Category Archives: culture

Fifth of November: Untangling truth from Vendetta

Remember, remember, the Fifth of November.

It is fitting that American elections are held during the first week of November — the one time a year when we hear the name Guy Fawkes as we chat briefly about overthrowing governments and installing anarchy. We salivate over how great V for Vendetta is, and how we’d like to head our own utopian government. But, ironically, very few people actually know what happened on the Fifth of November that we’ve come to commemorate.

Sure, some are aware that November 5, 1605, was the day Fawkes tried to bomb the English Parliament, but far fewer know why — or, really, anything else about the man whose face has become a symbol for activists and anarchists everywhere. So, who was Fawkes? What is it he fought for? What is it we are really celebrating? How did he become the symbol we know today? And what are the differences between Fawkes and the fictional character V?

At the turn of the 17th century, Europe was tearing itself apart. Increased literacy and education led to the questioning of traditional religion and its role in state politics. Protestantism was on the rise, and the rift in Christianity left many countries with factions feuding over religious dominance. Henry VIII of England wanted to marry his love, Anne Boleyn, but the Pope refused to annul the king’s wedding to Catherine of Aragon. To get around that complication, the king split from the Pope, who had once called Henry the “defender of the faith,” and the Roman Catholic Church entirely, declaring himself the head of an independent English (or Anglican) Church.

In the coming decades, each subsequent English monarch changed the official religion in some way, including reestablishing the supremacy of Rome for a time. In this environment of constantly shifting religious alliances, it was inevitable that many would take sides and fight for their version of the Christian faith. Under James I, Catholics had hoped to see a move toward greater Catholic religious tolerance. They were disappointed. Anglicanism continued to reign, and the Bible was translated into an authorized English version that bears the king’s name. But some English Catholics were no longer content to wait for the afterlife to see the Protestant leaders judged. And in 1605, one group of conspirators planned to retake the throne for Rome.

The Gunpowder Plot was the attempt by English Catholic subversives to bomb the House of Lords, theoretically leading to the death of King James and the installation of his young daughter, Elizabeth, as a Catholic queen. Fawkes, who many imagine as an anarchist, was in fact among the conspirators hoping to establish a Catholic theocracy. Fawkes was put in charge of guarding the explosives, but he was captured, causing the coup to fizzle out before getting anywhere.

Fawkes was tortured, under the king’s orders, to compel the man to give up the names of his co-conspirators. While his resolve remained strong at first, the increasing brutality of the torture eventually broke Fawkes. To understand the full scale of the beating Fawkes received, one must only look at his signature before and after his torture. Fawkes and his cohorts were tried and sentenced to death, with the added humiliation of being hanged, drawn, and quartered. Fawkes, defiant to the end, evaded part of the punishment when he jumped and broke his neck, avoiding having his guts and testicles cut apart while still conscious.

Not long after the failure of the Gunpowder Plot, November 5 was declared a day of thanksgiving to celebrate the king’s survival. The holiday acquired the name of Bonfire Day because crowds would burn effigies of Fawkes and the Pope. Unsurprisingly, this worsened the bad blood between the Christian sects.

Guy Fawkes/Bonfire Day has evolved over the centuries and taken on new meaning as public opinions and sympathies have changed. For the first several centuries, the holiday was very obviously a celebration of the plot’s failure. When the monarchy did temporarily fall midcentury, the focus ceased to be on the survival of the king, but on the supremacy of Protestantism and parliamentary rule. Today, it is harder to pin down whether folks are celebrating the survival of English government or the idea of destroying it.

Either way, Fawkes became a symbol, with his name and likeness surviving long after his execution. In fact, the word “guy” is derived from the effigies of Guy Fawkes. The effigies were often made by children out of old clothing and called “guys.” The term became a pejorative for poorly dressed men, though it evolved in time to mean any male, losing its negative connotation.

Over two centuries after the failed plot, in 1841, William Harrison Ainsworth’s historical romance Guy Fawkes; or, The Gunpowder Treason was released, portraying Fawkes as a more sympathetic character. Fawkes continued to appear in new works over the next century, but none would do as much for the man’s image as Alan Moore and David Lloyd’s graphic novel of the 1980s, V for Vendetta.

V for Vendetta was Moore’s first attempt at writing a continuing, serialized story. The story, as written in the comic, is set in the dystopian future of 1997. English fascists have overtaken the country following a devastating nuclear war. The state suppresses dissent, eliminates the ethnically diverse, and broadcasts the government’s message everyday. Essentially, the government is a cross between that portrayed in George Orwell’s 1984 and Adolf Hitler’s Germany.

The party in power, Norsefire, meets its match in the anarchist vigilante, V, who dons a cloak and Fawkes mask as he takes to the streets, killing men and women who performed great evil on him or mankind. Unlike traditional heroes, V is not squeamish about killing; rather, death is all he seeks for his adversaries.

V is an ambiguous character with a shrouded backstory and even more mysterious morality. The vigilante is a victim of fascist concentration camps and experimentation. The experiments appear to have had an effect on his mind, possibly driving him mad, though he sees his mission with absolute clarity of purpose. V seems content with becoming a monster himself in order to combat the monsters of Norsefire. V strikes terror into the hearts of the fascists in order to inspire the masses and find vengeance.

While the true story of the Fifth of November can be seen as a dispute between Protestants and Catholics, or between conventional authority and subversive terrorism, V for Vendetta is about a battle between fascism and anarchy — two words with less than favorable reputations. Moore, an anarchist himself, crafts his hero around these principles and even takes time to dispel certain ideas of anarchism. In the novel, V explains that chaos is not the anarchist system; rather, a functional anarchist system would grant great freedom, not the looting and destruction that follows the immediate fall of government.

Moore also does much to make the reader question V’s methods. Moore and Lloyd raise some of the same difficult questions through V as the actions of the Gunpowder Plot raise, such as: When is violence — even murder — acceptable?

In the 2006 film adaptation of the graphic novel, the Wachowskis clung to the principle that killing in the name of freedom is acceptable — and, according to Moore, kept little else from the source material.

In an interview with MTV, Moore explained his problems with the film adaptation.

“It’s been turned into a Bush-era parable by people too timid to set a political satire in their own country,” Moore said. “In the film, you’ve got a sinister group of right-wing figures — not fascists, but you know that they’re bad guys — and what they have done is manufactured a bio-terror weapon in secret, so that they can fake a massive terrorist incident to get everybody on their side, so that they can pursue their right-wing agenda. It’s a thwarted and frustrated and perhaps largely impotent American liberal fantasy of someone with American liberal values [standing up] against a state run by neo-conservatives — which is not what V for Vendetta was about. It was about fascism, it was about anarchy, it was about [England].”

Moore’s criticism of the movie is accurate, but a bit close-minded. While the graphic novel was about 80s-era Thatcherism, the film was intentionally made to evoke images of the modern world. And, in fact, the film’s message had a greater impact than the original creators could have ever hoped. It made their hero and his signature mask into an icon of defiance. The visage of Fawkes, long burned in effigy with feelings of malice, has been adopted by groups such as Anonymous and the Occupy Movement as a symbol of their fight against oppression.

