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