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The Session #79: A Patriotic Expat

September 6, 2013 · by Oliver Gray

Here’s my entry for the seventy-ninth iteration of “The Session,” this one hosted by Ding of Ding’s Beer Blog. The topic: USA versus Old World Beer Culture -aka- What the hell has America done to beer?session-logo-sm

The first noises I ever made echoed down the hallways of the maternity ward in Wythenshawe hospital, just outside of Manchester, England. The stay in my birth country was short though, as my father’s career packed us up and flung us far, like some kind of vocational catapult. We landed first in Dallas, Texas, but after a brief stint with lax open-container laws and seemingly mandatory shotgun purchases, we moved to establish deeper familiar roots on the Maryland side of Washington, DC.

This put me in an odd position as a child. My parents were decidedly from England, accents and charms and all, and I was not.

By day I was exposed to the US via my peers: immersed in boy-band pop-culture, linguistic idioms, and all the ingrained bravado that America seems to unabashedly instill in its youth. I pledged allegiance to flags that were not mine, I wrote essays about fathers who founded a country I was not a citizen of, and listened to teachers disparage the beautiful red coats of my people, all because of some minor disagreement over taxes.

By night I used words like “knackered” to express how trying my day had been, ate digestive biscuits and drank concentrated Ribena, and memorized lines from Faulty Towers and Blackadder, laughing maniacally at jokes that many of my friends claimed “were not funny.” I played football (the kind where you use a round ball and your feet) and my first tastes of brew were Boddingtons and Bass, not Budweiser and Billy Beer.

I became a hybrid. British by nature, American by nurture. I have no accent, but do pronounce things oddly. I appreciate the opportunity that the US represents but also pine for the pomp and erudition that can only come a country who, for a while there, refused to let the sun set. I retained the British sense of humor, but adopted the American “#@%& yea!” approach to taking on the world. It offers me unique perspective. I can experience the best of both cultures by adoring the tradition while embracing the progress.

I’d like to think that the cultural syncretism that made me who I am is reflective of the state of American craft beer (we can all agree to leave the macro mess to the Nascar legions). There is a growing part of the populace who actively wants to enjoy good beer, and they are raging against the longstanding influence of piss-water-pale-lager. Their tongues and hearts are in the right place, and they’re doing things the only way they know how: the way of the USA.

It’s impossible to ignore the much older, much more practiced pedigree of the Brits and the Germans and the Belgians, and their influence on even the basics of our brewing processes. No American brewery would be producing beer as we know it if not for our European buddies. Hell, none of the styles found in the States are unwaveringly “American,” but are instead domestic recreations of beers born oceans and centuries away. People can tack “American” in front of “wheat beer” all they want, but that doesn’t make the origins any less German. We can say that America has adopted the IPA as its craft beer mascot, but its history can never be extricated from English brewing lore.

But that’s not new. America loves to adopt things from other countries, and has never just co-opted an idea and let it be. One need only look at what we’ve done to Italian and Chinese food, or all the crap we add to make “coffee” to see how we arrived at “Imperial” versions of everything.

America always goes big: cars, homes, portions, debt. Why would beer be an exception? The American people don’t just want a pale ale – a nod to the perfunctory perfection of our island-dwelling forefathers – they want a triple-hopped, dry-hopped, back-hopped tongue destroyer, so bitter and spilling with lupulin you can almost see it wafting off the head in cartoon-like waves. Americans don’t want to appreciate a product that was refined over generations of beer-making, they want up-in-your-shit flavor, complexity, and ABV. They want beer drinking to be an exercise in pushing the proverbial envelope. It’s the American dream to live extreme.

And I’ll be the first to say that it isn’t a bad thing. This country was founded on breaking tradition, on escaping overbearing ornately fashioned rules, and that sentiment echoes noisily in almost every corner of the culture, no matter how niche. It is a land where people have the freedom to do what they want, succeed or fail, tradition respectfully acknowledged or wantonly cast aside. If American beer was more English, adhered more to the rules of another country just because, it wouldn’t be American. It doesn’t mean either culture (or product) is better or worse. They are just different, and built on a different set of principles. To try and claim one is superior is to ignore (whether willfully or ignorantly) the social, economic, and artistic minutiae of the other. Preference, even from an established expert, is not enough to prove objective superiority of one style over another.

