Random thoughts:

In re-opening the blogging adventure, all of a sudden I assess every situation by whether or not it is worthy to write about. This makes general everyday life somewhat more interesting, although I do find myself attaching unnecessary profundity to everything, which certainly isn't an accurate reflection of my daily ins and outs. Further, it's almost exhausting, thinking so much on such minutiae -- who cares what the guy's face was like last night when I was ordering pizza? I need to work on my filter. I think if I were actually a writer, I'd probably go crazy trying to think about everything, and I'd probably miss out on a lot of the things that require actually doing.

Anyway, in thinking about my writing, I was again ruminating on the fact that I've never kept a successful journal, although I've tried plenty of times. I carried a pristine Moleskine around with me in my backpack for a solid two years, but I actually wrote on only twenty or so pages. I think the problem is, I already know what I'm thinking, so why would I need to document it? My journal entries often end up as weird conversations with myself or just quick, concise notes about whatever I'm doing. Without an audience, there's no motivation for me to write, and certainly no motivation for me to write well. So that's the great thing about the blog: even though my "audience" in this case is still essentially just me, at least the prospect of these words being read by someone else is enough to make me use proper grammar and avoid referring to myself in the third person.

It snowed a lot today, as I'm sure everyone heard. Around here we only got maybe ten inches, so nothing like the mid-Atlantic, but it was enough to be notable. I was in Boston at a party last night, and it was neat to wake up this morning and walk down the middle of the roads with everyone else, since there were no cars around. I've always loved snowstorms for the same reasons that many people do, but I think they also appeal to me on some level because of my anarchist tendencies. When there's a ton of snow lying around, nothing works, and yet everything seems to work that much better. In Boston there were plenty of people out in the street -- shoveling, talking, going on walks -- and the city seemed so much more humane without the incessant drone of cars and all of their associated ills. On my walk home (after parking the car down the street to avoid getting plowed in), some neighbors were outside shoveling, and their little kid said hi, even though I've never met him before. When it snows, people stay home, and they actually do things together, and when they do go out, it actually matters -- everything is an expedition, and it is treated with such respect. It seems that after a big storm is one of the only times that people consider just going for a walk to be a worthwhile pursuit. It's always worthwhile.

I also had a good day today because I rode on public transportation, which always puts me in a good mood, even if I'm running late and it's taking a while. There's something very calming about sitting there in public in your own little world -- completely out in the open and yet alone with your thoughts -- with everyone else and their little worlds. Part of it is that you're not in control; the train will get there for you at the same time it does for everyone else, so you might as well just be patient and people watch for a while. The woman on the subway platform next to me had her car stolen this morning ("In this weather?! Are they an idiot?!"), and while I normally might have been annoyed, listening to her detail the problem to her companion and at least two separate phone conversations, the station was outside, the train was running late, and everything was quiet, so it was okay. Better, even, to get a window into her world. Apparently it's the second time it's happened, and she's continually surprised, because even though it's a "high-theft car," it also happens to be "a total shitbox." On another morning I probably would have hoped she'd quiet down, but today the world was muffled, the train was my only mode of transportation, and it was certainly her only option, too. A good morning.

Ahh, to be back:

This seems to be the way these things work: my writing and blogging often comes in waves. For several weeks my posts are consistent and prolific, the writing, energized and clear; for a brief while, inspiration comes easily, and I definitely have something to say. Then, either work, or distractions, or sheer boredom sets in, and I go, oh, almost...eleven...months without posting anything. Which brings me to today.

It's winter break, I'm home, and there is nothing to do. Which means that naturally I am inclined to be productive -- and what could be more productive than writing a blog post essentially about nothing that will be read by literally (more or less) no one? Not much that I can think of, obviously.

The past few months have been a blur. I won't attempt any sort of tell-all right now, but they've been action packed and fraught with distress. Drama, intrigue. Senior year is almost half done, which means that I'm that much closer to being unemployed. Which brings me back to the blog.

I've had a number of conversations over the past few months and past few days, most particularly, about my future plans (as is likely when one is a senior in college), and there has been some speculation about this "writing" thing. After having a discussion about the merits of writing a blog and trying to parlay it into a book deal or something better, I'm not sure I see it as a respectable path to literary notoriety, but as a college senior with no other prospects, I can't be picky, either. So while I would hardly attempt to pass this meandering bullshit off as publishable material, I have been thinking that it might be wise to write more regularly (I think if you reread the posts over the past few years, I come to this conclusion every three months or so). View this, then, as one more attempt for me to get in the habit of written expression outside of email, text messages, and GChats.

