This post was made possible by a generous contribution by Cole toward the BeerAndTrembling education fund. EDIT: Now that the campaign is no longer live, I have removed the links. I still encourage readers to participate by reaching out in the comments or through the “Make a Recommendation” page.
Natural affinities exist between dogs and men. We love them, they love us. They are our companions, our pets, and–as in the case of sheepdogs or bird dogs–our colleagues. But what about dogs makes them our friends?
Spiritedness, according to psychotherapist (and dog-lover) Gary Borjesson, is central to friendship. In his book Willing Dogs & Reluctant Masters, Borjesson writes that our spiritedness, the “feisty, domineering part of our souls… makes us friendly.” It is, he claims, the spiritedness of dogs and their owners that links the two in friendship. But I wonder if Borjesson’s insight is as universal as it seems. He relies heavily on Aristotle, Socrates, and his own experience, resources that are exclusively and unapologetically masculine. It makes sense that male-male friendships (like friendships with dogs) are characterized by spiritedness–and the play-fighting and competition it engenders. But is that also the case in friendships with and between women?
Little boys seem to exemplify friendship through spiritedness. They are forever going on small adventures, fighting mock battles, and inventing new games. Their spiritedness leads them to compete, and their competition breeds friendship.
All of my closest male-male friendships from childhood through college were characterized by competition and play-fighting. At college, my friends and I played every intramural sport on offer, stared at video game screens until our eyes were dry and strained, and even tried to “keep score” in our classes.
(Very rarely, we also played drinking games. More often than not, we simply drank while discussing great books and great ideas. Arguably, such conversations were more competitive than any drinking game.)
Every male-female friendship of mine, however, has lacked any prevailing sense of competitiveness. And it is my sense that spiritedness is not at the heart of female friendship the way it is for men. It is widely acknowledged that girls are generally more cooperative and less competitive than boys. And while boys who dislike competition often have a hard time making friends, I never observed that that about girls. Tug-of-war and such mindless competition may be enough to cement friendship with a boy or a dog, but I get the sense that friendship with girls is more nuanced. Perhaps something less aggressive than spiritedness is at the heart of girls’ friendships.
Spiritedness is not a uniquely masculine trait; don’t get me wrong. As Kipling famously recognized, “the female of the species is more dangerous than the male.” I’ve known and admired many very spirited girls and women. It merely appears to me that the friendship of women is less spirited (though no less ardent) than the friendship of men. But, like Aristotle, Plato, and Borjesson, I am out of my depth in opining what makes women’s friendships tick.
Reading of the week: Eulogy of the Dog by George G. Vest – This famous oration was actually part of Vest’s closing arguments at the end of a jury trial. His client was suing the man who killed his hunting dog. The argument was evidently persuasive; the jury returned a verdict in favor of Vest’s client. Borjesson, “with all due respect to” Vest, claims that if dogs were truly as Vest described them, they would be “too undiscriminating, too foolish and lacking in self respect to be friends.”
Beers of the week: Castaway IPA – Kona may have started as a Hawaiian Brewery, but this particular bottle was brewed in New Hampshire. Castaway is one of Kona’s delicious IPAs. It pours with a creamy head, and smells of bready malts and prominent, but not overpowering hops. Very well balanced, very delicious.
Question for the week: Is spiritedness the lynchpin of friendship?
One of the best known of Aesop’s fables is The Fox and the Grapes. The fable goes like this:
ONE hot summer’s day a Fox was strolling through an orchard till he came to a bunch of Grapes just ripening on a vine which had been trained over a lofty branch. “Just the things to quench my thirst,” quoth he. Drawing back a few paces, he took a run and a jump, and just missed the bunch. Turning round again with a One, Two, Three, he jumped up, but with no greater success. Again and again he tried after the tempting morsel, but at last had to give it up, and walked away with his nose in the air, saying: “I am sure they are sour.”
“IT IS EASY TO DESPISE WHAT YOU CANNOT GET.”
Naturally, The Fox and the Grapes is the origin of “sour grapes”, an expression that is endlessly useful. However, I am not aware of an expression that signifies the opposite of sour grapes. That is, if sour grapes refers to convincing yourself that something is bad simply because you cannot get it, there should be a turn of phrase for convincing yourself that something is good simply because that is all you can get.
People who can’t afford filet mignon might say, “SPAM is actually pretty flavorful.” Those to whom BMWs are beyond reach might claim, “my old Geo is actually a really smooth ride.” While the fox focused on disparaging what he could not get, a more positive individual might extoll what he has (even if it really isn’t that great.)
I’d propose the expression “sweet crab apples” after the story Paper Pills by Sherwood Anderson. In that story, Anderson talks about the gnarled little apples that are left in the orchard after all of the “good” apples have been picked and sold. Despite their appearance, the narrator claims that these twisted apples are actually sweet and delicious. But I can’t help but wonder whether the people who eat the rejected apples are just deluding themselves.
