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Beertography!

June 10, 2013 · by Oliver Gray

Here is a quick list of my oddest behaviors that have all been validated and encouraged by the internet:

Making way too many Lord of the Rings related puns and inappropriate references
Talking about beer and beer science and beer culture and beer goblins
Writing short stories that use (and overuse) nested adjectival clauses, resumptive modifiers, and chain-appositives

And most recently:

Unabashedly crawling across/through neighborhood yards/porches/decks to take photographs of beer

John Kleinchester over at Beertography.com (beer + photography = beertography) did me the honor of making me the official beertographer of the week, starting today. I want to not only thank him for highlighting my work, but for making me feel a lot less insane about filling my SDHC card with nothing but images of amber fluids and fancy glassware.

I take photos because I enjoy looking at things. Sounds simple, but it’s true. I relish the chance to watch a sun sink, purple and orange, into Chincoteague Bay. Or to see the bubbles scamper upwards out of a glass, tearing through the golden prison on a pilser. I love perspective and angles and light and shadow. And really, all writers should all at least appreciate photography, because one click and shutter flutter is equal to 1000 words of 12 point Times New Roman. That’s proven fact.

All eccentricity and absurdity aside, I’d also like to thank all my readers for giving me the energy and motivation to keep writing and crawling through the verge with camera in hand. You guys are the best.

Here’s a smattering of some of my favorite beertographs (captured over the years). Enjoy!

“You never know what worse luck your bad luck has saved you from.” ― Cormac McCarthy

RyePA. Get it?

Slight buzz + long day + very tired = thinking photos are the height of modern art.

“Natural selection, as it has operated in human history, favors not only the clever but the murderous.” -Barbara Ehrenreich

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s beer for me.

“How much easier it is to be critical than to be correct.” ― Benjamin Disraeli

A great beer at the end of the day if your dogs are barking.

Hop on beer. Do not hop on hydrangeas.

It is incredibly difficult to take a picture of direct sunlight.

A shoal is a somewhat linear landform extending into a body of water, typically composed of sand, silt or small pebbles. This is a somewhat delicious beer extending into my stomach, composed of water, hops, and alcohol.

The first paragraph of this story was part of my homework assignment for my grammar class. I had to mimic Steinbeck. It hurt my brain.

The fog settles on London like the head on a freshly poured pint.

Left to right, order of enjoy-itude.

Arr, here be good beers.

Sometimes a man has to buy 9.5 lbs of pilsner malt. We all have our vices. Don’t judge me.

The beer triune: pint glass, airlock, bottle.

One bullet, one empty can.

I feel like I should use monosyllabic expressions of my feeling when writing a formal review. Hrm. Yes. Quite. Mmph.

Ammunition.

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the beer whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall drink, ah, nevermore!

We drink our beer from mason jars.

This picture makes it look warm outside. It was not warm outside.

+3 against thirst (and ogres)

This story brought to you buy DuClaw’s brewing, Ed Pearlman’s teaching, and Anthony Hecht’s writing.

Craft and Draft: I’ll take words that start with “Ad” for $2000, Alex

February 1, 2013 · by Oliver Gray

Warning, this post contains explicit grammar that may not be appropriate for people who don’t like grammar. Words like participle and infinitive and adjectival will be used. Parental discretion is advised.

As a culture, we’re rapidly approaching critical mass of “stuff we need to remember.” Kick-off times, meeting times, departure times, closing times. Passwords, PINs, SSNs, and IPs. Some of us have to remember large, complicated matrices and formulas and numbers, others large, complicated designs and abstracts and ideas. We have to remember how our systems work, both technical and physical, where Microsoft decided to hide the “sort ascending button” in this version, who asked who out for beers, and that in order to cook dinner, the oven needs to be hot, and for it to be hot, it needs to be preheated.

There are so many pieces of information to store, catalog, and recall that it’s amazing our brains have time for anything else.

As a result of this constant data-bombardment we inevitably forget things that aren’t important to our daily survival. Things like the specifics of molecular structure or which side of the plate the salad fork goes on or to finally water that poor house plant in the corner of our bedroom. Our brains work like massive databases where the most relevant, frequently accessed, and important information is kept at the ready, while everything else is crammed and stuffed into parts of the brain that aren’t frequently visited. You haven’t completely forgotten the stuff down in the dusty tomes of your archive, but it takes some effort and a big Swiffer Duster to bring it back up to the light of your main study.

That’s where your grammar lives. Unless you’re a ferocious copy editor or the reincarnation of E.B. White, chances are your understanding of grammatical rules has sunk deeper than the Titanic.

That’s OK. I’m here to raise the wreck and help figure all this “grammar” stuff out.

