Ken Lizzi's Blog, page 83

Two Shy Brewing

I’m taking another detour from the usual route of this web log in order to write about beer. No complaints, right? Didn’t think so.

I drove down to Roseburg on Friday afternoon. I chose my hotel based largely on its proximity to Roseburg’s lone brewery, Two Shy Brewing. It was a short walk, pushing the stroller containing my designated driver, Victoria Valentina. I’ve introduced V.V. before, haven’t I?

The brewery doesn’t inspire optimism at first glance. That, of course, only served to give me hope. I’m a contrary sort, what can I tell you? The brewery sits in a rundown lot by the railroad tracks, at the end of a short road terminating at a chainlink fence. I saw a couple of motorcycles parked outside. Cinder blocks. Industrial size wooden spool tables.

Garage doors allowed passage between the outside seating and the tasting room inside. Thus I could grab a table while parking V.V. within arm’s reach outside, lest she – as a minor – become corrupted by reclining in her stroller within the sinful bounds of the tap room.

And then the taster tray arrived. I don’t know about you, but for me generally a taster tray holds two, maybe three beers that I’ll enjoy. The rest range from ‘meh’ to ‘ick.’ The sole exception previously was the taster tray at Breakside Brewery that pulled off the miracle of containing nothing but nectar of the gods. Two Shy couldn’t quite duplicate this trick, but came close. Zero ‘icks.’ Not even a ‘meh.’ The worst I had to say about any of the offerings was ‘not bad, I’d drink that’ directed at the Everything is Awesome Pale Ale. Pales seldom do much for me, but this was a decent session beer. I would drink that, no fooling. Particularly outstanding were the Island Hop Red and the Ignition Double IPA. Had it not been a hot, August summer day I might have elevated the Chocolate Milk Stout to that same rarified status.

I considered ordering a pint of the Double IPA. But my designated driver began tiring of peek-a-boo, drinking water from my glass, and nibbling fragments from my bowl of bar snacks. Always best to pull up stakes and move on while she’s still happy. And thanks to Two Shy Brewing, we were both happy.

Off the Grid

A weekend away every now and then is refreshing. Sometimes the family will drive up toward Mt. Hood, spend a couple of days with some friends in a cabin on the Salmon River. No television, no internet. Just games and conversation.

This weekend provided a variation on that theme and the family stayed home. A friend of a friend owns a cabin and property fronting a lake about midway along the Oregon Coast. My friend wanted to scout the property, check out the signs of deer activity, look for likely spots for hunting. Given the proximity of the lake, I thought there might be a chance to take a potshot or two at ducks, so I agreed to go along. A third friend joined us.

A fully loaded Honda Civic is, by the way, a less than ideal selection for traveling a mile long stretch of rutted, seriously degraded gravel road. On the positive side, it wasn’t my car and I didn’t have to drive.

The cabin is off the grid. Power is supplied by solar panels feeding a series of batteries. Water is stored in large, black plastic cisterns. My phone received no signal.

Portland isn’t a large city and on a clear night allows a reasonable view of the stars. But it is still a city and a certain degree of light pollution is inevitable. Lying on the deck of a cabin in a sparsely populated stretch of the Pacific Coast, one is reminded that the Milky Way does indeed exist. Add a cold Oregon-brewed beer and the rare luxury of a cigar, and you’ve got a decent recipe for unwinding.

The cabin itself remains a work-in-progress. A gap exists in a staircase, walls are partially dry-walled, etc. The missing step led to speculation that it was purposeful, a planned zombie-deterrent. Given that the length of the ‘road’ to the cabin and its overgrown, untended appearance is intended to discourage the local methamphetamine enthusiasts, we soon conflated the menaces, real and unreal, and developed running jokes about tweaker-zombies.

Ducks declined to fly over the lake the next morning. So hunting turned into a walk in woods with guns. By the way, in case anyone was unclear as to the truth of the aphorism, I can assure that bears do indeed shit in the woods. And this particular ursine enjoys apples and berries. The deer seem plentiful. We saw one driving in and heard others Friday night and during Saturday’s ramble. They certainly heard us, crashing through brush, snapping dried sticks, fighting through thickets, scrambling up hills and sliding down.

