SANTA PARADE

Clockwise from upper left:
(1) bus full of senior citizens
(2) model-T Ford, driven by senior citizen
(3) marching band, containing seniors but no senior citizens
(4) Santa Claus on a fire engine


But, the best of all was the Christmas pirate ship float. It even came with its own "Adam Sandler lookalike" pirate—physical appearance, facial expressions, postures. That was the best part for me, and it came right toward the beginning.

ROCK STAR DREAMS

This morning, upon waking, the child and I had the following conversation.

CHILD: I have a TV in my room.

TWT: Oh, really. Where is your television?

Child points to a watercolor picture of Noah's Ark, painted by a friend and former coworker of the wife.

CHILD: Right there!

TWT: So that's your TV, huh?

CHILD: Yeah, its so I can play Rockstar.

TWT: Rockstar?

CHILD: Yes. I play it every day before I go to bed. Every night, too.

TWT: Rockstar?

CHILD: Yes. Do you want to play, daddy?

TWT: No, thank you.

---

After breakfast.

CHILD: Okay, daddy. I need to go back to bed.

TWT: You do? Why?

CHILD: So I can play Guitar Hero on my TV!

---

In the car, listening to the radio. Some Gwen Stefani song is playing, some of the lyrics being sung by the child, which I am unsure of how the child knows them so well since the child is hearing the song for the first time, to my knowledge.

CHILD: Daddy, is this a Rockstar song?

TWT: What?

CHILD: Is this song on my Rockstar game?

TWT: Sure.

CHILD: I like it. Look daddy. I'm playing my guitar.

TWT: You are?

The child pretends to be fingering the frets of a guitar, or, more likely, the colored buttons of a game system "guitar."

CHILD: Here comes some green ones. I got them. Oh, yeah! I got a yellow one and a purple one.

---

Later in the car.

CHILD: Is this Aunt ———'s guy?

TWT: What?

CHILD: Is this Aunt ———'s guy from Rockstar? Like at Uncle ———'s house?

TWT: I don't know. Is it?

CHILD: Yeah. It looks a little bit like him.

TWT: Okay.

CHILD: I'm going to be him.

TWT: Okay.

The child begins strumming a "guitar" again.

---

So, who is to blame here? The child's fertile imagination is a likely culprit, although it points to a dearth of source material in this case. The brother and sister-in-law are likely culprits, since they are pretty close to being Guitar Hero and Rock Band evangelists. The modern media-and-marketing machine is surely culpable, due to its everpresent promotion of Guitar Hero and similar games.

Coming soon to your home: Guitar Hero, the cereal; the obligatory Saturday Night Live Guitar Hero sketch; Guitar Hero logo upper front teeth laser etching!

MERE ANARCHY

Mere Anarchy by Woody Allen

I try hard to love Woody Allen. I really do. I love quite a few of his films, especially Deconstructing Harry. So, I decided to give his latest collection of short stories a try. I did.

This collection of short stories appears to aim at satire of the New York elite—upper middle class and up. And that could be funny except that this is the class that Woody Allen falls into. So, it rings a little false coming from him. Sure, he should know the comings and goings of this group of people, but his attempt to distance himself from "them" just further points out how close he really is.

Another piece that doesn't allow me to fully enjoy these stories is some of the language. I had to read with a dictionary close at hand, which is not a bad thing. But, it becomes tiresome when some of the same words and phrases are used in one story after another. The most egregious violators were, in no particular order: lagniappe, boychick, momser, myrmidon, porcine, profiteroles, sacher torte, marbelized meats, and Planck (as in Planck's length and Planck's constant). Most of these words are not part of anyone's everyday language and so their use in more than one character's dialogue is just too much to ask of a reader.

I had higher hopes for these short stories, and I believe they probably worked much better in The New Yorker, where many of them first appeared. In this collection, for me, however, they fail. The saving grace was that they were short, as was the overall collection, which meant that the damage done to me was only minimal.

on THE [WINTER] TAPHANDLE

Samuel Adams Winter Lager, a Weizenbock by Boston Beer Company

12 ounce bottle. Samuel Adams Boston Lager for dinner one night followed by Samuel Adams Winter Lager for dinner the next evening. The pour delivers a beautiful copper-orange lager with a large tan head that leaves a fair amount of lacing. The aroma is malty, concentrating on molasses. There are also floral and grass notes, with a hint of orange and spices. The flavor also has a hint of orange, as well as a light honey flavor. These both complement the molasses and malt. There is also a spice that I find difficult to place. The bottle claims that it is cinnamon.

