Author: LobaBlanca

Darktober 3: Lucky 7 Porter

~ LobaBlanca

Brewer: Evolution Craft Brewing Company
Location: Salisbury, Maryland
Type: American Porter
ABV: 5.7%

Welcome to where we finally go off-road from the path of recognized and reliable flavors, denizens. Traveling slightly downwind from Delaware’s Dogfish Head, we find ourselves on the outskirts of Ocean City, in Salisbury, Maryland.

Ah, Salisbury. If only that scholarship had come through, I could have been a minion of Sammy Sea Gull rather than Testudo. Looking back, though, I realize that my life would be a lot less…Loba had I not ended up at UMCP, so I’m not put off by the way things played out at all.

What is off-putting (oh, the glorious segue!) is Evolution’s Lucky 7 Porter, today’s Darktober candidate. Prior to this beer, I’d only ever tried one other Evolution brew: their Primal Pale Ale. I received it as a birthday present, primarily because it has a howling wolf on its label (wonder why that would appeal to me?). I knew I couldn’t be an objective judge of this beer, however, because of my intrinsic aversion to pale ales. I also knew that I couldn’t judge the entire Evolution line based on this one beer, which is why I was willing to give Lucky 7 a proper go.

Nothing groundbreaking about the deep, rich color, although I was a little surprised by the immense fizzy head of bubbles that grew atop the darkness but quickly dissipated.

I know I haven’t mentioned the quality of the nose yet in my reviews. I hate using terms like that because it makes it sound like I actually know what I’m talking about. I don’t, denizens. I’m just really good at pretending. However, one of the main reasons that I like to drink my beers in a glass rather than from the bottle is because I do enjoy getting that double-whammy of sensory stimulation from being able to smell what I’m drinking.

The reason I’m finally mentioning the nose this time is because…it’s actually one of the first down notes of this beer. I’m sure that it’s something unique to my wonky palate (writes she who once described a sparkling wine as “tasting a bit like French fries”) but this beer smells unhappily like a bar of soap.

Once I forced myself beyond the unappetizing smell and took my first sip, my opinion of the beer sadly did not improve. Starting with a weak, watery mouth feel, this beer shifts to a mulchy m

Darktober 1: Port City Porter

~ LobaBlanca


Brewer: Port City Brewing
Location: Alexandria, Virginia
Type: American Porter
ABV: 7.5%

Let’s hear it for the home team!

I decided to kick off Darktober with a local theme (I’m very lucky to live in the epicenter of some amazing craft beer action), and by giving the first spot to a brew that has been the stand-out new discovery for me this past year.

Port City Brewing Company is relatively young, having only started distributing its beers in 2011. I discovered a couple of their offerings in a cooler at a little sandwich shop in Old Town Alexandria, mere miles from where their brewery is located. The owner seemed very enthusiastic when she saw that I’d selected a bottle of Port City Porter to go with my roast beef sandwich and exclaimed that it was the best porter she’d ever had.

Based on the relative youth of the brewery, I took this as her simply being a good salesperson. I’m happy to admit that I was mostly wrong in this assumption.

While not “the best” I’ve ever had, this is a surprisingly delicious, robust porter. It pours a beautiful dark espresso color with a soft tawny head. The flavors are decisive yet smooth: nutty, roasty, chocolatey, all married together with notes of earthiness and something slightly astringent on the switchbacks. It coats your mouth well but never becomes cloying, and maintains the delightful effervescence that I love about a porter. To me, it’s the effervescence that keeps porters from turning into a heavy, heady “meal” of a beer like stouts can often become. Also, at 7.5-percent ABV, you’re left with a pleasantly buzzy warmth flowing through your veins at the end of this pint.

I’ve yet to experience this porter on tap, but I can only imagine it’s even more wonderful than it is in bottle form. This is definitely a solid, reliable “go-to” beer that’s always nice to have on hand, whether it’s accompanying a tasty roast beef on French bread or you’re craving some liquid relaxation to accompany movie night on the couch.

Because Port City Brewing is still relatively young and relatively small, their distribution range is limited. According to their Web site, you can only find their beers in Maryland, Virginia, D.C., and North Carolina, although I have heard some people mention that they’ve seen it appearing in stores in Philadelphia. I wish them continued success, because if the rest of their beers are as amazing as their porter, they are producing some spectacular brews.