“Ad” Words

I’ve read a lot of contemporary writing advice and the general consensus seems to be, “don’t use adverbs or adjectives unless you really need to.”

In a literary vacuum this is good advice. Don’t write “He walked aimlessly” when you could write “He sauntered.” A good verb will almost always trump a bad verb with an glued-on adverb trying to pick up the syntactic slack.

But to avoid using adverbs and adjectives at all would lead to peculiar if not nigh unreadable language. You could avoid using single world adverbs and adjectives for a while, but to give no description to any of your nouns or any of your verbs seems masochistic for the reader and sadistic for the writer.

The explanation is simple: don’t rely on single words, use phrases. A phrase is a group of words that can stand for a single part of speech. For example, “He ran up the bank of the river.” The simple sentence is, “He ran.” But that sentence is boring and non-specific and no one wants to read it. Enter the adverbial phrase, “up the bank of the river.” Now we know where he ran. That whole string of words equals a single adverbial phrase (it’s also a prepositional phrase, but we’ll ignore that for now).

Of course, you can overuse phrases just like you can overuse single words and turn your prose into an insipid nightmare of nothing but pointless, unwavering description. But let’s pretend you won’t do that because you know better. Please don’t do that. It hurts our brains.

An important thing to remember about a phrase is that it does not contain a subject and predicate, meaning it isn’t a sentence or a clause. “Under the waves” is a phrase because it clearly doesn’t have a subject or predicate (or verb for that matter), it only functions to describe where, in some other, imaginary sentence.

There are two types of phrases: prepositional phrases (which, to everyone’s alarm, contain prepositions) and verbal phrases (which in turn has three sub-forms: infinitives, past participles, and present participles.) For now, we’ll just focus on how to identify and use the larger concepts of adverbial and adjectival phrases, regardless of their status as prepositions or verbals.

To help you understand how adverbial and adjectival phrases work, I’ve called on my friends: “Adjectival Arwen” and “Adverbial Aragorn.”

They are currently in post production of “Lord of the Ings: Two Gerunds”, slated for a 2027 release.

Adjectival Arwen rides towards Rivendell in a saddle made of soft leather

As a refresher (no one is judging anyone here) an adjective is a word (or series of words) that describes a noun. The word “Adjectival” in Arwen’s name is itself an adjective (I’m so meta). You know these words and use them all the time: drunken, sharp, red, gooey, awkward, etc. They add specificity to the noun, so the reader knows exactly which subject the writer meant. You could say “the man” which could mean any random dude, or you could say, “the man with the giant purple mustache” which pretty much points directly to a specific, crazy guy.

Adjectives give nouns unique identity. Arwen is not just an elf. She is a pretty elf who wields Hadhafang, sword of the Elven queens. Adjectives!

We use adjectival phrases all the time without really thinking about it. Any time you try to describe your subject, you’re using an adjectival phrase. It can be as simple as describing the look of something, “Arwen dyed her flowing hair bright red” (she didn’t just dye her hair, she dyed it a specific color) or as complicated as an appositive, which completely renames the noun, “Arwen, only daughter of Elrond of Rivendell, rode out to meet the battle.”

The key thing to remember her is that adjectival phrases always reference a noun. If something is describing the verb, or explaining how/where/when/why the action happened, it can’t be an adjectival phrase.

Adverbial Aragorn fights the orcs valiantly

Adverbs are the beasts that labor in the fields of our language, doing most of the heavy lifting and manual labor. They are words or phrases that describe verbs. These are often the “-ly” forms of adjectives (drunkenly, hazily) but can come in many other flavors.

An adverbial phrase always describes a verb in the sentence. If “Aragorn swings Narsil with the might of his Dúnedain ancestors,” the adverbial phrase (“with the might of”) describes the way he swings. It emphasizes and explains the action of the verb, giving sentence some spice, and clarifying just how the action took place. That adverbial phrase also contains a secondary adjectival phrase that describes what kind of might he was swinging with. Sweet.

All of this stuff builds on itself. Look at the basic sentence first, “Aragorn swings Narsil” then the adverbial “with the might” then the adjectival “of his Dúnedain ancestors.” It’s like a Russian doll of phrases, all of which eventually gives you a sentence that describes multiple things in specific ways.

So, adjectival phrases modify nouns, adverbial phrases modify verbs. All pretty simple, right? You’ll be able to use these left and right, with purpose, to make your writing all awesome now, right?

Right?

If you’re confused, that’s OK. Sentence variation in English is damn near infinite. You can and will have adjectival phrases inside of adverbial phrases that are part of compound predicates with multiple verbs that may or may not be prepositional. They may be part of a direct object or a subject compliment or just a tulle dress that you put on your subject to make it fancier so it will get more attention during its debutante ball. The great part about understanding these rules is that you can intentionally play with them and have fun with your writing, which, with practice, eventually becomes a part of your style and voice.