So, it was off to the spice cupboard, which the wife keeps in meticulous order. I went to the "C" spices, grabbed the small jar of cinnamon sticks, unscrewed the lid, and indulged in the scent that wafted forth. Then I poked my nose back into the glass. Sure enough, the aroma of spices I noticed earlier is that of cinnamon, as is the spice of the flavor. It is subtle, yet present. A wonderful discovery—both the cinnamon in the lager, through the use of the spice cupboard, and the Samuel Adams Winter Lager itself.

on THE TAPHANDLE

Samuel Adams Boston Lager, a Premium Lager by Boston Beer Company

12 ounce bottle. I am not a fan of lagers, most likely due to my youthful days of drinking. There, I tended to drink three different types of pale lager—Miller Genuine Draft, Corona Extra, or Budweiser. The goal, of course, was to become intoxicated. Therefore, I have been somewhat reluctant to return to the world of lagers. I will have one if it is the only thing around—Heineken or Alfa, for example—but have on occasion just decided to drink a soda or water rather than subject myself to another lager that is virtually interchangeable with the rest.

Samuel Adams Boston Lager was a good reintroduction to the world of lagers. While not a stellar beer, neither was it a disappointment. In fact, it was more complex in both aroma and flavor than I expected. And, the pour was spectacular. The head was large, off-white, and fizzy, leaving behind a fair amount of lacing. The color was a rich apple-juice yellow, full of lively carbonation. The aroma was malty, focusing on faint caramel notes. Also present were the smells of straw, flowers, grass, and freshly broken white bread. The flavor followed suit.

SUMNER BRIDGE LIGHTING

Friday 23 November 2007, 4:59 p.m.


Friday 23 November 2007, 5:01 p.m.

THANKSGIVING

"I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will tell of all your wonderful deeds."
—Psalm 9:1

I awake to the low rumble of the furnace as it heats the house. I wander in the dawn darkness as the wife and child slumber. The outside thermometer reads 25.2° F. The ground is laced in white frost. The birdbath is frozen solid, chickadees trying to drink after they have taken black sunflower seeds from the feeder. I put my shoes on, go outside, and fill the birdbath with hot water. It steams. I am thankful for my family, for food and good beer, for shelter and warmth, for relatively good health, recent events notwithstanding.

on THE [WINTER] TAPHANDLE

2° Below Winter Ale, an ESB by New Belgium Brewing Company

On tap at Fritz European Fry House, Bremerton, Washington. An ale is brought to me. It is a brilliant copper-orange with a thick white head. The head mostly stays and leaves intricate lacing in its wake. The aroma is of freshly torn orange peel, graham cracker, spices, pepper, cloves, light caramel, and a faint floral background. The flavor follows suit—orange peel, graham cracker, and cloves most prominent—with the briskness of newly fallen snow on the pallet and a light hint of alcohol on the finish. Wonderful.

---

If there is ever an excuse to have some Belgian fries with a good ale, then I will find it. The wife, the child, and I join the brother and the sister-in-law at Fritz European Fry House for deep fried foods—chicken fritters, beer battered cod, and handcut Belgian fries—and good beer. It really doesn't get much better.

OCTOBER

"death cannot harm me / more than you have harmed me, / my beloved life."
—page 12, October by Louise Glück

Season and light and song. Life and lament and loss. The paradox of October is mine in November. There is a looking back toward summer and a looking forward toward winter. There is a rootedness in autumn that is unexpected. This is the middle of life. "This is the present, an allegory of waste." At times it is stark in its delivery. At times the light changes. Dims. Casts shadow upon shadow in a kaleidoscope of darkness.

on THE [WINTER] TAPHANDLE

Jolly Roger Christmas Ale, an English Strong Ale by Maritime Pacific Brewing Company

12 ounce bottle. Shiver me timbers, but this is a good hearty holiday brew. It pours the color of a newly minted penny, clear and sparkling, with soft carbonation. The head is a light tan, although it mostly dissipates, leaving just a small remnant and some light lacing behind.

The smell is like that of a small cabin in the woods of the Pacific Northwest, stumbled upon after a walk in the rain, the fireplace heating the room and the logs—light grains, caramel, light dough of baking bread, the scented woodiness of cedar. The flavor follows suit, with a strong woody cedar flavor wrapped around a nutty, caramel base. There is the flavor of lightly baked bread thrown in for good measure, which balances nicely against the malt and hops.

I had this with dark chocolate after dinner and the slight smoky flavor of the chocolate helped to draw out the cedar of Jolly Roger, for a great pairing of dessert and ale. This could be a new Christmas tradition in the making.