Back to the Brewpot

Well it's about that time in my life again to rekindle an old passion and take it to the next level. A friend of mine has offered to sell me his beer brewing supplies which has me very intrigued. Some of you may now I have been into brewing for a few years now. I haven't had my supplies for a couple years because I left them at an apartment I moved out of. It's time to get back into it and really perfect the craft. 

I hope it's something my girlfriend and I can enjoy together as I teach her the art. I already have my first couple of batches in mind as I mentally prepare a seasonal brewing schedule in my head. The first batch I would like to do to introduce her to it is a hard cider. She doesn't much like the taste of beer so I decided to start her out on something she can enjoy the end result of. Next, in late spring time I would like to start a cherry wheat beer to welcome the warmer weather. I also have a few others in mind as the year progresses like a citrus pale ale in the summer, definitely more cider in the fall and a darker more robust stout for the could winter season.

As I got thinking about starting up the brew process again, it occurred to me, this may be something I would like to write about professionally which then kept the desire of writing burning inside of me and inspired this blog post. I will also be using this blog as a chronicle of my journey in homebrewing. I have always felt that my blog lacked a central focus thus causing people to maybe lose interest in its posts because they didn't know what to expect.

We'll see how this process progresses. I have high hopes that it will be like opening the door and welcoming an old friend with a deep embrace.

Until next time folks...

Update

Sorry I haven't written in a little while. There are two reasons for this. One is that the semester is in full swing and I can't seem to find the time or ambition to write my posts. Another reason is that nothing interesting has happened to me recently. This raises a concern that I am becoming increasingly desensitized to people's nincompoopery and all around bullshit. I will strive to keep my eyes and ears open for such shortcomings in order to fill these pages with a cavalcade of day-to-day occurrences that will make you face palm so hard, your arm will extend beyond the back of your skull. Don't exit this ride just yet. Only time will heal our wounds of boredom as we press forward in exposing those who can't be on the same planet as us anymore.

Hang in there my special little guys/gals,

Cameron

I Can't Keep My Mouth Shut Anymore

In light of current events and news reports I have come to a realization. That realization is people are irrational, stubborn, ignorant, and lazy about the way they go about forming and expressing opinions or even researching topics. More specifically, I am damn sick of the invalid posts and re-posts of pictures illustrating why and how Obama is taking away your rights.

First off, he is NOT eliminating the 2nd amendment! He is proposing we change and regulate certain things that pertain to gun ownership which I will outspokenly admit I am for. Do your research and stop falling into the misguidance of these photos that are completely taken out of context. You still have the right to own a gun, just not a fucking mini-gun capable of tearing people seventeen new assholes. 

Some like to post those pictures with quotes from famous people of history trying desperately to defend their "right to bear arms." You may feel like you have great supporting evidence in your argument but the ground you stand on is weak. Times change. Those quotes might have been relevant for the time when a young chap wasn't taking his father's musket to school to gun down some blokes. It's called progression and we are currently undergoing a paradigm shift whether you like it or not. 

Having your freedom's restricted is never an easy thing to undergo. I understand some of you are very capable and sane human beings that can handle the responsibilities of a weapon and I have no problem with you doing so. But, there are enough people in this country who cannot handle them responsibly. I would be willing to sacrifice some of my freedom to have a more sound piece of mind (I swear, if you make the argument about baseball bats killing more people per year we can't live on the same planet anymore.)

Finally, in my personal experience, those who are in favor of loose gun laws that I know imply gun violence more frequently in situations then people who don't. I would rather you not own a gun. Then again, that's just one man's opinion. 

I may not be an expert analyst but I consider myself a rational human being who likes to gather facts and research before jumping on a "re-post" bandwagon fueled by inaccuracy taken completely out of context. 

Things change. Don't be a pussy and deal with it. 

I created the following clip from comedian David Cross' routine. To give you some context he was talking about the healthcare debates at the time but I believe he describes the ignorance of people's opinion about Obama spot on and comically. Enjoy!

 

Gangsters and Thugs

I had the opportunity yesterday afternoon to see the film Gangster Squad. This film, starring Ryan Gosling and Sean Penn (do you really want me to name them all? Really? They're not that important to the film's integrity. Also, Brandon, you're right. Ryan Gosling is a pretty man) is about 5 policeman in 1940's Los Angeles that are recruited to go off the grid and take down a local crime boss named Mickey Cohen played by Sean Penn.

About the first 40 minutes of the movie, I was hating it. All characters were just your typical cliche 1940s detectives/criminals saying the same cliche 1940s detective /criminal lines. Shortly after, there was a scene in which Ryan Gosling's character flips a 180 and the Gangster Squad goes through their transformation. This is when the film got to be watchable. Like I mentioned before, most of the other members of the Gangster Squad weren't that incredible to the team. I felt that they were there to support the idea that more than 2 guys were needed to take down Mickey Cohen.

