PLINY THE YOUNGER: A Beer That’s Getting Us One Step Closer to Curing Cancer

Each year, beer geeks everywhere await the release of Russian River’s Pliny the Younger Triple IPA, the famous, extra-hoppy, winter brew that has grown a cult-following in the beer scene. Rather than succumb to the mayhem that is “Pliny Fever,” Beachwood BBQ, with locations in Long Beach and Seal Beach, is transforming the frenzy to philanthropy by raffling it off by the pint…

Check out the article on LA WEEKLY here.

Weekend Challenge: Be a Tourist in Your Own City

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Lazy summer weekends…

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Why the Universe Doesn’t Want me to Fade into Normality – a True Story.

When I was an intern at LAO, my bosses and I used to argue about what day is the worst day. We agreed saying Monday is overrated – you still have the buzz from the weekend, everyone spends most of the morning talking and catching up, and then you basically go home and try to cure the leftover hangover. I argued it was Tuesdays, but my bosses Liz and Mitch shot me down – saying Taco Tuesdayis enough to make up for Tuesdays to be bad. They said it was Wednesday, but I said that Wine Wednesdays was enough, and once you’re over Wednesday you’re at Thursday. Thursdays were always good. You have an obligation to crush work so that you don’t have to work on Friday, leading to an always-fun-Thursday-rager. This brings us into Friday, a day of donuts, long lunches, and minimal actual work.

That being said, I still think it’s Tuesday.

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Freedom in San Francisco

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San Francisco is magical.  It’s almost 2am and the city is alive with artists and musicians, writers and interns, bums and kids selling scrap metal shaped into rings; there are hippies and bankers, street performers and sailors, college kids and foreigners selling hot dogs with bacon.  In their pockets flasks and money, left over powder and cigarettes, lighters and flashing cell phones and with itching hands hold the vibrancy of a chosen life.

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Thoughts on a Subway in Madrid

Sitting on the metro.  I hope I’m on the right one.  I didn’t want to carry my journal and regretting it because now I have to use my iphone as a notetaker.  This would be a perfect time to write.

Tonight is my second night in Madrid and first night alone in Spain.  I’m not nervous.  My Spanish is better than I thought it was; it’s just the different accent and rapid speaking that makes me second guess all of my responses.  That will get easier.

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I Chose to Swim in November

Yesterday I woke up with the crazy idea that I could choose my life.  It was 6:30 in the morning, and I had 30 minutes of snooze time before I had to wake up for work, but I felt restless.  I just didn’t want to drive through traffic only to sit at a desk and try to avoid eye contact with my everydaymorehateful CEO.  I didn’t want to have to put on a cold face and a serious voice to hide what my boss calls “caring too much.”  I didn’t want to go, but that wasn’t why I felt restless at 6:30 am on a Wednesday.  I couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite how powerless I felt in choosing my life, I was in full control.  I couldn’t block the knowledge that each day I shape my day around a job and life I find meaningless, the more meaningless my job and life becomes.  I couldn’t ignore my responsibility in the whole thing.  I didn’t want to.  What’s worse after all?  Feeling like you can’t control your life, or feeling that you can, BUT?
So I didn’t go.  I woke up, got dressed like a normally would, got in my car, and went to get the mirror on my car fixed.  It had been bothering me a while, and I got sick of ignoring it.  I went to a yoga class, bought some delicious juice, and headed straight to the beach with a book.  I jumped in the November ocean and loved the rush of cold on my skin.  As I dove under a wave I thought, yes, I can choose my life, and I chose to swim in November.  In the solitude of a Wednesday in November, I felt more in touch with people than I had in a while.  After all, we live in our choices, and our soul is in our decisions, and I chose to dive into icy water and allow the oceanic lull to calm the adrenaline and I chose to be alive as me instead of survive as everyone else and I wanted to breathe in the water and live like a dolphin and exhale freedom and I wanted to swim away into the unknown and never come back…and walking back to my lonely towel I knew the truth – that this is why we move, this is why we progress, this is why we’ve explored new lands and discovered wonders and seek understanding – that we are powerful, and responsibility is personal, and eternity is a reply to the choices we make in the present.
I smoked and walked out onto the jetty.  The rocks were slippery.  That’s always my excuse not to walk out too far.  But there was a pod of dolphins were playing in the shallows.  The bigger ones were swimming around the surfers and the sun was setting.  A baby dolphin was swimming around the bigger ones until one of them ducked under the water and flipped the baby into the air.  The water was seafoam and orange.  The waves were white and silver.  The rocks were slippery, but those little decisions on where to place your foot next allowed me to experience instinct.  If I hesitated, I would second guess myself or take too long moving my feet and get off balance.  If I just walked, a rock was was always there.
I also had a bougie lunch at a nice restaurant with red wine with a drug dealer and his friends.  I meditated with a hippie and ate a pistachio macaroon.  I did a headstand because I felt like it would be fun to go upside down.  But most of all, it was November and I jumped in the ocean.  But most of all, I made a choice to be free of all the bullshit for a moment.  But most of all, if freedom is a choice, we are always free, and that’s what made the ocean in November feel so good.