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Gerrymandering the Beer Aisle

December 11, 2015 · by Oliver Gray

In 1812, Federalist domination of the Massachusetts senate loomed. Governor Elbridge Gerry, part of the opposition Democratic Republicans, knew he had to do something to prevent his party from losing their controlling majority. While campaigning, gladhanding, and doing some actual political legwork might have secured the state, Gerry was clever, and probably the type of man who read the fine print very closely. Instead of actually trying to get enough votes to win as things existed in the status quo, Gerry signed a bill that redrew district lines, in such a way that his party benefited.

While the Federalists won some local positions, his unorthodox gamble paid off, and the senate stayed in Democratic Republican control. The odd, unnatural shape of the new district lines reminded writers at the Boston Gazette of a lizard or snake, and so the term “gerrymander” – a portmanteau of Gerry and salamander – was born.

More than 200 years later in the US, we’re still at the mercy of the strange rules of district redrawing, and as politicians have gotten more abstract with their interpretation of national law, we see some weirdly shaped and positioned districts (especially on a congressional level).

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Here’s a gerrymandered district from my homestate of Maryland. The Washington Post’s Chris Ingraham calls these “crimes against geography.”

The point of gerrymandering is to create districts that ultimately serve the best interests of your party. This can work in different ways; lumping all like voters together so your party has majority and wins where they otherwise wouldn’t, or lumping all opposition voters together so they can only win a small area compared to your constituency’s larger area. There are also some practical reasons to redraw district lines, usually to group geographically disparate rural citizens together, or to include suburbs in an urban area that they might technically have stake in.

But typically, “gerrymander” has a negative connotation. It’s often done when a party’s rhetoric or message or um, jeux de vie, isn’t favoring well in the current political climate, but they still want to remain in power to shift the climate back in their direction.

It’s a little dubious. It’s a little scummy. It’s a willful bending of the rules to game the system in your favor.

Seems crazy; politicians can rewrite the rules however they want to their own benefit? Must be illegal, right?

Nope.

Despite two Supreme Court cases challenging it’s legality, gerrymandering is still a legit thing to do, so long as it doesn’t violate the Equal Protection Clause or the Voting Rights Act of 1965. Individual states can enforce their own local gerrymandering rules (Florida does, and several others have review committees), but it’s not Federally mandated.

For a long time, I’ve lamented Big Beer’s sales tactics. It’s difficult for me to reconcile my brewer-born appreciation for their ability to create so much of such a consistent product (I can’t even produce five gallons of lager consistently), with their arguably unscrupulous behavior once the beer has left the brewery and lives in the limbo of the three-tier system.

I used to almost keep the two separate in my mind, like I could magically appreciate the people and the process while simultaneous lament how the product is being sold. All these mental gymnastics because I didn’t really understand what Big Beer was doing.

I do now. Contrary to popular, evangelical belief, it’s not the result of some evil, conglomerate cabal hell bent on robbing the consumer of choice and plunging the world into a second darkness of flavor blandness. It’s not some cosmic conspiracy to corporatize humanity and leave us trudging about in a dystopian world where all the trees have been chopped down and our waking reality looks exactly like the inside of a Walmart.

It’s a lot more boring.

They’re gerrymandering.

Many in the industry liken “Big vs Craft” to some kind of war, with fronts and soldiers and fierce battles over territory based on some loose ideology of mutually (but differently) defined “freedom.” It’s not a terrible analogy, but does add a little more gravity to beer than I think it sometimes deserves.

This isn’t a war, per se, but rather modern political posturing and postulating. “Big vs Craft” is more like a campaign for the presidency of beer, a trading of legal and social blows to rise to the top and occupy the position of leader of the brewing free world (if we kindly ignore China and Snow, for now).

Look at the tactics. Buying a competition brewery? Redrawing the lines of your portfolio to overlap your competition, and include certain consumers to better your business. Offering incentive programs to distributors to only carry your brands? Redrawing the literal lines of what beers are on the shelves, to better position yourself to improve your company’s standing. It’s financial and economic gerrymandering, being done in the face of an opposition party that is winning by more traditional measures.

