Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Why I Shoot


Yeah, ok, this post is a bit random, but I'm bored, it's late, and I'm unemployed, so you're getting it anyway. Deal with it.

There are certain things that I love in life. Driving is first and foremost. Driving is a technical pursuit that will always have a special place in my heart, and a lot of the things espoused in this post apply to it as well. However, shooting is also a technical pursuit, for much the same reasons as driving. Here's why.

Shooting is pure. What do I mean by this? It's simple. Shooting doesn't care how good a person you are. It doesn't care how nice you are. It doesn't care how much you gave to charity last year. It cares about how much your physical and mental abilities can come into play to do something precise.

Call me cold. Call me evil. That's fine. It's not that I don't care about human things like starving children and sad puppies. I do. But for whatever reason, I have been, throughout my life, blessed - or cursed, take your pick - with  a love of competency. Nothing moves me like it. I'm a bastard, but it's who I am.

Shooting (driving, building computers, take your pick) has always fascinated me. We live in a complicated world. Drone strikes, the NSA spying on our communications, etc. It's hard to know exactly how much control we have over our lives. Not so in shooting.

See, in shooting, only one thing matters: how well can you control the material matter in your hands to put holes in paper where you want them. It's precision. It's control. It's life.

Bear with me.

Given the way things run in this country, how much control do you have over your life? Really. You vote, but the choices you're offered don't offer much in the way of you deciding anything. Once the men and women you've voted for are in office, it's they who make decisions, not you. Fact.

But when I drive, when I game, when I shoot, I'm in control. What do I mean? When I put that three pounds, 8 ounces on the trigger of my Ruger American, I control where that .223 inch diameter  bit of lead goes. Me. Myself. I. I do. Hits are mine. Misses are mine. Mine alone.

It's not Obama. It's not Congress. They have no bearing. Any amount of respect, or lack therof, cannot determine where that bullet goes. Just me. Just me and my rifle.

That's what shooting is to me: control. Same with my SRT. Same with my copy of BF4. It's me. Not them. I have a modicum of control over my life in an uncertain world.

That's what this short post is about. Shooting to me. Baseball to you, Mearns? Fine. Computers to you, my dear friend, Harry? Yes. Battlefield 3 for you, Mike? Ok. Old school knitting to you, mother? Go for it. I know who reads this.

This blog, in a sense, is not about shooting. It is about living. Do what makes you, you. Do not submit. Do not yield. Do what you love, and they cannot control you, those in power. That's what shooting is to me. That's what driving is. That's what we are. That's how we maintain control,

Live. I do it through shooting, You do it through some other means. So be it. That's life. It will never be taken away.

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Why I Don't Like Harry Potter

There's been a recent Facebook fad about picking 10 books that influenced your life. Almost invariably among my friends, the Harry Potter series features heavily in, if not tops, this list. I can't argue with the popularity of this series, but it baffles me that out of all the literature ever written, a children's book should be so ubiquitous.

I've written something like this before, but it was on an older blog which I later deleted. While I've changed certain things for this piece, the theme is pretty much the same: I don't get Harry Potter. I've read them, and I don't get them.

My problem doesn't stem from the fact that these books are bad, per se; it stems from the fact that they're so popular. As a book for kids, or a book purely for entertainment, it's not the worst thing people could be reading, especially when you factor in all the Clive Cussler or Susan Donovan crap floating around. Compared to what most adults read, it's actually not bottom barrel by a long shot. However, and this has to be said, it's not exactly the best literature on the planet either.

This is a shame, because if there's one strength to the series, it's Rowling's ability to world-build. Sure, nothing in her world is particularly original, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily bad. In fact, the characters in and world of the Harry Potter series have a lot of potential for a decent writer, which is what makes is so frustrating that Rowling can't, or won't, tap that potential.

Let me give you some examples. I'm going to assume everyone reading this has either read them, or doesn't care about spoilers, so let's talk about the death of Fred in the last book. Death is a powerful literary tool. My understanding of Fred's death, just from reading the book, is that he was killed to demonstrate that things were getting pretty bad and that Voldemort and his followers were really really bad dudes. It was meant to introduce tragedy and drama into the book because a main character died. It's not a bad try.

There are a lot of problems with this approach, from where I'm sitting. First of all, it's the seventh book. If the feeling wasn't there that things were awful already, something wasn't done right in the last six books. In my opinion, that's actually exactly the case. Yes, Sirius is dead. Yes, Dumbledore is dead. But somehow, they fail to accomplish this sense of terror or hopelessness in the same way Fred's death fails to do so.

