My mom gets mad I rarely call her. The last girl I dated was always upset that I solely communicated with her via text. Shit, the last few years of women have been perpetually perturbed that they only get electronic communiques from me. And I kinda always felt bad about that. But last night, while drunk on some Monk’s Blood, I started thinking–what the fuck was I apologizing for?!
You’re considered a rube or a pathetic sentimentalist when it comes to hanging on to the technologies of a bygone era, except when it comes to how you deal with women. If you don’t own a cell phone or claim ignorance with how to use a computer nowadays, you’re rightfully mocked. If you listen to vinyl records or read the dirty newsprint newspaper every morning you’re correctly labeled an eccentric. But if you only text or e-mail the women in your life you’re considered a bad son and an a-hole of a boyfriend (by them). I’m here to say, though, that that shouldn’t be the case.
I’m sure women were up in arms in the 1850s when men started sending them telegraphs instead of handwritten letters (ARE WE STILL ON FOR NEW MICHAEL BAY MOVIE STOP MEET YOU AT DOWNTOWN CINEPLEX AT EIGHT STOP WE CAN GET ICE CREAM AT COLD STONE AFTERWARD STOP). And I’m sure they were likewise angry when, all of the sudden in the 1960s, they were being called on the phone and no longer getting handwritten letters or telegraphs. In the 1980s women probably got mad when men left messages on their answering machines instead of calling back until they got a hold of them. And now as we close in on 2010, women are mad that I’m e-mailing and texting them instead of calling them?! Look, let me break it to you ladies, my voice is nice enough but it’s not exactly the kind of sexily sonorous George Clooney timbre that’s gonna instantly moisten your knickers. You don’t need to actually hear me as I send more than enough texts and e-mails and am always reachable.
If you’re mad I don’t call you enough then you should be mad I don’t send you enough telegraphs and don’t hand-write you enough letters and don’t graffiti enough highway overpasses for you and don’t slap paint on enough cave walls for you. But you’re not, because those technologies have passed into history and soon phone calls will too. Oh shit! Am I going to have to video chat with these women in my life in the very near future?! OK, OK, OK, a few phone calls every now and then will be just fine! Just please don’t make me video chat!!!!!
I’d liked the one or two 21st Amendment brews I’d had in my life–never enough to formally review them, nor enough to purchase for at-home consumption–but I got a very respectable tip that Monk’s Blood was a huge winner. Indeed it was, one of the more unique beers I’ve had this winter. Self-labeled as a Belgian dark ale brewed with cinnamon, vanilla, oak chips, and dried figs, this is more like the most boozy winter warmer you’ve ever tasted. Really unique and enjoyable, crazy complex, I’m going to be enjoying these ass-kicking but drinkable (and affordable!) cans for the next month at least. You should too.