McSweeney's Syllabus: "Writing for Nonreaders In the Postprint Era."

Oh, man, if you've ever been to college, or ever taught at the university level (poor you. Poor me!), this is for you. Hilarious. Also slightly sick/sad/scary, because how much anyone wanna bet me that some professor is out there right now creating a "real" course with a horrifyingly similar syllabus?

Tip o' the mug to Nicholas Carr at Rough Type. I just finished reading his book The Big Switch. Interesting and well-written and worth your time.

Filmmaking, Writing, Beer, Insularity, History, and Other Topics More-Or-Less Related to “Beer Wars,” Part 2

Part 1 --- Part 2 --- Part 3 --- Part 4 --- Part 5 --- Part 6 --- Part 7 Part 8 --- Part 9 --- Part 10 --- Part 11 --- Part 12 --- Part 13

NOTE: When I moved to a new site, this "Beer Wars" series was mangled/destroyed during the move. I've reconstructed it by copying/pasting another copy of the original posts. I also lost the comments in their original form. I've copied/pasted the comments, but had to do so under my own name. So although it looks as though I'm the only commenter, I'm not. In each case, I've identified the original commenter.

_______________________________

 Fast forward to early 2009: Anat had finished the film. The economy was in freefall; it was (and is) harder than ever for indie filmmakers to find distribution, but Anat, being Anat, came up with a plan: She partnered with Fathom Events to show the film one night in theaters. (Fathom has developed a successful business screening such special events.) 

The film would be followed by a half-hour live discussion by some of the people in the film. She asked me to participate in that discussion because I’m a historian, not a beer person, and therefore I’d add an outsider’s perspective.

Anat’s production company, her publicity firm, and Fathom began promoting the film: They used a website, Anat tweeted, publicists sent out press releases, etc.

The blogosphere chatter began. And sailed along a predictable trajectory: the “beer geeks” pissed and moaned about how this film was no good, the idea was old, there is no “beer war.” 

“Rhonda Kallman is in the film? Why? She’s not a craft brewer!”

“Who the hell is Anat Baron? She’s not a beermaker. How can SHE know anything about beer?” 

“Sam’s in it. That’s good. But why not other craft-gods? And who cares about distributors? That battle is over! Why bother to make a film about it?”

Mind you, NO ONE HAD SEEN THE FILM. 

The pre-release chatter consisted of mindless knee-jerking on the part of people who claim they want “craft beer” to be noticed, loved, and consumed, but who are, at the same time, irrationally dedicated to denouncing anything and everything that does not fit their vision of what craft beer is and how it ought to be portrayed (and revered and adored.)

They complained about the price of admission, about the fact that it was one night only, about the fact that only 400-s0me theaters would be airing the film. (The event was broadcast via satellite; not every theater is equipped with satellite streaming equipment; therefore not every theater could show the film.)

Even the fact that Anat was promoting the film pissed people off: They complained about the overdose of press releases, emails, etc. They seemed not to realize that the “beer world” was not Anat’s only target. She wanted anyone and everyone to see the film. So of course she launched a PR blitz: she’s trying to fill seats in a theater.

But beer folks see the world through their prism and they didn’t understand that this was a film first, and only a beer film secondarily. Anat didn’t make the film for the beer world. She made the film because she was trying to explore and make sense of the logic of capitalism. Beer simply provided a lens through which to examine the topic. (I understood that intuitively: My book about beer was a work of  history that explored one aspect of American society. I used beer as the vehicle for that exploration.)

Next: The nature of “group think” and the creative process.

Speaking of E-Quarius and Other Matters: Wine Guy Makes Like Craft Brewer; Goes Small

So in the interest of continuing the conversation about beer, the age of E-Quarius, and so forth: Here's an article from today's New York Times about a winemaker who's seen the light and downsized. I think he and Greg Koch oughta have a chat. And I'll check back with him in ten years. And contemplate the ways in which all the parts of the world are connected.

Filmmaking, Writing, Beer, Insularity, History, and Other Topics More-Or-Less Related to “Beer Wars,” Part 1

Part 1 --- Part 2 --- Part 3 --- Part 4 --- Part 5 --- Part 6 --- Part 7 Part 8 --- Part 9 --- Part 10 --- Part 11 --- Part 12 --- Part 13

NOTE: When I moved to a new site, this "Beer Wars" series was mangled/destroyed during the move. I've reconstructed it by copying/pasting another copy of the original posts. I also lost the comments in their original form. I've copied/pasted the comments, but had to do so under my own name. So although it looks as though I'm the only commenter, I'm not. In each case, I've identified the original commenter.

