Lucid Nectar

Sun light, star bright, alternate day and night.
Love, hate, changing by fate.
Dancing, glancing, enhancing.
Take risk, sweet kiss, never ending bliss. 

What is "Marketing"?

You see a gorgeous man at a party. You go up to him and say, “I’m fantastic in bed.” That’s Direct Marketing.

You’re at a party with a bunch of friends and see a gorgeous man. One of your friends goes up to him, pointing at you and says, “She’s fantastic in bed.” That’s Advertising.

You see a gorgeous man at a party. You go up to him and get his telephone number. The next day, you call and say,  “Hi, I’m fantastic in bed.” That’s Telemarketing.

You’re at a party and see a gorgeous man. You put on your lipstick, fix your hair, straighten your bra. You walk up to him and offer a beer. You start an excellent conversation, make him laugh, and then say, “By the way, I’m fantastic in bed.” That’s Public Relations.

You’re at a party and see a gorgeous man. He walks up to you and says, “I hear you’re fantastic in bed.” That’s Brand-Recognition. 

I’m used to be that person who wasn't a huge fan of long walks – not  for any particular reason other than I didn't walk far enough to enjoy it. I was well aware of the merits and benefits of walking and general locomotion, but lately, I've been taking walks with my soul, just to think out loud and clear my thoughts. These days I have so much on my mind, so many things I need to express, and so few avenues to accomplish this. It’s very gratifying to have to whole sky and earth to vent to, to let the heat of the summer eviscerate your words and general dysphonia.  

There is something about walking that lends some clarity, something that animates the senses. You could set out walking to construct some theory to figure out the meaning of this life, but to have the sun and air and gentle green of the earth reassure you, there is no reason but to be. You set out for some answers to find that perhaps you didn't have the questions right. You begin to think that perhaps some things are not meant to be known and understood but just to be embraced, or at the very least, accepted. When you go walking, wandering aimlessly with no destination, you’re taken from the shallow enclave of your stronghold, where self-righteousness and convictions are your walls to find them stripped or battered by the maelstrom of this world.

To find my answers, I may have to walk to the end of this Earth. And then, I’m not so sure I’ll have more answers than questions.

Vomit may never taste the same again.

The world is running out of Tequila. I love Tequila, and I'm not going to take all the blame.

The Mexican cactus booze has been in trouble for the last couple of years, and high demand and diseased crops have seriously threatened its supply in the past. But now, we might actually be looking at a possible eradication of tequila as a worldwide commodity.

Half of a decade ago, the Bush administration introduced new regulations to begin substituting gasoline with bio-fuels made from corn-based ethanol, the idea being to ease America's dependency on foreign oil. One side effect was that ethanol prices skyrocketed to the point that farmers in Mexico started abandoning their old crops in favor of corn to ship off to the United States.

Unfortunately, this included destroying crops of agave cactus (from which tequila is made) by setting them on fire, because that's how they roll in Mexico.

But whatever -- we can just plant more of that cacti, right? About that, you see, the blue agave cactus is what you would call the Chinese panda of the plant world, in that it's insanely particular about how it reproduces. It's prone to diseases and will grow only in a very specific climate: on very high altitudes and preferably in red volcanic soil. This pretty much confines it to the Mexican state of Jalisco and surrounding areas, the only places in the entire world where Mexican law allows for the production of "tequila", a name to which Mexico holds exclusive rights.

In 2012, Mexican farmers planted 30 percent less agave than in the previous years, and the remaining cacti were given the red-headed stepchild treatment: mistreated and generally ignored, causing global tequila production to drop significantly. Basically, when one region of Mexico goes sober, the entire world gets the tequila shakes.

Here's the best part: Tequila is made by removing the fructose at the core of the plant in its 12th year. So basically, if they're replanted tomorrow, you might have enough for one very basic crop in 2025, assuming the plants aren't harmed by diseases, weird weather patterns, or anything else in the next dozen or so years. In short, you might want to start developing a taste for wine coolers.

In Time...

