- When I found out what peanut butter tastes like on a hot dog, at the Happy Dog
- The guy that comes to the Barking Spider with his cat on his shoulder
- That time at the Beachland when the disco ball wasn't rotating, so somebody threw their coat at it and it swung crazily
- When a teenager got chased by some bad guys and hid behind my garage freaking out and I asked him if I should call the police but he said no so we chilled until the coast was clear
- Introducing British Brian to Anna C., two people who know everyone else in town but somehow not each other
- The manic energy of the early days of the Cleveland Social Media Club
- Getting hit on by a gay dude right outside my office on the way to my car
- The bloody dolls hanging from the ceiling of the Grog Shop after halloween
- Discovering Liefman's Goudenband at Brewzilla during Beer Week
- The lawncare company that did twice as much work as we asked for, then tried to get us to pay twice the agreed price
- The look of mixed loathing and shame on my hung-over friend's face the morning after my birthday party
- A night flight into Hopkins making a sharp turn around downtown, a perfect view of the town lit up on one of my last trips back
Showing posts with label local. Show all posts
Showing posts with label local. Show all posts
Reminiscences of Cleveland
Two cities, two concerts
In the last week I've seen concerts in both Detroit and Cleveland, and I couldn't help but notice how differently people behaved. TL;DR: Detroiters clap.
I didn't start going to small venues to see rock bands in earnest until I moved to Cleveland. The way people act here does vary from venue to venue but I kind of figured this is just normal: stand where you can see the stage, keep your mouth shut, and do not under any circumstances dance. I might prefer a little more freedom, but I can deal with it.
In Detroit I saw Swans (again) with the opening act Low at the Magic Stick. I would have paid good money just to see Low - see their incredible album The Great Destroyer - so I wasn't going to miss this show. Their set was beautiful, and left me thinking I need to pick up more of their albums. They have a loud-soft dynamic whose loud bits are a perfect pairing with Swans, but their soft bits are very soft indeed. The guys behind me must not have seen each other in a while, because their conversation went on too long and got too loud. In a rare moment of lucidity, I turned around to face them, jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the band, and asked the guys "are they boring you?" They kept it down after that. Unfortunately, I'd gotten up early and spent much of the day in airports, so I was too tired to enjoy Swans. When I left at 1AM, they were still playing.
All the fans in Detroit clapped and cheered loudly after every song, and yelled in appreciation when the band started a song they recognized. At one point Low said to the audience, "thanks for clapping." That was what got me thinking about this.
In Cleveland three days later I saw ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead at the Grog Shop. This was a super high energy rock show in an intimate space, and the band worked hard to fire up the 70-odd fans by climbing down into the audience to play their instruments. A few people were actually jumping around, but with all that effort and energy, three quarters of the audience was still just standing there nodding rhythmically. At other equally energetic shows, there have been times where I've gotten into the music and started dancing in place a bit, only to draw glares from people standing nearby. There is no clapping and little cheering at a typical Cleveland concert. Maybe one out of ten attendees will yell in appreciation after a great song; the rest stand there like they've seen it all before. Bands playing in Cleveland must feel like their shows are a flop.
I don't know what to make of all this. Maybe there's an element of hipster insecurity to Cleveland audiences, a fear that if they admit the show is good, then people will think they haven't seen enough shows to know what's really good. Or maybe Clevelanders really have seen it all before. These two cities are too much alike for there to be big differences. They're both under the gun in more ways than one, and moments of escape are important. Seeing a rock band should free you, get you out of your own head, wipe the slate clean and reenergize you for when you have to get back to the grind. Because the grind is waiting for you. That's why we have rock music.
I didn't start going to small venues to see rock bands in earnest until I moved to Cleveland. The way people act here does vary from venue to venue but I kind of figured this is just normal: stand where you can see the stage, keep your mouth shut, and do not under any circumstances dance. I might prefer a little more freedom, but I can deal with it.
In Detroit I saw Swans (again) with the opening act Low at the Magic Stick. I would have paid good money just to see Low - see their incredible album The Great Destroyer - so I wasn't going to miss this show. Their set was beautiful, and left me thinking I need to pick up more of their albums. They have a loud-soft dynamic whose loud bits are a perfect pairing with Swans, but their soft bits are very soft indeed. The guys behind me must not have seen each other in a while, because their conversation went on too long and got too loud. In a rare moment of lucidity, I turned around to face them, jerked my thumb over my shoulder at the band, and asked the guys "are they boring you?" They kept it down after that. Unfortunately, I'd gotten up early and spent much of the day in airports, so I was too tired to enjoy Swans. When I left at 1AM, they were still playing.
All the fans in Detroit clapped and cheered loudly after every song, and yelled in appreciation when the band started a song they recognized. At one point Low said to the audience, "thanks for clapping." That was what got me thinking about this.
In Cleveland three days later I saw ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead at the Grog Shop. This was a super high energy rock show in an intimate space, and the band worked hard to fire up the 70-odd fans by climbing down into the audience to play their instruments. A few people were actually jumping around, but with all that effort and energy, three quarters of the audience was still just standing there nodding rhythmically. At other equally energetic shows, there have been times where I've gotten into the music and started dancing in place a bit, only to draw glares from people standing nearby. There is no clapping and little cheering at a typical Cleveland concert. Maybe one out of ten attendees will yell in appreciation after a great song; the rest stand there like they've seen it all before. Bands playing in Cleveland must feel like their shows are a flop.
I don't know what to make of all this. Maybe there's an element of hipster insecurity to Cleveland audiences, a fear that if they admit the show is good, then people will think they haven't seen enough shows to know what's really good. Or maybe Clevelanders really have seen it all before. These two cities are too much alike for there to be big differences. They're both under the gun in more ways than one, and moments of escape are important. Seeing a rock band should free you, get you out of your own head, wipe the slate clean and reenergize you for when you have to get back to the grind. Because the grind is waiting for you. That's why we have rock music.
Gotye at Nautica, er, Lakewood High School
"Somebody I Used To Know" was at full viral fever level when tickets went on sale this spring. We paid Ticketbastard, err, Live Nation $50 plus $13 fees per ticket for two decent seats, assuming it would sell out fast. Evidently it didn't, because they ended up playing on a stage that normally hosts talent shows featuring pimply jugglers.
Our first clue was that several weeks ago Groupon offered tickets at half price. Consternated would describe my reaction.
Our next clue was not when we went to Live Nation's website and downloaded and printed out the tickets on the day of the event - nope, the site and tickets said Nautica. Nor did we receive an email - they might have sent one, but apparently as far as our spamfilter is concerned, Live Nation's credibility is comparable to that of ads for discount pharmaceuticals. No, our next clue came when we were looking for other bands to see, and we stumbled upon a second concert listing for Gotye, on the same day, in a different venue. *rolls eyes*
What happened? Did Nautica get sick and have to stay home? Did Lakewood make them an offer they couldn't refuse? Based on the attendance we saw (a whole lot of people sitting in cheaper seats behind us, and about 50% butts in the more expensive seats in front of us) Nautica would've been empty. My guess is that Nautica charges the band a lot of money for the privilege of playing there, and the band moved to Lakewood to cut costs.
We had seats either way. Lakewood's were even padded, though the amount of kneeroom they provided would have shamed a Third World airline. And no beer. That's right, I remember now, THERE'S NO BEER IN HIGH SCHOOLS.
So, the show: the sound was quite good - I could even understand the lyrics, which is rare. I enjoyed almost all the music (but see below). They had captivating video material going on a movie-sized screen at the back of the stage; they must have had several artists make videos to play along with the songs. They played "Somebody I Used To Know" with the female part sung by the lead singer of the opening act, because Gotye is estrogen deficient. The only significant negative was the spotlights slashing across my retinas repeatedly. Seriously, guys, that's obnoxious. For a couple songs I didn't dare open my eyes. I can still remember my field of vision filling with peach-pink as the glare burned through my eyelids.
