, ask yourself why you want to know. If you think you have an important reason, ask a book person smarter than you the question (deleuzian@yahoo.com). If you aren't satisfied with the answer, do some research. If you must, read biographical materials to see if you gain any insight, though I would advise against going that route. And, if you still want to know, write a letter or send a short e-mail. For some reason, it's OK to write a long letter, but if you send an e-mail it must be short.

So, when I meet someone I like, I pretty much want to have a beer with them (surprise!!). When I used to smoke, smoking was good, too.

Heroes I've met: (Some name dropping follows:)

Christopher Hitchens: Lunch at a BAR. We smoked and drank a lot of BEER. Basically, he was supposed to have lunch with faculty members at the University of Cincinnati, but they were afraid of him, so he ended up with the graduate students. We had a great conversation about Martin Amis (they practically grew up together and I believe are still best friends or very close at least) and sex and alcohol; it was mostly the two of us with another colleague happy to watch the fireworks. Hitchens pretty much held his own. Very generous and much more munificent than I would have ever guessed. (I should note that we had lunch years ago before he went crazy.) Rating =10

Martin Amis: Pretty boring. A book reading in Austin. We chatted afterwards for only moments and did have a cigarette outside. He was very nervous and perhaps on cocaine. I gave him a hard time for his sentimental essay on Pride & Prejudice (which is extraordinary) and I think he was too addled to give me a real response, because I was brilliant. I would say I was unprepared for this meeting, because if I had had a flask of alcohol, I think we would have had a drink out in the parking lot where we smoked. Rating = 5

Richard Powers: A series of meetings over a week or so. I drank heavily and I do not believe he did, but I was too drunk to notice. He doesn't do book tours or signings (won't, in fact, sign a book) and isn't great with people. I was in a no-win situation, because I admired him so much at the time and he is incredibly bad at dealing with people who admire him a lot, which all his fans do. Still, an amazingly nice guy and generous. (Just read any interview with him and see how nicely he leads along the idiotic interviewer.) The highlight was when I was leaving a party with my girlfriend and professor and we were getting our coats. I saw his shadow projecting in front of us (he's like 8 feet tall to people who are my height) and, without turning around, asked my professor, "Did I ever tell you about the time I was in a coat closet with Richard Powers?" See, it wasn't that great. Rating = 4

PJ Harvey: At concerts across the country. I drink and do not think she does. Also, the conversation is a bit one-sided (I LOVE YOU!!) and she doesn't particularly seem to acknowledge me in any way. It's pretty much the best relationship I've ever been in. Rating = 10

Heroes I'd like to meet:

Jonathan Franzen = Understand I liked this guy a lot before you knew who he was. We have corresponded but never met. I would have stood a much better chance of having a beer with him before Oprah made him famous, so I guess I hate her for that, too.

Steve Erickson = He is an off kilter LA novelist kind of like Jonathan Carroll, but much better and much, much less renown. He would actually be pretty easy to have a beer with if I made an effort.

Haruki Murakami = Eventually, Murakami might give a lecture I might attend, but I will almost certainly never get to sit down with him over a drink. He was in Portland recently and did sign a copy of After Dark for me, which is no small coup.

George R R Martin = I don't read genre novels, so why he is a hero of mine, I can't really say. Except that his work is borderline brilliant and he likes strippers, football, and beer. If I am still out of work in September, I will be sorely tempted to see if I can drive to Santa Fe and watch the Patriots (me)- Jets (him) game with him, which would be extremely special, for him. A helluva generous guy, who advertises where he'll be, just so fans can have a beer with him. I'm sure we'll have a drink someday.

Without further adieu, here's my dinner with Fred:

Last Thursday, at the Concordia Ale House, the Concordia Cup tasting was going on. Basically, you plunk down $10 for 10 (taster) beers and vote for your favorite.

Here are some facts we need to get straight: (BEFORE Fred sat down next to ME)

I tasted the first beer and rated it. I then drank and rated all the other beers in order. I then tasted all the beers again. After I was done trying them all twice, I re-rated only the first beer and raised its score, while leaving all the other beers the same.

Also, I wrote down in my notes that it was a very ODD collection of beers.