Which brings me to my next topic. Let's talk about Sean Penn. Throughout the film, I was waiting for Penn's character to show his own unique personality and not just one of , as my grandpa would say, "a bad dude". He, like the other characters at first, was going through the cliche rhythms. After the Gangster Squad went through their transformation, I was hoping Cohen would do the same. I never felt this happened at any point during the film. They might as well have been chasing Mickey Cohen through a haunted amusement park only to pull off his mask at the end and reveal his true identity.

Don't get me wrong, overall it wasn't a bad movie. It is a typical shoot-em up gangster film with a pretty lead man that had its moments of badassery and originality. At the most I would say if you have a few extra bucks go see this one in the theater. Will I be buying this one on blu ray when it comes out? Probably not. It is however worth at least a one-time watch.

If you feel that my opinion of this movie is off, please feel free to comment and correct me, at which time, I will probably tell you to go to hell.

I'm out.

Haven't I Hated You From Somewhere Before?

Well semester is back in session. It was the most time I have spent on campus in a long while. I am enrolled in 15 credit hours so it will be a busy one. Unfortunately, most of my classes are very boring, especially intro to music.Physics seem to be the only interesting class I have this semester. Maybe I came in with a bad attitude?


The one thing I really enjoy about a new semester are all of the new classmates I get to sit back and playfully , yet accurately, hate (do they have a social hatred major?). Every semester I feel like I've met these classmates before. I have come to the realization that they ARE different people, but the same personalities perpetuated over and over again to fuel my mean-spirited curiosity. People may think I'm the shy kid who sits in the back corner of the class to avoid social interaction, this is not so. I sit back there so people who ask the DUMBEST questions I've ever heard don't hear me scoff and respond sarcastically under my breath. I love to hang back and observe on these occasions. I feel like I almost learn more from the  study of nincompoops than the content of my classes themselves.   

 I look forward to see how much of a toll 15 credits will take on me. However, I'm disgustingly optimistic about how this semester will pan out. If you need me, I'll be the guy guy blogging about your ignorance in the back of the classroom. 

Lots of Love,

Cammy Poo

Cameron Harris: Senior Copywriter

Ever since I started writing in this blog again I have rediscovered just how much I enjoy writing. It has been excellent therapy for me lately. I may not be excellent in speech communication or artistic forms of expression, but I sure do enjoy putting words down on a page. Just recently I decided to also start keeping a journal. There is something so relieving about unloading any thought you have in a notebook that I often forget is inanimate. My notebook almost feels like it has a personality. A personality that is welcoming and doesn't judge what you about what you have to say.

About this time last year I decided to switch my major to something in writing. First it was English with an emphasis in creative writing and my interests have now shifted to majoring in communication with an emphasis in journalism. This is the first time I've switched to a major and have never seriously considered changing it. I look forward to taking more of my core classes and shaping exactly what I want to do for a career. Right now, I think I would like to write for a magazine or newspaper column. Another interest I have is becoming a copywriter (this may or may not have anything to do with the glamorous allure of the working conditions in Mad Men). 

Will I change what I want to major in again? Quite possibly. Who knows what I'll end up doing? Where will I be ten years from now? Maybe I'll be working in food service again? Let's hope I decide to extract my eyeballs from their sockets with a dull spoon before then.

This blog will not be the last time you see my name credited in printed work.

I'm on a roll

This is the first time in a very long while that I resumed writing the same work after the first session. My story is starting to develop a little more and I like the direction it is taking. I appreciate the input I have received so far. I already have ideas on how to improve and expand my work. 

Before I went to bed the other night I had an idea to keep pen and paper by my bedside in case I had some moments of inspiration. I brushed this thought aside and went to bed anyway. Sure enough, throughout the night I had many ideas come to me and woke up after each of them telling myself I would remember them in the morning. Needless to say I do not remember any of them unless the things I have written today were subconsciously coming back to me. For those of you reading my work, here is my current excerpt. This one is also a very rough draft without any editing or additions.

"  “We needed those transfusions yesterday nurse!” Doctor Lewis Craig, always stable under pressure, was now losing his nerve in the ER at the Howell’s Cove hospital only twelve blocks from Campbell’s apartment. 

      There was a makeshift wing that nurses, doctors, and receptionists, recruited to help, had constructed with hanging curtains and cots that were retrieved from the emergency supply room in the basement. Emergency stations were built every third cot containing supplies found for the victims of the latest inexplicable epidemic. Many current patients have been transported to other nearby medical facilities to make room for new arrivals that were coming in waves. These civilians requiring severe and urgent medical attention were bleeding excessively from every orifice of their head; eyes, ears, mouth, nose, etc…

            Police were on scene putting up barricades and checkpoints to allow a screening for the press that arrived no later than ten minutes after the first case of this rare occurrence was reported.