If Gotye reminds me of a band, it's Talking Heads, in their heyday of quirky pop and suspension-of-disbelief lyrics. Gotye used instruments ranging from up-to-the-minute (programmable touchscreens like those pioneered recently by Bjork) to historical (the Suzuki Omnichord from the mid-80s). There was a lot of percussion. They were literally tripping over drums on that stage.
The videos got me thinking. They were in time with the music, so that could mean they perform the songs exactly the same way every time - or that they brought the videographers along with them to tweak the videos when they want to change the way they play a song. A lot of bands do use road trips to refine their songs, and this would prevent Gotye from doing that. Or, it could mean that the videos were in short pieces, and the pieces were triggered by one of those up-to-the-minute tabletty things. (Which is yet another job the keyboardist has to do.) That would allow them to rearrange the songs at will.
But, as I mentioned, I only enjoyed *almost* all the music. The last three songs of the encore were something different entirely. By that point, I had gotten used to Gotye's brand of weird, so when the home stretch was really ordinary instead, I was completely thrown. It was major-key crowdpleasing arena rock. It was like the '80s Top 40 came back to life for fifteen minutes. And the crowd loved it. Alice turned to me and actually asked if our intelligence was being insulted. I said no, but I wasn't sure I wanted to find out what came next.
And then the show was over. What a trip.
Our first clue was that several weeks ago Groupon offered tickets at half price. Consternated would describe my reaction.
Our next clue was not when we went to Live Nation's website and downloaded and printed out the tickets on the day of the event - nope, the site and tickets said Nautica. Nor did we receive an email - they might have sent one, but apparently as far as our spamfilter is concerned, Live Nation's credibility is comparable to that of ads for discount pharmaceuticals. No, our next clue came when we were looking for other bands to see, and we stumbled upon a second concert listing for Gotye, on the same day, in a different venue. *rolls eyes*
What happened? Did Nautica get sick and have to stay home? Did Lakewood make them an offer they couldn't refuse? Based on the attendance we saw (a whole lot of people sitting in cheaper seats behind us, and about 50% butts in the more expensive seats in front of us) Nautica would've been empty. My guess is that Nautica charges the band a lot of money for the privilege of playing there, and the band moved to Lakewood to cut costs.
We had seats either way. Lakewood's were even padded, though the amount of kneeroom they provided would have shamed a Third World airline. And no beer. That's right, I remember now, THERE'S NO BEER IN HIGH SCHOOLS.
So, the show: the sound was quite good - I could even understand the lyrics, which is rare. I enjoyed almost all the music (but see below). They had captivating video material going on a movie-sized screen at the back of the stage; they must have had several artists make videos to play along with the songs. They played "Somebody I Used To Know" with the female part sung by the lead singer of the opening act, because Gotye is estrogen deficient. The only significant negative was the spotlights slashing across my retinas repeatedly. Seriously, guys, that's obnoxious. For a couple songs I didn't dare open my eyes. I can still remember my field of vision filling with peach-pink as the glare burned through my eyelids.
If Gotye reminds me of a band, it's Talking Heads, in their heyday of quirky pop and suspension-of-disbelief lyrics. Gotye used instruments ranging from up-to-the-minute (programmable touchscreens like those pioneered recently by Bjork) to historical (the Suzuki Omnichord from the mid-80s). There was a lot of percussion. They were literally tripping over drums on that stage.
The videos got me thinking. They were in time with the music, so that could mean they perform the songs exactly the same way every time - or that they brought the videographers along with them to tweak the videos when they want to change the way they play a song. A lot of bands do use road trips to refine their songs, and this would prevent Gotye from doing that. Or, it could mean that the videos were in short pieces, and the pieces were triggered by one of those up-to-the-minute tabletty things. (Which is yet another job the keyboardist has to do.) That would allow them to rearrange the songs at will.
But, as I mentioned, I only enjoyed *almost* all the music. The last three songs of the encore were something different entirely. By that point, I had gotten used to Gotye's brand of weird, so when the home stretch was really ordinary instead, I was completely thrown. It was major-key crowdpleasing arena rock. It was like the '80s Top 40 came back to life for fifteen minutes. And the crowd loved it. Alice turned to me and actually asked if our intelligence was being insulted. I said no, but I wasn't sure I wanted to find out what came next.
And then the show was over. What a trip.
Hello, 2012
I took a break from posting here at the end of 2011 - my energies were directed elsewhere. I plan to get back to this blog in 2012, and not only that, but my blogging group as well, the Lake Erie Moose Society. I'd like to see more new members; I love talking to our regulars, but it's natural for people to come and go. It helps everyone to have a variety of perspectives, and I always like to meet new people. So I'm going to be a little more proactive in asking my fellow bloggers how Heidi and I can make the meetings more useful and fun, and I'm going to take some steps to bring the group some exposure to new crowds.
Here's to a better year. Onwards and upwards, always.
Here's to a better year. Onwards and upwards, always.
Swans at the Beachland Ballroom, 9/23/11
Swans are a band. I'm somewhat at a loss to describe them in more detail; Allmusic has a lot of words about them at this link here. I'm just sitting here opening and closing my mouth like a fish.
I can't say I wasn't warned. The opening act, Sir Richard Bishop, graciously accepted some applause during his set and muttered, "Swans are gonna **** your faces off." And they did.
Swans' set started out loud. It got difficult to talk over the looped synthesizer, but we didn't see anybody on stage so we weren't sure they were actually playing yet. A guy stepped out and started hammering repetitively on some hanging bells, adding to the noise. And another guy. And another - six total. It was arrhythmic, throbbing, and glorious. It droned.
Drone music is usually soft, like late afternoon in a meadow, or like bread that's fallen into dishwater. Not like this. Swans are to drone music as the Navy's active sonar is to whale speech. Actually that's a very good analogy.
Confetti fluttered down from the cieling of the Ballroom. It had probably been there since New Year's Day, if not longer. Every square inch of my clothing vibrated, including the soles of my shoes. I wouldn't have been surprised to look down and see an outline of dead skin cells on the floor around me. I felt physically lifted up like a puppet on strings. With every follicle on high alert, the sensory overload wiped out all my thoughts and pushed my consciousness into my body. My beer went warm.
God help the poor bastard who was trying to put on a show in the Beachland Tavern in the same building. (It was the Schwartz Brothers. Glen Schwartz was one of the early guitarists for the James Gang, and he's kind of a savant. I figure he either thought the noise was just in his head, or else he went ballistic and preached hellfire from the mic all night.)
Go see Swans. Bring earplugs.
I can't say I wasn't warned. The opening act, Sir Richard Bishop, graciously accepted some applause during his set and muttered, "Swans are gonna **** your faces off." And they did.
Swans' set started out loud. It got difficult to talk over the looped synthesizer, but we didn't see anybody on stage so we weren't sure they were actually playing yet. A guy stepped out and started hammering repetitively on some hanging bells, adding to the noise. And another guy. And another - six total. It was arrhythmic, throbbing, and glorious. It droned.
Drone music is usually soft, like late afternoon in a meadow, or like bread that's fallen into dishwater. Not like this. Swans are to drone music as the Navy's active sonar is to whale speech. Actually that's a very good analogy.
Confetti fluttered down from the cieling of the Ballroom. It had probably been there since New Year's Day, if not longer. Every square inch of my clothing vibrated, including the soles of my shoes. I wouldn't have been surprised to look down and see an outline of dead skin cells on the floor around me. I felt physically lifted up like a puppet on strings. With every follicle on high alert, the sensory overload wiped out all my thoughts and pushed my consciousness into my body. My beer went warm.