Fred sits down next to me. He is pretty much talking to someone else for the next half hour or so. Once I am sure it's him, I ask him at some point what he thinks of the beers.

"Well, it's a very ODD assortment of beers we have here."

I cover up my notes. How did this this guy make a living before sitting next to me and peering over my shoulder?

Later, we enjoy an conversation and he is tickled when I call him "sir" and tell him what he has written lately, which is typical sycophantic stuff, but it worked in this case, likely because he was drinking and couldn't remember what he had written lately.

"Well, which beer do you like best, sir?" I cover my notes.

"Understand that my tastes should not be your tastes." Nice try, but I don't move my hands. "I think this first beer here is the best. It was a bit ODD at first, but the more I drink it, I think it's got a nice complexity, etc." geeky beer talk follows.

Not my favorite beer, but a good one. And, nice work for Fred seeing that I upgraded the score. Very nice work indeed.

In all truth, I was very flattering to him, as I am an admirer, but I mostly kept it toned down and very much enjoyed speaking to him. Kidding aside (although it's all true, except my wicked slant), he was extremely gracious and friendly, easy to talk to and we shook hands when I left, always extremely important.

Though, I have to say, I will be reading his next few columns very closely.

Cobra 2, G.I. Joe 0

It's been a while. Oddly, I've been urged to post again. I've also been told blogs aren't polished, hysterical, medium length essays, but short, insipid, episodic journals that are frequently updated. Look, telling me I don't know what a blog is is like telling Proust he didn't know what a novel was, so save it.

Here are some quick beer hits, with few details:

Alesmith IPA = 10. Best beer I've ever had. Hard to find at times, but usually available at Beaumont and Belmont. It's not particularly hoppy for an IPA, but it's deep and rich in a way you imagine Natalie and Scarlet are in quiet moments (though they're really boring).

Jolly Pumpkin La Roja = 9. I was wrong about JP's beer. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong. This is a slightly sour, fruity, amber beer in a Belgian style. It's unforgivably delicious and complex, while still being amazingly drinkable for a 7.2% ABV. Amazingly full mouthed yet light considering how layered and interesting and enjoyable it is. A great conversation beer and highly drinkable for beer newbies to get into. Start your next beer party off with a bottle.

Terminal Gravity Golden = 6. Not bottled, on tap at Amnesia. A pretty simple, very delicious, fairly light golden, which still has enough hop complexity and richness to make it memorable. Another seemingly effortless success from TG. I bet they go with this at the Oregon Brewer's festival.

Unibroue 2005 = 7. A really strange beer and I had it a while ago, but . . . I take a sip, and am amazed, and disappointed, at how appley it is. Apples, apples everywhere. I keep drinking. It's a very strong belgian style, very sweet, and, oh, those apples. As I get halfway through the bottle it occurs to me that, in a perverse effort to live out a childhood rhyme, I eat an apple everyday. On some level then, I must like apples. The beer is very enjoyable from there on out.

The only book I've been reading lately is Cobra II. Cobra II is kind of the ugly stepchild serious Iraq war book. It didn't do as well as Fiasco and some others. It has a horrible cover. It also probably bounced off its intended audience a little (lefties), as it's not polemical, offers little analysis on the whole, and is chock full of facts. In other words, it mostly fails to politicize the most politicized issue of the day, while containing the most facts we are ever going to get on the topic, unless they do a 2nd edition. You start reading the book, and you wonder how they got that quote from Rumsfeld's guy. Oh, they spoke with him. And that CENTCOM quote seems like bullshit, where did they . . . oh, he did an interview.

So, the book is unimpeachably sourced and plods along with a complete military history of the war, in a less than bracing narrative. It convincingly debunks most of what I thought I knew about the war and the supposed incompetencies of the Bush administration and replaces them with far more troubling and well supported incompetencies of the Bush administration, which are less newsworthy, but more fucked.