As Moore explained in an interview with The Guardian, “Suppose when I was writing V for Vendetta, I would in my secret heart of hearts, have thought: wouldn’t it be great if these ideas actually made an impact? So when you start to see that idle fantasy intrude on the regular world … It’s peculiar. It feels like a character I created 30 years ago has somehow escaped the realm of fiction.”

But if you are going to don a Guy Fawkes mask to make your political point, it is important to remember the differences between Fawkes and V.

Fawkes was fighting for Catholicism, not anarchy. It could be argued that the Gunpowder Plot was about religious liberty, but it could just as easily be said that Fawkes and the conspirators were looking to establish a different — but still oppressive — theocracy. Still, Fawkes works well as a symbol in opposition to the status quo.

Fawkes was not a sole man on a mission, but rather part of a team — and not even its leader. V, on the other hand, is as alone as a crusader can be. V actively tries to become the symbol that Fawkes became and chooses to use his legacy to change the minds of the world.

It is unlikely that Fawkes ever saw himself as any type of progressive, such as V. Rather, he was a reactionary, fighting for things to return to the way they were a century prior. Still, his act of defiance, which had been derided for centuries, has become an inspiration to all of those looking to fight against the machine. His spirit lives on in the progressive aspirations of the antihero of V for Vendetta, as the film advocates for racial equity, gender equality, religious tolerance, and even sexual orientation and transgender rights.

More than just Holocaust, Maus addresses fathers, sons

Batman, Superman, and Spider-Man’s parents are all dead. The superheroes live and fight in the memory of their fallen family members. Luke Skywalker grew up without a father, and upon finally meeting the man, he had to fight him to the death in order to save the galaxy. Mythological heroes, more often than not, have fathers who are literal gods, and the heroes must live constantly in the shadows of their superior parents. Whether it is movies, books, television, or mythology, it is a fact that “daddy issues” are among the most common traits of characters across all forms of fiction.

In some stories, this trope exists to allow the main character room to grow, as life without parents forces a young character to grow up quickly and take on a greater burden than would otherwise be expected of him. But the absent parent trope also exists as a reflection of societal realities: many children do grow up without one or more of their parents, but those who are lucky enough to have parents around also often find themselves at odds with those who raised them. Parents, reasonably, have expectations for their children and may assume their offspring will grow up a certain way. In turn, children often grow up seeing their parents as heroes, only to become disillusioned upon discovering their flawed humanity. And for many, even a father who is physically present is often emotionally distant. The absent father in fiction often hits too close to home.

So what happens when a boy aims to discover the true personalities of his parents? Will he be disappointed at their human failings, or proud of their surprising accomplishments? Is the generation gap bridgeable, or does the difference in time make it impossible for us to truly understand the world of our parents?

Maus is the story of Art Spiegelman’s attempt to understand his parents, specifically his father. Spiegelman’s work is a journey to discover the man who always felt distant and the mother who left him long ago.

Maus follows Spiegelman as he tries to learn about his father’s struggle during World War II. Vladek Spiegelman was a Polish Jew who survived the Holocaust through resourcefulness and intelligence, even using his skills and likability to make it out of Auschwitz alive. In the graphic novel dramatization of his father’s struggle, Art Spiegelman uses animals to create an extended metaphor, casting the Jews as mice and the Nazis as cats, with other nationalities filling out the animal kingdom.

Instead of simply telling his father’s story, Spiegelman tells about the journey to get the story out of his father — making himself a character in the book, whose own goal is the completion of the book in which he is a part. It sounds confusing, but is actually an impressive storytelling device that makes the book more than just a journey of a man but the story of a man and his son.

The fictionalized Art wants to write a book about his father’s story but often finds himself at odds with the man who raised him. To Art, Vladek is insufferable for his numerous traits that likely developed during his time in Nazi Europe. Vladek is cheap, lies to get his son’s attention, and complains frequently, causing Art to voice his frustration with these traits by noting that his father is acting like the terrible stereotype of Jews prevalent in antisemitic thought. Vladek is not a distant father to Art, but overbearing, and someone to whom is son is unable to relate. But throughout the book, even while the character of Art doesn’t appear to be gaining any new insight into his father, the matter-of-fact writing about their interactions seems to indicate the real-life Art’s greater understanding of his father’s nature. Perhaps writing the book truly helped Art to discover Vladek, even though he was unaware of it at the time.

Chapters often begin with Art and Vladek speaking to one another, with Art growing frustrated as he tries to push his father toward talking about his life in World War II. Art learns about his long-dead brother and mother through his father’s narration, and Spiegelman transposes his words in a way that makes the reader feel as though Vladek is speaking directly to them.

The narrative device used to set up the scenes of Nazi-occupied Poland allows the reader to better understand the humanity of the man who survived Auschwitz. We have all had a parent or grandparent whose quirks and pushiness have gotten on our nerves. Showing this frustrating side of Vladek allows us to relate while we also learn about his heroic triumphs. Vladek survived the concentration camps by using his skills as a worker and his knowledge of the English language. He also flashed his business savvy, often making valuable trades for the necessities of his survival. He even managed to keep his wife protected when they were separated by making friends with the right people. These survival traits also earn Vladek the grudging admiration of his son.

Art experiences a great deal of survivor’s guilt, knowing that he will never have to suffer the way his father did. He takes for granted all that he has been given and, during the time he interviews Vladek, is unable to relate to his father’s story. Art knows that he can never understand his father’s struggle but hopes to at least be able to retell it to others.

There is no point in the story where Art and Vladek reconcile their differences, but the writing makes it clear that Art did ultimately love and respect his father, especially after hearing about his struggle. It appears as though Spiegelman’s realization of who his father was only came about after he began writing Maus. While the story ultimately exists to discuss the horrors of the Holocaust, Maus also does a great job tackling a common issue that is rarely discussed in a real way. Hopefully, those who read the tale will be able to learn its lessons and work harder to understand the trials and quirks of different generations.

Navigating tap handles: Selecting lager or ale

Call me nosey.

I’ve been called worse. But when I happen to be at a bar by myself, I tend to survey the scene. I’ll peruse the beverages on draft and look to see which bartender is apt to provide the best service, but, mostly, I’ll eavesdrop and “people watch.”

Recently, I overheard a college-aged man and woman, seemingly on a date for only the first or second time, sitting at the corner of the bar. Nothing unique, really, but I got the sense early on that the young woman was either not much of a drinker or had recently turned 21 and had little beer-ordering experience. She asked her date to order for her because she didn’t know what to get. He asked her simply, “Well, do you want an ale or a lager?”

I wasn’t listening intently — I’m not that nosey — but the question piqued my interest because I immediately thought to myself, “Come on, kid, do you really think she knows or even cares about the difference?” Not to my surprise, she just stared at him blankly and shrugged.

Now I was listening because I was wondering how this guy would explain it to his date. Obviously, a cold scientific response would not work and would more than likely bore his date to tears. “Budweiser is lager,” he started, and then he paused as he scanned the available beers on tap until he found a green handle and pointed it out to his date, “and Sierra Nevada is ale.”