God help the poor bastard who was trying to put on a show in the Beachland Tavern in the same building. (It was the Schwartz Brothers. Glen Schwartz was one of the early guitarists for the James Gang, and he's kind of a savant. I figure he either thought the noise was just in his head, or else he went ballistic and preached hellfire from the mic all night.)
Go see Swans. Bring earplugs.
The Permanent Floating Cocktail Party
A strange thing has happened in the Cleveland meetup.com scene: there are a dozen or so groups with similar themes throwing large social events practically every day of the week; the same people show up to every single one; and you can't tell them apart. It's like a permanent floating cocktail party.
Author Larry Niven once wrote of a "permanent floating riot club" that developed shortly after the invention of teleportation in a fictional future society. Once any kind of disturbance broke out anywhere in the world, word got out, and immediately thousands of people teleported there to break things and loot the place. It got to the point where there was always a disturbance somewhere, and there was a steady flow of people joining and leaving this flash mob, so it became a full-time riot moving from place to place.
That's kind of what's happening here, but with drinking instead of looting. And the Internet instead of teleportation (which, admit it, is almost as good). Cleveland has a beer group, several wine groups, a spirits group, a happy hour group, a nightlife group, a "social" group, a 20s and 30s group, a 30s and 40s group, a "party connection", etc - this is nowhere near an exhaustive list and I don't mean to single anyone out. My point is that most of them make little or no attempt to differentiate themselves. To further blur any distinctions between them, events are usually cross-posted to multiple groups.
Is this necessarily a bad thing? What should we expect from a meetup group?
The value of meetup.com is that it's a filter: the people who come to meetups are the ones who are open to meeting new people. In contrast, if you just go to a bar here and try to make new friends, you might get suspicious looks and cold shoulders. For the most part, I think that's still true in the Permanent Floating Cocktail Party, though I'm no longer new here so it's hard for me to say from personal experience. Some of my friends, though, have had bad experiences: territorial behavior, gossip, that sort of thing.
And this shows us something interesting: the party has gotten large enough that it's no longer intimate; some people have begun to treat other attendees as though they were random strangers. There's a strange transition that happens when a group gets to a certain size: you sense that you'll never know some of the people in it, so you present a persona, a public face, that establishes a reputation for you among the people that you do know. You start treating people less carefully, because they're just part of the scenery that you're projecting yourself on. That is clearly happening in Cleveland.
My wife fumes with indignation that there's more than one wine group. She takes it as a personal affront that anyone might find hers wanting in some way, and she says that the other groups' themes are feeble. I keep telling her that meetup groups don't really have to have themes, though it's a nice way to bring new people in. What really makes a group a distinct thing is the personality of the organizer, which sets the tone of the group. The organizer determines what kind of behavior is acceptable, what kind of activities will take place, and in general how rigid or freeform the events will be. In the Permanent Floating Cocktail Party, events are very freeform and the organizers make little effort to use the force of their personality to set a tone. That's one thing that my wife does very well, and it sets the group she co-organizes apart from the others.
Most meetup groups, to be clear, don't involve alcohol or parties. They're strongly focused on their themes, like book clubs or exercising or blogging. That's the outsider's view of meetup.com: that it's a way for geeks to find each other and share their obsession in person. The vast majority are small and meet infrequently, and that's what their members want. In that context, these giant themeless social nights are pretty odd.
When it's all said and done, you can go out any night that your schedule is open and have a drink with some strangers who will be willing to chat. The event itself won't have a lot of personality, and you might encounter some high-school-like behavior, but it can be a lot of fun. You never know who you'll meet, and in an unscripted live encounter, anything can happen.
Author Larry Niven once wrote of a "permanent floating riot club" that developed shortly after the invention of teleportation in a fictional future society. Once any kind of disturbance broke out anywhere in the world, word got out, and immediately thousands of people teleported there to break things and loot the place. It got to the point where there was always a disturbance somewhere, and there was a steady flow of people joining and leaving this flash mob, so it became a full-time riot moving from place to place.
That's kind of what's happening here, but with drinking instead of looting. And the Internet instead of teleportation (which, admit it, is almost as good). Cleveland has a beer group, several wine groups, a spirits group, a happy hour group, a nightlife group, a "social" group, a 20s and 30s group, a 30s and 40s group, a "party connection", etc - this is nowhere near an exhaustive list and I don't mean to single anyone out. My point is that most of them make little or no attempt to differentiate themselves. To further blur any distinctions between them, events are usually cross-posted to multiple groups.
Is this necessarily a bad thing? What should we expect from a meetup group?
The value of meetup.com is that it's a filter: the people who come to meetups are the ones who are open to meeting new people. In contrast, if you just go to a bar here and try to make new friends, you might get suspicious looks and cold shoulders. For the most part, I think that's still true in the Permanent Floating Cocktail Party, though I'm no longer new here so it's hard for me to say from personal experience. Some of my friends, though, have had bad experiences: territorial behavior, gossip, that sort of thing.
And this shows us something interesting: the party has gotten large enough that it's no longer intimate; some people have begun to treat other attendees as though they were random strangers. There's a strange transition that happens when a group gets to a certain size: you sense that you'll never know some of the people in it, so you present a persona, a public face, that establishes a reputation for you among the people that you do know. You start treating people less carefully, because they're just part of the scenery that you're projecting yourself on. That is clearly happening in Cleveland.
My wife fumes with indignation that there's more than one wine group. She takes it as a personal affront that anyone might find hers wanting in some way, and she says that the other groups' themes are feeble. I keep telling her that meetup groups don't really have to have themes, though it's a nice way to bring new people in. What really makes a group a distinct thing is the personality of the organizer, which sets the tone of the group. The organizer determines what kind of behavior is acceptable, what kind of activities will take place, and in general how rigid or freeform the events will be. In the Permanent Floating Cocktail Party, events are very freeform and the organizers make little effort to use the force of their personality to set a tone. That's one thing that my wife does very well, and it sets the group she co-organizes apart from the others.
Most meetup groups, to be clear, don't involve alcohol or parties. They're strongly focused on their themes, like book clubs or exercising or blogging. That's the outsider's view of meetup.com: that it's a way for geeks to find each other and share their obsession in person. The vast majority are small and meet infrequently, and that's what their members want. In that context, these giant themeless social nights are pretty odd.
When it's all said and done, you can go out any night that your schedule is open and have a drink with some strangers who will be willing to chat. The event itself won't have a lot of personality, and you might encounter some high-school-like behavior, but it can be a lot of fun. You never know who you'll meet, and in an unscripted live encounter, anything can happen.
Happy hour at Momocho
These Brief Reviews of Brief Meals posts focus on the after-work food available on the near West side of Cleveland.
Momocho is a "mod mex" restaurant and bar; for the year or two I've been coming there, their happy hour has reliably offered one food special: half price taquitos. They're excellent, filling, a bargain, and there are fifteen or twenty kinds to choose from. You can also get margaritas at a reduced price - most recently, the one on special was the traditional recipe. It was predictably excellent, with plenty of lime and not too much sugar. Some margaritas make me feel like I've chugged a rum and Mountain Dew; not this one.
Momocho is chef Eric Williams' main haunt; he's also a partner at the Happy Dog, and you'll see many of his sauces in both places. (This does cause me a little cognitive dissonance.) The bar is bright, lively bordering on the noisy side, and really popular. I once arrived at 5:10PM on a Thursday and couldn't get a seat. The staff is professional and friendly without being intrusive - they've usually got their hands full. The vibe is of groups of people there for some occasion, maybe a rare after-work gathering or starting the night with food before moving on to clubbier venues. Friendly with a dash of nervous laughter.
I've had several of the taquitos offerings (it's a dish of filling, with sauces and tortillas on the side) and never been disappointed. Last week I had the one with ground lamb shoulder; it's supposed to have mint, but that was probably drowned out by the mole sauce. About halfway through, I realized what it reminded me of: the Irish bar classic shepherd's pie. Without the mashed potatoes, of course. Besides that one, I can recommend the machaca and carnitas; I know I've had others, but I can't remember which.