And so that’s why I didn’t get any writing done over the last couple of days. Honest. It wasn’t my fault.

Babel Remedies

I took the family to Blue Lake Park this afternoon. Blue Lake Park is about a mile east of Portland and a long arrow flight south of the Columbia River. Portland, and especially the east side of Portland, hosts numerous ethnic enclaves. While wandering by picnics, family reunions, or groups clustered about playground equipment I must have heard at least six different languages spoken.

That got me thinking about the problem in fantasy or science fiction of dealing with characters who don’t savvy each others’ mouth noises. If you want characters to communicate important plot information to each other, you’ve got to work through this issue.

There are any number of methods writers employ. Some ignore it entirely, not bothering to address the sheer implausibility that their characters from various countries, or their non-human characters – their elves, dwarves, aliens – would all speak the same language. They figure if they don’t mention the problem the reader might not notice it.

A related fix is the ‘common tongue.’ Basically hand-waving the issue away with a line of dialogue asserting the existence of a lingua franca.

Telepathy is a good one. As is the Universal Translator or its magical equivalent in fantasies.

In my novel “Reunion” I provided for communication by having an academic character find a library stocked with works in the foreign tongue. He notes a resemblance to writing he’s encountered before, finds a copy of that referent work, and spends a couple of months deciphering the language. A good thing spoken communication with these strangers played little part in the narrative, right? But I didn’t want to take the easy way out.

In “Under Strange Suns”, (in the process of annoying agents and slush pile readers near you) I took another tack, the translator. This dealt with the language barrier quite well in this novel. But if the story had required extensive dialogue between the main character and the aliens this would have proved an unwieldy solution.

The variety of remedies for this problem is necessary, and in any given work of fiction must suit the story dynamics. There is no universal palliative.

Portland Film Festival

Saturday afternoon I attended a panel on Science Fiction, Film, and Technology. The panel boasted a pretty good line up, including Daniel H. Wilson of Robopocalypse fame. I enjoyed the discussion. Though I was struck by the thought that I may have spent too much time reading and thinking about this stuff. Wh? Well, during the course of listening to the flow of the conversation I would conceive a thought, a reference, a quote, etc. Within the next thirty seconds to a minute, one of the panelists would vocalize that exact thought. Perhaps I’ve spent too long marinating in the sci-fi pond, or perhaps it is growing stagnant.

One of the points politely contended was if the sort of films marketed as science fiction are truly science fiction. Or are they simply films of a different genre supplied with sci-fi trappings. An interesting question. Another question, that I don’t recall being addressed iis how interested would an audience be in a film that legitimately delved into hard sci-fi, the sort of technologically driven story written by scientists and engineers with a penchant for fiction, like the OG writers from the Golden Age of science fiction. A few films do tackle sociologically driven stories. But I believe those are easier to translate to compelling film.

The final question, delivered via Twitter, asked the panelists what their favorite science fiction story was, in any medium: film, novel, short story, etc. Now that is a broad question. I don’t think I could answer it. I cordially dislike most such arbitrary quantifications. Must I have a favorite? Cannot I enjoy multiple items equally? And of course one must separate ‘favorite’ from ‘greatest’, yet another arbitrary decision. Also the question eliminates categories. I don’t like requiring to pit novels against short stories, or short stories against film, or televisions shows against novels, etc. I suppose I should toss out some ideas. Dune, I could contend, is the greatest science fiction novel. But is it my favorite? I’d probably go with an old short story, something from RAH, or Fredric Brown. Or perhaps one of Jack Vance’s short novels. How to choose? Can’t do it. Same with film. I think Inception is a terrific science fiction film. But is it my favorite? Which would I rather watch again? Inception, or something like Robocop, or Predator, or The Terminator, Aliens, or hell, even Starship Troopers?

What do you think? Any favorites?

Monsters

Monsters are not indispensable to a fantasy story, but they do seem just shy of ubiquitous. If you count other than human races (elves, dwarves, dragera) as monsters then few fantasy works remain without a monster or two. Without a monster, fantasy is a step removed from an alternate history tale.