While I knew his answer was as vague as vague could be, he was essentially correct. His date shrugged again, still a perplexed look upon her face, and said she’d just have a Bud Light. (She added the phrase “I guess” afterward, further cementing the fact that his response meant nothing to her.)

So why the Bud Light and not the Sierra Nevada Pale Ale? Did she really prefer lager over ale? Or did the name have something to do with it?

Be honest with yourself: whether you’re a 21-year-old woman or a 45-year-old man, you are apt to begin considering which beer to order at a bar based on brand name. You, too, likely scan the bar taps, with their ornate, colorful, creative handles, making a mental checklist, crossing off the brands that don’t appeal. But there are many factors beyond the brand that can help you make your choice.

At its most basic level of contrast, beer can be broken into two main categories: ale and lager. You are most likely not going to order a beer by telling the bartender you just want an ale or a lager (unless, of course you’re in Pennsylvania, where “lager” is synonymous with Yuengling Traditional Lager).

All beer is made from the same basic ingredients: water, barley, malts, hops, and yeast. Other things may be added in to influence flavor, color, or consistency, but those elements are common to all beer. The difference between an ale and a lager can’t be found in most of those ingredients, either: some ales will use the same type of malts and hops in their beer as a lager counterpart.

So what is the difference in the name? What makes ale ale and lager lager?

While there is no doubt that some exceptional and seasoned beer drinkers will claim to be able to pinpoint very different tastes between lagers and ales, it really comes down to one thing: the type of yeast used in brewing.

Ales have been brewed for much longer than lagers, with some ancient recipes of ale as medicine having been discovered to date back as far as Sumerian times. Ales most commonly utilize a yeast called Saccharomyces cervisiae, which has been cultivated for thousands of years and which favor warm temperatures, usually between 58 and 86 degrees Fahrenheit. These yeast strains must be brewed at a warmer temperature because, if the water is too cold, the yeast become dormant and do not naturally ferment to turn the water into beer. Most wine production also uses S. cervisiae or a similar strain of yeast.

S. cervisiae is also a top-fermenting (or top-cropping) yeast, meaning that as the brewing occurs, the yeast floats to the top of the brew tank and settles over the beer. This allows for a thick, frothy foam to form over the ale. Ales brewed in this method tend to allow for the fruit and bitter aromas in the hops to be overt in the finished product. Because of this, some ales will have a much cloudier appearance than lagers. Unless very stringent filtering techniques are utilized, most ales will have noticeable remnants or sediment from the yeast even when bottled.

On the other hand, lagers are cited in references and recipes only dating back as far as the mid-1500s in Germany and other parts of Europe. Lager uses a hybrid strain of yeast called Saccharomyces pastorianus, named after famous researcher Louis Pasteur, or Saccharomyces carlsbergensis, named by Emil Hansen, a researcher who worked for Danish beer giant Carlsberg Brewery in the 1800s.

Even though lager yeast is known by two names, it was later found that they are the same exact strain of yeast. Hansen discovered that his strain of yeast could be cultivated in-house and was easier to brew, needing less attention from the brewmaster’s watchful eyes. The owners of Carlsberg shared their secret of cultivating the lager yeast to all the big beer producers of the world, and mass-produced beer has been dominated by lager ever since.

S. pastorianus, while sharing some genome traits with S. cervisiae, grew to become a larger and more resilient yeast strain. The lager yeast also stays active when brewed in colder temperatures. Because of its size and its amenability to cold water, the yeast allows for what is known as bottom-fermentation (or bottom-cropping); the yeast gradually sinks to the bottom of the brew tank, leaving a clearer, cleaner beer.

Another decidedly different factor between ales and lagers is that lagers take much longer to brew. Most lagers need one or more months to ferment, whereas ales can typically be successfully brewed in as little as seven days. The name lager, in fact, is based on the German word lagern, which means “to store.”

It’s no coincidence that cold-brewed lagers are also often served ice cold. (After all, according to the commercials, a Coors Light isn’t fit to drink unless it’s cold enough that the mountains on the can turn icy blue.) Ales, on the other hand, especially those brewed under traditional circumstances like those in England and Belgium, are often served at cellar temperature, or around 55 F.

Let’s revisit the young woman at the bar with her date. Is it a shock that she chose Bud Light, a lager, when given the many choices at the bar? Could the popularity and familiarity of the Budweiser line of mass-marketed beers have played a part?

Nearly every popular American beer brand is headlined by a lager beer. In order for these beers to be produced at a high volume and at a low cost, most are what are known as American adjunct lagers. The word “adjunct” refers to the fact that many of the well-known lager beers (Coors, Budweiser, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Corona Extra, Miller High Life, and Foster’s) are brewed with an added grain, usually rice or corn, to round out the brew. The result is a beer that is usually very easy to drink: crisp, light in taste, low in bitterness, and with a pale yellow color and a middle-of-the-road alcohol level.

Many of the former flagship beers of the biggest macrobreweries have been supplanted by their “lite” versions. Light beers like Coors Light, Miller Lite, and our young lady’s choice, Bud Light, are also lagers. They are usually “lightened” by adding high volumes of rice or corn in the adjuncting process, thereby lessening the contributions, both in flavor and in calories, of the other ingredients. Light beers typically sacrifice those flavors for a lager that is much less filling.

The other popular form of lager in the United States is the pale lager, or pilsner. You’ve probably had world-wide marketed European pale lagers in the form of Heineken, Amstel, Stella Artois, and Harp.

Ales, on the other hand, are often the main attractions for micro and craft breweries. Ales tend to have much more robust, full-mouth flavors that linger. They utilize heavy amounts of hops and/or malts to achieve varying expressions of aromas and flavors. As a result, there are many styles of ale.

There is the American pale ale, like the one offered by Sierra Nevada. Pale ales and witbier are light and fruity, while the famous India pale ale, adored by hopheads across the land, packs on the hops to create intense floral and citrus aromas. Stouts and porters are ales that utilize heavily toasted grain to create a near-black ale with roasted malts and coffee overtones. Tripel ales up the yeast amounts, and quadrupel ales take it a step further by multiplying the grain ingredients four-fold to create dark, frothy ales high in sugar and malts, with equally high levels of alcohol.

But the types of ales don’t end there, with most styles being categorized by their place of origin. For example, there are English brown ales and Belgian brown ales, each having their own distinctive tastes and brewing styles. I could go on, as the number of ales is almost overwhelming … so go out and try some for yourself!