I'm always surprised at how good Momocho is. The cucumber margaritas are a revelation. It's even cheap. And you can't ask for more than that after work.
Momocho is a "mod mex" restaurant and bar; for the year or two I've been coming there, their happy hour has reliably offered one food special: half price taquitos. They're excellent, filling, a bargain, and there are fifteen or twenty kinds to choose from. You can also get margaritas at a reduced price - most recently, the one on special was the traditional recipe. It was predictably excellent, with plenty of lime and not too much sugar. Some margaritas make me feel like I've chugged a rum and Mountain Dew; not this one.
Momocho is chef Eric Williams' main haunt; he's also a partner at the Happy Dog, and you'll see many of his sauces in both places. (This does cause me a little cognitive dissonance.) The bar is bright, lively bordering on the noisy side, and really popular. I once arrived at 5:10PM on a Thursday and couldn't get a seat. The staff is professional and friendly without being intrusive - they've usually got their hands full. The vibe is of groups of people there for some occasion, maybe a rare after-work gathering or starting the night with food before moving on to clubbier venues. Friendly with a dash of nervous laughter.
I've had several of the taquitos offerings (it's a dish of filling, with sauces and tortillas on the side) and never been disappointed. Last week I had the one with ground lamb shoulder; it's supposed to have mint, but that was probably drowned out by the mole sauce. About halfway through, I realized what it reminded me of: the Irish bar classic shepherd's pie. Without the mashed potatoes, of course. Besides that one, I can recommend the machaca and carnitas; I know I've had others, but I can't remember which.
I'm always surprised at how good Momocho is. The cucumber margaritas are a revelation. It's even cheap. And you can't ask for more than that after work.
The Blackout Party (it's not what you think)
Last night I went to a party to commemorate a disaster. On August 14, 2003, the northeastern United States suffered cascading power failures that left tens of millions of people in the dark for days. To the best of my knowledge, no one at our party blacked out.
The restaurant/bar Melt has been holding a Blackout Party every year on that date, turning off the lights and TVs and serving dark beers in the dark. Well, it wasn't very dark at 5PM with the windows open, but it was cozy anyway, and everybody looks better by candlelight. Good thing, because we waited two hours for a table. The company of good friends and the availability of Stone's Sublimely Self-Righteous Ale (yes, they really named it that), made the wait a pleasant one.
I'm surprised to learn now that the power failures initiated in the Cleveland area; I wasn't living here at the time. Apparently trees had grown too close to several important power lines, and when they were asked to carry extra capacity, they came into contact with the trees and failed.
Where was I? In August of 2003 I was living in the Chicago area, hard at work renovating our first house. We had frequent power outages, some of them long enough that we became concerned for our elderly neighbors, but we weren't affected by the Big One. Perhaps Chicago had earned immunity eight years earlier with a deadly heat wave. To the best of my knowledge, nobody commemorates that dark week.
The restaurant/bar Melt has been holding a Blackout Party every year on that date, turning off the lights and TVs and serving dark beers in the dark. Well, it wasn't very dark at 5PM with the windows open, but it was cozy anyway, and everybody looks better by candlelight. Good thing, because we waited two hours for a table. The company of good friends and the availability of Stone's Sublimely Self-Righteous Ale (yes, they really named it that), made the wait a pleasant one.
I'm surprised to learn now that the power failures initiated in the Cleveland area; I wasn't living here at the time. Apparently trees had grown too close to several important power lines, and when they were asked to carry extra capacity, they came into contact with the trees and failed.
(Here's something sciencey: the extra current the wires were carrying caused them to heat up like resistors, which caused them to expand, in turn causing them to droop, which brought them into contact with the local foliage, which shorted them out to ground. You gotta watch out for thermal expansion.)Having just spent a hard day hacking back bushes in my yard, I can testify to how much effort it takes to keep Ohio's greenery under control. Still, it sounds like First Energy kind of fell down on the job that day.
Where was I? In August of 2003 I was living in the Chicago area, hard at work renovating our first house. We had frequent power outages, some of them long enough that we became concerned for our elderly neighbors, but we weren't affected by the Big One. Perhaps Chicago had earned immunity eight years earlier with a deadly heat wave. To the best of my knowledge, nobody commemorates that dark week.
Happy Hour at ABC Tavern
These Brief Reviews of Brief Meals posts focus on the after-work food available on the near West side of Cleveland.
ABC Tavern (1872 W 25th Street) is an example, like Happy Dog, of a once-ordinary establishment brought into new glory by good management. I'm told that until a few years ago, ABC was a dive bar. But with well-executed food and attentive service, ABC is now a great place to be a regular. At around the same time, the rest of West 25th shook off its scales and started dishing up happening Friday and Saturday nights. The area is poised to become a paradise for beer lovers soon, with several bars specializing in craft beers, the Great Lakes Brewing Company bar, and the Market Garden brewpub opening Monday the 27th.
ABC's happy hour specials are usually written on a chalkboard at the bar. They used to offer several food specials, but now it looks like it's only one per day. I'm not sure why they narrowed it down, it's not like the place is jammed when I go there at 5:30. Isn't the point of happy hour to attract people that either wouldn't be there at that time, or haven't checked the place out yet? Fahrenheit scaled back their happy hour food offerings once they had a good sized crowd coming in.
My first experience at ABC was a birthday party for my friend Brian Asquith a couple years ago. Brian is one of those guys who seems to know everyone, and just about everyone shows up for these parties. The bar was probably at its Fire Department-mandated occupancy limit, but the servers were highly organized. At almost any other bar, you'd have had to shoulder your way to the bar to get a drink, and getting food would have been out of the question. Not so: at ABC, they managed to get out and work their stations, and keep everybody satisfied. We were amazed.
Which brings me to my one minor complaint: like a sled dog without a sled tied to it, service at ABC seems to get twitchy when the place isn't busy. They're not relaxed, which makes it difficult for me to relax. But I can hardly complain; they're knowledgeable and they offer a great after-work meal for cheap.
ABC Tavern (1872 W 25th Street) is an example, like Happy Dog, of a once-ordinary establishment brought into new glory by good management. I'm told that until a few years ago, ABC was a dive bar. But with well-executed food and attentive service, ABC is now a great place to be a regular. At around the same time, the rest of West 25th shook off its scales and started dishing up happening Friday and Saturday nights. The area is poised to become a paradise for beer lovers soon, with several bars specializing in craft beers, the Great Lakes Brewing Company bar, and the Market Garden brewpub opening Monday the 27th.
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| http://www.flickr.com/photos/clevelandurbangirl/5120885520/ |
My first experience at ABC was a birthday party for my friend Brian Asquith a couple years ago. Brian is one of those guys who seems to know everyone, and just about everyone shows up for these parties. The bar was probably at its Fire Department-mandated occupancy limit, but the servers were highly organized. At almost any other bar, you'd have had to shoulder your way to the bar to get a drink, and getting food would have been out of the question. Not so: at ABC, they managed to get out and work their stations, and keep everybody satisfied. We were amazed.
Which brings me to my one minor complaint: like a sled dog without a sled tied to it, service at ABC seems to get twitchy when the place isn't busy. They're not relaxed, which makes it difficult for me to relax. But I can hardly complain; they're knowledgeable and they offer a great after-work meal for cheap.
Happy Hour at Fahrenheit
These Brief Reviews of Brief Meals posts focus on the after-work food available on the near West side of Cleveland.
Fahrenheit (2417 Professor Ave.) isn't the sort of place you'd think to go to for happy hour - it's a well-regarded upscale restaurant, not a local watering hole. But Fahrenheit has made it comfortable and inviting, and it works.