Everybody's heart has a certain number of beats in it. I think we all get that. The watches on our wrists an the clocks on our phones are there to remind us even when we try to forget. But what surprises me is how people don't get that every heart has a certain amount that it's going to take to fill it up.

Time makes sense to us. We sit around with the understanding that every second ticks away and doesn't come back . But all that while so many of us don't want to admit that there is this vast chamber in our heart that's never been full. They never take the hint. That emptiness might not mean there's something wrong. That emptiness just means there's something more.

There's more. I'll keep looking for it. You'll keep logging on. I'll send a little beacon out past where I know. Past where I know, but off to some place i'm sure is there. Probably the same place these words go every time I click that little, yellow publish button. But there are only so many ticks. And I'm wiling to take that chance. 

I'll have an appetite!

Don't be afraid to let something take you. Stand up. Admit you're not special, nor perfect. Realize when you've lost something great and don't ever forget when you won something because you fought for it. You can come here day after day. You can watch TV shows every day of the week, but the only thing it's going to do is to numb you.

If you spend enough days sitting there, letting all the stimulation run you and convince yourself that it's alright not to feel, that it's fine not to get worked up and there's no reason to stress, you'll probably live longer. You can sit there in your rocking chair when you're 87, thinking of all the places you still want to go and reading my obituary. Our obituaries. Of all those people who died 10 years before you because they often stressed out and got worked up. They stared others down ferociously; they let their hormones get the best of them while drinking Pepto-Bismol by the bottle to handle those stomach stress pains. They let themselves live on the edge, even though they were peeing their pants.

There's a fire growing in my belly. A real fire. The kind that makes you want to give up everything you have for something you love, for something you believe in.

Ferocious. I want to be ferocious. I want to narrow my eyes into slits, grit my teeth, and tighten my stomach while moving like a tiger. When people see me, I want them to go: "Whoa, where did that come from?" - "From my belly", I'll tell them.

That's where everything you want coming from. It's the center of desire. You think it's a coincidence that the place you feel hunger is the same place you feel your fucking fear? Not a coincidence at all.

The next time someone tells you to just be happy with what you've got, smack them across their ordinary face. Love your life. Fill it up. Never stop filling it up. Fill it up with everything that's significant and a couple things that aren't, just for some contrast. Let stuff go (make sure it's important stuff). Let it hurt when it's gone. Let it cut a nasty hole in your life. Then patch it up in a sloppy way and keep on going. Don't ever be full. Tomorrow, I'm going to wake up and my stomach isn't going to grow; it's going to roar. I will feel something that I haven't felt in a long time. I'm going to feel empty, but empty with an appetite. And God be with anyone who gets between me and my meal.

I could not know what lies behind the pretense but truth wrapped in lies and deception.

I falter - a misstep. Only the piercing cold light of the stars above to witness. Trying my best to place one foot reassuringly in front of the other while on stilts.

I surrender, shiver, despite the heat from a memory ago. The nights are unforgiving. Holding onto a resolve that threatens to fracture with each pin-point needle inflection. What is there to do but nurse the invisible, minuscule wounds? I'll keep them to myself until Apollo's glorious chariot sears the heaven. Then, not one will know whether it is tears or dew that the trail and lonely savor on the tip of my tongue.

Parties and Nightlife

I'm dancing around, feeling really good, lip synching along when I stop short. I'm feeling pumped, the adrenaline is running through my veins and for a moment, I tricked myself into believing I was Karen O. I feel really, really good. But what is this peculiar feeling? I can't quite put my fingers on it. Shifting my weight, bobbing back and forth, I am trying to pinpoint the irregularity of my condition. There is a warmth and tingling sensation that I'm familiar with. As brilliant as I think this is, I don't know why it occurs to me, but I find myself looking down.