And that’s fine. I’d hate for the genre to reduce itself to a cut-and-paste exercise, pulling the requisite ingredients from columns A through G. Many swords-and-sorcery tales succeed brilliantly without monsters, relying on some magical or mysterious opposition for the fantastical element. But the point is monsters are a common ingredient.

Why?

Probably a great number of reasons. Perhaps the primary reason is to establish that the story is not set in the mundane world. You know you’re not reading a Clive Cussler novel when a troll makes an appearance. Monsters provide an intense injection of the exocitc, they are a flashy component of world building.

Monsters allow for villains without human motivations. A monster’s reasons for behavior can be alien, animalistic, reflexive. Whatever the story needs. The motives can be as complex or simplistic as the writer desires.

At the other extreme, monsters can serve as metaphors writ large. The dragon as a symbol of greed. The zombie as – apparently whatever the writer feels like oversimplifying that day. Frankenstein’s Monster as the outcast, the surrogate for the alienated reader, misunderstood and ostracized.

They can be terrific opponents. Beowulf might be a badass, you can describe how he slew a dozen men in battle. But describe him ripping Grendel’s arm off at the shoulder and suddenly you get a clearer measure of his prowess.

So let’s hear it for the monsters, for all the giants, ogres, orcs, wyverns, and yet to be revealed exotic baddies.

Ursus

Today’s post comes rather late. I don’t apologize. I was busy desecrating the game of golf with some old friends, too seldom seen. Later the day involved overcooking meat on the grill and sweating off a pound or two adjusting the crib so that my hyperactive offspring doesn’t crawl out of it in the night.

Tonight, after scrubbing burnt barbeque sauce from the grill, I’m reviewing Ursus of Ultima Thule by Avram Davidson. In previous posts I’ve commented on some of the authors and titles from Appendix N of the Dungeons and Dragons Dungeon Masters Guide. It’s not a bad list, Appendix N. Sometimes I read something I think ought to be in some sort of Appendix N supplement, a few loose leaves of paper distributed periodically to those of us with a DMG that we can fold in between the covers, appending Appendix N. Avram Davidson is one of those authors I think fits.

Davidson is perhaps less well known than his talents deserve. I know him primarily for a historical fantasy character, a hardcase sort of character from the sword-and-sorcery school whose adventures are set around the turn of the millenium Mediterranean. I picked up Ursus on the strength of Davidson’s short story writing.

I wasn’t disappointed. He’s written an early iron age fantasy, in the lost civilization tradition of stories set in Atlantis or Mu. He employs a highly stylized narrative voice. I can see that being off-putting for some readers, but it worked for me. Ursus is a short novel, far from the expected massive word count of today’s books. Probably for the best, the poetic style might have worn out its welcome had the book ran on much longer.

Ursus is tbe coming-of-age story of a man who – Conan fashion – becomes a king. The eponymous Ursus is a boy by the name of Arn who discovers his heritage as a shape-shifter, a were-bear. He lives during a time when wooly mammoths still roam the far north, a time during which non-human races still exist. A dying king is dealing with ‘iron-sickness,’ a sort of chronic plague of rust. Arn finds himself caught up in the matter, meeting his father, learning something of his heritage, questing for a cure to the iron-sickness, and becoming a man.

I can see the book serving as inspiration for a game involving late ice age characters and/or shapeshifters. I can also, as I said, see readers putting the book down after the first chapter, unwilling to engage with the voice the author chose for the story. Me, I liked it and I’ll keep my eye out for more of Avram Davidson’s fiction.

Knights of Badassdom, Film Review

Courtesy of my local library, yesterday I watched “Knights of Badassdom.” I’ll say at the outset that I had low expectations. Unfortunately, I hadn’t set them low enough.