For a while I went on a cheeseburger kick. Wherever there was promise of a well made basic cheeseburger, I tried it. Here's a picture of me having trouble containing my ecstacy at the gigantic $5 double cheeseburger they used to offer:
Yes, that is a ray of light shining down from the heavens onto my dinner. I ate the whole thing, including the light.
Did I mention I'm in a Happy Hour Meetup Group? Yeah. This was one of those meetups. (BTW, how did Cleveland's happy hour meetup group get that URL? Meetup.com really works here.)
Since that picture was taken, the fabulous basic cheeseburger was scaled down and made a bit more interesting. In their current happy hour menu, it's listed as a goat cheese and sweet pickle cheeseburger. I've had it - it's really tasty though smaller than the old one. No more rays of light, but a good dinner, and the goat cheese goes unexpectedly well with a tight young red wine.
Fahrenheit (2417 Professor Ave.) isn't the sort of place you'd think to go to for happy hour - it's a well-regarded upscale restaurant, not a local watering hole. But Fahrenheit has made it comfortable and inviting, and it works.
For a while I went on a cheeseburger kick. Wherever there was promise of a well made basic cheeseburger, I tried it. Here's a picture of me having trouble containing my ecstacy at the gigantic $5 double cheeseburger they used to offer:
Did I mention I'm in a Happy Hour Meetup Group? Yeah. This was one of those meetups. (BTW, how did Cleveland's happy hour meetup group get that URL? Meetup.com really works here.)
Since that picture was taken, the fabulous basic cheeseburger was scaled down and made a bit more interesting. In their current happy hour menu, it's listed as a goat cheese and sweet pickle cheeseburger. I've had it - it's really tasty though smaller than the old one. No more rays of light, but a good dinner, and the goat cheese goes unexpectedly well with a tight young red wine.
Happy Hour at Happy Dog
This is the first post for a new category here: Happy Hours. I'll call these posts Brief Reviews of Brief Meals. They focus on the after-work food available on the near West side of Cleveland.
Happy Dog, at 5801 Detroit Ave
I remember being deeply suspicious of Happy Dog as I looked at it from the bar across the street, Roseangel (or maybe it was La Boca at the time). But on the advice of a friend, I checked it out, and I've been coming back every couple weeks ever since.
The menu is a skinny strip of paper with checkboxes. Hot dog, $5. Or vegetarian dog. Tater tots, $2.50. Or fries. But after "hot dog" there are fifty more checkboxes. House made ketchup; brie; kimchee. Yes, there are fifty things you can put on your hot dog, they're all free, and some of them are pretty strange. Get them all if you want. If you're feeling overwhelmed, they have several "recommended combinations" of four or five toppings that are tried-and-true. Some of the toppings are from Momocho, a nearby modern-mexican eatery.
The tater tots are sublime. They must have used the scientific method to determine the precise optimum time and temperature to deep-fry those little bastards. Now I'm hungry. There are a few dozen dippings and toppings you can get with them too.
Happy Dog is, of course, a bar. Later there's live music. They serve beer - many excellent beers on tap and many more in bottles. Mixed drinks, too, I guess; there are liquor bottles back there, but that's not what I come for. Nope: a typical tab for me is a hot dog, tater tots, and two beers, and it costs in the mid-teens. And that, my friends, is a bargain.
So now you know what you could learn by stopping by for a meal and a beer. But what makes Happy Dog thrive? It's not a full-service restaurant - the closest the kitchen gets to "cooking" is the fried egg you can check a box for; all the other toppings are prepared ahead. As a bar, it's good, but is it really better than other bars? Here's what I think: other bars have happy hour food specials; some of them are cheap, some of them are good, a few are even both. But none of them actually involve you like the Happy Dog does. Ordering food elsewhere is like clicking a choice on a drop-down menu. To order at Happy Dog is to create an original work of edible art out of fifty variables. And with all art comes risk: it might suck. It really might. But it's on you. If it does, you'll shrug and laugh, and you'll come back in a couple weeks and try again.
Happy Dog, at 5801 Detroit Ave
I remember being deeply suspicious of Happy Dog as I looked at it from the bar across the street, Roseangel (or maybe it was La Boca at the time). But on the advice of a friend, I checked it out, and I've been coming back every couple weeks ever since.
The menu is a skinny strip of paper with checkboxes. Hot dog, $5. Or vegetarian dog. Tater tots, $2.50. Or fries. But after "hot dog" there are fifty more checkboxes. House made ketchup; brie; kimchee. Yes, there are fifty things you can put on your hot dog, they're all free, and some of them are pretty strange. Get them all if you want. If you're feeling overwhelmed, they have several "recommended combinations" of four or five toppings that are tried-and-true. Some of the toppings are from Momocho, a nearby modern-mexican eatery.
The tater tots are sublime. They must have used the scientific method to determine the precise optimum time and temperature to deep-fry those little bastards. Now I'm hungry. There are a few dozen dippings and toppings you can get with them too.
Happy Dog is, of course, a bar. Later there's live music. They serve beer - many excellent beers on tap and many more in bottles. Mixed drinks, too, I guess; there are liquor bottles back there, but that's not what I come for. Nope: a typical tab for me is a hot dog, tater tots, and two beers, and it costs in the mid-teens. And that, my friends, is a bargain.
So now you know what you could learn by stopping by for a meal and a beer. But what makes Happy Dog thrive? It's not a full-service restaurant - the closest the kitchen gets to "cooking" is the fried egg you can check a box for; all the other toppings are prepared ahead. As a bar, it's good, but is it really better than other bars? Here's what I think: other bars have happy hour food specials; some of them are cheap, some of them are good, a few are even both. But none of them actually involve you like the Happy Dog does. Ordering food elsewhere is like clicking a choice on a drop-down menu. To order at Happy Dog is to create an original work of edible art out of fifty variables. And with all art comes risk: it might suck. It really might. But it's on you. If it does, you'll shrug and laugh, and you'll come back in a couple weeks and try again.
Earth at the Grog Shop, 6/12/11
On Sunday night I went to the Grog Shop with a friend to see the band Earth (video). They've been around for about 20 years, spawned at least one subgenre, and probably inspired many of my favorite bands like Low and Morphine.
Low, for example, plays loud, distorted rock music at maybe 60 beats per minute. That's half the pace of a typical rock song (Ben Folds Five "Song For The Dumped": 108bpm). Low's album The Great Destroyer is bleak, soul-wrenching, beautiful, and placid. And Earth makes them sound like the Minutemen.
The subgenre Earth inspired was called "drone metal" or "drone doom" or "doom metal", with rich harmonies and song structures from drone music executed as if they were heavy metal. It was pretty strange to watch the drummer slowly lift her arms in the air and bring the sticks down onto her kit as if she was at the bottom of a pool.
Ambient music was once described as "as ignorable as it is listenable"; it is not meant to be focused on, but rather to create atmosphere (see Harold Budd's early work Abandoned Cities). The super-slow pace of Earth's songs achieved the same trick: they developed too slowly for me to focus on the structures, and my mind drifted. For me, then, the experience of the concert was the unexpected memories it conjured up. That's never happened to me at a concert before - I'm glad I went. And it told me something about myself: that my mind is still not quiet enough to slip into meditation and simply be present.
Low, for example, plays loud, distorted rock music at maybe 60 beats per minute. That's half the pace of a typical rock song (Ben Folds Five "Song For The Dumped": 108bpm). Low's album The Great Destroyer is bleak, soul-wrenching, beautiful, and placid. And Earth makes them sound like the Minutemen.
The subgenre Earth inspired was called "drone metal" or "drone doom" or "doom metal", with rich harmonies and song structures from drone music executed as if they were heavy metal. It was pretty strange to watch the drummer slowly lift her arms in the air and bring the sticks down onto her kit as if she was at the bottom of a pool.