Death is just one of those concepts Rowling can't quite get the hang of, and this is where her issue with wasted potential comes in. In the case of the death of Sirius, where he literally falls into a realm of death, there's the opportunity for a powerful metaphor, or many powerful metaphors. She could have implied something about the transience of life, the permanence or lack thereof of death or many many other themes. As it stands, though, Sirius trips and dies and Harry is sad about it, and that's pretty much where that ends. If there's an attempt at any deeper meaning there, it's left unclear.

The same goes for Dumbledore's death. Snape kills him, and is clearly conflicted about it. Here is another huge opportunity to talk about murder, utilitarianism, and the human psyche, but it's largely not taken advantage of. Snape does what he has to do and feels bad about it, and that's pretty much it. At the time, we don't even know Snape had good reason, an aspect which she could have easily run with later to say something about the kind of psychological consequences such an action creates. This is an example of Rowling channeling M. Night Shyamalan more than Orson Scott Card.

Here's what I would have done if I had written the battle of Hogwarts: kill Ron.

Killing Ron would have had an impact that killing other characters just doesn't. Sirius' death doesn't really work because we only know him such a short time; Dumbledore's doesn't really work because we know that it needed to happen and that, in fact, he controlled the circumstances of it. If you really want to portray senseless violence, evil for evil's sake, the kind of evil that caused things like the Holocaust, you need to kill someone important and have their death be largely the result of wanton cruelty. Better yet, have Malfoy do it point blank and thoroughly enjoy it.

Think of how that scenario would play out. Think of how the death of the most loyal and largely good character at the hands of a malicious killer who enjoys killing would have played out in comparison to that of a dead clown hit by a stray magical bullet. How would that have touched you? Sure, you wouldn't be as happy, but I daresay that if you're a Harry Potter fan, that might have spoken to you on a deeper level. Even I know that, and I don't write best sellers. At most, all Fred's death does is say something about the death of comedy, which is ok, I guess, but a bit crude and clumsy.

The thing is, most of Rowling's attempts at drama or the themes it can elicit are a bit clumsy. She either lacks the ability or will to turn her world into something with the ability to say something any deeper than 'love triumphs over evil,' which, again, is a bit of a shame, because it's not like the world she's created would prohibit that in any way.

As another example of this phenomenon, let's examine Rowling's characters, who are largely one dimensional. Harry is the hero. Ron is the loyal friend. Hermione is the smart one. This actually doesn't have to be a bad thing. In fact, we can look at other literature that has one dimensional characters that actually works pretty well.

As an experiment, let's compare the characters in Harry Potter to the characters in Atlas Shrugged. I'm not asking you to like the latter, and I'm certainly not asking you to agree with it. It absolutely has its flaws; it's heavy-handed, overwritten, and, like Harry Potter, the characters are so one dimensional that they might as well be anthropomorphic straight lines. However, there is a difference. The characters in Atlas Shrugged are one dimensional in the same way that characters in Greek drama are one dimensional: they are literal embodiments of human traits and characteristics. In fact, they are embodiments of one trait or characteristic in particular. For instance, Henry Rearden, as a character, is Pride, imprisoned by his wife Lillian, or Guilt. Only when Pride (Rearden) is free of Guilt (Lillian) does he reach his full potential. Simple? Obvious? Certainly. Atlas Shrugged takes most of its cues from ancient Greece, where that kind of story was common and effective. Atlas Shrugged, as a book, makes its simplistic characters work for it to form a coherent philosophy. For better or for worse, and for all its numerous flaws, it is effective literature. It works.

The characters in Harry Potter, however, are tropes. They are cliches. I'm not saying there isn't some crude meaning there. Harry embodies love; his parents saved him by sacrificing themselves and, in fact, he dies to save his friends. (Of course, he comes back to life, which has its own set of problems, which I won't get into here; if I got into every literary issue I have with Harry Potter, I would be here for a long long time.) It's actually a good theme, and a simple one. Voldemort is evil. He is the embodiment of evil. He kills and tortures for little to no reason. Again, fair enough, and a decent theme.

Here's the problem though: through tools like internal or external dialogue, Rand's characters put forth a philosophy. We understand what they represent because we've felt it. When Rearden feels successful because he's accomplished something, but is made to feel guilty about it, or simply fails to be recognized for it, that's something we can relate to. When Taggart's life work is destroyed, it's something we can understand, because we've all had something important to us taken from us, and risen from the ashes anyway. This allows these one dimensional characters to work. However, it's hard to relate to Harry because very few of us have lived under shitty parents and then found out we were super famous and had a shitton of money in a bank somewhere, and, oh, also are the prime target of the world's foremost mass murderer. Yes, we can relate to him as a good guy who sometimes is conflicted. Yes, we can relate to him as a child learning to grow. Those things are only so useful however, and, to be honest about it, if you want a story about growing up and feeling uncertain despite being fundamentally good, I have a book for you that will do the same thing in fewer pages and in a more novel fashion written by a certain Mr. Sallinger.

