Go Forth and Post Your Fourth Post

Hello Excessively Bored Reader. While contemplating my still fruitless quest to break into the writing business, I decided it may be time to enlist some much needed assistance. After considering my abundant options – some educational, some vocational, and some criminal – I settled on the only sure-fire, foolproof method. I was off to the local bookseller to purchase a ‘How to Become a Writer’ book. After all, who could possibly be more equipped to direct my career decisions than a writer that makes his or her living writing about how to be a writer?

Somewhere between the real estate test guides and the foreign service exam booklets, I struck career guidance gold. I based this initial reaction on the flashy cover and the obviously qualified author. The guy was a freakin’ college professor, for god’s sake. Granted, he had, at the time of the last printing, only taught online courses for the University of Phoenix. But who’s to say that he has not recently accepted a full professorship at Harvard? I understand they have an up and coming television repair program.

All kidding aside, those books are crap. After flipping through a few of the standard ‘How To’ offerings, I decided to go with plan B. Off to the magazine rack! With periodicals boasting such erudite titles as ‘Paris Review’ and ‘Romantic Times’, how could I go wrong? I finally decided on the latest issue of ‘Writers Digest’. Judging by the cover, the latest issue was likely published in 1982. Ancient cover art aside, this particular issue did offer tips on “How to get published today!” and “Twenty hot markets for your work!”. Sadly, nothing about limiting the use of exclamation points. Maybe next month.

So now comes the hard part – the embarrassment associated with purchasing a writing magazine. ‘Writers Digest’ may not hold the same social stigma as ‘Juggs’, but the shame I feel is just as real. If I worked the Barnes & Noble counter and some sad soul tried to purchase this magazine from me, I would feel obliged to say “It won’t work. You should buy something that you might actually read.” As I approach the counter, I feel like the fat guy buying a copy of ‘Men’s Health’. I’m not fooling anybody.

Speaking of fooling people, this episode’s beer review involves a massive web of lies and deceit. I am still jobless. With joblessness comes pennilessness. With pennilessness comes insults from grammarians and cheap beer. My wife suggested I review the venerable American institution that is Pabst Blue Ribbon. “What’ll ya have?!” and all of that. I agreed in principle to her suggestion. Then I stole a twenty out of her purse. Now I have money for three more beer reviews.

Censored Ale – Lagunitas Brewing Company, Petaluma, California

Originally named The Kronik, this amber ale is big and malty without being too sweet. The hop character is much more pronounced in the nose than on the palette. This is one of those strange brews that can’t seem to figure out where it belongs. Imagine a malty red ale getting drunk and hitting on the local hoppy pale ale. Maybe he is suave, or maybe she is easy, but either way we end up with a beer like Censored Ale. Not as mellow and malty as your average red ale and not as bitter and hoppy as your average IPA, Censored Ale offers a pleasantly middle-of-the-road alternative to both of these varietals. Even if you are not won over by this review, buy a 22 ounce bottle of anything Lagunitas brews, read whatever is printed on the label and enjoy a deep, primordial belly laugh. Not only do these guys know how to brew a solid beer, but they are almost equally adept in beer-related story telling.

Initial music pairing – Jolie Holland – Escondida

From the first song – Sascha – to the last – Faded Coat of Blue – this is one of those perfect summer albums. Ms. Holland rekindles the old-timey sound reminiscent of your grade school social studies teacher’s childhood. You know the stories. Back when times were tough and music was pure and simple. Twenty inch spinner rims and big bootied hoes were few and far between. All you had were sublime songs about death and morphine. I’m allergic to morphine. Probably allergic to death as well. Nonetheless, this is a beautiful, sultry-slow album that deserves a quiet hour on the front porch. Censored Ale mixes perfectly with the Ms. Holland’s dreamy vocals. The third track, Old Fashioned Morphine, is a wonderful example of how the triplet structure of traditional blues lyrics can be adopted by modern music. Goodbye California makes me want to kiss the next toothless hick farmgirl I run into. No revised pairing necessary here. This is an excellent match.

Career update: When I got home with my new writing magazine, I realized none of the articles about how to get your work published would be of any use to me. I don’t have any ‘work’ to have published. Perhaps I can hire a ghostwriter to put something together for me. When those pieces are rejected, I could even hire a ghostreader to be disappointed by the rejection letters. I could just hang out in the park all day.