The unstated thesis of the book and the only thing you need to know when deciding if you want to read it or not is whether the following is interesting to you: The Bush team, particularly, Rumsfeld, Bush, Cheney, Wolfowitz, and Rice (in that order) were so successful in creating their own reality (based on whatever they wanted to believe about the world at the time) that it led to an unconscionably simplistic and arrogant worldview and invasion of Iraq. I know that's not news to most of you, but let's linger for a second with an example. Bush and co. don't dismiss counterarguments and bury contrary evidence because they are sleazy and dishonest and want to do what they want to do (at least not primarily). They do it because they cannot assimilate any information that falls outside their thinking. It's like when you love someone who doesn't love you, and you ignore the 100 things they do to shy you away, but focus instead on the time they offered you a piece of gum. You're not stupid, just certifiable. And when Colin Powell taps you on the shoulder and tells you that maybe she isn't so into you, you look at him like he's the crazy one.

That's all for now. The new job is splendid, for those who know or care.

Love Who Next? - A Review of You Don't Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem

You Don't Love Me Yet is almost always about looking for love, meaning, and importance amidst a not quite cartoonish LA rock scene of hipsters, artists, and other folks who don't work for a living. It's silly to call a work of fiction contrived, but this novel revels in its stereotypes and chance meetings, getting a lot of play on the notion that everyone in LA that's anybody knows the same cool underclass. At his best (and he pretty much is all the time here), Lethem goes just below the surface of his characters' emotional lives, exposing what they most need and desire, and usually giving it to them, at least for a little while. It sounds unbearable; the book's a minor miracle. There's barely a false note and Lethem is simply unbeatable when it comes to getting a reader to empathize with a character's emotions.

The great trick here is that the book sets the reader up for a frivolous thrill ride of a rising band, but delivers a beautiful little track of how people live and love, despite how frivolous it all is. Along the way, Lethem unpacks the overly quirky characters, who all work, who are all somehow believable, who all have "deep" moments of self-discovery and growth, and it's all authentic and glorious. Amidst the shallows of LA, Lethem pokes just below the surface (one of the many cliches that loom large in the novel) of his people, and somehow makes stupid LA people sympathetic and human and likeable. It's almost Whitmanesque in its way. So, the totally stereotypical chick bassist, who works for her art studio friend answering phone calls from some fake complaint line as part of a larger scale performance art/major jerk off art thing, who happens to meet an encyclopedic/uber interesting/sexually interesting older fellow is just terrific and immediate and believable. And her ex (the lead singer, naturally), who just kidnapped a kangaroo from the zoo, and the guitarist (the laconic, film watching, somehow sees and knows everything about humanity without any self awareness/guru/songwriter guy), and the drummer (slightly dull sex toy worker) all ring and resonate with authenticity you never believe could have been possible. The Big Lebowski is genius. And it's genius partly because it doesn't seek to be important. To a similar extent, this is true of You Don't Love Me Yet, though it tries, at times, to be important for a moment amidst a sea of fakery and posing and crap, but that works, too.

Lethem is getting to be a great writer. This book showcases what he's really excellent at. Kazuo Ishiguro wrote his first two books and (he's a strange guy) he says he didn't set out to work the unreliable narrator device he has going in those books (Pale View of Hills = first-rate; Artist of the Floating World = really good, but not as good, but just like PVH) but it just happened. So, Ishman figured he'd really give it a go in book #3, Remains of the Day, which is just about as perfect as an unambitious slender novel toward the end of the 20th century got (Sea by Banville pretty much all the same, but 21st). So, Lethem, who is a bit of a machine with a lot of books lately, has something even better here than Motherless Brooklyn, which is a book to admire. Everything that is good in that book is here too (almost) and it's all better; he builds on the tender, working, emotional moments of Mo Bro, and tries to make it all bigger here, and he does. It's not as good literary good as Mo Bro. But it's better Lethem good, and that's starting to mean something. Lethem kind of went off the track with trying too hard, with the big and ambitious Fortress of Solitude, which is really excellent if you try too hard to like overly long flawed novels with a huge heart that aren't much fun to read (I do). (That book is a lot like Mortals by Rush, except Mortals is flawed, overly long, has a huge heart, is an absolute joy to read, and is just about the best book that's come out in about ten years. )

Getting back to YDLMY, there's tons of sex. Great sex. The female lead unapologetically enjoys herself (and somewhat submissively) with a much older man she barely knows, and it's all joy, all sex positive, no recriminations or bullshit. Women have sex and enjoy themselves without hang-ups, which is more than the men from the last couple Lethem books can say. And people drink! Lots! And it's usually beer! And the whole time, I'm dying to know what beer they're drinking and Lethem never tells me. Major points off.