I know I’ve dumped a lot of ideas on you and presented a lot of unqualified terms. If anyone has any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.

I’ll cover more next week. These guy may pay a visit:

For the record, this is The Pirate of Prepositions, The Appositive Adventurer, and The Clause Clown. They mean business.

Review: The Hobbit (An Unexpected Journey)

December 15, 2012 · by Oliver Gray

Spoiler Alert: If you still haven’t found any time in the past 75 years to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, this review may contain spoilers. And wizards.

“What is he doing? The Hobbit isn’t a beer! I can tell, based on a small sample of his work, that this guy probably definitely doesn’t know anything about movies. Who is he to say if a collection of scenes with characters and action cobbled together is good or not? Clearly, he’s super-unqualified to write a movie review, and we shouldn’t listen to anything he says in principle alone.”

This is all true. I am not (and only very rarely, after many beers, claim to be) a film critic. I only go to the movies a few times a year, and the majority of my time spent appreciating cinema involves re-watching Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom for the 28th time (I’ve been keeping track).

But I am a huge Tolkien fan. I’ve read and analyzed The Hobbit/There and Back Again at least four times and the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy at least three times. I’ve powered through The Silmarillion in my quest to absorb the history of Middle Earth, and may or may not have a strange infatuation with wizards that permeates every mystical pore of my life (yes, I have a wizard on my desk at work, and yes I have two staves, both of which are imbued with the magical essence of awesomeness).

My wife and I are known to regularly watch the original Peter Jackson trilogy as the darker days of winter encroach on our social lives; retreating into the depths of Moria to seek the warmth of the Balrog’s fire. We often quote Tolkien in an attempt to look nerdy and cool. Hell, even our wedding reception was inspired by Bilbo’s eleventy-first birthday party!

I’ve got some authority here, if only the kind garnered from being a devoted, studious fan.

I had been looking forward to The Hobbit since it was originally attached to Guillermo del Toro and was elated when I heard Peter Jackson would be back at the helm. Jackson meant more McKellen, who begat more Wood, who begat more Blanchett and more Weaving.

I had very high hopes.

And those hopes were met.

Casting – A wizard, a hobbit, 12 dwarves, and a whole mess of goblins

Martin Freeman might be the single best casting choice in the history of film. Seriously. He has the perfect mannerisms to capture the accidental hero inside Bilbo: engaging reactionary facial expressions, awkward and unsure body language, humorous quips, and perfectly timed vocal responses. He may have ruined himself for other movies now because he was such a convincing hobbit. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to picture him in any other role.

Sir Ian McKellen (a personal hero of mine, second only to Patrick Stewart) was back in usual form, spouting wisdom and being more of the bumbling “grey” version of Mithrandir that is representative of his role in the original book. His performance seemed a bit rusty for the first ten minutes (while the opening exchange with Bilbo was funny, McKellen seemed to be getting used to wearing his beard again), but by the time the dwarven group was assembled, my favorite wizard had been reborn on screen. I squealed like a school boy when he unsheathed Glamdring in the troll hoard, because I’m the kind of person who gets excited over swords that have official names.

Richard Armitage completed the trio of protagonists, and was a compelling (if slightly less hairy than expected) vision of Thorin Oakenshield. He seemed more brooding and pensive than the bull-headed and arrogant Thorin of the novel, but it worked well with Armitage’s embodiment of the nomadic, homeless Prince.

The rest of the cast was lovable enough, but some of the dwarven makeup seemed to be intentionally overdone as a means to tell them apart form each other, and did very little to develop their individual characters. Voice actor Barry Humphries did an admirable job as the Great Goblin, but was a bit too articulate and well-spoken for a giant, cave-dwelling monstrosity with a ballsack for a neck. Andy Serkis, as usual, makes my heart cry out for (and cringe in reaction to) a hilariously schizophrenic, young Gollum.

Visuals – 48 vs 24 and Star Wars Syndrome

There was debate over Jackson’s decision to film in 48 frames per second versus the traditional 24. For those who don’t get a warm rush of serotonin from reading about technical specs, 48 frames produces a more realistic image, as it effectively captures twice the detail per each second recorded (see here for a visual example). But making things more realistic (especially scenes in a high fantasy movie) isn’t always an amazing idea. Movies retain a certain level of whimsy and escapism because they actively don’t seem real, something that could be lost with a more true-to-what-I-see-all-boring-day style of filming.

But, as I didn’t bother with the extra expense of the 3D version (another rant for another time), I barely even noticed the shift in frame rate. The only times it snarled it’s hyper-realistic warg-teeth was during large sweeping fly-over shots. The usual blur of the background came off too crisp, like I was watching the actors run around form inside a helicopter, not form behind the comfort of the proverbial fourth wall.

