#June2013
Friday Brew Review: Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale
Holy shit! Maine’s making beer now!
As a lifelong resident of Massachusetts, I’ve always been a bit weary of Maine. That’s not to say that the Pine Tree State doesn’t have anything to offer. It does. It’s the spot to go for quintessential New England seafood, the people are friendly, and it’s scenic as hell. I wouldn’t try to dissuade anyone from vacationing in Maine.
With that said, there’s something a bit discomfiting about Maine.
Maybe it’s the fact that the state is in a weird spot culturally. After all, Maine is wedged right next to the libertarian paradise that is New Hampshire, the hippie epicenter of Vermont, and the progressive-to-the-point-of-scrutiny Massachusetts. What does this leave Maine claiming? Rocky shores and some mountains.
Or maybe I find Maine distressing because it’s mostly uninhabited. Last year I drove to Nova Scotia by myself, and spent the better part of six hours weaving my way through the wilderness of Maine. And let me tell you, if I had hit a moose out there (as the signs so comfortingly warned that I might), I would’ve been dead meat. There’s no way that anyone with the abilities of resuscitating my mangled corpse would’ve found me in time.
Then, of course, there’s Stephen King.
So it was with a bit of trepidation that I picked up a sixer of Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale from the folks at the Atlantic Brewing Company. As I brought the beers to the register, grappling with a barrage of thoughts, some rational and most not. “Is this ale any good? How strong is the blueberry flavor going to be? Is it safe to drink? Is this nothing more than Maine-yokels fooling us by bottling their pee after eating blueberry pie? Should I call Sam Adams and tell him that there’re some wild Mainers tryin’ to cut in on his action?”
By the time I got home, I was driven to investigate this beer.
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WEEKEND OPEN BAR: consult your medium
[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]
I want you to consult your medium.
And I’m not talkin’ about that gargantuan-racked Gypsy babe you met at the bus stop. Do I think it’s righteous that she wore a revealing shawl and was jambox-blastin’ an Among the Living cassette? Yes. Do I think that she actually has psychic powers? No. Unless you like waking up in another state to find that you’ve been drugged, robbed, and’re wanted on an arson charge, you’re goin’ to want to stay away from her.
Trust me, I know from experience.
Anyways, the sort of medium we’re dealin’ with today ain’t of the supernatural variety. Well, not literally (we’ll come back to that). See, the word “medium” comes from the old-tyme Ancients’ expression for “in the middle.” As such, there’re a whole mess of ways to apply the term. Yes, that’s why when you go to Dunkin Donuts, the serving size of hot dirt-water that’s larger than the small but smaller than the large is called medium!
Ta-dah!
When takin’ a stroll across the Arts & Entertainment Dance Hall, we need to look at media as the ways in which creators express themselves. In a sense, any given medium is the means by which a transfer occurs from the mind of the Creator to the mind of the Viewer. It’s actually an alarmingly simple process: an idea is in the Creator’s mind, the Creator shapes some sort of artifact, the Viewer experiences said artifact, and now the same idea is in the Viewer’s mind! Voila!
Stephen King describes the process in On Writing:
Look — here’s a table covered with a red cloth. On it is a cage the size of a small fish aquarium. In the cage is a white rabbit with a pink nose and pink-rimmed eyes. In its front paws is a carrot-stub upon which it is contentedly munching. On its back, clearly marked in blue ink, is the numeral 8.
Do we see the same thing? We’d have to get together and compare notes to make absolutely sure, but I think we do. There will be necessary variations, of course…
I sent you a table with a red cloth on it, a cage, a rabbit, and the number eight in blue ink. You got them all, especially that blue eight. We’ve engaged in an act of telepathy. No mythy-mountain shit; real telepathy.
That’s right, you degenerate broads and bastard boozers clinging to the railing of Spaceship OL — every time you read a book or listen to an album or play a video game, you’re on the receiving end of some genuine telepathy! And when you find it in your soul to create some art? When you show someone the landscape you painted or the sonnet you penned? Yeah, you’ve got it — you’re on the transmitting end of the thought-transfer!