Now this feeling, you can't see it. Well, maybe if you were naked. But I assume that when most women get this feeling, while naked, it is usually when the lights are out. Women are so silly. "Um, could you maybe turn off all the lights... in the city?" I look down, as if my eyes would see this fantastic feeling and OH, my eyes rest on my crotch. Yes, I did not even touch myself, I swear. I totally can. I am alone, the music made for rowdy ben romping, but I didn't. No. It dawns on me that this warmth and tingling is emanating from my nether regions. It's like there's a party going on in my pants that I wasn't invited to! Yes, how awesome is that? Wouldn't it be great if I could walk around in a constant state of arousal. Actually, I kind of do, most of the time when my mind is clear and happy. I could purchase a really nice, cashmere pencil skirt accompanied with an orgasmic whammy. I could even have a little episode right there at the counter while paying for my skirt. The cashier warily inquires if I am OK. OK? I'm more than exhilarated! "This is 100% cashmere, right?"... Thank you, ma'am, I'm feeling like I hit the jackpot, and I don't even have to walk around with a pesky erection. I imagine those can get in the way of most activities...

You know what this feeling kind of reminded me of? KY Warming Gel. That stuff kind of stings. Does anyone get that reaction? I hate KY lubricants. Try Astroglide, Aqua, Liquid Silk, or even better, Sliquid H2O which is formulated to last longer than most Hollywood marriages. Let us support the impotent sex industry with our hard-earned dollars, personally tested for your pleasure. Speaking of pleasure, ladies and gents, there's a party that I need to crash so I wish you all a good day and a very good night.

My Darkness Day in the Beer Adventures

People waiting in line on Darkness Day when it was 28 degrees out. Fun!

One thing I learned since starting craft beers is that everyone has different tastes when it comes to beer.  When it comes to beer, one might say that “taste is on the tongue of the taster” as much as “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. Am I a beer expert? No, absolutely not. Am I a beginner? You could consider me with that label. Although, I’d like to think I “passed” that beginner stage. When I say “beginner”, I don’t mean the person who has never tried a beer before in his/her lifetime, but rather the person who has had the common beers like Bud, Coors, Corona, etc… and seemingly stucks in an orbit around the giant stacks of Landshark Lager or Bud Light Lime.

Back then, I often reached out for help by asking a stock guy about buying a different beer, or just something new to try. Most of the time, the stock guy recommended a beer like ‘Imperial Suckerpunch’, ’2,000 Minute IPA’, or ‘HopOutOfyourfuckinmind Ale’.  Chances were, I would take one sip of this extreme beer recommended by the beer expert and dump it down the sink. Venturing out my dilemma, a friend introduced me with a Belgian style ale from Blue Moon. Say what you will about it being made by Coors, but it was a good gateway beer for beginners like me. This unfiltered, cloudy “settlement-filled on the bottom of the glass” wheat beer still remains my favorite, especially on a hot summer’s day. 

Then I went on several brewery tours for beer tasting in Minnesota and Wisconsin, such as Schell’s and Leinenkugel, my taste has stumbled to a darker level, like Young’s Double Chocolate Stout. This beer is Dark, like “a flashlight behind my glass still did not yield this beer’s true color” dark, or like “a black hole where light can’t even escape” dark. When pouring just right, the foamy head leaves a frothy layer with a nice brownish color. Creamy, nutty, sweet, with the slightly bitter aftertaste yet smooth finish, the unique chocolate aroma gives the best malty flavor a stout can ever offer, in my opinion anyway. So there you go, I’m no expert, and I don’t know much about beers, but I KNOW my favorites.

This year, to bring my beer spirit to the next level, I attended Surly’s Darkness Day by camping out for 16+ hours prior to the event to make sure that I’d come home with 6 bottles of Darkness 2012 in my hands. Why? Because they had this thing that’s called “6-bottle limitation” per person with 21 years of age, which was a load of crap if you’d ask me.

More information can be found on Surly’s Blog  or Surly’s Detail. 