Ambient music was once described as "as ignorable as it is listenable"; it is not meant to be focused on, but rather to create atmosphere (see Harold Budd's early work Abandoned Cities). The super-slow pace of Earth's songs achieved the same trick: they developed too slowly for me to focus on the structures, and my mind drifted. For me, then, the experience of the concert was the unexpected memories it conjured up. That's never happened to me at a concert before - I'm glad I went. And it told me something about myself: that my mind is still not quiet enough to slip into meditation and simply be present.
Joint blogger meeting: Lake Erie Moose Society and Ohio Blogging Association
On Monday, June 6, the blogging group I co-organize with Heidi Cool will hold a joint meetup with the Ohio Blogging Association. I went to an OBA meetup in April and had a blast - there are a lot of good people there. Join us if you're blogging or thinking about blogging or if you'd just like to chat!
Erie Moose (we handle RSVPs on Facebook) has been trundling along nicely since our rise from the ashes of the old meetup group in late 2009; we've held meetings every month (with the exception of the very snowy December of 2010) with attendances ranging from a dozen in winter to two or three dozen in the summertime. Many of us are in the Cleveland Social Media Club, so we have several members with strong technical and web-design backgrounds.
I'm less familiar with the OBA, but my first impressions are that it is less technical and more about the content and the fun of writing. They have blogs about charities, logs of big personal projects, etc - all fueled with enthusiasm. It's very fresh and exciting, which is why I plan to keep coming back. Energy!
Our meeting Monday will be at the Barking Spider Tavern and we're leveraging our technical folks to try to solve problems on the spot, so we're encouraging bloggers to bring their laptops. Right now it looks like it'll be a beautiful day--74 and sunny--so stop on by!
Erie Moose (we handle RSVPs on Facebook) has been trundling along nicely since our rise from the ashes of the old meetup group in late 2009; we've held meetings every month (with the exception of the very snowy December of 2010) with attendances ranging from a dozen in winter to two or three dozen in the summertime. Many of us are in the Cleveland Social Media Club, so we have several members with strong technical and web-design backgrounds.
I'm less familiar with the OBA, but my first impressions are that it is less technical and more about the content and the fun of writing. They have blogs about charities, logs of big personal projects, etc - all fueled with enthusiasm. It's very fresh and exciting, which is why I plan to keep coming back. Energy!
Our meeting Monday will be at the Barking Spider Tavern and we're leveraging our technical folks to try to solve problems on the spot, so we're encouraging bloggers to bring their laptops. Right now it looks like it'll be a beautiful day--74 and sunny--so stop on by!
Shaker LaunchHouse Blooms
Last night I attended the grand opening of Shaker LaunchHouse, an incubator of Cleveland-area startup companies. Why would I care about such a thing - am I trying to start one? join one? invest in one? Nothing like that. It has energy, and I might be able to contribute to one of the startups in some way, just because.
A startup company begins with nothing but an idea. The path from that idea to profitability is a gauntlet of problems the entrepreneurs have never seen before. LaunchHouse connects them with members of the public that might be able to help them solve those problems. Sometimes all it takes is a conversation, telling them about an option they didn't know existed. That's the same way everybody solves new problems, from growing vegetables to home improvement: they ask for advice.
One of the ways LaunchHouse facilitates this is by being open to the public, holding events like last night's. They've also set up a formal mentoring program where you can provide "office hours" for the startups to talk to you. You let LaunchHouse know what your areas of expertise are, and the entrepreneurs stop by when you're there.
I have a Ph.D. in materials science, so if any of these companies plans to manufacture a product, I can probably tell them about the materials it's made of. I also do scaleup of new products from lab prototypes to volume production, I spent seven years as a Federal scientist working on lubrication and wear, and I'm gaining experience in intellectual property in my current job. Those are the ways I hope to be able to help. I'm effectively offering my consulting services for free, just for the privilege of being around the energy.
And that's what it's about: energy. It's the reason I co-organize a blogging group: people blog about what they have passion for, so it's always enthusiastic. Another motivation for me is to contribute, to help both a small company and the region. I've never done much work for charity, but this feels right, because it's technical and it's personal and it's done out of love, not a sense of obligation.
Let a thousand flowers bloom!
A startup company begins with nothing but an idea. The path from that idea to profitability is a gauntlet of problems the entrepreneurs have never seen before. LaunchHouse connects them with members of the public that might be able to help them solve those problems. Sometimes all it takes is a conversation, telling them about an option they didn't know existed. That's the same way everybody solves new problems, from growing vegetables to home improvement: they ask for advice.
One of the ways LaunchHouse facilitates this is by being open to the public, holding events like last night's. They've also set up a formal mentoring program where you can provide "office hours" for the startups to talk to you. You let LaunchHouse know what your areas of expertise are, and the entrepreneurs stop by when you're there.
I have a Ph.D. in materials science, so if any of these companies plans to manufacture a product, I can probably tell them about the materials it's made of. I also do scaleup of new products from lab prototypes to volume production, I spent seven years as a Federal scientist working on lubrication and wear, and I'm gaining experience in intellectual property in my current job. Those are the ways I hope to be able to help. I'm effectively offering my consulting services for free, just for the privilege of being around the energy.
And that's what it's about: energy. It's the reason I co-organize a blogging group: people blog about what they have passion for, so it's always enthusiastic. Another motivation for me is to contribute, to help both a small company and the region. I've never done much work for charity, but this feels right, because it's technical and it's personal and it's done out of love, not a sense of obligation.
Let a thousand flowers bloom!
Blogger for Android
Google has released an official Blogger app for Android devices, so I thought I'd give it a spin. (Yes, I have a Droid X now. More about that transition later.)
I took this photo last night, outside the restaurant Fahrenheit in Tremont. A decorative ice wall in Cleveland seems a bit coals-to-Newcastle, but it was pretty funny to see it there.
[EDIT] I'm now editing this post from the Web on my desktop. There are a couple weak points to the app. First, you can't browse all your posts in the list view, only the "mobile posts". Second, any picture(s) you add appear at the bottom of the post; you can't put a picture in the middle - unless of course you go back in and edit it from the desktop later. Third, it allows you to include labels ("local" and "socialmedia" on this post), but it doesn't offer to autocomplete with your existing labels - that's a big miss. Fourth, when you save a draft in the app, it doesn't appear as a draft in your list of posts on the PC browser. Until you publish it. Which is why I'm editing this post now. Hmm, also, it only seems to upload small versions of the photos. My camera is eight megapixels, and the photo on my blog is nowhere near that size. And, uh, I didn't see any way to include a link in the app, I had to come back and add that later too. Hmf.
I took this photo last night, outside the restaurant Fahrenheit in Tremont. A decorative ice wall in Cleveland seems a bit coals-to-Newcastle, but it was pretty funny to see it there.
[EDIT] I'm now editing this post from the Web on my desktop. There are a couple weak points to the app. First, you can't browse all your posts in the list view, only the "mobile posts". Second, any picture(s) you add appear at the bottom of the post; you can't put a picture in the middle - unless of course you go back in and edit it from the desktop later. Third, it allows you to include labels ("local" and "socialmedia" on this post), but it doesn't offer to autocomplete with your existing labels - that's a big miss. Fourth, when you save a draft in the app, it doesn't appear as a draft in your list of posts on the PC browser. Until you publish it. Which is why I'm editing this post now. Hmm, also, it only seems to upload small versions of the photos. My camera is eight megapixels, and the photo on my blog is nowhere near that size. And, uh, I didn't see any way to include a link in the app, I had to come back and add that later too. Hmf.
Things you can't get in Ohio
By now you may have concluded that I have a thing about strange liquors. I see something intriguing in a bottle, and I want to find out what it tastes like. It turns out that Ohio isn't a very good place for this hobby. Here's the list of liquors that the state of Ohio permits to be sold here. (*) The list is exclusive. If it ain't on the list, it ain't in stores.