Darkness Is Falling…

~ LobaBlanca

Somehow the summer has slipped from my grasp. Shadows spread more quickly each evening. Leaves scrape their crisp crunchy husks across the sidewalks, dragged by ever-cooling autumnal winds.

The Darkness is coming, denizens.

Fall is always a querulous time of year for me. I love the turning of the trees and the crispness of a beautiful, sunny October morning. However, I detest the encroachment of darkness and chill upon my evenings. Also, fall is the liaison between my favorite season and the season I abhor.

I decided, therefore, that something needed to be done to help ease me into the doldrums of winter. Plus, I’m being pulled in about a million different directions at the moment and it’s really starting to wear me down. What better way to alleviate some of the stress than to decide to take on one more project?

Therefore, I’m officially announcing that tomorrow will mark the beginning of Darktober. (Seems that I like making a special event out of this particular month of the year, eh?)

Seems that I have been quite the busy little beer collector of late. After visiting two different stores that had amazing and reasonably priced beer selections (two things that are incredibly difficult to find in the area in which I live), I ended up with several new single beers…to go along with the plethora of beers already in the refrigerator. And, of course my beer preferences tend to lean as dark as my soul.

How, then, could I manage to get this surplus of dark beer under control in a fun way that would encourage inebriation and a chance to pretend to know what I’m talking about? Say it with me…

DARKTOBER.

The rules are simple. I’ve set up a spreadsheet (I love spreadsheets), to help me track all the different beers I have right now. I’ve organized them thematically (I’ll explain the themes at the beginning of each new week), with two additional themes set at the end of each week: Every Friday will be dedicated to an Octoberfest/pumpkin-themed beer, and every Saturday will be dedicated to a stout. Oh, and Sundays will be beer-free, because…well, because Loba’s liver needs a break every now and then.

I’m actually incredibly excited about this adventure. While there are some beers that I have already tried and am including simply because I think they’re wonderful and would like to share those feelings with you, many of the beers are ones that I have never had before. So this is going to be a learning experience as well! Bonus!

Also, it’s another way to encourage me to get back to blogging here at the lair. I’m hoping that some of the many projects that are currently pressing down upon me will ease up soon and I’ll be able to blog more regularly about some of the more pensive topics that have been banging around in my brain. Until then, however, enjoy a beer review or two on me 😉

Flashback Friday: Star Trek: The Next Generation

~ LobaBlanca

It’s not going to be a surprise to anyone who knows me, either in person or through the interactions I’ve shared with you here at my lair or my other online haunts, that today is particularly special to my little geeky heart. Twenty-five years ago, on September 28, 1987, one of the most influential shows of my life debuted.

I’m not going to bore you with statistics about the show or tell you about how I think TNG changed pop culture FOREVAH or even try to convince any of you who might not be Star Trek or sci-fi fans in general that this is mandatory viewing. Truth is, I can’t honestly say that. If you don’t like sci-fi, you don’t like it and that’s the end of it. Also? This isn’t a perfect show by any means. Ask any Trek fan who can be honest in their observations and they’ll tell you that there are several painful stretches of viewing displeasure (I’ve even heard some of my friends contend that the show didn’t really hit its stride until the fifth of its seven seasons; I would contend that it started dramatically improving somewhere around the third season, but I can see their point).

So what is the enduring legacy of this show? I could say something like its hope. Its optimism regarding the future of humanity and the human condition. Its progressive predictions about how far we could go if we could only unlock ourselves from the shackles of prejudice and ignorance. And if I did say these things, I would be telling the truth. These are just some of the factors that made me fall in love with TNG.

If I were to be completely honest, however, the reasons that I fell in love with TNG (and most of its subsequent Trek iterations) are purely subjective and purely personal.

I was an awkward, painfully shy adolescent, uncomfortable in my own body for many reasons. I had friends, but never really felt as though I fit in, even with them. I guess I could have tried harder, but I never really learned how to fake interest in the things I was “supposed” to enjoy. I remember all my girl friends leaving me behind as they began to show more interest in things like make-up and dating…while I just wanted to sit in my room and read all weekend and maybe get in a little batting practice after school before I had to do my homework.