It’s important to remember, that as much as we don’t like it, it’s all perfectly legal. Unlike our favorite sports, business is a game with mutable rules; if you’re losing by a lot in the second half, you can turn around and win by basically playing an entirely different game, or the same game, with wildly different rules.

We should also note that it’s not exactly a one-sided affair, either: the Brewers Association’s long drawn-out and awkward attempts to define a whole sub-sector of the industry was political gerrymandering, too. The entire impetus behind modern American beer being trumpeted by the BA is local, independent, relatable. They’re attempting to draw their own district lines, partly to keep up with their opponents, partly because it actually works.

As with our current democracy, the citizen (or consumer) is not considered when these invisible lines are drawn. You, as a beer drinker, are a dollar that must be wrangled. Big Beer thinks that if they can’t win your dollar on taste, they’ll win it by buying a portion of your palate, and then by not giving you any other options. The BA wagers that they’ll win your dollar on taste anyway, but if they can’t, they’ll try to win it with emotional and humanistic appeals.

You’re being chopped up and divided without your express consent. You’re being marketed to, hard, fast, and relentlessly, from both sides. Gerrymandering is first and foremost about keeping and consolidating power, or, in this specific sense, market share. As much as you might want to believe they do, no one fighting over your dollar cares about you.

They care that you buy, and little else. I’m hoping consumers are finally starting to see the business side of beer for what it really is: a meticulous and calculated attempt to get you to purchase, just like every other business ever.

Perhaps it’s just me, but the luster of beer wears dull. The movement begrudgingly approaches doughy middle age, and consumers feel the pressure on their wallets and waistlines. Even smaller breweries feel the squeeze of like competition in the ever-growing sea of choice. Talk bubbles or market saturation if you must, but the zeal and sales cannot continue to climb forever.

As a fine patina sets in and the youthful exuberance fades, I have a sneaking suspicion that the game of beers will start to look a lot less like a righteous war or crusade, and a lot more like the classic Red vs Blue, mudslinging, carpetbagging mess that is our political system. Such is the nature of modern capitalism, and probably why, as they say on the internet, “we can’t have nice things.”

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Ask Me Anything: A LitLib Q&A – Answers!

September 11, 2013 · by Oliver Gray

I got so many good questions that I can’t focus on anything but answering them.

ro of FarOVale asks: “Do you read blogs written in other languages?”

I would love to read blogs in other languages. The problem is that, outside of some broken French and a few lines of Latin, I don’t speak anything but English. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life studying and trying to master my mother tongue, which didn’t leave me much mental space for the beauty and lilting grace of the myriad other languages out there. I know that I could use something like Google Translate, but then I’d lose all the nuance of the writing, which is just sad.

Melody of Melody and Words asks: “How do you use non-writing activities (such as photography) to jump-start the creative process?”

I think there are two ways, psychologically, to stir your brain into creative motion: sensory deprivation and sensory overload. It’s the difference between seeing the future in a crystal ball or seeing it in the colorful ornate drawings of Tarot cards. My brain likes overload; the more colors and textures and mental speed bumps for me to crawl over, the more stuff I have to hold onto and build from. I think that’s why I love Lego so much.

Using something like photography to jump-start the process is easy, because you’re forced to spend more time with whatever you’re taking pictures of, and as a result, building a mental relationship with that object. I’ll often get an idea for a beer short story just based on how I position a beer for a picture, or how the colors contrast between glass and background. I also then have this vivid reminder of all those ideas in the form of a picture, which almost always helps fuel the creative process down the line.

Josh of ShortOnBeer asks: “When was the first time you were proud of your writing?”

No one has ever asked me this before. I’m not sure I can find the GPS coordinates in my brain for that exact moment where I was first proud of my grammatical creations, but it was probably sometime around December 2011, when I got accepted into the Masters of Writing program at Johns Hopkins. I suddenly felt like real writers thought my writing was good enough to be compared to theirs. I’m proud of my words whenever someone says they’ve helped them or taught them something. That, to me, is the whole reason I type, to understand or help others understand.

Melanie of melanielynngriffin asks: “What is the best argument, in your mind, for each side of the question about bombing Syria in response to chemical weapons use?”