            “What seems to be the cause of this latest epidemic?” inquired reporter Glenn Pratt of the local paper, Bellview Tribune, to a nearby staff nurse. He was one of many blurting out questions to the hospital staff, desperately looking for any information of this curios event.

            “There seems to be no clue to what is causing all this.” replied the staff nurse.

            “If you will please excuse us, our staff needs to be left to the task at hand.”

            With a disappointed and defeating sigh he began to weave his way through the crowd of news reporters. This didn’t satisfy Glenn’s needs for his latest scoop. He began to look for a better opening in the pack of ravenous journalists when he was suddenly inspired with a scheme that would make the great undercover reporters of yesteryear’s devices look like mere child’s play. As he began his journey toward the stairs he scanned each room along the way with a surveying glance for anything to get him past the press. He came to the end of the east wing to an office door, stenciled in the glass was Dr. Lewis Craig, M.D. His heart was pounding with anticipation as he looked around for any approaching hospital personnel. Glenn grasped the cold, metal door handle to the doctor’s office and gave it a silent turn as if he were back in his youth, attempting to sneak back into his house without waking his unsuspecting parents. He was in! Closing the door carefully behind him, he slipped his yellow-paged notepad into the pocket of his coat.

            Now standing with curiosity in the Doctor Craig’s office, he licked his lips and thought to himself, what’s my endgame here? Perhaps he could find a physician’s coat or security badge to get him passed the hospital staff? He searched through Dr. Craig’s desk but found nothing to aid his security breaching efforts, nor was there any sort of usable disguise readily available. He heard the footsteps of an unknown approaching him and panicked. Glenn leapt for the door and flung it wide open only to greeted by one of Howell’s Cove’s security guards,

“You can’t be in there sir!” the security guard authoritatively attempted to stop Glenn with his voice.

            Glenn sprinted for the stairs, fleeing frantically, faster than he ever has in his adult life. As he ran, he recalled many instances in which he had to flee from an aggressor. Often times in his line of work he took chances and did whatever it took to obtain even the smallest, yet most crucial, piece of information for his latest story. Both men descended three flights of stairs before Glenn started to hatch a plan. Glenn was far ahead enough allowing the advantage of concealing himself under the last set of stairs to the lobby. He waited for a brief moment for the security guard to come flying down after him. In a split-decision, Glenn appeared from the shadowy cove and swung his balled up fist, fortified by his free hand, into the knee of the security guard. Simultaneously, Glenn heard his pursuing assailant’s knee cap turn to powder as he tumbled violently down the last few steps and into the brick wall. Glenn paused to make sure the security guard was out for good. When the coast was clear, Glenn exited the stairwell trying to catch his breath. Surprisingly, no one in the lobby was rattled by the commotion in the stairway. He took a moment to collect himself and anonymously left the building through the front entrance.

            Glenn Pratt peered up at the sky and embraced the warmth of the sunlight on his cheeks. He started down the sidewalk and hailed a cab for his departure. Glenn opened the door of the cab that pulled right alongside him, set his messenger bag on the seat and got in.

“Can you take me to Vineyard Heights please?” he asked of the cab driver.

            The ride seemed to go on forever due to the discomfort in his hand he sustained from assaulting an officer. He saw many familiar places along the way. There was the restaurant, Frankfurt’s, now with a “for lease” sign in the window. He did a story about their poor sanitation two summers ago. Glenn was told by his source Dave Helm, a city health inspector, they had the worst upkeep of their kitchen he had ever seen. On the other side of the street there was the Winter Walk Café. He remembered the one and only time he went there; after he was finished paying, he turned around to leave and bumped into the most gorgeous woman he had ever met, spilling his coffee all down the front of his newly cleaned and pressed shirt. Glenn was so embarrassed he never went back in fear of running into that woman again and making a bigger ass of himself. Finally, the cab pulled up in front of his apartment building.

“Vineyard Heights sir.” The cab driver informed Glenn.

            Glenn gathered his bag and stepped out onto the sidewalk while clumsily reaching for his wallet. He handed the cabbie fifteen dollars.

 “Thank you, sir.” the cab driver tipped his hat to Glenn and drove off.

            Suddenly, as Glenn stood outside his apartment building he began to sniffle uncontrollably. He felt around his nostrils to investigate the source of his annoyance. Looking down at his fingertips he saw the glistening crimson glaze of blood."

Another Attempt

Well I've decided to give writing another shot. No matter what I do, after a while, I criticize any piece I am currently working to the point I completely forget about it and give up on it. Maybe the problem is I never let anybody read anything I write. I'm sure this would be a crucial step in encouraging me to write. 

So... that being said I am posting the following excerpt from a story I am working on. It is very brief and, honestly, I don't know what direction it will take. It's very basic. Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, keeping in mind, it is a very rough draft to the beginning of something that I might actually finish. 

