This week I made a few things, and it felt awesome. In keeping with my previous post Is Adulthood The Death Of Fun, I’ve been consciously having more fun during the week. Doing those things I’ve been meaning to do.
To kick it off, I finally got around to brewing beer. During the process, I was fairly certain I’d never do it again. Luke, a friend with brewing experience, says this is how most new brewers feel. It’s a lot of work. BUT, after the brewing is complete, you have this beautiful bubbling jug of (very nasty looking) India Pale Ale:
I’m a big advocate of doing things that are intrinsically rewarding. Brewing beer wasn’t like that for me. But the payoff at the end of even just looking at it every day while it ferments is very rewarding. Enough so that I’d do it again, with better gear, and more people to share the work. I picture brewing a large batch with several buddies as being some real good fun.
My friend Tyler knows how to make sourdough bread, so I asked him to teach me. I didn’t even care to know how to make sourdough specifically, I would have been happy with just mixing water and flour and baking it. But that’s not how Tyler does things so instead we tackled one of the most difficult breads, and it took several days. This is what resulted:
Riding high having just baked that awesome loaf, I tried a solo bake at home and failed utterly. The dough was all soupy, it wasn’t even bakable. I had to chuck it.
Sourdough is a god damn tricky process. You’re working with water, flour, and yeast that just floats around in the air. That was a revelation for me, the fact that you don’t add yeast. It just kind of finds your mix and gets in there and starts colonizing. Awesome. You can’t even take yeast from one place and use it in another, long term. The local yeast will just take over, and your foreign yeast disappears. So the most important thing about French bread, it turns out, could be that it’s made in France where the yeast is apparently awesome. That’s how I interpret it anyway. That and they really know how to fucking bake in France.
This is the opposite of beer. I love everything about the early stages of getting wood ready for the winter. Hiking out and finding some decent lumber, hauling it home, cutting it into logs, stacking it inside. The whole thing feels amazing. This is how I imagine squirrels feel.
Lia and I talk about “feeling rich” when we have certain things taken care of. Like groceries. A full fridge makes us feel rich. A stocked wood cubby makes me feel rich too. It just looks abundant. I just sit there and stare at my wood sometimes. It’s almost a shame to burn some of these pieces, they’re gorgeous.
I don’t draw anymore and it’s a fucking tragedy. I used to absolutely love to draw. But then I went to college and spent 4 years learning how to draw better, which was great, but I also learned how to look at art and mentally dissect every little thing about it. Being hyper-critical ruined the fun for me, and I stopped drawing because my mind wouldn’t get out of the way. I was pissing myself off. But now I’m finally getting my toes back in the water and it feels great. Lia was gum ball machine for halloween so I was a quarter.
I drew it with sharpies.
So that’s it! If you’ve been doing anything cool and new, throw it in the comments! Let’s dog-pile some fun shit!