America has done to beer what America has done to the world: moved it forward, for good and bad. This beer culture evolved from the old world culture, but it’s important to remember that evolution does not always equate with improvement. Evolution is adaptation, changing to best suit the environment, morphing to fit a set of ever-changing subjective rules in order to survive. I was raised on and will always love good English beer (or at least what my dad drank and was imported in the 90s) but I’m also not afraid to say that many American beers are just flat out enjoyable. They both have a place in my fridge, for totally different reasons.

For every Honey Boo Boo, there is a Patrick Stewart. For every Spice Girl, there is a Foo Fighter. For every Bud Light Lime there is a Sam Smith’s Oatmeal Stout. For every Carling lager, there is a Pliny the Younger.

Just be glad we live in a world where we’re drowning in options and can indulge the eccentricities of our palates almost infinitely. It sure as hell beats the opposite, regardless of what country you live in.

eastindian

How to Disagree

September 1, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

This is one of the few times you’ll ever see me coming close to considering thinking about maybe talking about something political. It’s one of those topics from which I respectfully abstain, simply to maintain my sanity and calm demeanor. Before anyone gets all frothy-at-the-mouthy, please note that this is an article about arguments and rhetoric, not conservatism and liberalism.

I am part of a mortally wounded breed known as politically “neutral.” I’m just as frustrated/confused/disgusted by what both dominant parties say, but I also see some merit in the basics of their overall arguments. Both sides occasionally makes good points, both sides have something to bring to the table, and both sides lie and cheat and manipulate when it serves them best. I know that an ambivalent voter is kind of pointless, but…meh. I spent my developmental years unable to vote (green card, holla!) which made my apathy towards the entire system grow strong and calloused as I couldn’t even have participated if I had wanted to.

My issue is not that we’re currently in a moment of history where everyone disagrees with everything anyone says. That’s not new. Humans are built to disagree; it’s the same principle at work that makes dogs chase cats, why we have a bipartisan system, and why Bristol Palin no longer has a reality TV show.

We’re supposed to disagree. It’s good for progress.

We’d still be drawing Ptolemaic spheres with Earth at the center if not for disagreement. We’d still be sailing our ships off the edge of a flat world. We’d still be in the dark ages if the countless scientists and engineers in our history hadn’t had the balls to disagree with the status quo.

But based on the conversations that flood the media, I worry that we as Americans have forgotten how to disagree. All I see is wild accusation, defensive counter-attacks, and snide territorialism over who knows what and what is therefore right.

The structure of a traditional civil argument should be:

Person 1: “I believe marshmallows should be removed from Rocky Road ice cream because they freeze and get hard which ruins the eating experience. Here is some well researched data and some testimonials from others who have experienced this to support my argument.”

Person 2: “While I understand your issue with the marshmallows, removing them would effectively destroy the identity of Rocky Road ice cream. It would be like removing the almonds, or changing the ice cream flavor to vanilla. I will review your research and consider your point, but perhaps what would be best is to introduce a new flavor entirely, with a new name, that doesn’t have marshmallows.”

And then they might go back and forth making compromises until both parties were satisfied. It might take a while and people might get frustrated at points, but with mutual respect an outcome would be reached.

Conversely, modern disagreements look startlingly more like this:

Person 1: “I believe marshmallows should be removed from Rocky Road ice cream because…”

Person 2: “Fuck you! Why do you hate ice cream! Hey everyone, this guy hates ice cream!”

Then the first person gets equally belligerent, and what could have been a nice conversation boils down into a petty show of mudslinging and name calling that goes nowhere and accomplishes nothing. These types of arguments serve one purpose: to pour ants into the pants of the voting bodies using purely emotional appeals.

Anyone who has studied rhetoric know that Aristotle was the man. He believed an argument could be based on three types of appeals: logos (logic), pathos (emotions), and ethos (ethics). The perfect argument contained all of these appeals, which the listener could associate with and ultimately choose the side that made the most sense to them using all of their most powerful brain parts.

If we apply the Aristotelian Appeals to the current political campaigns, we see that the Republicans are predominantly (read: only) using pathos in their arguments, as most of what they say is an appeal to how people “feel” about a certain situation. They know their supporters well; they are driven by tradition, quick to anger, and resistant to change. They don’t mind lying (which violates ethos and logos) as long as it hits that emotional chord with enough force to move their voters into action.