As a general rule, I remain as politically neutral as possible. I don’t like the conflict that comes with choosing a side, especially when neither side really reflects how I feel. That said, I see no best arguments for either side of this situation. It sucks, and will continue to suck, for pretty much everyone involved. While I appreciate the US trying to help out those countries who seem to desperately need it, I think the “chemical weapon” line is arbitrary, and if we really meant to help in a humanitarian way, we’d have intervened a long time ago when people were being beaten and shot to death. I’d be more inclined to support helping out the oppressed citizenry of another nation if our own country was a bliss-filled utopia, but obviously, we’ve got some serious problems of our own without sailing ships into the Mediterranean. If my vote mattered (which I’m more and more convinced it doesn’t) I’d suggest we stay home and put the money and energy towards fixing our own issues.

I’m going to lump two similar questions together here. Ryan of mouldsbeerblog, and Ginny ask: “Who is your favorite author/writer? -and- What is your favourite book/author’s work that you’ve ever read?”

This is like asking me to pick my favorite beer. There are so many options available, so many styles, so many writers who’ve written heartrendingly gorgeous prose, that it becomes nearly impossible to narrow it down to just one. So instead of picking a favorite, I’ll list some of those authors that have influenced me the most (in no particular order): Issac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, HP Lovecraft, Edgar Alan Poe, John Donne, Alexander Pope, Alice McDermott, Michael Pollan, Jennifer Egan, and, as much as I hate to admit it, Shakespeare. As far as the single piece that influenced me the most, I’ll have to go with “Walden” by Thoreau.

TheMadHopper of The Mad Hopper’s Blog asks: “When writing about beer and beer culture do you have a certain format you follow?”

Not really, but I may be a terrible person to ask, since I rarely follow any kind of format for anything. I think the most important thing, in general, is to do in-depth research on your topic (beyond a few Google searches, I mean) and make sure you’re respectful of the writers and people who came before you. Know what you’re talking about, and give credit where credit is due. Also, have fun. You’re writing about beer after all. As Scott at beerbecue said recently, “One can only read so many serious dissertations on beer.”

Penney of My Journey to Live an Authentic Life asks (slightly paraphrased): “How do you write about someone who has created conflict and drama (like a divorce or a bad breakup), without sounding whiny, when the experience made you become a better person?”

There is a fine line between bitter resentment and teary-eyed sentimentality, and it’s the writer’s job to walk it, carefully. I think it’s hard to approach something so raw and close to you directly. I almost always try to find some other vehicle to get into the story; something tangentially related or coming from a different perspective. By not having to just flat out tell the story and details of what happened, you can get the best ideas and insights into the piece without any of the personal baggage. The essay I wrote about my father’s passing is a good example of this “redirection.” I know I couldn’t have written that just about him and his death, so I used the star and his energy as the vehicle for something that would otherwise be far too emotional for me.

One half of Tammy and CJ of The Great Jollyhoombah asks: “What are the greatest craft beer US cities you’ve been to or know of?” 

I’ve really just started my Homeric journey into the travel side of craft beer, but I’ve certainly been to enough cities to answer this question. I’m going to go with Boulder, Colorado (or really, just anywhere in Colorado) because of Boulevard Brewing, Great Divide Brewing, New Belgium, Oskar Blues, and Avery Brewing. I mean, that’s an incredible line up, and you can’t go wrong when choosing from any of these guys. Colorado is a veritable Mecca for craft beer people, so make sure you all face towards the Rockies when lifting your next pint.

Phillip McCollum asks: “If fear had a flavor, what would it taste like?”

Have you ever put a 9-volt battery on your tongue? Ever tasted that mix of metal and acid and energy that can only come from completing a circuit, using your body as the ground? Fear tastes like that.

theclocktowersunset asks: “If you ruled the world, what would you change and how would that playout?”

I would refuse to let anyone take life too seriously. It would be punishable by tickles. I’d like to think that a bit of enforced, widespread levity would make the planet much easier to live with, and on.

JHMae of byjhmae asks: “Who is your favorite Game of Thrones character?”

Beric Dondarrion closely followed by Sandor Clegane.

Thanks to everyone who asked a question. I hope I answered them to your satisfaction 🙂

Maybe ask me why I used a picture of a "No Surfing" flag in this post?

Maybe ask me why I used a picture of a “No Surfing” flag in this post?

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!

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