My biggest fault in the visuals of the movie were the overcooked action scenes. Jackson had nearly 10 years of technological advancement to try out in his prequel, which he did without reservation.

I call this “Star Wars Syndrome.” George Lucas dramatically altered his own vision of medieval swordplay light saber duels with acrobatics and Wushu as soon as he had the technology to do it. Compare Luke and Vader’s final battle to Obi Wan and Anakin’s lava-duel. You wouldn’t even imagine the same director and artistic mind came up with both of those fight scenes if viewed independently.

Jackson, unfortunately, seemed to contract a case of SWS. Long gone are the intense, one-versus-many steel on steel combat scenes of the original trilogy. The clean, believable sword play of Aragorn is replaced by frenetic pile-on scenes, where the dwarves seem capable of super-human (super-dwarven?) abilities, and able to escape pretty much any situation unscathed. All of the fight scenes in The Hobbit feel over-designed, preferring silly, choreographed tumbling and striking over impressive displays of heroic badassery. I almost found myself waiting for the fight scenes to end, which is a discredit to the franchise, and oddly out of sync with my normal enjoyment of a film like this.

I think this is a great example of where technology loses to good old fashioned training. Armitage and his dwarven buddies would have been much more believable in a fight if they’d actually been swinging their swords and axes, not relying on a computer to magically do it for them. I kept thinking that someone in the production staff had made the executive decision that the Legolas “use-a-shield-as-a-sled” scene was the greatest thing ever, and made it the model for all of the fight scenes in The Hobbit.

This was still a beautiful movie. A lot of time was invested into the makeup and design of the sets, and the closing scene of Smaug’s eye opening looked incredibly authentic. Orcrist, Glamdring, and Sting were captured beautifully, and Rivendell was gorgeous, as if that is a surprise. Hindsight is always favorable and I’ve grown mighty fond of the original LOTR trilogy, so perhaps my opinion of the action is too tainted by nostalgia.

Length – Three instead of One?

The Hobbit is only ~300 pages (depending on the copy you’re reading). Splitting the original content into three, three hours movies seems a little bit excessive. As reluctant as I am to advocate for less Tolkien, critics have a point. There seemed to be a lot of scenes that were added just for the sake of padding the main plot points of the original novel so that it could span three full length movies. Jackson decided to turn a one-sentence reference to Radagast the Brown into a full character arc, including some silliness with a sled pulled by rabbits and some bird poop in wizard hair.

My theory is that Jackson realized this was his last chance to sink his dragon fangs into the Tolkien intellectual property. Once this series is over, it is unlikely we’ll see another LOTR or Hobbit reboot in our life time, making this second trilogy the final culmination of Tolkienage in video form.

Does that forgive some of the bloat?

Yes and no. I could have done without some of the 20 second long sweep shots of dwarves running across the same-old landscape and Jackson certainly enhanced certain scenes to make them more important than the original events of the book. I still didn’t find the movie too bloated, and the clever dialogue and placement of new (previously absent action) made 2.5 hours fly by. I never wanted things to move any more quickly, but I also have a full-blow case of Tolkienitus.

Those who are not as enamored with him as an author (or with the lore of Middle Earth) might find a bit of tedium in the less engaging sections of the movie. To those people I say: Hang in there. The best action of the Hobbit comes in right around the group’s arrival at Laketown (which I’m thinking will happen at the tail end of the second movie).

Overall – Firsts are tough; see Sorcerer’s Stone, A New Hope, and Fellowship of the Ring

I can’t lie, I totally loved this movie. It brought back all of the giddy memories of standing in line waiting for the midnight opening of Two Towers and Return of the King. It blew on the embers of my dwindling interest in swords and sorcery fantasy, stoking the fire of imagination. I now wait very impatiently for the mass market paperback of A Dance with Dragons to come out to feed my burning desire for more and more fantastic stories.

I’m particularly glad that Jackson understood the tone of the book and directly applied it to the film. The Hobbit is considerably less serious than the LOTR trilogy, and would have felt awkward and heavy had the producers and cast forced the same dour, fatalistic overtones of near hopelessness.

If you’re a Tolkien fan, I don’t need to tell you to go see if, because you probably already have.

If you’re a fantasy fan, go see this movie, if only for a great representation of a very influential book and author.

If you’re not a fantasy fan, you should still go see this movie, because it is actually pretty funny, and very well executed once your eyes adjust to the 48 FPS.

9.5 out of 10.

Well, what can I tell you? Life in the wide world goes on much as it has these past age, full of its own comings and goings, scarcely aware of the existence of hobbits… for which I am very thankful.