Democrats on the other hand, base their arguments solely on ethos, using tactics that make their opponents look bad from an ethics stand point. They can’t shut up about Bain Capital, Romney’s tax records, or which men really don’t understand how the female body works. While these arguments might have some merit, they are quick to ignore context and any logic, in hope that their voters will be ethically disgusted enough to get out and vote.

That leaves poor logos all sad in a corner at the party, sipping on a Mai Tai, staring at the floor. Ethos and Pathos found their buddies and wandered off to dance. They just ditched logos. And that should really piss you off, as an American citizen.

Why?

Because it suggests that those in charge of our political systems don’t think you as a voter are smart enough to understand a logical discussion of facts, economics, law, and policy. And maybe you’re not, but in the current system, you’re not even given the chance to learn. They’d rather you act on emotions or ethics than logic, because with logic, we might actually learn something, and realize that the whole system is fundamentally fuster-clucked.

I know I can’t change much. I’m just one guy with a keyboard who loves studying the history of persuasion. But I can ask that we all take some time to relearn how to disagree. If you want someone to listen to your side, you have to be willing to listen to theirs. As hard as it may be to accept that there are people out there who are fundamentally different from you, it’s true.

Your life experience is a tiny piece of a massive world and a gargantuan universe. No one sees and understands things exactly the way you do; your time on this planet is as unique as your finger print. Remember that the next time you are so sure you’re right and have it all figured out.

Appreciate the other side. Be part of a conversation, not a yelling contest.

Look, this isn’t an argument.
Yes it is!
No, it’s just a contradiction!
No it isn’t!

Ad Memoriam

May 28, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

I was naturalized as a US citizen in 2008. Despite this, I’m American in culture only; my heart and national pride remain firmly grounded in my British heritage.

I no longer have an accent, and my ties to England only remain in traces: my birth certificate, my obsession with ales, my parent’s lingering accents.

Growing up a resident alien, unable to vote, and in turn unable to voice my opinions about the country, I felt an odd disassociation with America. Sometimes I felt like I didn’t belong. Sometimes I felt like my humor and tastes were extra foreign.

We lived in the America, but we were crappy Americans. We didn’t eat PB&J or meatloaf. My mom put butter on all our sandwiches. We celebrated Thanksgiving, but only because everyone else did. Fourth of July felt like national betrayal; could I in good conscience celebrate my physical country’s victory over my birth country, even if it was hundreds of years ago?

But as I grew up, I started appreciating what other Americans appreciate. Freedom and french fries and Federal holidays. As I learned to be more American, I still distanced myself from war and military service. It could be because I’m a wuss or just dislike guns, but I’ve always considered myself a through-and-through conscientious objector.

In college, I lived with two Marines. They were dedicated soldiers, and taught me a lot about sacrifice for country. My view of service began to change. Both of my grandfathers served, albeit in a different country. Some of my best friends, neighbors, and coworkers have given their time, energy, and devotion to their country. I’d be willfully ignoring everything around me if I didn’t take time to appreciate how much military service has impacted my life.

My grandfather (mother’s side) gave me his British Armed Forces WW2 victory medal a few weeks ago. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. It’s a very impressive looking medal, but I don’t have a jacket to mount it on, or any other good way to display it. So, as is my nature, I took a bunch of pictures of it.

As I snapped dozens of pictures, I thought about what this little medallion meant. It is a microcosm of honor, bravery, commitment, and nationalism. A small chunk of .800 silver with a date stamp is worth more than it’s weight in gold.

This Memorial Day, remember that military service is not about war. It is a day to remember and reflect on bravery, sacrifice, and putting something bigger than yourself first. It is about upholding what you believe in, whether you want to or not. It is about accepting that sometimes, you have to fight for what you believe is right.

Thank you to my Grandpa Haynes for his service as a paratrooper in WW2. Thank you for the excellent medal, which I will cherish for my entire life until a time when I can pass it on to my son. Thank you to everyone out there who has ever donned a uniform for his or her country, ally or enemy, for your commitment to valor.

Thank you, because I know I couldn’t have done something so selfless and brave.

A gift from Clifford Hayes: grandfather, solider, husband, father, great man.

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