I have, however, been doing some legitimate writing recently -- although not here -- which is where I'll begin.

"Waters to Wine," my column in The Middlebury Campus on all things alcohol, has continued this semester, and it has continued to be a success. While I've had trouble meeting deadlines, the quality of the writing has [generally] remained something to be proud of, and I've received a lot of kind encouragement from friends, coaches, and faculty alike. Due to the various iterations of the new Campus website, most of this semester's installments have been lost to the Interweb, but you can access future ones here. Below is my most recent column, which appeared a couple of weeks ago as part of the newspaper's yearly Green Issue.

The dismal state of the environment these days has me down in the dumps. In fact, it has depressed me so that I’ve been forced to drink (I imagine no one saw that coming). With climate change (and governments’ inability to do anything about it – world leaders agreed this week to not decide on anything at this year’s summit in Copenhagen, instead deciding to wait just a little bit longer…an inspired move), our throw-away culture, and a myriad of other problems far too numerous to mention, it’s a wonder that we’re all not raging alcoholics, passed out in a gutter somewhere, drowning our worries in the drink. Perhaps we should be.

You see, I’m not drinking solely to block out my sorrows – I’m drinking for a good cause. One of the greatest things to come out of the broadly named “environmental movement” in the past few years has been the idea of slow food. By this I mean food that is sustainable – local, often organic, or both – that is prepared with care and intention at every step in the process, and that is expected to be consumed with that same care in mind. Here, we savor quality over quantity, specificity over ubiquity, and food with a story over food with a label. Which brings me back to alcohol.

Luckily for us, caught up in this movement for better and better tasting food has been a push for equally stimulating spirits. Microbreweries and local wineries have experienced an enormous flowering over the past decade, and we’re now blessed with a variety of drinks that might have been unheard of only a few years ago. And even more luckily for all of us Middlebury students, we happen to have a local microbrewery just down the road.

The Otter Creek and Wolaver’s brewing facility is well known to Middlebury students; its brewery tour seems a rite of passage for the newly-21, and its seasonal selections provide just enough variety to keep students interested. Moreover, as a brewery it is committed to lessening its environmental impact as much as possible. Wolaver’s Certified Organic Ales was one of the first organic breweries in the United States when it began in 1997, and now it produces a number of organic ales for nationwide consumption. Of course, it is important to mention that while Wolaver’s brews are organic, the organic hops they use have to be trucked in from thousands of miles away, lessening their environmental credentials. However, Wolaver’s has also begun its Farmers Series of ales, which incorporate ingredients from local farmers, helping contribute to the local economy and building the idea of a story I mentioned earlier.

To me, it is this story that is most important. While microbreweries and artisanal foods are not a cure-all for all of our environmental ills, they are important for what they do – they make us ask questions about our food. It’s too easy to just go to the supermarket and pick up some anonymous case of beer; it’s much more interesting to know where it comes from, who produces it, and how. So when we drink beer from a brewery down the road, that in and of itself isn’t solving anything, but it is the beginning of a valuable and essential process. The more we learn about food, seemingly the more we want to know. If I know where my beer comes from, I’ll want to know how it’s produced, or maybe I’ll want to know what it does with its waste and if its hops are sustainably grown. Drinking local beer forces us to ask questions, which is always one of the most valuable things one can do.

So please, go out and have a drink from one of Vermont’s many local breweries. The state has been blessed by a growing number of local producers, all making some great beers. It’s important to know that by drinking alone we won’t solve any of our problems, but we can start to help. So as the empty bottles multiply and the problems fade from our consciousness, we can know: that glow we’re feeling comes from more than the alcohol.

Additionally, I've been doing some blogging as a part of my job in the Admissions Office as a Senior Fellow. In between giving interviews, leading information sessions, and helping out around the office, each of us is supposed to take some time to share our lives as seniors with the outside world. It's been a good exercise, and it's one of my favorite parts of the job. The Senior Fellows blog is here, and the following are links to my first post, on attending a Board of Trustees Retreat earlier this fall, as well as my second, recapping Dan Deacon's epic concert at Middlebury.

So that's that. It's a start, as always. And we'll see whether I write here again soon or not. See you in eleven months.