I recently took my own advice and pitted some pale ales against some pale lagers and pilsners. Here are my thoughts:

Left Hand Brewing Company’s 400 Pound Monkey I.P.A., an India pale ale from Longmont, Colorado — Big, frothy head on this hoppy pale ale, notes of clove, coriander … just a lot of spice going on here, maybe too much. I give it a B-minus.
Bell’s Brewing Company’s Lager of the Lake, a pale lager from Kalamazoo, Michigan — This pale lager is not all that impressive; it’s typical for the style, tastes like Miller High Life, only with a little more bitter aftertaste. C+
Erie Brewing Company’s Mad Anthony’s A.P.A., an American pale ale from Erie, Pennsylvania — Easy-drinking … smooth, with a very tolerable amount of bitterness. Would make a good “everyday” beer. B+
“Beer Camp” Electric Ray, an India pale lager that is a collaboration from Sierra Nevada Brewing Company and Ballast Point Brewing — A cool creaminess factor on this lager that is more ale-like, but with a crisp finish and a mild level of bitterness that slides from the taste buds, not destroying them; definitely unique. A
D.G. Yuengling and Son’s Premium Beer, a pilsner from Pottsville, Pennsylvania — Note that this is not the famous Traditional Lager, but the “house beer” at Yuengling. A pilsner with a subtle level of hops that creates a crisp, cutting finish, with a refreshing carbonation. B

Nothing against the good people who produce Bud Light, but please don’t follow the same path as our young lady friend by choosing a beer based on its familiar name. Try some variety! Order a distinctive type of lager and an equally original ale, then rate them against one another until you find a favorite. That way, should you ever get asked the lager-or-ale question, you’ll be ready with an educated response.

Men still rule in sports, if they dominate on field or not

The airwaves have been dominated by male-dominated sporting events over the past few weeks. Those who follow all types of sports know that the men’s 2014 FIFA World Cup has just come to a close, and we are currently in the throes of the yearly Tour de France competition. These two areas have been dominated by males for the better part of the last century, and I, for one, would like to see that change.

First, let me state that I am a huge soccer fan. I came of age during the 1990s, when the American women dominated the 1991 and 1999 women’s World Cups, putting soccer on the map as the ultimate expression of girl power. When I tune in to soccer, I prefer to watch the women’s matches over the men’s because, let’s face it, the women actually win. The U.S. women’s national team is currently ranked number one in the world by FIFA and has won two World Cups as well as four Olympic gold medals. Conversely, the U.S. men’s national team has yet to win a World Cup despite their participation in the competition since its inception in 1930.

I tell you all of this to set the stage for my outrage. I was sitting in a local pub, enjoying the World Cup and identifying the flags of the competing countries. While imbibing some celebratory libations (read: beer), I struck up a conversation with another gentleman at the bar. I told him I was a big soccer fan, but that I preferred to watch women’s soccer because I found their playing technique to be cleaner and, therefore, the competition to be more exciting. The guys said to me, “Oh, is there a World Cup competition for the women?” I politely told him yes, and that they were two-time World Cup champions and were successful in several Olympics.

Inside, I was seething. How could this guy, who considers himself to be a “soccer fan,” not be aware of the women’s team? How could he not know about the great players of the past like Julie Foudy, Mia Hamm, and Brandy Chastain, or even heard of the players of today including Alex Morgan, Abby Wambach, or my newest favorite, Sydney Leroux? More specifically, how does a soccer fan who is older than 24 not remember the epic women’s World Cup win in 1999 where Brandi Chastain ripped her shirt off in celebration after scoring the winning goal?!

I know the women are further behind in terms of recognition in this sport. The first women’s World Cup wasn’t held until 1991, and that competition was only recognized as the first World Cup in retrospect. However, despite the many issues I have with FIFA, I applaud the association for one thing: recognizing the need for a women’s competition and filling that gender hole.

It is my hope that, someday, we will see the organizers of the Tour de France come to this same conclusion. I wouldn’t consider myself an avid cycling fan, but I do love watching Le Tour every year. I hold my breath during the mountain phases, especially through rainy descents like the one that took Alberto Contador out of the competition yesterday. As much as I enjoy the Tour, I wish I could also see competitors who look like me. The only time I get to watch women’s cycling is when it breaks into the mainstream every eight years during the Summer Olympics.

Rest assured I will be watching July 27 when women will finally get a chance to ride down the Champs Elysees during their one-day La Course race. Could I seek out more women’s cycling? Absolutely, but my point is that I shouldn’t have to. Women athletes work just as hard as men in terms of training their bodies to compete in these sporting events. Why should they not receive equal airtime?

To be sure, I don’t always advocate for the women’s team by default. Honestly, when it comes to basketball, I find the men’s games to be more exciting and at a much more enjoyable pace; to me, the women take too long to run their plays and they lose my attention. However, during March Madness, I can easily find men’s and women’s basketball and choose for myself which I would rather watch. I would like to see the cycling community make similar efforts as FIFA and the NCAA: give the women equal airtime and put the competitions on prominent stations during a decent hour (i.e., not 3 a.m.).

Race organizers of the Tour state they simply can’t hold another race because it’s too much work. To that, I say: tough. You seem to manage the logistics when it comes to running a men’s race.

My Nerd/Wise brother-in-law always asks me what we “can do” to make this world a little bit more feminist-friendly. In honor of his request, I have a suggestion: start supporting women athletes. Watch their competitions, cheer them on, root for the U.S.A. in any event and for any gender. Let’s not squander away the four years between the Olympic competitions to show our girl power!

Hobby Lobby decision shouldn’t surprise any woman

Since my last article apologized for my absence here on Curiata.com, I’m not going to waste time saying sorry for my lack of articles over the past few weeks. I’ll just say: I’m back!

This week, I’d like to talk about the Burwell v. Hobby Lobby case decided last week by the Supreme Court of the United States. I know, you’ve probably already read a thousand articles expressing rage and disbelief over the Supreme Court decision. For anyone who has been living under a rock (or has been working such an insane amount of hours that you don’t even know what day it is), the Supreme Court ruled that closely held corporations (i.e., Hobby Lobby) are allowed to refuse insurance coverage for specific types of birth control due to their religious beliefs.

*cue the outraged cry of the feminists*

I have so many problems with this ruling, I don’t even know where to begin. First and foremost, it singles out one specific type of medical treatment. The Court even said that this ruling could not be used as a basis for refusing coverage for blood transfusions or vaccinations. It’s mighty convenient that we are basically invalidating some religious beliefs while catering to others.

Secondly, the Supreme Court ruling, either intentionally or not, put the values and ideals of a corporation above that of an actual person.

Third and finally, the ruling continues to muddy the waters between birth control and abortion, a line that science has clearly drawn.

In the week following this ground-breaking decision, I had a chance to talk to a lot of my friends and colleagues about the ruling. Not surprisingly, I found that most people were outraged and were planning boycotts of Hobby Lobby. I even heard this sentiment from my self-proclaimed conservative friends. What is surprising is that, while everyone else was outraged, I found myself quite ambivalent about it.

Day after day, week after week, I think about the social injustice that just comes with the territory of being a woman. There are days when I come home, seeing red, because of some insensitive, sexist thing that some dude felt he needed to say to me. I’ve been sexually harassed. I’ve been told, point blank, that I have no idea what I’m doing because I’m a woman.

This may sound a wee bit jaded, but I was truly expecting the Hobby Lobby decision. I’m not surprised by it all. If I look at the way women are treated every day by the majority of men, it’s not surprising to me that a court dominated by old men made the “un-feminist” decision.

Now, before you all start slamming me with that #NotAllMen crap, I realize that not all men feel this way. But the truth is that, oftentimes, the men who claim to be feminist and supportive of these things are a rarity. I choose to surround myself with the type of men who are comfortable being called a feminist, so I often forget they are the exception, not the rule.