TNG was one of the first TV series to show me something that I didn’t even realize I was missing: inclusion. It didn’t matter if you wore a banana clip over your eyes or had a turtle shell glued to your forehead…you were the galactic cheerleader with a chocolate addiction or the perpetually pissed off navigator with the crinkle-cut nose…even if you were the nerdiest, most annoying person in the universe (coughcoughWesleycoughcough)…there was a place for you on the NCC-1701-D.

While I was with the crew of the Enterprise, I wasn’t the outsider. I knew them. I knew that Captain Picard didn’t like children and that Commander Riker loved to throttle his trombone. Worf enjoyed a tall glass of prune juice after shift and Data’s whistle sounded like a vibrator stuck inside a toaster. Deanna couldn’t read your mind but she could state the obvious with deadly acumen, and Geordi couldn’t even figure out how to program a holodeck woman willing to spend more than a few hours with him before she was lulled nearly comatose by his presence.

These characters were my escape, my sanctuary, my dismissal from the unhappiness of reality.

And then there was Dr. Crusher.

It’s actually kind of a sad reason why I love this character above all others from this series, and one that now carries with it the added gilding of guilt for me. My mom was never well and things were particularly rocky for all of us throughout my teen years. She spent a lot time in hospitals and I spent a lot time feeling angry and alone in that wonderfully hyperbolic teenage way. I say that because deep down I knew that I wasn’t alone. My dad was always there for me. So were many other family members.

Looking back with a clearer perspective, I understand that my mom was there for me as well, as best as she could be. At the time, however, I found refuge in the “if only” maternal potential of Dr. Crusher’s constant presence (minus that awful second season, the existence of which I tend not to willingly acknowledge). She was there in ways that I couldn’t bring myself to allow real people to be there for me. She became and remains the most important fictional character I’ve ever known.

Like I said, it’s a rather sad reason I suppose. And I do feel guilty that, while my mom was alive, I spent such a large part of my adolescence wishing that a fictional character could take her place. Hindsight shouldn’t be so painfully in-focus.

So, there you have it. Today marks the 25th anniversary of the most influential television series in my life…and not solely for the reasons you might have expected. It’s been with me for so long that I can’t even remember a time before its existence. I think I once figured out that at the height of my TNG addiction, I watched more than 20 hours per week. When I wasn’t watching it on television, I was reading its novels, listening to its audiobooks, playing its computer games, wearing its T-shirts, drinking coffee from its mugs, going to its conventions, collecting its merchandise in ways that probably could have inspired a very special episode of Hoarders.

Happy anniversary to Captain Picard and his extraordinary crew. And thank you to the Great Bird of the Galaxy who planted the seed from which this galaxy-sized series grew.

Photo Fun Friday: Steven Tyler Moore

~ LobaBlanca

Oh, you’re going to hate me for this one. But it had to be done. Another one of those seeds planted in my brain that just wouldn’t stop growing. It all started a few weeks ago when one of my aunts declared that for a moment she thought that Mary Tyler Moore was the new judge on American Idol. At first, I was a bit indignant. No one shall speak blasphemy against the lead singer of one of my all-time favorite bands! Especially the relative at whose house I first discovered the joys of Aerosmith in video form!

Then I let the reality of the statement wash over me. That reality, of course, being what I’ve been saying for quite some time now: The more tweaking that celebrities get done to their faces, the more they all start looking the same.

And thus, dude indeed now does look like a lady:

You know what’s really going to irritate you? When you realize that you can’t tell exactly which parts are Steven and which parts are Mary. I’d help you out, but where’s the fun in that?

BookBin2012: The Complete Strangers in Paradise, Volume 1

~ LobaBlanca

I’m not quite certain what to make of the first volume of Terry Moore’s Strangers in Paradise.

By no means do I believe that comics need to always be about superheroes or mutants or anything more than everyday life. I point to recent reads like Deogratias, Epileptic, or Blankets…or even further back to Fun Home or This Will All End in Tears as fine examples of how the graphic novel can be a satisfying medium through which to tell tales of normal people experiencing normal things, with beauty, compassion, depth, and sophistication.

Moore seems to be telling a similar tale of normal life in this collection…but not with the level of depth I had hoped for. In truth, his two primary characters seem more like shadows of complexity, shackled to stereotypes that perhaps Moore had originally intended to break through his telling of their tale. Katchoo often comes across as a riotous, man-hating lesbian and Francine is a codependent, overly emotional woman. And of course, Katchoo is in love with Francine, because lesbians can’t be just friends with women.