“Knights of Badassdom” is the story of a LARP gone horribly wrong. For the uninitiated, LARP stands for ‘Live Action Roleplaying.’ It is tabletop roleplaying – e.g., Dungeons and Dragons –  removed from the table, taken outside and mashed up with amateur improv. It isn’t a pastime I have any experience with. Nor, frankly, do I have any interest in it. I believe it was Jerry Holkins of “Penny Arcade” fame who said “not everything is for you.” Sums it up, I think. Those that dig LARP, dig LARP. That it isn’t for me shouldn’t mean a damn thing to the aficianados.

I remember reading “Dream Park” as a kid and thinking how cool the concept sounded of taking on fantastical adventures in person. It doesn’t appeal to me as an adult. I don’t think I could get past the amusement park aspect, the self-consciousness of acting a part.  I’ve watched a few Society for Creative Anachronism combats. As a form of fencing, a regulated combat sport, I can appreciate the draw. But the rest of the in-character theatrics doesn’t move me. I don’t think I’d be able to get past the artificiality of it. Sitting at a table with a few friends and rolling dice is about as far as I can go with adult make believe. I’m just playing a game then, not pretending it goes any further than sheets of notebook paper and a map. And even that I’ve not had an opportunity to indulge in for too long.

The point is, I approached this film as an outsider. How an actual LARPer might view this take on his weekend fun, I don’t know.

So, on to the film. It is a mashup film, a nerd comedy crossed with a horror film. Nothing wrong with the concept. Cross-genre entertainments can yield fun results. Here though, the experiment failed. The horror is played for laughs, along the lines of “Army of Darkness” and the gore and special effects are of comparable quality. That is, deliberately campy, the scares so cheesy that they are obviously not intended to be taken seriously. While that worked for “Army of Darkness” it fell flat here.

The actors gave it their all. In fact the acting was fine across the board. And that is about all the praise I can bestow. Steve Zahn and Peter Dinklage are both excellent, but they can only do so much with the flat, caricatures they were given to play.

The hero’s journey is predictable, the love interest unlikely. I suppose the film was intended as some sort of wish fulfillment fantasy. I don’t know. I do know that I’ve seen better films exploring the sub-culture that is LARPing. “Role Models” for instance. Maybe some of the laughs were mean, but I found the film largely sympathetic to both LARPers and LARPing. And unlike “Knights of Badassdom” the jokes are actually funny. Even the no-budget “Unicorn City” provided a more interesting story and deeper characterization.

So, “Knights of Badassdom.” Can’t recommend it.

A Child’s Library

I’ve been thinking about what books to purchase for Victoria Valentina. With what titles shall I stock her library? Honestly I’ve been pondering this since before she was born. Look, that’s just how I am. Don’t judge me.

I’ve already picked up a paperback copy of Tbe Wind in the Willows. She may be about a decade from appreciating that one. I read it aloud to my wife. It’s been more than thirty years since I’d last read it. It held up, though it is more ponderous and somewhat less whimsical than I remember.

A boxed set of of A.A. Milne is probably at the head of the list. Winnie-the-Pooh, When We Were Young, etc. Maybe Beatrix Potter. These are likely the foundations, the talking animals, stuffed or otherwise. We can move on to Charlotte’s Web later.

I’ll probably want a nice hardcover, illustrated fairy-tale collection. And a Hans Christian Anderson collection. I’ve already got The Hobbit, copies in English and Spanish. But this might be an excuse to buy another edition.

Looking at this selection I see a decided predilection toward the fantastic. Is it any wonder I write fantasy and science-fiction? I suppose I’ll want to pick up a Laura Ingalls Wilder set as well. Establish some historical grounding. I’ve got editions of Robin Hood and King Arthur tales, but those hardly qualify as historical.

Some might say that the books I’ve selected are written for more advanced readers, that contemporary children’s books are more age-appropriate. Some would say that the concepts and vocabulary in my selections will prove challenging for little Victoria, that the language is outmoded, the morals old-fashioned, that I’m attempting to impose my own childhood on my daughter.

You know what? I don’t see a problem with any of that.

Of course, she won’t even turn one until November. So I’ve got some time.