Until we live in a world where men don’t automatically assume I’m the secretary, or one where I don’t get cat-called to for wearing a skirt, or one where I can wield tools and not be told I have no clue what I am doing, I am not going to expect the men on the Supreme Court to prioritize our needs over those of a “closely held corporation.”

Slip into relaxation with these campfire brews

After a long day of hiking, fishing, and canoeing subsides, after the search for adequate dry kindling ends, and after the initial fuss and smoke and spark of flickering baby flames erupts, the soothing magic of a summer campfire asserts itself and lures the camper into a trance. The pulsating glow of coals and dancing blue-gold flames licking the strategically placed logs is a kind of hypnosis unlike any other. All troublesome thoughts and worries fade and the quiet stillness of the woods at dusk is only broken by the subtle crackling pops and wheezes of the fire.

A man can be lost for minutes, simply staring into the hot coals of a well-built campfire. The only thing to break the trance is the reminder of the cold beverage in hand. A shake of the head to bring the camper back and the bottle of delicious beer becomes the new reality. There are not too many earthly experiences that can match the satisfaction of a mouthwatering, yeasty, malty brew enjoyed by the fireside with friends and/or loved ones.

Camping this weekend and sitting by a fire of my own design afforded me some time to taste some worthy beers that only added new levels of enjoyment to the campfire experience. I had with me a couple Belgians (the mass-marketed and produced Palm Special and a small-production level saison from a family brewery) and a trio of beers from Otto’s Pub and Brewery, a craft brewery in State College, Pennsylvania.

Once the fire was good and glowing hot, with adequate flame-age to meet my high standards — that’s when I popped the first cap. I started with a Palm Speciale, a beer that has become one of my absolute favorite “everyday” type beers in recent years. I guess I chose this beer first because it was one I didn’t need to think about. Having had this beer many, many times, I figured I could still work on the early stages of my fire and enjoy this beer without much need for time to sit and reflect. It’s a smooth-drinking, palpable amber ale that blends English hops (from Kent) with French barley and Belgian yeast. It’s a harmonious blend that yields to a fruity, yeasty aroma and a balanced bitterness that makes it an enjoyable, easy-to-drink beer, with a sweet and mellow honey finish.

Once the fire was really going and I could finally stop nitpicking over the need for constant attentiveness, I decided to pop the cork (yes, a corked bottle!) of a saison I picked up before my camping trip at a favorite restaurant of mine, Cafe Bruges in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. This beer, called La Saison d’Epeautre (or “Spelt of the Season”) by Brasserie de Blaugies, is a traditional farmhouse ale brewed by a small, family-owned and operated brewery near the French border with Belgium.

This beer was surprisingly high in carbonation, much more than most saisons, but I think this added to its appeal. I found this to be a perfect warm-weather beer. The golden, straw-colored beer combines a wheaty spelt malt with barley to make it a kind of combination of a witbier and amber ale. Its super carbonation gave it a foamy head that took time to subside, but the taste was refreshing and really hit the spot on a warm evening by the campfire as the sun waned and quietly slipped beyond the horizon.

By now, the campfire scene was dark, and the large flames from early on had consumed much of the initial timber as the hot coals began to glow. I tossed on a few large, heavy timber logs and sat back to watch the flames grow again. I now turned to a trio of ales I had picked up in six-packs at Otto’s Pub and Brewery in State College. My sister and brother-in-law live in State College and recommended this place to me, and I took their advice on a few beers.

I started with one of Otto’s seasonal brews, Pallet Jack Pale Ale. Pallet Jack quickly became my favorite beer of the weekend. It is a Belgian-style pale ale that is reminiscent of some blonde abbey ales like Affligem’s blonde ale or the more commonly known Samuel Adams Summer Ale. According to Otto’s website, the brewery uses Belgian yeasts to ferment the beer and mixes in a blend of hops. The beer is noticeably lemon heavy, and that taste follows through all the way to the finish. The citrus fruit is refreshing and not overly acidic, though. The beer has a white, thin-but-frothy head and a deep golden hue — delicious and very drinkable. Thinking that I may have found my new favorite summer beer, I had to have a second one.

Moving on to the later hours now, the fire began to dwindle and I was quite at ease with myself and the state of the world as I drank the last two of my chosen campfire beers, both from Otto’s. I had two of their mainstay brews, the Slab Cabin I.P.A. and the Zeno’s Rye Ale. Slab Cabin offered up a typical, hop-centric, floral aromatic sensibility that is expected with an American I.P.A., but it had a reddish-brown hue, which I felt was atypical for this style of beer. I later found out from Otto’s website that this is due to the addition of Munich malts, giving it a German doppelbock appearance. The beer was more of a sipper than the previous few, but it offered me a chance to take it easy and really enjoy my now-low-burning fire.

Zeno’s Rye Ale, which came heavily recommended by my sister, poured a darker, but still translucent, brown with a frothy white head that was thick. The beer took on a spiced aroma, like cinnamon or vanilla, the rye ever-present. This was a great finishing beer, as it was quite complex compared to the more refreshing tastes of the previous beers. It featured long, lingering hops, smooth without overwhelming my palate.

By this point, my gaze lost in the lingering flickering flames that leaped from side to side of a thoroughly charred log, I was feeling satisfied, accomplished, and tired. A campfire, with the sounds of crickets all around and the stars above, made my personal tasting a worthy experience. So, if you are looking for some good, easy-drinking brews to share by the campfire this summer, you can’t go wrong with any of the beers I had. Enjoy your summer!

Quick tasting notes:

Palm Speciale — A Belgian amber ale, easy to drink, smooth, with a honey sweetness and balanced bitterness. Good everyday beer. 5.4 percent alcohol by volume, 18 International Bitterness Units. Available in bottles or draft. Grade: B

Blaugies La Saison d’Epeautre — A wheat-heavy Belgian traditional saison beer with a heavy carbonation and refreshing taste. 6 percent ABV. Only sold in corked 750-milliliter bottles. A

Pallet Jack Pale Ale — My favorite beer to have enjoyed by the fire. A yeasty, citrus-heavy pale ale with a thin, foamy head. 6.1 percent ABV. Available on draft at the pub, or to take home in six-packs or by the case. A

Slab Cabin I.P.A. — Typical tasting American I.P.A. but with a brown tone due to added Munich malts. Hop heavy. 6.3 percent ABV. Available on draft, in 12-ounce or 22-ounce bottles, and in a keg from the brewery. B-

Zeno’s Rye Ale — Spicy and complex ale, but with a smooth finish and flavor. Vanilla notes and cinnamon present. 6.5 percent ABV. Occasionally available on draft and 12-ounce bottles in six-packs. B

Fan nostalgia endangers enjoyment of good fun

Nick Rose once again fills in for Charissa as she spends some time in the City of Light.

Being a fan is a full-time job. After all, we’re the upholders of a particular medium or franchise, a loyal community of people sharing a vested interest in the development and longevity of many different characters, properties, and fictional universes. We’ve eagerly watched as our prized possessions have evolved over decades, crossing media and other boundaries. We are the last line of defense for all we hold dear.