Look, it’s When Sally Met Sally!

This volume is just the beginning of their story, which apparently lasted quite a while: There are three volumes of Strangers in Paradise, and the third volume is divided into eight parts. The local library has all of those parts…but doesn’t have the second volume at all! I guess it’s a good thing that I didn’t really feel all that invested after reading the first section; I’d be a bit livid right now. Either that or I’d be on Amazon Marketplace, trying to find a cheap used copy. Now look, I can save my money.

Final Verdict: I admit, I am slightly curious about how their story plays out, and if the library did have the second volume, I would probably give it a go. Obviously, there’s something to this story if it lasted long enough to fill out 10 books. Then again, there have been five seasons of Jersey Shore…so, there you go. However, I don’t feel any great sense of loss that I won’t be continuing along with Katchoo and Francine. Back to the library they go.

BookBin2012: Stay Awake

~ LobaBlanca

Pulling back from the political speak for a little while. You come here for a variety of inane ramblings, so time to switch focus.

Stay Awake is a collection of short stories by author Dan Chaon. I’d never heard of Chaon prior to seeing this book on the “Recommended Reading” table at our local library, but he’s apparently enjoyed moderate success with previous short story collections and novels. With this collection, he examines the darker side of the emotional spectrum through a series of explorations into loss and sorrow.

His prose is at times detached, analytical, which I believe helps immensely as he tackles a series of tales that could very easily slip into the syrupy sanctuary of schmaltzy sentimentality. There’s also an inescapable shifting in his narrative that always leaves you off-balance and uncertain as to what will happen next. His tales are melancholy, morose, strange, and most often unnerving. I also found them to be deeply satisfying.

What can I say? I like the darkness.

There are 12 stories in total in this collection, and each one possesses some strange intimacy with death that I found disturbingly entrancing. I also can’t help but wonder how much loss Chaon has experienced in his life to have such an…open relationship with the many guises of the Grim Reaper. He’s either intimately familiar with it through experience or possesses a very honed morbid sensibility. Either way, his grappling with these various forms of loss is exquisite.

Final Verdict: I don’t know yet if I want this as part of my own collection, but I do believe I would like to further explore Chaon’s oeuvre. His darker sensibilities appeal greatly to my own.

The Road to Independents

~ LobaBlanca

Ever since my last post, I’ve been thinking of ways to show that I’m serious (well, that and I took a little time to party for my birthday…priorities and all, you know). I’ve got an idea or two, but I’m letting them soak in for a bit before bouncing them off you all here (the title of this post may or may not be a clue).

However, I thought I’d share something I found recently while sorting through some random Word documents I had on my memory stick. I’m not sure when I wrote this…obviously, it was in 2008 and it was after one of the Clinton/Obama debates, but I’ve no idea which one, and no idea what the “XEROX quote” is all about. I’m sure I could look it up, but meh.

It doesn’t really apply to the now, but I thought it was interesting enough as a flashback to where I was politically four years ago: The disenchantment was beginning, but I still held steadfastly to my hope that something good could happen, if only the right person was elected for the job.

Person.

The 2008 Democratic primaries taught me an important lesson regarding my place in the Democratic agenda: Good enough to pander to for my vote; not good enough to be taken seriously as a presidential candidate because I might do something offensive…like age or cry or have “cankles.”

Of course, had Hillary won, it would have probably been four solid years of uphill battle after uphill battle while she was constantly critiqued and criticized for every decision, both politically and personally (probably mostly personally). At least she got to be Secretary of State. And at times more popular than the president himself. And be the inspiration for a really groovy meme.

And now it’s 2012 and women seem to have become an even greater…what? Mandatory voter demographic to capture? Asset? Threat? Our bodies apparently are incredibly threatening. You know what’s even more threatening? Our minds. It’s time, then, that we started listening more, paying more attention…not to what is being said to us, but what is being said about us, oftentimes without our input and without our consent…what is being valued, judged, ruled, overruled, controlled, and taken from us in a continuing attempt to reduce us to nothing more than…our bodies.