So what’s this all gettin’ at? Well, simply put, I want every goddamn one of you to declare your medium-allegiance. At the end of the day, in which art form are you most invested? Which mode of expression sweep-picks your heartstrings? What is it about this medium that gets your blood pumpin’ and spirit swirlin’?
[What is your medium of choice?]
Spielberg and Vaughan-helmed adaptation of ‘UNDER THE DOME’ picked up by CBS.
I’ve never read Whacky Stevey’s novel Under the Dome. Even still, I’m excited that CBS has made it rain all over an initial thirteen episode adaptation of the book. They don’t give no shits! And I wouldn’t either. The entire ordeal is being helmed by Steven Spielberg and Brian K. Vaughan, so one has to imagine them being capable of pulling this off. Or if they cannot imagine that, let them imagine the Brian and Steve lathered in aloe vera gel, twisting each other’s nipples while wearing unicorn horns upon their own domes.
Monday Morning Commute: Beyond the Grave
Jambo!
After being dead for ten months, it feels amazing to walk the Earth again. To feel the carpet beneath my toes, to bear hug loved ones, to booze in the fellowship of my ka-tet. These are the moments that the universe is pushing us towards, the acknowledgment of those simple pleasures that can only be appreciated when our spirits and minds are where they’re supposed to be.
`Cause let me tell ya, there’s nothing worse than being a poltergeist. I’ve been there. Roaming about, looking for a place to say, nothing more than a broken spirit relegated to brief appearances and disruptive dispositions. I’ve been that figure that people’re surprised to see, and not always pleasantly so.
It might be a perfect way to be dead, but it’s no way to live.
—-
Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to show you some of the various ways I’ll be entertainin’ myself during the week. After scoping out my wares, it’s your task to make your presence known in the rumble pit known as the comments section. What movies, comics, beverages, albums, and activities are you lookin’ forward to rockin’?
Let’s do this!
Brian K. Vaughn Adapting Stephen King’s ‘Under the Dome’ For Showtime.
Brian K. Vaughn wrote some of my favorite episodes of LOST, but more important to most is that he is the writer behind Y: The Last Man. He can script with the fervor, thunder, et cetera. It is this thunder he’ll hopefully bring to his forthcoming Stephen King adaptation.
Ben Affleck To Direct ‘The Stand’ By Stephen King? Pissah!
I don’t have a very strong attachment to Stephen King, and I’ve never read The Stand. However I’ve been told I would like it, and I also enjoy myself some Ben Affleck. So I like this news.
Stephen King’s Silver Bullet
I’ve been sick recently. Really sick. As in, “We’re sorry Mr. Krueger, but we have no fucking clue what’s wrong with you!” Guesswork in white coats? Perhaps. But I’d rather take my chances with the guesswork of our 2010 medicine men than try to fight this shit on the Oregon Trail. Huzzah for being born in the future!
With nothing to do but sit around and hope Joe Black doesn’t try to filch my soul, I’ve been watching far more television than normal. Most of it has been garbage, but I’ve caught a few gems here and there. One of the best things I’ve seen in the past few days has been Stephen King’s Silver Bullet.
The 1985 flick takes place in a yokel town in Maine (where else, Stephen King, where else?!) that just happens to come under werewolf-attack. Every month, some poor sap gets torn to shreds and the townsfolk chalk it up to a regular, human maniac. Then Corey Haim figures out what’s going on, but no one believes him because he’s in a wheelchair. Well, his Uncle Gary Busey believes him but he’s an alcoholic so you know how that goes. Seriously, if I had a nickel for every time a good monster hunt went sour because of a drunk relative, well, I’d have twenty cents.
This movie is pretty fucking sweet. It’s got werewolves, swear words, bloody mutilations, rocket-powered wheelchairs, John Locke, and an evil priest. It definitely feels like a ridiculous 1980’s flick and I should hope that you’ll enjoy it as such.