Part of this special relationship stems from its early formation. From youth forward, we’ve remained steadfast in our followings. As we matured, so did our perception of everything. Batman wasn’t cool only because his outfit was eye-catching and he could beat up bad guys. He speaks to the duality in all of us, the darkness we hone to bring light to a dangerous world. Similar insights come when we recognize Spider-man’s angst versus his physical abilities, the X-Men’s struggle for acceptance and identity, Superman’s coming to terms with his humanity, and so on. We go from blind adoration of these characters to passionate supporters of the themes and legacies they uphold. As they combat physical and existential obstacles, so do we.

In recent years, Hollywood has been keen on developing cinematic versions of our beloved heroes. As we watch them grace the big screen, a magical thing happens: part of us relives those moments of our youth. Sure, we’re not necessarily 10 inches from a television screen, drooling at everything in sight. But can we honestly say that wolfing down popcorn in an IMAX or regular movie theater doesn’t slightly resemble our Saturday mornings from so long ago?

Recent Hollywood fare seems partial to “reimagining” — and I use that term loosely — popular franchises from the late 80s and 90s. Michael Bay‘s first three Transformers films grossed over $1 billion worldwide, and the fourth entry topped box offices this weekend. In a similar vein, the Bay-produced reboot of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles hits theaters next month. I’d like to focus on these two recent examples mainly because they seem to encapsulate a lot of controversy surrounding fandom and movies in general.

As we left the theater after last week’s premiere of Transformers: Age of Extinction (AoE), something familiar happened. The audience, comprised of loyal fans willing enough to sacrifice sleep in favor of being the movie’s “first” viewers, began to exit the theater, wrapped up in dialogues about the film. As someone who has attended a number of these premieres, I can state with authority that any speaker you overhear neatly falls into three categories. The “Dude Oh My God” is one who has been enthralled by the film from start to finish. Whatever technical or narrative flaws exist have been completely disregarded, replaced by intense admiration, gaping mouth included. On the opposite end is “The Nitpicker,” whose premature negative attitude forced he/she to criticize the film’s shortcomings from start to finish. Lastly, you might encounter an occasional “In-Betweener,” someone on the fence and not opposed to a second viewing to cement his/her opinions.

A strong number of Nitpickers were biting into Age of Extinction as soon as the end credits began rolling. Chief among their numerous complaints was a so-called “mishandling” of the famed Dinobots. (Mild spoilers to follow.) Ever since the teaser trailer for AoE debuted during this year’s Super Bowl, Grimlock‘s role in the film was perhaps the most anticipated element. However, the payoff was less than satisfying for many.

Some people wear it like a crown. Others, not so much. Photo source: www.geekicorn.com

The mostly silent, savage portrayal of Grimlock and his companions was met with widespread disappointment, to the point that one viewer angrily concluded, “That was NOT the Dinobots.” Part of me wished to confront him and politely convince him, “Well, in this interpretation, it is.” Given his dismissive attitude toward friends who uttered the same thing, I held my breath. And though this gentleman’s reaction is his own and holds no influence on mine, I’ve found that negative attitudes like this one are an insult to fellow fans and hold the potential to ruin what makes our communities so great in the first place.

If you do not agree with a depiction of a certain event, character, or story, that’s your right to do so. With what we pay to see movies, you can bet we’ll be on our game to assess the film’s quality. But we need to be more realistic about what we are watching on the big screen. Nothing will ever replace or replicate our childhood experiences with these properties. That’s part of the beauty of it! Believe me: if it cost $10 to $15 for me to relive a cartoon-filled Saturday morning for a few hours, I’d be broke.

What we’re fortunate enough to have now are filmmakers who have made a professional career out of adapting other people’s stories and ideas. You can label their practices unoriginal if you want to, but isn’t there something exciting about a live-action version of things we once thought could only exist in animation? Even if we have seen it before, don’t you get amped up by watching Leonardo and his brothers showing The Foot Clan who’s boss? I know I do. And don’t misunderstand me: I am in no way suggesting we all abandon our right to a critical opinion. Isn’t there a well-known quote about opinions and a certain body part? Never mind …

Trailer for the upcoming TMNT reboot. Reactions to this trailer have been as extreme as “my childhood just died.” Video source: YouTube

Nostalgia is a strange thing. It attempts to recapture a past condition we know is unreachable. Even if we attain some semblance of it, be it an old cartoon, a faded comic book, or a dusty video game cartridge, the experience is temporary, if not totally fleeting. An honest acceptance of this reality would go a long way to renewing the general awesomeness that is being a fan. If you want to revel in the beauty of the original Ninja Turtles or Transformers, then by all means, do so. But don’t hold current movies to the standards of your 7-year-old self. Chances are you’ll always end up disappointed.

Nationalism, not just killing of Ferdinand, sparked WWI

“Patriotism is the belief your country is superior to all other countries because you were born in it.”
— George Bernard Shaw

With World Cup fever overtaking the globe, it is interesting to see the rise of patriotism in people, including me, who rarely go about flag-waving and chanting “U-S-A.” It’s an interesting look into who we are as people and a remnant of something tribal within us. But while patriotism and nationalism can be great and honorable things at times, it also has a negative side — one which has caused some of the greatest mass slaughters in human history.

On June 28, 1914, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the heir to the throne of Austria-Hungary, was assassinated by Gavrilo Princip, a Yugoslav nationalist. What followed was one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history, with over 16 million deaths and 20 million wounded.

In a world in which the United States sees far fewer casualties despite being perpetually at war, the idea that 16 million people could march to their deaths in a span of four years is simply unfathomable. But the reasons for which so many fought and died are still very much a part of our world. And while I am optimistic enough to hope it won’t happen again in my lifetime, I am not so naive as to believe it can’t happen.

The Great War in 1914 did not simply begin because of an assassination of an Austro-Hungarian royal. The archduke’s killing was just the final spark that set off the dynamite. The fuse had been burning for the previous 100 years, and while the flame had been doused at times, Ferdinand’s death ensured the fuse would be lit again with a flamethrower.

The story of World War I is not just the story of an assassination and entangling alliances. It is the story of the overwhelming power of nationalism — of the belief in national self-rule, of the belief in British exceptionalism, of the belief in American ideals and the inevitable triumph of democracy. In short, millions died because they believed their nations stood for something greater, and they were willing to fight for that.

The story begins in the 18th century, when a little-known soldier from Virginia named George Washington got into a scrap with French soldiers in what today is called Pittsburgh. The actions started the French and Indian War, which ended with Great Britain in control of vast new territories in Canada but in substantial debt. The Brits asked their American colonies to pay more in taxes, which sparked a long debate about the right of a free people to choose their own representatives. It ended with a war.

In declaring themselves free, however, the American colonists also declared that “all men were created equal.” The American cause spread to France, and soon, the French overthrew their own government and proclaimed liberty, equality, and fraternity. French nationalism became the new order of the day. No longer was a citizen identified as Corsican or Norman or Parisian — he was simply a Frenchman. The French Revolution, despite its high ideals, ended with the installation of a new emperor: Napoleon Bonaparte.