But, to save you some time and energy from clicking away, long story short: We showed up with 5 more people to get in line around 5pm on the Eve of Darkness Day. People were trying to find a spot for their tents. At this point, it was 35 degrees with 10mph wind-chill demon. No big deal, we’re from the Midwest, bundling-up and drinking booze to stay warm are what we’re good at, beside making fun of Wisconsin. Most tents were built at this point. We ordered 4 shitty Broadway pizzas that cost us $90 total. Soggy, semi-cold pizzas never tasted so good, yet so disgusting. Then we walked around with beer in hand and stared at people’s “ten-times-better” food on their pathetic little grill..” Keep in mind, it was 29* now and everybody was having a great time. I was bundled up in my 20* Northface sleeping bag, as warm as ever while sipping on random samples that were given by random beer enthusiasts. Witnessing hundreds of people and tents being out here on the street where all hell freezes over to anticipate for the release of Darkness, one of the top 25 best craft beer in the world, I realized these people were the extremists. It was  the Las Vegas strip of beer-porn for them. Drinking, tasting, trading, judging… “What happens at Darkness Days stays at Darkness Days”. While it is $18 per bottle here straight from the brewery, Darkness costs twice of its value when it’s a year (or more) older. People here were very serious of what they have and what they wanted to share. By “sharing”, they wanted you to understand and acknowledge that it was the most special beer you’d ever had in your life. Maybe I should become one of those hoarding snobs who go around collecting rare “one-of-a-kind” craft beers, then store them in their fancy closet and hope to sell them to some stupid beer collectors with higher prices several years later. After all, why bother sharing and celebrating with your love ones when you can make $200 per bottle in profit. Right?

Surly’s Imperial Stout impressed me with its appearance by the deep, dark and viciously brown with quickly-disappearing head that left an excellent lacing. A dark roasted, chocolatety, malty aroma mixed with alcohol soaked nuts, raisins, and figs really brought out the uniqueness of the beer. Great amount of chocolate flavor in the foretaste with subdued hints of caramel, and roasted coffee for the aftertaste. A touch of dry fruit that lead to a sweeter flavor and a decent amount of hop bitterness lingered in the end. Darkness had a smooth and creamy finish (that’s what she said), yet a nicely balanced of carbonation for the incredible mouth feel.

Later on, I got to try the admirable 2010 and 2011 Abyss. Another dark Imperial Stout that I immediately fell in love on the first taste. Here’s my quick description for this baby: dark tan head that dissipated very slowly to compliment its sweet vanilla, coffee aroma. Roasted malt, dark chocolate flavor with a hint of molasses gave me the incredibly smooth, creamy mouth feel. A nice, sweet coffee after taste for a finish, it was absolutely fucking phenomenal. For an 11% ABV beer, the alcohol is very well hidden. I loved every drop of it. That’s all I have to say about the Abyss.

 

Looks like my 2012 Surly Darkness will have to wait for another 2 years before they get to be served in my mugs. Until then, many more beer adventures will be had, and they will be documented appropriately while I enjoy every moment of it. 

A Mask Worthy of Me.

I have a secret to reveal to you.

I often give people the benefit of the doubt. Initially. My first impulse is to extend my hand in friendship. The kind of friendship that I'd open my heart and soul to invite you into my life. Polite, I analyze others first and act accordingly after many possible interactions. Everything is subject to scrutiny. 

I do not court conflicts and persons of ill will. I loathe those whom carouse in others' misery. I value and expect honesty. Hearts and sentiments are much easier to sway than minds and convictions. Even the sweetest and most earnest of hearts harbor alternative motives. Enticing babes with sweetness and smiles is still a crime against authenticity.

Critical, sarcastic, cynical, pessimistic? No, I am merely a cynical critic searching for those that champion truth and legitimacy. We all have our masks but some are just more ostentatious than others. You think you don't hide any false pretense from the world with your plain, unpainted face. Well, actions suggest otherwise and contradict what you believe your "non-existing mask" represents and the consequences are obvious to the actors on the stage, all the way to the balcony audience. The poor dears do not even realize their breach of trust and trespass of integrity, they desperately want and act perilously without considering the repercussions. And I could have warned you all from the beginning. But I reserve my opinion until the final, fatal, self-destructive blow. I wear my mask, but I have not made a joke of myself.

May your masks be honest caricatures of your soul. I promise I will not withhold my judgements.