Oregon Brewers Festival 2014

I’m giving the usual topics a miss today in order to discuss beer. Specifically the beers I sampled at the 2014 Oregon Brewers Festival. I do wonder about the missing apostrophe in Brewers. Is not the Festival possessed by the Brewers? Well, never mind.

I didn’t ride my bicycle down to the Portland waterfront this year. For the first time in the twenty plus years I’ve attended the Brew Fest, it was raining. At least it kept the Wednesday afternoon crowd somewhat in check. I drove down with lovely wife Isa and lovely daughter Victoria. Isa drove back. Frankly I wasn’t too displeased to skip the uphill bike ride home.

With festival tasting glass and wooden tokens in hand I began to browse. I decided that this year I’d avoid my usual IPA-heavy selections, sample a wider variety of brews. That’s – mostly – what I did. Following are my tasting notes.

10 Barrel Brewing Company. Cider Weisse. ABV 5.7%. Refreshing, summery cider with a mild hop bite. Could use a touch more sweetness or a berry tartness.

Fort George Brewery & Public House. The Optimist. ABV 6.9% Verdant hp notes, light citrus. Not much nose. Could use more malt for balance. [Stepping away from my tasting notes for a moment. Yes, I said I’d steer clear of IPAs this year. I like IPAs. Lay off of me, why don’t you.]

Specher Brewery. Abbey Triple. ABV 8.5%. Very smooth Belgian Tripel. Tastes of honey-dipped biscuit.

Paradise Creek Brewery. Huckelberry Pucker. Berliner Weisse. ABV 4.7%. Pale color, like diluted grapefruit juice. Tart, a cherry-berry blend, far from the stereotypical cloying fruit beer. I’m not usually fond of fruit beers, but this I like, and the Mrs. concurs (though she prefered the Cider Weisse.)

Sixpoint Craft Ales. Barrel Aged 3Beans. ABV 10.3%. Mocha – a vanilla mocha latte tempered with a beer bitterness. A dessert beer, not a beer drunk for beer’s sake.

Central City Brewing. Red Betty Imperial IPA. ABV 9%.  Okay, back to the IPAs. But an Imperial IPA so I’m not really cheating. This is terrific! Perfect balance.

Beer Valley Brewing. Heavy Sugars Honey Ale. ABV 7%. Looks like fruit juice. Smells like fruit just beginning to turn. The Mrs. says ‘no’. Taste. I agree. Remember the comment about cloying fruit beer? Here’s the apotheosis.

Heathen Brewery. Megadank. ABV 8.2%. Epitomizes the Northwest IPA style You either like that style or you don’t. I like it. [Yes, another IPA. I think I was remarkably restrained.]

Upright Brewing Company. Old News Saison. ABV 5.8%. Decent. Saison’s are distinctive. I tend to like them and I like this one.

Here end the tasting notes. At this point the negative aspect of bringing along my infant, no matter how fetching and delightful, manifested. The hour of departure arrived with wailing insistence. So, a brief foray. But, as ever, rewarding. I think I’ll keep an eye out for Central City. Good stuff.

Book Signing, Once Again

Honestly I would have considered the event a success if I’d only sold a single copy. So I left the signing yesterday more than contented. I’d like to thank Jan’s Paperbacks for hosting the event. Also Jack Whitsel for suggesting that I join him at the table. I owe many thanks to those who stopped by the table, especially those who bought a copy of Reunion. I hope you enjoy the book and that my signature doesn’t hurt the resale value.

And additional thanks to all the store patrons that afternoon for leaving some of the cookies. I was hungry.

It’s an odd feeling, sitting at a table facing the front door when a customer walks in. Expectancy. Elation when a complete stranger picks up your book and announces the intention to buy a copy. Embarrassment, as an incoming customer turns his head and edges around the table to avoid eye contact. It’s okay, bookstore patron, I’m not upset at you for failing to buy my book. I’m not a used car salesman, I’m not going to apply high-pressure sales tactics. For one thing I don’t know any. Say hello, have a cookie, take a bookmark. No hard feelings.

In all, a good afternoon at the bookstore. I walked in a with a box full of copies of Reunion, walked out with only two copies left. Yeah, a good day.