There are some notable omissions. Boulard Grand Solage Calvados, a wonderful French apple brandy, fell off the list this past year - after I fell in love with it. Maison Surrenne Ancienne Distillerie cognac is really the only cognac I think is worth the money; I've kept it around the house for most of the last ten years, but go ahead and control-F the Ohio list, it's not there. Or let's say you want to try the drink "Death in the Gulf Stream" which is attributed to Hemingway. You'll need Lucas Bols Oude Genever. Have someone buy it for you elsewhere.
I am lucky enough to have friends and relatives living in more permissive places; the first two of those three liquors were given (back) to me for Christmas. The third seems to be laughably obscure, but I don't know what I'm missing, because I've never had it. It annoys me that I don't have access to these interesting things, but what I really wonder is why? Has the state of Ohio decided that they're toxic? Have the importers or distillers not paid some, uh, "licensing fee" for the right to sell to Ohio citizens?
Wine distribution laws are equally wrongheaded, but at least the reason is clear: distributers want to protect their staggeringly profitable middleman status, so they lobby state governments to outlaw direct shipments from wineries to consumers. The justifications ("protecting children", etc) are predictably ridiculous, and the real reason is depressingly predictable. Zero value is added. But this case doesn't help me understand the limited availability of liquors. Does anyone know?
(*) As of January 2011. For a current list, just google "state of Ohio liquor list". And yeah, everything costs 10% more in Cleveland.
There are some notable omissions. Boulard Grand Solage Calvados, a wonderful French apple brandy, fell off the list this past year - after I fell in love with it. Maison Surrenne Ancienne Distillerie cognac is really the only cognac I think is worth the money; I've kept it around the house for most of the last ten years, but go ahead and control-F the Ohio list, it's not there. Or let's say you want to try the drink "Death in the Gulf Stream" which is attributed to Hemingway. You'll need Lucas Bols Oude Genever. Have someone buy it for you elsewhere.
I am lucky enough to have friends and relatives living in more permissive places; the first two of those three liquors were given (back) to me for Christmas. The third seems to be laughably obscure, but I don't know what I'm missing, because I've never had it. It annoys me that I don't have access to these interesting things, but what I really wonder is why? Has the state of Ohio decided that they're toxic? Have the importers or distillers not paid some, uh, "licensing fee" for the right to sell to Ohio citizens?
Wine distribution laws are equally wrongheaded, but at least the reason is clear: distributers want to protect their staggeringly profitable middleman status, so they lobby state governments to outlaw direct shipments from wineries to consumers. The justifications ("protecting children", etc) are predictably ridiculous, and the real reason is depressingly predictable. Zero value is added. But this case doesn't help me understand the limited availability of liquors. Does anyone know?
(*) As of January 2011. For a current list, just google "state of Ohio liquor list". And yeah, everything costs 10% more in Cleveland.
Homogeneity breeds disrespect
Somebody on Facebook has been spouting anti-University of Michigan jokes. This morning I told him to shut the f*** up about Ann Arbor. I do take it personally, but there's a broader point too.
Jokes about a rival school are a lot like ethnic jokes, or jokes about religious groups or blondes or whatever. A group gets targeted and everbody else gets a few laughs at their expense. If they complain, they're told to lighten up, it's just for fun, don't overreact. All of which tells the victim that their feelings don't matter.
How does this happen? In today's example, it's easy to imagine that everyone in Cleveland is an Ohio State fan. When you believe that, it feels permissible to publicly trash-talk Ohio State's rivals. The homogeneity allows you to split the world into "us" and "them". But when you separate a group out as Others, you create a dangerous opportunity to treat them differently. It's just humor at first, but it can become disrespect, and then maltreatment. (Let's be honest, it's disrespectful to make jokes about them in the first place, and maltreatment to dismiss their feelings about it.) At its core, it's a failure, a refusal, to be understanding of differences.
This is one of the reasons I avoid ideological homogeneity too. I'm politically liberal, and many of my friends seem to be also, but when you get a bunch of liberals together in a room and they start using words like "repuglicans", I get uncomfortable.
I defend underrepresented points of view. It's one of my most deeply rooted reflexes. I do it in science because I want to know the truth, the real truth, and you can't get that by shrugging your shoulders and assuming that the information in front of you is all you need to know. You have to work hard to imagine other ways of seeing the situation. So I try to surround myself with a variety of points of view, and when someone separates a group into Others, I step in to correct that. Well, especially when the Other is me.
Jokes about a rival school are a lot like ethnic jokes, or jokes about religious groups or blondes or whatever. A group gets targeted and everbody else gets a few laughs at their expense. If they complain, they're told to lighten up, it's just for fun, don't overreact. All of which tells the victim that their feelings don't matter.
How does this happen? In today's example, it's easy to imagine that everyone in Cleveland is an Ohio State fan. When you believe that, it feels permissible to publicly trash-talk Ohio State's rivals. The homogeneity allows you to split the world into "us" and "them". But when you separate a group out as Others, you create a dangerous opportunity to treat them differently. It's just humor at first, but it can become disrespect, and then maltreatment. (Let's be honest, it's disrespectful to make jokes about them in the first place, and maltreatment to dismiss their feelings about it.) At its core, it's a failure, a refusal, to be understanding of differences.
This is one of the reasons I avoid ideological homogeneity too. I'm politically liberal, and many of my friends seem to be also, but when you get a bunch of liberals together in a room and they start using words like "repuglicans", I get uncomfortable.
I defend underrepresented points of view. It's one of my most deeply rooted reflexes. I do it in science because I want to know the truth, the real truth, and you can't get that by shrugging your shoulders and assuming that the information in front of you is all you need to know. You have to work hard to imagine other ways of seeing the situation. So I try to surround myself with a variety of points of view, and when someone separates a group into Others, I step in to correct that. Well, especially when the Other is me.
Hipsterism
The idea here is to provide a working definition of my nemesis, the hipster. But first some fun: the other day, Dave Polak somehow got me to dress up as an ironist, ironically. It's self-referential enough to make my head spin.
Dave had been accused on Twitter of being a hipster, which he isn't, but he went with it and held a Hipster Funeral Party at the Happy Dog in Ohio City. Apparently at least one person was convinced he was dead. The party was a good time. Dave set up Hipster Bingo cards so everyone was scanning the bar crowd for facial hair, trucker hats, and classic videogame T-shirts. Happy Dog is one of my after-work stops where I'll get food before moving on to an evening event, and I've never been disappointed there. I ate and drank there from 5:30 to 10:30, listened to two live bands, and somehow my bill was still under $40.
Hipsterism extends far beyond music. The syndrome's main components are (1) professing to have tastes too elevated to enjoy the things most people like; and (2) open disrespect for anyone who lacks (1). This manifests itself as an irony-drenched existence. The webcomic Cat And Girl once made the point that hipster fashion uses the tropes of 1970s males - trucker hats, PBR beer, ringneck tees, etc. Originally, all this was authentic, but when recycled by hipsters, it becomes jeeringly ironic. They'll make fun of any authenticity.
Another manifestation is that hipsters overwhelmingly define themselves negatively. When stating an opinion, it's usually "I dislike X" rather than "I like Y". At its root, this is a fear of standing in favor of something, of having to defend something. It's weakness. This is why I've said that when Cleveland natives trash-talk their own town and expect nothing good to come of it, it's toxic hipster bullshit.
Being a hipster means you're never disappointed, because your expectations are rock bottom. But you're joyless, and a buzzkill to everyone around you.
These, then, are people to avoid. Instead, lead by example. Be authentic, ingenuous, sincere. Seek joy and encourage others to do the same. Never mind the bollocks!