Harry is the main character, so it's a bit troubling that relating to him is something you have to take an effort to do, rather than having the book make you relate to him by virtue of its writing. The problem is that Rowling's primary strength is her characters. It's actually what she does best, despite herself, and yet, somehow, she doesn't do it that well. This same issue with flat characters and her failure to use them correctly plagues the entire series. We have what could be a fantastic villain, Voldemort, who has no internal dialogue, very little backstory, no real indicator of what makes him tick. We don't even get the sense that he's just evil for the sake of being evil, like a magical Hitler, because his end goals aren't really ever stated. He's just bad and we're supposed to understand that because he does bad things. The potential for either depth or representation of real world evil is there, but it's not properly used.

That last sentence is the fundamental issue I have with most of Rowling's work: it could do so many things and does, in fact, do a lot of them, but without doing any of them particularly well. It puts forth some ideas, but not particularly strongly. It has potentially decent characters, but doesn't do a lot with them. It's not as efficient as it could be. Any way you examine Harry Potter, from a literary aspect at least, it's just kind of mediocre writing. Going back to our earlier comparison, Ayn Rand has her own books that aren't particularly great, which is exactly why I'm using her so heavily as an example. Like Rowling, she's a best selling author with fundamentally flawed works. For instance, We the Living comes to mind. However, even that book, while heavy-handed, at least kind of works. It's an example of a fledgling writer with raw skill writing a bad book, but making it work to make a point about a real world circumstance, as opposed to a bad writer trying to work with good themes and ultimately coming up with less than she could have. What I'm trying to highlight here is how two different best selling authors make or don't make fundamentally problematic books work based on their comparative skill at writing.

I'll say what I've always said, at this point: none of this is bad on its own. Harry Potter is a kid's book. It is a book for children. As such, it's far better than a lot of things kids could be reading and I commend it for that. I really do. But saying that your life was influenced by it is a bit like saying that your life was influenced by Walt Disney: you're essentially saying that your life was influenced by something trite, designed to be easily digested by preteens, and just a tad racist. What are you saying about yourself? What are you saying about the wealth of literature you could have chosen? When you think about it, really think about it, is it a good thing that Harry Potter influenced you so much? If that's true, are you as well read as you should be? If you are, isn't that kind of a slap in the face to literature that actively tries to say something about the world and the nature of man, and does it in a technically sound manner?

I'm not saying you can't be influenced by Harry Potter, but I question whether it should be that influential as a work of literature when there are so many fantastic and meaningful books to choose from. I've mentioned a few here, and guess what? They're by no means the best. Not by a long shot. There are literally millions of books in the world that say so many things in so many languages. I am not urging you to stop reading Harry Potter. I am urging you to take advantage of those millions of books and perhaps pick up one that isn't a kid's book with, and there is no way around this, clumsy, mediocre writing. Harry Potter isn't bad, but unless your age is lower than a school zone speed limit, you can simply do better. There's an entire world out there. Take advantage of it.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Why I Love Beer

Today I'm going to talk about something political, heavy, and divisive.

Just kidding. I'm going to talk about beer.

I love beer. If you don't, that's fine, but I challenge you to find a beverage as versatile and unique. Want a cheap beer you can get wasted on with your bros? American industrial lager has you covered. Want a beer you can enjoy in front of the fire on a winter's night? Try a heavy stout or porter. Want a light beer you can drink all afternoon and not feel disgusted with yourself at the end of the day? Probably going to want to go with a saison. Beer can have high or low alcohol content, be light or dark, chock full of various flavors or devoted to only one or two distinct flavors. Beer can be anything you want it to be.

For all its diversity, however, beer is a simple drink. Unlike say, wine, aged for years and saved for a special occasion, even the best beer (in most cases) is made in the span of a month and goes bad in about a year. Beer isn't a conversation piece, or something you open on a very special occasion. There aren't beers from 1906, and if there were, you wouldn't want to consume them. Beer is something you drink. Beer isn't about show; beer is about taste. You brew it, you bottle it, you drink it, you brew more beer. It encourages you to enjoy it. You don't feel guilty about opening a really nice beer.