There are many things transpiring in this country that I find worrisome, but the ongoing ramp-up of rhetoric regarding what is ultimately politicians deciding for me what can and cannot be done with and to my own body is definitely of key concern. I’m not talking about the minutia; I’m talking about the overarching message being sent by every politician, from both sides, who thinks that they have the right to speak for women, to determine overall what is best for us rather than letting us decide for ourselves. Can’t stop us from choosing for ourselves? Then just limit our options across the board…you know, to make sure we’re protected from our own attempts at making up our own minds.

Whenever a politician uses rhetoric aimed at a woman’s body as a plank in their party’s respective political platform, they’re simply reiterating one of my steadily growing concerns: that we’re nothing more than something to walk over, to stand on. Use us to reach what you want and then pack us up until the next election cycle.

I’m tired of it. Are you?

We are more than our bodies. Just ask Hillary Clinton. She might answer you if she has a free moment while running the world.

I think one of the most telling moments of last night

Flashback Friday: Sisters

~ LobaBlanca

Gather ’round, denizens, as Loba spins a yarn about how Star Trek: The Next Generation led to my addiction to probably the girliest, most soap-opera-y television series I’ve ever loved.

I make no secret of the fact that I have a very low tolerance for soap operas. Unending character drama is one of the quickest ways to lose me as a viewer, especially if it’s of a variety that makes you go “Seriously? When would that ever really happen to anyone?!”

I was subjected to several different daytime soaps during summers when I was little and spent time with the elderly woman across the street. Some of those story lines were the most absurd things I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life. If things like that happen to you or someone you love on a regular basis? You might want to look into going into witness protection. Or relocating to a cave.

Soap operas give me a horrible NO feeling.

“Nighttime dramas” are supposedly better. They’re a little less ridonculous, a little less over-the-top. At least that’s the theory. They’re still chock-full of inescapable…drama. Guess that’s to be expected, though, right? Meh.

But what does this have to do with Star Trek? Or me liking a soap opera? One Saturday evening during my misspent youth, I was home, clicking through the VHF and UHF dials on my little portable TV and trying to find something to watch (High Life, Party of One!). I happened to click over to the local NBC station just as whatever show was currently playing began to fade to black for a commercial break, and who should appear there on my screen? Ensign Robin Lefler!

Ensign Robin Lefler! On mah TV screen!!

It took a moment for my brain to process what I’d seen, and by the time I clicked back, there was a commercial playing, so I couldn’t verify that it was indeed Robin Lefler. Then, when the show did come back on, it came back to some story that included a bunch of people who were decidedly not Robin Lefler. However, the interactions between the characters and the story line they were discussing was interesting enough that I stuck around. And then another story arc popped up, and I found that one interesting as well…and then Robin Lefler reappeared! HUZZAH! I was right!!

Okay, it wasn’t Robin Lefler. Robin Lefler doesn’t really exist. It was, however, Ashley Judd. Seems that in addition to a briefly recurring role on TNG, Judd had a regular gig playing the character of Reed Halsey on the NBC nighttime drama Sisters.

Robin Lefler Totally Looks Like Reed Halsey

As I’m sure you can deduce from the show’s title, it’s all about…sisters! The four Reed sisters, to be exact: Rich Girl Alexandra “Alex” Reed Halsey (Swoosie Kurtz); Bad Girl Theodora “Teddy” Reed (Sela Ward); Homemaker Georgiana “Georgie” Whitsig (Patricia Kalember); and Baby Sis Francesca “Frankie” Reed Margolis (Julianne Phillips). Here they are, in order from right to left:

I don’t know how it happened, denizens, but that one moment of thinking I saw a Trek actor on another show and waiting to prove it to myself got me hooked. After that, every week I’d either tune in or set the VCR to tape it (I did have some semblance of a life when I was in high school, thank you). I had to know what was going on with those crazy Reed sisters and their respective families.

For the most part, the stories were relatively realistic at first. Yeah, there was the arc where Teddy spray-painted “SLUT” on Frankie’s car because she was dating Teddy’s ex-husband. Then again, with how people behave toward each other now, is that really a stretch? Is discovering that there’s a fifth sister, born from the father’s extramarital dalliances and hidden from the family for years…is that a stretch either?

I guess not. I just don’t like

BookBin2012: How to Be A Woman

~ LobaBlanca

I do believe that Caitlin Moran and I might have been separated at birth. True, she is a year older than me, we look nothing alike, and there is the whole issue of her being English and me being American. But if I were to believe in sociological/societal/feminist doppelg