Napoleon spent the next few years conquering much of the European continent, and despite the fact that he was now a French monarch, he spread the ideals of the French Revolution. Napoleon created small républiques based on national identity, including the Kingdom of Italy, the Duchy of Warsaw, and the Confederation of the Rhine. For the first time, many of these peoples were coming to terms with the idea of ruling over themselves like the Americans and the French. The idea of nationalism came into vogue.

Most of these new nations were split up following Napoleon’s defeat and the Congress of Vienna. Reactionary forces were determined to maintain the status quo. That meant returning nations to their former masters and reinstalling the king of France. An example could not be set that it was OK to overthrow a monarch.

The Congress of Vienna’s goal was to maintain what they called the Balance of Power. Similar to the philosophy which kept world powers in a Cold War for half a century, the Balance of Power philosophy stated that no nation on the European continent should gain enough power to be able to crush the other Great Powers. The Great Powers, which included Great Britain, Russia, Prussia, Austria, and France, would act as checks on one another, with their strength being so equal that war between the Powers would be too deadly and costly. As an added bonus, the Powers would be expected to help one another out when any pesky ethnic minorities decided they wanted to pass their own laws.

That agreement came in handy in 1848, when numerous nationalistic groups tried to spark their own revolutions. The French were successful, ending the French monarchy and creating the French Second Republic, which was headed by Louis-Napoléon, who, of course, became emperor a few years later. Other nations were less successful.

The Austrian Empire faced the greatest threat from nationalism. The empire included Austrians, Hungarians, Slovenes, Slovaks, Ukrainians, Poles, Czechs, Croats, Romanians, Serbs, and Italians. Each ethnic group included those who hoped to either achieve autonomy or independence. Further complicating things were the Germans, who, like the Italians, were seeking national unification.

Within the next two and a half decades, both Italy and Germany would achieve their nationalist goals through war, bribery, and realpolitik. The unification stories of both nations were intertwined and helped to set the stage for World War I.

Italian unification began with the Congress of Vienna and ended in 1871, when Rome was named the capital of the united Italy. Rome was taken by the Kingdom of Italy in a victory against the Papal States when Louis-Napoléon, now known as Napoleon III, had to remove troops so that they could be used in a fight with Prussia. Italian unification set off a wave in Europe and created a sixth Great Power, offsetting the balance that was created in Vienna.

Prussian Chancellor Otto von Bismarck was no nationalist, but he understood power and understood how to manipulate the population. By provoking a war with Napoleon III and the Second French Empire, Bismarck knew he would be able to persuade the smaller German states to side with their brother countries. The Franco-Prussian War began and quickly ended with France’s humiliation. In the end, Napoleon III was removed from power, Alsace-Lorraine was ceded to Prussia, and the German states united under Prussia’s King Wilhelm to form the first German Empire. The loss of Alsace-Lorraine wounded France’s pride, and the country was determined to win the rematch, whenever that day came. The unification of Germany also offset Europe’s Balance of Power, upsetting Great Britain, which began an arms race with the Germans.

German unification was technically not complete, however. The Austrians were also a Germanic people, but as rulers of their own empire, which included many belligerent ethnic minorities, they had no desire to promote the nationalism that was making Germany strong. Still, their shared desire to avoid war with Russia led to the Dual Alliance of 1879.

Austria in the beginning of the 20th century was in the midst of political turmoil driven by nationalism. In 1882, Serbia proclaimed its independence from the Ottoman Empire, which, like the Austrian Empire, contained many disparate ethnic groups. Ethnic Serbs in Austria, as well as other Slavic peoples, desired to be rid of their Austrian overlords and wished to unite with their brother country. Austrian leadership was torn on how to handle Serbia, with Franz Ferdinand, ironically, maintaining a dovish stance toward the country. The biggest reason for Austria to stay out of Serbia, however, was that Russia considered itself to be the protector of this smaller Slavic country.

And thus the stage was fully set for a World War. Yugoslav nationalists, including Bosnians and Serbs, were sick of being dictated to by the Austrian aristocracy and the Congress of Vienna. A small group of militants chose to do as Washington would do and fight for their freedom. Ironically, they killed their best ally in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and the aging monarch took action against a country that had been a thorn in his side.

By attempting to crush Serbia, Austria provoked Russia, which stirred German nationalism into a frenzy, causing the young empire to mobilize for war. Germany went to war again with France, which was looking for an excuse for a rematch to take back Alsace-Lorraine. France, which was yet again a Republic, had sided with the other prominent republic in Europe, Great Britain, in a Triple Entente with Russia. Thus, German aggression provoked Great Britain and Russia, which was already involved to protect Serbia. Oh, and Germany then signed a pact with the Ottoman Empire in the midst of this, bringing the dying empire of the east into the battle as well.

But what about the United States? Well, American nationalism has always been a bit different than that of their European counterparts. Even in the early 20th century, American ethnicity was not really clear-cut. Immigrants had come to the United States from all over Europe and were becoming part of a nation that already included immigrants from China and the descendants of slaves from Africa. American identity became less about a common history and more about a common philosophy.

That philosophy was democracy, and even though it’s debatable how truly democratic the United States has been at various points in history, it was something the country believed was worth fighting for. Thus, with France and Great Britain being pushed by the empires of Europe, it became necessary as an extension of American nationalism to join the war. After all, the world had to be made safe for democracy.

Sound familiar? Remember this the next time you are watching the World Cup and cheering for the U.S. of A., while CNN is explaining why we may be entering Iraq for the third time in as many decades. Nationalism can be a great thing, but it may also lead to the downfall of society. Appreciate what makes us different, but don’t let it divide us to the point of destruction. After all, the end of humanity is in no one’s national interest.

Confessions of a guilt-ridden feminist

Fans of A Feminist Sensibility will notice my radio silence over the past two weeks. Without being overly specific, my professional life has taken a little detour down Route Crazy and I’ve been spending most of what little free time I have trying to cope with this new reality.

I’m not complaining, mind you. I love my career and I’m extremely passionate about what I do. However, no matter how professionally stimulating the last two weeks have been, I’ve spent most of my time feeling guilty.

Why guilty? Well, because I have been traveling and working long hours at my job, I have been neglecting other things, like housework, time with my husband, and obligations like writing for Curiata.com. Now, being the modern urban gentleman that he is, Mike has not said one word about the dismal state of disrepair of our house, and he has, in his own way and by his own definition, done his part to keep it “clean.” He also works in the same field as I do (politics), so he understands that until the state budget is signed into law, I’m stuck working late nights.

Thankfully, even though I work long hours during the week, the weekends are my own. However, this does nothing to help the guilt factor. Last weekend, the MUG and I took our dog for a nice, four-mile jaunt in a local park that has some decent hiking trails. Instead of getting a head start on my duty to my legions of readers, I chose to spend time with my family. While I don’t regret that decision, I do, nevertheless, feel guilty that I shirked that responsibility to myself, my colleagues, and all of you.

I feel guilty for a whole host of other reasons, too — even something as menial as not making enough time in my life for fitness. I’ve always expected great things from myself, including impeccable time management skills. My mother once said to me, “Carrie, no one in this world would be as critical of you as you are of yourself. You have to learn to be kinder to yourself and let things go.” She was and is right. But learning to let go and accept that I can’t do it all is something that I still, obviously, struggle with.