This simplicity is what makes it easy to experiment with beer. Want to do something crazy with your next brew? Want to make a grapefruit and hot chili porter? Go for it. If it goes wrong, make a new batch. Beer is the perfect beverage for free spirits. And there's a certain advantage to a beverage that only takes about fifty dollars and a month or two to make: if you did mess up, or even if you just aren't satisfied with your results, you can repeat the process, tweak your recipe, and get it right where you want it at very little cost and with very little comparative effort. Beer is the perfect beverage for control freaks

However, as simple as beer is, it easily matches wine or whiskey for sheer complexity of flavor. Even the worst beers have a certain unique taste or tastes to them. Let me give you an example. The beer I'm having right now is a George Killian's Irish Red. It is not a good beer, but it's not terrible either. It kind of fills that middle role for people who want a decent beer with a somewhat different taste, but don't want to pay a lot for it. I happen to have some around from helping a friend move into his new apartment.

What you may not know is that Killian's is a Coor's product. It wears the label of "Irish Red," but, like Goose Island, it's owned by a major producer of cheap American industrial lager and designed to compete with the craft beer market at a lower price point. However, I wouldn't necessarily need to look at the box or the price tag to figure that out. Irish Red Ale, according to the BJCP, should have "moderate caramel malt flavor and sweetness, occasionally with a buttered toast or toffee-like quality..." Killian's does not entirely lack these tastes, of course, but lurking under the maltiness is the telltale hint of that metallic tang so often present in American industrial such as Budweiser or, appropriately enough, Coors.

This doesn't make Killian's a bad beer, but it does make it different than a traditional craft Red. For all I know, this is intentional, designed to appeal to those coming from Coor's more mainstream offerings. I honestly don't know. What I do know is that that taste alone makes Killian's not quite a pure Irish Red, and not quite your standard industrial. It's a midrange beer, a beer designed to fill a gap. It has a purpose, and it fills it well. That one flavor, not even a particularly desirable one to many, tells an entire story about this beer, its origins, the recent history of the commercial beer market, and the niche it's trying to fill. That's the dynamism of beer.

One may not think that a taste like that in a beer is a good basis for comparison to wine in terms of complexity. However, I'd argue that it is, because if you can get that much information out of a bottle of red-colored, malty Coor's Light, think of what you can get from a high-end craft beer or a homebrew. One distinct flavor, multiple flavors, subtle tones, anything you'd get from wine, you can absolutely get in beer, and you do. Go to any homebrewer's meeting and you'll get not only some of the best beers you've ever had, but a unique story to go with each beer.

If that's not enough of a demonstration, consider that Budweiser and one of my favorite commercially available beers, Old Engine Oil, are both beer. I'm sure you're familiar with the appearance, and maybe the taste, of Budweiser. Old Engine Oil looks like this:


As you might imagine, the taste of these two beers is wildly different. Yet, they are both beer.

This brings me to another facet of beer. Beer is a peasant's beverage. It is the people's beverage. Hell, it's everyone's beverage. When you see a construction worker on the street, you generally don't assume he's going home and cracking open a bottle of wine. However, he's not cracking a bottle of the stuff pictured above either. This is yet another example of beer's range. Everyone can drink beer, from the richest to the poorest.

That being said, even generally high end beers aren't especially expensive. Sure, there's the occasional double digit bottle, but for the most part, you don't pay more than six bucks for a beer outside of a bar. Beer may be complex, but it's not expensive.

Perhaps that's what I'm struggling to really say about beer and why I love it. It's hard to describe exactly why beer is so great precisely because beer is... beer. It's complex, but it doesn't invite you to make a big deal out of it. It appeals to the hipster who wants to impress his friends by drinking some unnecessarily hopped up IPA as easily as it appeals to the factory worker who goes home and has a can of Miller Lite at the end of a day. Beer is all things to all people. It's accessible in a way that wine or whiskey can never be.

To be fair, I know nothing about wine or whiskey, and I'm sure I've made some egregious errors in defining their characters. That being said, at the end of the day, I can't think of a drink as diverse as beer, or a drink with more range. I can't think of a beverage as simple, cheap, and accessible, yet as simultaneously complex as beer. I can't think of a drink you can pound back all night with your best friends or simply have one of at home for a nice relaxing evening. That's why, beer snob though I am, I will drink any beer put in front of me. Yes, some beers are better than others. Yes, a good beer is preferable to a soullessly created, industrial beer. But at the end of the day, beer is beer. It's a drink that has mountains of class while remaining essentially modest, and that commands my respect.

I'm going to go grab another Killian's.