Thursday, March 19, 2020 — 6B
b-side
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

I split this column into three parts 

because I didn’t know how to write 

this last installment. The Daily Arts 

generously allows for the involvement 

of personal narratives as long as they 

surround an event, moment in culture at 

large or a work of art. While wrapping 

the personal around something that can 

qualify as topical can mean the difference 

between a form of journalistic content that 

can be published in a school newspaper 

and creative non-fiction that must be 

made available for public consumption by 

other means, the core of what I’m getting 

at is deeply personal. I see no other way 

to move forward than to make that clear 

from the get go.

Things that are constructed so that 

they are diametrically opposed to one 

another, like God and the Devil, create 

a valley between two extremes that we 

all supposedly occupy. Their respective 

hierarchies serve as a degreed apparatus 

through which we can hold ourselves 

and others accountable. That becomes 

problematic, however, when normative 

functions create a “winning team” in that 

valley located closer to the desirable pole 

than others. Without even beginning to 

address how sin, laws and ailments are 

defined in such a way that favors the 

“normal” and quite literally damns those 

that fall outside of that window, simply 

existing outside of it in any capacity 

can foster a lot of negative feelings 

about oneself. And the thing about those 

normative functions, especially in an 

economic system that’s predicated on 

fear, is that they will continue to multiply 

(and generate revenue) until they can’t be 

supported anymore. 

This isn’t meant to be an after-school 

special surrounding the thinning out 

of the ruling class and consolidation of 

power, nor is it about how none of us 

are perfect and we all have at least that 

in common. In fact, most of the time 

we aren’t interested in what we have in 

common, even if we have more in common 

than not. Human nature, probably out of 

some vestige of natural selection, is all 

about differentiation. What’s valued as 

“normal” is what’s valued as powerful 

in almost every ideological framework. 

“Normal” isn’t a station that encompasses 

the majority, it is a collection of paragons 

that constantly move along value lines that 

serve those in power.

The closer we are in proximity to that 

power, in our appearances, through our 

actions, choices and identities, chosen 

or otherwise, the more likely we are to 

support the systems that uphold how we 

currently define it. In working against 

it, the individual becomes increasingly 

aware of the things that give them power 

and the things that take it away, like a 

Machiavellian push and pull taking place 

between things that may or may not be 

within our control. As we are exposed to 

those dividing lines, what we do with our 

power and our agency to act in relation to it 

becomes an increasingly severe individual 

burden.

I remember looking out of my window 

one night and seeing a pair of red tail 

lights. The presence of a black, demi-

luxury SUV next to a neon-lit sign was 

innocuous enough, but the emptiness 

of the Ann Arbor streets at 3 a.m. lent a 

paranoid air that infiltrated my thoughts 

like a cancer. Earlier that day while 

running an errand, I had hidden an orchid 

mesh bodysuit under an oversized blazer. 

What felt liberating in my apartment, what 

would have been a proud expression at the 

drag show I planned to attend later, was 

squandered while walking in public. Even 

as it was protected by the conservative, 

woolen barrier between signifier and 

signified that I clung to like all hell. I 

remember feeling my skin rub against it as 

I walked, an uncomfortable reminder that 

seeking medical help for my depression 

had resulted in a weight gain. So much of 

what I hope for revolves around being a 

light for others, not necessarily to follow 

but to be able to look at and smile.

Yet, the standards I hold myself to in 

order to be that liberatory force are the 

same ones that hold down so many. I can 

wear lip gloss and have a “walk” as long as 

I can also feel my ribs. I can engage with 

genuine interests of mine that are used to 

paint my community with a broad brush as 

long as my voice remains low. I can fight 

to the nail for my mental health and live 

to talk about it, but I won’t be able to do 

what I feel a call to do until I free myself 

of those chains. I may have internalized 

such bargains as a way of remaining safe, 

as a way of being able to move through 

the world, but the only person standing in 

the way at this point in my life is myself. 

Silly as it may sound, it’s taken a seismic 

cognitive shift to understand that there 

are no silent vehicles watching me in the 

dead of night, waiting to ensnare me with 

their malevolent aura. There are no devils 

or demons lurking around the corner. 

There’s only me, and the beliefs about 

myself that I have to undo in order to truly 

be free. 

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve felt that 

I carry a curse with me. I’m lucky to know 

where that feeling comes from now, but it 

took me a long time to get to this point. I’ve 

always reviewed each and every thing that 

I do with a fine-toothed comb, all with the 

hopes of wanting to be good, to use my 

privileges in a productive way and to wear 

my queerness with pride so as to inspire 

others. What I didn’t realize until recently 

is that I wasn’t bringing my happiness into 

the equation. The opportunity cost, for 

me, of reviewing myself in the way that 

I have been is my mental well-being. All 

of those little things I would look at, the 

sociopolitical ramifications of every word, 

every nonverbal gesture, every expression, 

every conscious and unconscious action, 

were 
not 
being 
used 
to 
productive 

ends. The relentless self-policing that 

I have undergone (and still face) is not 

something that helps me achieve this goal 

of leveraging my likeness for the common 

good.

It doesn’t help me bring light to others 

in the smallest of interactions. It is a 

hindrance. The internal manifestation of 

the evil I so desperately want to renounce, 

to work against, rears its devilish head 

through this censorship of self. I say this not 

in defense of the kind of blissful ignorance 

that only exists in contexts of privilege. 