In her book Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead, the chief operating officer of Facebook, Sheryl Sandberg, dedicates an entire chapter to the myth of having it all. Throughout the chapter, she regales us with stories about how she tries to balance a career and being a wife and mother. It’s stories like these that make me simultaneously feel better and worse about my frustrations. If someone like Sandberg has struggles, it’s acceptable that I do, too.

Then there’s that little voice inside my head that says, “but you don’t have kids yet … it’s only going to get worse.” And while that’s probably true, the fact remains that the childless and partnerless women in this world still struggle with the feeling of guilt. Women will either feel guilt because they don’t have a partner or children, or they’ll feel guilt because they are probably neglecting their partner and/or children in some way that is ruining their lives.

I could blame the media for inundating us with images that portray women who have it all. I could blame the advertising industry for telling us that if we just had X product, we’d be able to have it all. But in reality, while these things can influence us, they do not control us. Only I can control how I feel about things.

So from today forward, I invite all other women, whether they consider themselves feminist or not, to join me in resolving to be kinder to ourselves. I resolve to stop feeling guilty and beating myself up if I miss a workout, or dinner with my husband, or loading the dishwasher. I resolve to stop trying to “do it all” and will instead focus on “doing what I can.”

Out with old, in with new? Trappist ale vs. craft tripel

There has never been a final agreement on which is better: the classic, old, tried-and-true way of doing things, or the new, improved, “groundbreaking” way. The debate unfolds in many areas of human endeavor, including in the production of wine, beer, and spirits, and there are partisans on both sides.

I guess circumstances determine a lot in the argument, though. Consider technology: Most people will go out and purchase the newest, most up-to-date techy device, sometimes dropping hundreds of dollars just to have the latest, “greatest” whatever-it-is. We assume that when a new technological marvel is invented and released, it must be an improvement over what came before, the previous glitches fixed and new applications available to us. The iPhone 6 will make prior versions obsolete, just like digital media has done to most vinyl records, eight-track tapes, audio and video cassettes, CDs, DVDs, and more.

But it’s not like that with everything. Remember New Coke? When Coca-Cola tinkered with the formula of its flagship soft drink in the 1980s, the backlash was swift and overwhelming: Coca-Cola “Classic” was on the shelves within three months, and New Coke was nothing more than a case study in marketing textbooks by the 1990s.

So, which argument prevails in the brewing of beer?

Beer is an ancient but constantly evolving beverage that has craft-brewing practitioners biting at the bit to branch out and risk it all to make something new and never-tasted. Take, for example, Rogue Voodoo Doughnut Bacon Maple Ale — surely and truly a challenge to the palate of even the most skilled beer drinker. And I’m still not sure about trying Belgium’s Smisje Wostyntje Mustard Ale. It seems that the reigns have been loosened quite a bit in the new craft beer renaissance; brewers with eccentric vision are pursuing what would have once been illegal.

All these innovations are exciting and, in many cases, a novelty. I appreciate what the craft beer movement is doing, while I maintain a certain respect for brewers who have taken to focusing their beer-crafting skills on taking a tried-and-true style of brew that is already near perfection and attempting to reproduce it with the highest quality of care and diligence.

I recently was able to get my hands on a large bottle of a 2012 vintage Goose Island Brewing Company Matilda, a Belgian-style, golden tripel ale. I thought it would be interesting to drink it side-by-side with a proven and respected Belgian Trappist tripel ale, such as the Westmalle Tripel. I wanted to compare the Old-World recipe with a New-World interpretation. It turned out to be a gratifying experience.

First, a little about each beer:

Representing the Old World, Westmalle Tripel is not only a conventional Belgian-style ale, but it is one brewed in the proud tradition of the Trappist monks at Westmalle Abbey, who oversee every aspect of its production, from picking the choicest hops, yeast, and malt, to the brewing, bottling, and sale of the product. Trappist beers are revered the world over because of their intensity and the attention to detail given to flavor, carbonation, and overall quality craftsmanship. Westmalle is no exception.

According to the historical records of the abbey, monks at Westmalle started brewing beer for their own use back in 1836, but this recipe was first brewed and served in 1934. The current formula has been unchanged for close to 60 years. This beer is nicknamed the “mother of all tripels” by the monks who brew it with simplicity in mind. At 9.5 percent alcohol by volume (ABV), this strong, top-fermentation, classic blonde beer consists of only five ingredients: water, malt, sugar, yeast, and hops. The exact ratio of these ingredients in the formula is kept under tight wraps by the monks. Only the handful of monks that actually work in the brewery know the exact mixture.

Representing the New World is Goose Island Brewing Company, a prominent, Chicago-based craft brewery that thrived during the 1990s and 2000s. Goose Island was recently purchased by Anheuser-Busch InBev, allowing the company to really expand its product availability in recent years. Their Matilda beer, at 7 percent ABV and between 26 to 32 International Bitterness Units (IBU), is a multi-award-winning, Belgian-style tripel ale.

Goose Island recommends aging the beer and says it can continue, under the right conditions, to develop in the bottle for up to five years. Its wild spice and fruit accents make it a unique beer. Matilda has been brewed since the early 2000s but was, until around 2010, not available in wide release. Beer critics on Beer Advocate liken it to popular Belgian strong ales such as La Chouffe.

For the tasting of these beers, I tried them one after the other. I drank the Westmalle first, because it was a beer I have had in the past and was more familiar with; the Matilda was a new beer to me. Both beers were drunk from a Trappist-style chalice glass.

My tasting notes

Westmalle Tripel (2014 bottling): On the pour, golden, but cloudy and yeasty in color with a foamy head (a slow, angled pour is recommended). Great effervescence and a wafting, subtle aroma of hops, dried fruit, and nutmeg. The first sip can be a shock if you’ve never had a strong Belgian ale before. (I liken it to someone who tries a Delirium Tremens or Duvel for the first time and realizes that, while it may have the color of Budweiser, it is most definitely not Budweiser; it is much more powerful.) But it smooths out quickly, and you are left with a satisfying, refreshing drink. The hops are strong, but not I.P.A. strong; they sit on the tongue just long enough to be noticed. It has a classic finish and a lasting aftertaste. Rating: A

Goose Island Matilda (2012 bottling): On the pour, slightly darker golden/amber color than Westmalle, but far less opaque; noticeably less unfiltered yeast present in the bottle. On the nose, it was quite different. This beer reminds me of autumn: heavy on spiced nutmeg, ginger, and clove — maybe even some cinnamon in there. Even before I tasted it, I had the impression of much more complexity. The hops level is similar to or slightly less than the Westmalle, but the combination of spice and nuttiness was much more prevalent. There was a sweetness factor that had not registered with the first beer, too. (My theory is that this beer has less yeast and, therefore, less of the sugar was broken down and turned to alcohol — but I have no evidence to back that up.) Where this beer seemed to yield more on the side of complex and intense flavors, I feel the spiciness of it made it less refreshing, overall. The beer is already two years old but, based on its intensity, I feel it could probably withstand another year or two of bottle aging and still be enjoyable. Rating: A-

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