_______________________________

Several people asked me if I planned to comment on Beer Wars and the events surrounding it -- and I thought, “hey, good idea.” (‘Cause, doh, it hadn’t occurred to me to do so . . . ) Good idea because I’d like to offer a larger, more textured perspective than has been dished out thus far.

So. You guessed it: Another! Multi-part! Series!

First some background to the saga, which unfolded over the course of several years: My beer book came out in September 2006, about a week prior to the Great American Beer Festival, and so I headed to the festival to sign copies of the book. While I was there, a refreshingly sober, decidedly chic woman -- Anat Baron -- introduced herself. She explained that she was making a film about the brewing industry. (At that point, she’d been working on the project for about a year.) 

By coincidence, I was scheduled to be in St. Louis in November for a book signing on the same day that she planned to be in that city to do some filming. So we met up in St. Louis and she interviewed (filmed) me for about two hours, asking questions about brewing history, etc. (Because I’d been involved in several documentaries, I know that an hour of filming equals about a minute of “air time,” so I knew that my part in the final product would be small.)

Over the next several years, we stayed in touch by email and compared notes as we both wrestled with our respective projects -- her film and my new book, a history of meat in America. Because we communicated so often, I quickly realized that writing a book and making a film are nearly identical processes. We both had to find our “story,” identify our “characters” (which, in both our cases, were real people), construct a narrative arc based on the characters’ stories; do lots of research; collect and sift through mountains of raw material; write, edit. Edit again; and then edit some more.

I also got to know Anat. She’s extremely intelligent, blunt, intelligent, determined, self-confident, self-assured, talented, intelligent. Did I mention that she’s intelligent? And talented? And self-confident? Perhaps fearless is a better word.

Next: "Beer Wars" collides with the beer world.

When Schuhmacher Speaks, You Oughta Listen

Yesterday I got a long email about "Beer Wars" from Harry Schuhmacher, who runs Beer Business Daily.

As I would have expected, his take was thoughtful, nuanced, and suffused with long-view, big-picture perspective --- precisely the perspective that was not given its due during the "Beer Wars" saga. (If I seemed to be aggravated while on stage, it was because I was holding my tongue and not saying "Greg, Todd, Sam, Charlie! You're full of shit. Get some perspective." Or words to that effect.)

Anyway, I intended to ask Harry if I could post his email here at my blog, but he beat me to the punch and posted it at his own blog. It's worth noting that, ahem, he's not seen the film -- but in this case (unlike so many others), his comments are absolutely worth reading.

Why I Love Being A Human Being -- and Why We Humans Are Often Shits

This bit of loveliness drifted around the fringes of my consciousness when I was out in California -- maybe I read about it in the newspaper? Anyway, just now got around to tracking down the video. And it's everything it's been cracked up to be: Riveting. Stirring. Amazing.

As one of the judges (I guess she's a judge? It's a competition of some kind? Like American Idol?) said, it's easy to be cynical. And, I might add, unkind and cruel and judgmental. (*1)

But by god, Susan Boyle makes me happy to be alive. Really. Fucking. Happy. She is the personification of the human spirit. _______

*1: And I just this moment realized that I indirectly experienced a Susan Boyle moment in my own life. About 15 years ago, my husband and I went to a friend's wedding. Afterward, a bunch of us went out to a karaoke bar (probably not spelled right).

This was in an east coast industrial, blue-collar town, and on this Saturday night, the bar was crammed with hundreds of 20somethings all getting drunk and happy. Or whatever. Anyway, we were the oldest people in the place by far.

So some of the people in our group decided to do the kareoke thing and got up on stage, etc.

I look around. Can't find my husband, who, at that time was in his 50s (he's older than me) and looked like what he is: a tweedy philosophy professor.

And then I realize: he's up on stage. He's going to sing. He decides to sing "Night and Day," a song written decades before any of the others in that bar had been born. Probably before even their parents had been born.

So this huge crowd, or the part paying attention to the singers on stage. start hooting. Even before he gets started, they're hooting and booing. And then he starts singing. And the booing dies down. And the crowd gets quiet. And quieter. And they're listening, because he's up there singing his heart out.

And when the old, tweedy guy who looks like and is a total nerd finished, those hundreds of young, blue-collar, drunk kids burst into cheers and applause. Lovely.

(I of course was all weepy because it was obvious he was singing to me.) (Sob snurfle.) (Hubby wanders back to our group after he's finished and a guy who'd been sitting off by himself watching and drinking promptly hit on him. Apparently he equated singing "Night and Day" with being gay and so assumed hubby was gay.)