I am fully for asking tough questions, for 

doing work to unpack whatever bag of 

bullshit one carries around with them as a 

result of exalting normalcy. What I will no 

longer tolerate is allowing self-criticism 

to take the reins entirely. I will no longer 

allow each and every breath to carry the 

weight of heaven and hell.

Velveteen Dreams: On 

heaven and hell, part three

SAM KREMKE

Daily Style Columnist

On Monday, Mar. 16, Governor Whitmer 

issued an executive order closing all 

Michigan restaurants and bars to slow the 

spread of the coronavirus — an unfortunate 

consequence of the pandemic for what would 

otherwise have been an exciting new time 

for the Ann Arbor food scene. 

Bløm Meadworks, a meadery centered 

around downtown Ann Arbor, is among the 

businesses that are being forced to reduce 

or shut down their operations due to the 

pandemic. However, the true shame is that 

Bløm, like many other restaurants, is unable 

to optimally serve products tailored to the 

frosty harbingers of the spring season. Bløm, 

more so than other bars and restaurants, falls 

under the fickle whims of time’s passage. 

Should they fail to capture the fleeting 

presences of new produce that bloom and 

wither within a span of weeks, Bløm could 

potentially brew an incomplete narrative of 

the year’s capricious seasons.

Mead is an alcohol fermented from 

honey that can range in flavor from the 

piss-poor and overly-sweetened drinks at 

a renaissance fair to a well-balanced, fruit-

forward melomel such as Schramm’s that 

shames all other wines in its wake. While 

Schramm’s nearly exclusively specializes in 

a rich-bodied drink somewhat similar to the 

alcohol content of wine, Bløm specializes in 

“sessionable” meads (drinks to be consumed 

at a leisurely pace in large quantities) more 

akin to the alcohol content of a dry sour ale. 

Like Schramm’s, Bløm frequently features 

melomels — though by no means does Bløm 

specialize in them. In spite of that, Bløm’s 

greatest hits lie within the limited batches 

of brewed melomels that coincide with 

the season. A cherry-lemon mead released 

during late summer 2019 would screech 

with fruity acidity were it not tamed by the 

hints of sweet floral honey — exactly the sort 

of grown-up lemonade that you’ve always 

dreamed of drinking. The black currant 

mead, which was available within the late 

summer to early fall of 2019, emphasized the 

somewhat spicy and tart currant berries — 

a departure from a sweetened spice profile 

that one might find at a meadery such as 

Schramm’s.

Though seasonality throughout the winter 

may seem as if it would empty out Bløm’s 

selections of mead, Bløm compensates 

through an increased focus of ciders — and 

a Christmas-themed mead. For instance, 

though the apricots utilized in the Hopricot 

Cider would normally provide a sweet, 

autumnal tone, the inclusion of hops provides 

an astringency that helps you fight back from 

the chills of early winter — without any of the 

bitterness normally attached to a hop. As a 

follow-up, the Christmas mead’s spicy ginger 

overtones melds with sour cranberries — a 

melding that you suspect would be jarring 

were it not for the background notes of sweet 

honey binding the two together. Bløm, it 

seems, finds its style of mead by utilizing 

honey as a negotiator instead of the main 

event.

But perhaps the greatest mainstay of 

Bløm’s selection lies not with their meads or 

ciders, but with their switchel soda — a soda 

primarily consumed by American farmers 

in the 1800s. This drink is an anomaly — 

not only because of the lack of alcohol, but 

also because of what it highlights. The 

interplay between the honey and fruit 

vinegar is Bløm’s homage to the sweet and 

floral qualities of honey. While Bløm may 

use honey as the great negotiator in many 

of their sessionable meads, the soda takes 

the opposite stance in showcasing honey as 

a star player. Honey, you find, is not afraid to 

shine when it doesn’t have other ingredients 

nearby that need disciplining.

But with Governor Whitmer’s orders 

to shut down all restaurants and bars, it 

would be impossible to continue to drink 

Bløm’s carefully curated drinks on tap. As 

somewhat of a consolation, Bløm offers a 

few of their taps from their previous seasons 

across grocery stores and liquor stores such 

as Plum Market, Blue Front or Whole Foods. 

Most notably you’d find cans of a somewhat 

mediocre Blueberry Maple mead and its 

much tarter but exciting cousin: the Pear 

Ginger cider. Both may be throwbacks to the 

summer and fall seasons of 2019, though they 

provide an exciting sneak peek at what Bløm 

could offer in the coming bountiful seasons 

of 2020. In light of this pandemic, however, 

it’s challenging to watch the new spring 

season pass as you are unable to enjoy what 

Bløm might have created.

There are still ways to support your local 

restaurants and breweries — continuing to 

buy local food and drinks, providing generous 

tips to restaurant and delivery staff or when 

possible buying miscellaneous merchandise 

of your favorite local businesses. While it 

is possible to support Bløm Meadworks 

by purchasing their canned drinks and 

merchandise, 
supporting 
the 
artisanal, 

seasonal drinks that they create in small 

batches may be difficult if you are unable 

to go to Bløm’s curbside pick-up for a drink. 

Hopefully, you are able to support Bløm in 

their time of need. In the meantime, hope 

that you can enjoy Bløm’s curated tap by the 

full force of spring or summer.

Bløm Meadworks is located at 100 S 4th 

Avenue, Suite 110, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Timely seasonality clashes 
with an untimely pandemic

BRENDON CHO
Daily Food Columnist

ALEC COHEN/DAILY

DAILY STYLE COLUMN
B-SIDE: COMMUNITY CULTURE NOTEBOOK

