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.