Until the end. And they think about drinking Corona, because the weather's nice, but they go for Sapporo instead, a great choice. But, like so many other things in this book, it's interesting. We all drink Corona, sometimes. And, if it's a hot day, and you have fresh lime, and you're on vacation, you enjoy it, even if you think Corona is pretty lousy beer. And you enjoy it mostly because Corona is one of the few beers that successfully advertises. It advertises that when you're drinking Corona, you're enjoying yourself and you're relaxed. So, that's what you are when you're drinking Corona and that's why you like drinking Corona. But take it a step further. Put yourself in a state of readiness for Corona. Order some fried food on a hot day at the beach. And then, order a Sapporo. Or a Dos Equis. Or a Pacifico. And then, enjoy. Or, do what I do. Buy one of those little Corona buckets. Set up your fantasy Corona scenario (deck, grilled food, book & beer) and just substitute the beer. It works amazingly well.

Here's the highest compliment I can pay to YDLMY: if there's someone you're kind of interested in but not involved with (yet), and they're intelligent and literary (if they aren't, get uninterested real quick) and you can get this books in their hands as a casual (or maybe even pointed) suggestion, it might tip the scales and get them in your bed. I'm not entirely joking. There's just something about this book. It's going to be tough to get a total stranger to sleep with you over Lethem. (Bouncers in the Portland area are getting really bad at fielding the reasonable request of estimating how many young women inside their establishment have read, say, a thousand or so pages of Proust.) But, and this goes for boys or girls of all directions, the book is joyous always and erotic sometimes, so it could work for you. That's my gift to you.

My gift to me, since we got into South of the border beer there for a second, is a little slice of heaven from Eisenbahn brewing from Brazil, Defumada Smoked Lager. Thanks to the bottle shop, Bier One, in Newport, for the suggestion. (Bier One is right on the stretch of shops in the harbor and is a great place with a serious selection). For newcomers to rating beer like myself, the technical term used to describe this baby is delicious. Never a fan of smoked meats, I asked about every beer in the shop after the Smoked Lager was suggested. After I decided I wasn't going to get a beer with a dog on the label or in the name, I relented, and went with the train and parrot on the Defumada.

This is just a wonderful little beer. It's a sweet amber with a nice copper color. A sniff reveals a sugary malt, kind of like a barleywine, but that's where the similarities end. The "smoked" I was a bit worried about comes in the form of a "mid-palate to finish" richness, which fades the sweet quite nicely. It's a little sweet, it's a little rich, the smell is a little sweeter than I like in an amber, but it's a terrifically drinkable beer anyone can get into. The lingering finish really makes the beer for me and it's such an enjoyable drinking experience, it will pair quite nicely with YDLMY. A great gateway drug into more serious beer. Drink some with someone you don't love yet today. (Available at the New Belmont Station & Bier One.)

Ratings:

You Don't Love Me Yet : 8 (absurdly high)

Eisenbahn Defumada Smoked Lager : 6

Sapporo : uh, a 4? Is that what I gave it below?

Corona: 3 (+/- for weather)

I Like Jews - Review of He'brew Genesis Ale

He’brew Genesis Ale
Brewed in Saratoga Springs, NY

Slightly foamy mid-palate with a light, sweet finish. Crisp. It hits your tongue a bit on the homogenous side and you can‘t quite shake the dullness. Much sweeter aroma than flavor. Amber color. Not quite enough character and too much foam. First effort from self-described “Gourmet Kosher Microbrew” is still promising. It’s called a Light Brown Ale, but it’s more like a sweeter Amber in both taste and color.

Recommended for: Amber drinkers who like a bit of sweet and don’t mind a lack of complexity; Jews; Brown Ale drinkers looking for something a bit less sweet.

Important because: it really is a kosher microbrew and it’s not bad.

Try also/instead: Dogfish Head Indian Brown Ale

I would drink it again if: I was trying to pick-up a hot Jewish girl; if I were at a bar mitzvah trying to meet a hot (redundant) Jewish girl; If I were pretending to be Jewish while in the midst of picking up a h- Jewish girl.

Rating: 3