Dave had been accused on Twitter of being a hipster, which he isn't, but he went with it and held a Hipster Funeral Party at the Happy Dog in Ohio City. Apparently at least one person was convinced he was dead. The party was a good time. Dave set up Hipster Bingo cards so everyone was scanning the bar crowd for facial hair, trucker hats, and classic videogame T-shirts. Happy Dog is one of my after-work stops where I'll get food before moving on to an evening event, and I've never been disappointed there. I ate and drank there from 5:30 to 10:30, listened to two live bands, and somehow my bill was still under $40.
Why would Dave deny being a hipster, and why would we go to a bar to make fun of them? Because hipsters make people miserable. They're one of my touchstones for toxic habits. I realize that not everybody gets the scope of the label, though, so here I'll try to explain what I mean.The hipster archetype is Jack Black's character in High Fidelity. He played a record store clerk who openly mocked his customers. Staggeringly judgemental, he would happily tell someone that their favorite band sucks--and exactly why and how they suck--not caring that it hurts them and makes them hate him. Music hipsters claim to be music fans but the truth is that they only like a few albums by a few artists and hate everything else. Nothing is ever good enough for them.
Hipsterism extends far beyond music. The syndrome's main components are (1) professing to have tastes too elevated to enjoy the things most people like; and (2) open disrespect for anyone who lacks (1). This manifests itself as an irony-drenched existence. The webcomic Cat And Girl once made the point that hipster fashion uses the tropes of 1970s males - trucker hats, PBR beer, ringneck tees, etc. Originally, all this was authentic, but when recycled by hipsters, it becomes jeeringly ironic. They'll make fun of any authenticity.
Another manifestation is that hipsters overwhelmingly define themselves negatively. When stating an opinion, it's usually "I dislike X" rather than "I like Y". At its root, this is a fear of standing in favor of something, of having to defend something. It's weakness. This is why I've said that when Cleveland natives trash-talk their own town and expect nothing good to come of it, it's toxic hipster bullshit.
Being a hipster means you're never disappointed, because your expectations are rock bottom. But you're joyless, and a buzzkill to everyone around you.
These, then, are people to avoid. Instead, lead by example. Be authentic, ingenuous, sincere. Seek joy and encourage others to do the same. Never mind the bollocks!
When networking isn't
A person's "network" is a collection of relationships that they maintain. Why, then, is it permissible to say you're "networking" when you have no intention of renewing the contacts you make?
I co-organize a blogging group and my wife co-organizes a wine tasting group. I meet a lot of new people every month. I *like* to meet new people. It's OK if I learn someone's name and occupation and then never see them again; my groups aren't for everyone. But if you come to an event and hand out your business card to everyone there, then a couple months later when nobody's heard from you I'm going to start thinking you came for the wrong reasons. That you came to promote yourself and not to take part.
Now don't get me wrong - it's OK to accidentally come to an event for the wrong reasons, but once there, you should recognize your mistake and adjust your approach. You don't create a positive personal brand when you drop business cards like propaganda pamphlets out of the back of a plane over enemy territory.
This is related to how permission marketing can be overused. But whereas that was about people who abuse my attention with a one-way firehose of marketing, this is about people who come to meetings--all kinds of meetings--with no intention of doing anything but broadcasting a single message. I'm convinced that some of these people scour the Internet for every public gathering where they might meet a couple dozen people in a free evening. People that may turn into leads, and if they don't, they don't matter. They are serial self-promoters.
Networking shouldn't be that way. When I check out a new group, I'm trying to see if there's a place for it in my life. Sometimes there is and sometimes there isn't. If I keep coming back, I don't even bother to call it networking, I just end up getting to know people. And that ... my friends ... is a network.
I co-organize a blogging group and my wife co-organizes a wine tasting group. I meet a lot of new people every month. I *like* to meet new people. It's OK if I learn someone's name and occupation and then never see them again; my groups aren't for everyone. But if you come to an event and hand out your business card to everyone there, then a couple months later when nobody's heard from you I'm going to start thinking you came for the wrong reasons. That you came to promote yourself and not to take part.
Now don't get me wrong - it's OK to accidentally come to an event for the wrong reasons, but once there, you should recognize your mistake and adjust your approach. You don't create a positive personal brand when you drop business cards like propaganda pamphlets out of the back of a plane over enemy territory.
This is related to how permission marketing can be overused. But whereas that was about people who abuse my attention with a one-way firehose of marketing, this is about people who come to meetings--all kinds of meetings--with no intention of doing anything but broadcasting a single message. I'm convinced that some of these people scour the Internet for every public gathering where they might meet a couple dozen people in a free evening. People that may turn into leads, and if they don't, they don't matter. They are serial self-promoters.
Networking shouldn't be that way. When I check out a new group, I'm trying to see if there's a place for it in my life. Sometimes there is and sometimes there isn't. If I keep coming back, I don't even bother to call it networking, I just end up getting to know people. And that ... my friends ... is a network.
Blogging News
I learn some interesting stuff by reading the Blogger Buzz and Google Docs blogs. Here are three things that came down the pike recently.
August 31st will be the 11th birthday of the Blogger service, and they're throwing a worldwide celebration in conjunction with meetup.com. This works for me on so many levels. I use Blogger and I love the way it makes self-publishing easy for people with passion. I use Meetup and advocate for it every chance I get, because it helped me find friends after moving to a new town. And I co-organize a group of bloggers that meets every month and was on Meetup for seven years. Seven years is a long time for people to have been getting together to talk about the Internet, and eleven years is a REALLY long time for an Internet service to have been around. They're calling this celebration the Blogger Fiesta, and I'm organizing the Cleveland party. We haven't settled on a location yet, but I have some places in mind. I'm looking forward to bringing my Erie Moose friends together with other Blogger users all over town!
Blogger made a huge step forward this week with an improved comment handling system. As I noted over at the Erie Moose site, comment spam was hard to deal with under the old system. Be patient if you don't yet see the new "Comments" tab on your Blogger dashboard; they're switching users over one batch at a time.
Lastly, I just heard about the Google Moderator service completely by accident on the Google Docs blog. Google Moderator is a sort of polling/voting/questioning system for audience participation. I decided to try using it to collect feedback on places for our blogger group to meet. Here's the resulting poll. I've put up five suggestions for locations; you can vote them up or down, or suggest your own. This service feels a little bit beta right now (why can't I get an RSS feed of votes and suggestions?) but it's easy and it seems to work. Thanks Google!
August 31st will be the 11th birthday of the Blogger service, and they're throwing a worldwide celebration in conjunction with meetup.com. This works for me on so many levels. I use Blogger and I love the way it makes self-publishing easy for people with passion. I use Meetup and advocate for it every chance I get, because it helped me find friends after moving to a new town. And I co-organize a group of bloggers that meets every month and was on Meetup for seven years. Seven years is a long time for people to have been getting together to talk about the Internet, and eleven years is a REALLY long time for an Internet service to have been around. They're calling this celebration the Blogger Fiesta, and I'm organizing the Cleveland party. We haven't settled on a location yet, but I have some places in mind. I'm looking forward to bringing my Erie Moose friends together with other Blogger users all over town!
Blogger made a huge step forward this week with an improved comment handling system. As I noted over at the Erie Moose site, comment spam was hard to deal with under the old system. Be patient if you don't yet see the new "Comments" tab on your Blogger dashboard; they're switching users over one batch at a time.
Lastly, I just heard about the Google Moderator service completely by accident on the Google Docs blog. Google Moderator is a sort of polling/voting/questioning system for audience participation. I decided to try using it to collect feedback on places for our blogger group to meet. Here's the resulting poll. I've put up five suggestions for locations; you can vote them up or down, or suggest your own. This service feels a little bit beta right now (why can't I get an RSS feed of votes and suggestions?) but it's easy and it seems to work. Thanks Google!
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