Enjoy and please comment,

"Cigarette smoke poured from his lungs into the thick, foggy winter air as Campbell stared off into the night’s sky. He shuddered under his faux leather coat as he brought his smoke to his lips for another draw. Nothing compared to the flavorful, rich taste of a freshly rolled cigarette in Campbell’s opinion. It was quiet in the parking lot outside of his apartment aside from the flowing ambiance of the freeway noise on the other side of the back wall. The only things visible beyond the barricade were the street lamps and fluorescent exit signs.

Campbell was sighing in realization that there was nothing for him to look forward to now that the holidays are over. He always came down with a case of the winter blues after the holidays. He got caught up in the hype and the promise of spending time with his family only to experience the grand let down when life goes on and prior responsibilities resume. He shakes his thoughts and flicks the glowing red butt of his cigarette into the filthy slush in the gutter. As he turned to walk back upstairs to his apartment in 432 he couldn’t help but linger there for a little longer. Something made him stop and stand in the seven degree weather for just a moment longer. His eyes were fixed on the entrance to the parking lot, nothing was there. He started again toward the stairs up to his place, zipped up his coat, and started his ascent.

Campbell fumbled for his keys in his coat pocket, wrapped his fingers around his apartment key and fidgeted with the lock.

“Piece of shit lock” he muttered irritated under his breath.

Since moving in he filed numerous complaints about his apartment including a roof leak in the kitchen that was impossible to fix apparently; however amongst the filed complaints, Campbell failed to mention the stubborn lock. The lock finally gave way with a clack. Campbell deposited his keys on the hook by the door where they always hung when he wasn’t out of the house. He took his coat off and hung it on the back of the kitchen chair and went to the pantry to start a pot of coffee. Normally he wouldn’t dare drink coffee this late at night but he needed to focus on his work. He was setting himself up to be trapped in between a restful night’s sleep and intense restlessness that is repetitive dream land. Those dreams a person has when they start a new job and spend all day doing a repetitive task and can’t get them out of their mind for one hour of peaceful rest was what he had in store.

Campbell was under intense scrutiny and criticism for his work. For the past several weeks he had been barraged with threats and deadlines for the completion, or progress for that matter, of his latest novel. He was currently working on a piece that Apricot Colony publishing was fronting the bill for. Every phone call he got from the publishing office only proved to escalate the anger and anxiety of his editor, even though he reassured him that progress was being made, a complete fallacy in reality. Campbell constantly made excuses as to why this “progress” hadn’t been mailed in nor had he brought it by the office for review.

“This is your last chance, Campbell. We need to see at least three more chapters by the end of the week or we’ll have to cut you loose.” Alan Frank, his editor, asthmatically coughed this phrase through the other line of the phone in their last conversation, to which Campbell replied with a soft touch of the “end” key on his cell. Alan Frank was a resentful and impatient man. His financial success in the publishing business was merely masking the fact that he is never truly happy.

The warm aroma of French roast filled Campbell’s senses as he realized his coffee had dripped the last drop of hot water into the decanter. He poured himself a cup, black, the way he had his coffee for as long as he could remember. It always reminded him of a rich glass of Irish stout. Maybe that’s why he always enjoyed his coffee with no additives. He fancied himself as quite the beer connoisseur. There was something admirable about craftsmen brewers who did it for the flavor of a finely crafted beer. His favorite memory was that of a beer tasting festival he attended in Chicago with his long time girlfriend, Betty. She had been the burning love of his life. Sipping carefully on his scalding hot cup of bitter delight he made his way to his office.

He fired up his computer and stared at the clock as he waited for it to boot up. It was now just after 10:00 and not a bit of motivation fueled his thought process. He then turned his gaze on the computer screen where he had his latest novel pulled up. Displaying itself meekly back at him was the only sentenced he had drafted,

“Where does mankind go from here?”…."

Back With a Vengeance

It has been almost a year since the last post on this blog. My discipline in writing, or anything for that matter, is weak. I lost track of Bucky's Blunders and have decided to rekindle this fire and burn the world to the ground. I am back! 

I've decided to omit the trivial "Jam of the Day" post and use this blog as more of a public journal. For now, I've got nothing to offer you. Okay, maybe a little....

This past holiday break was awesome. I've been back in school for the semester, and because of it, am working less. I haven't had a single thing required of me since December 14th. My brother, Brandon, came out for two weeks for Christmas, and as always, good times were had by all. The Spring semester starts on Monday and it's back to the grindstone. Back to walking the halls of UVU passing all of my classmates who are afraid to look up from the ground and apparently don't understand the concept of garbage receptacles. Will that guy who likes to hear himself talk be in any of my classes this upcoming semester? One can only hope and pray. I suppose I can't complain about my experiences with my classmates, after all, it's what fuels this blog. 

Stay frosty comrades.