The SPAM eater may genuinely enjoy canned meat product. The Geo driver might get a lot of joy out of his car. And Anderson may really love the gnarled leftover apples. But have they discovered genuine quality that everybody else overlooked? Or have they just convinced themselves to be happy with what they can get?
Beer of the week: Natural Light Naturdays – I’d be willing to bet that a substantial number of college students would claim that they genuinely like the taste of Natural Light. Whether this preference is genuine, or merely self-delusion based on what beer they can afford, we may never know. Naturdays is a “light lager with natural flavor” meant to approximate a shandy made with strawberry lemonade. Basically, it comes off as a strawberry alcopop. What little head it has dissipated before I could snap a photo. The color is so clear and pale that I would guess that nothing resembling a strawberry came within a mile of the brewery where this was canned. The aroma is like a strawberry candy, but with hints of beer. Honestly, Naturdays is actually pretty good for what it is. It has a nice lingering tartness, and only a little bit more sweetness than I think would be ideal. I suppose it could also have more beer flavor, but it’s refreshing and different.
Reading of the week: Paper Pills by Sherwood Anderson – I actually think that Anderson is serious in his claim that the gnarled, rejected apples actually are delicious. However, in the story, a young woman has bad luck with suitors and ends up marrying an eccentric doctor. Her appreciation for this third-choice mate is likened to an appreciation for the rejected apples.
Question for the week: Does the world need a phrase like “sweet crab apples”?
Somebody recently told me that this blog is too esoteric. This post is probably the extreme limit in that respect. But this week’s reading and beer were specially requested by Micah after he made a generous contribution toward the BeerAndTrembling education fund, so if you don’t like it, take it up with him. EDIT: Now that the campaign is no longer live, I have removed the links. I still encourage readers to participate by reaching out in the comments or through the “Make a Recommendation” page.
[The following excerpt was lately discovered in the archives of the United States Classics Academy (USCA). It is evidently post-Homeric in origin, but there is no consensus as to its ultimate origin.]
Sing in me, O Muse, of the triple peals of thunder that echoed through Ilium as cunning Ulysses and Teukros, son of Telamon, breached the gates of Troy.
One night, seven years into the Daanan’s siege, Ulysses devised a plan for a two-man raid with stealthy Teukros, to the very heart of the walled city, to leave their marks on the castle’s central column. To do so, the two Argives would need to pass through several gates, and evade watchmen of uncommon military prowess.
But Artemis, goddess of the hunt, was displeased with Teukros. She had blessed many and more of his arrows on hunts beyond number, but before this daring raid, he had made her no offering. Therefore, she shrouded the moon with clouds and obscured the ground with fog, so that Teukros and cunning Ulysses could not tell which of Ilium’s twelve gates they approached, whether it was one of the six front gates or the six back.
[There is a large lacuna in the text at this point. It appears from later summaries that Ulysses had the better of the early exchanges with the Trojan guards, eventually setting up Teukros for an attack on the final gates. However, a remarkably accurate spear throw by Rhesus of Thrace scattered the Greeks. Rhesus then ran the Greeks all around the city before finally returning to a strategic defensive position.]
As was the old standard positioning in those days, godlike Lycophontes and Rhesus stood together near the third back gate, in the southeast corner of the city. Teukros, drew his mighty bow and reignited the stalled raid with an incredible, partly-obstructed shot at Rhesus. The shaft glanced harmlessly off of his shining armor, but accomplished its goal of unsettling the defenders.
[Another lengthy lacuna during which Teukros evidently led the attack, with the skirmish again circling most of the way around Troy.]
Teukros urged cunning Ulysses through the fourth back gate, and crossed through himself. As if to show his approval of the heroes’ bold feat, Zeus loosed a tremendous peal of thunder.
Teukros rushed mighty Ulysses onward, and through the penultimate gate before the castle’s central column. Rhesus, stationed by the gate, provided little obstacle for the Argive raiders. Teukros struck him a blow more deft than powerful, and sent him reeling. Teukros, with bow drawn to prevent any attacks from the rear, backed through the gate as Zeus again made the very ground quake with a mighty peal of thunder.
Within the city Rhesus, great Eioneus’ son, and godlike Lycophontes were divided. Brave Lycophontes was now the only one standing between the Argives and their objective, but was utterly incapable of stoping the Greeks as they rushed toward the last gate before the center of the castle. Out of deference for his elder, Teukros gave way for Ulysses to cross the final threshold first, and as he followed, a third and far the loudest peal of thunder enveloped the night.
Ulysses struck the castle’s central column with his sword to make his mark on the very heart of Troy. Teukros, to show his skill a final time, drew his bow again and loosed a shaft at the column. So straight was his shot that the arrowhead buried itself in a masonry joint and the feathered shaft stuck out from the column for all to see.
As victors, though victors only of a small game in the scheme of the monumental war, Ulysses and Teukros returned to their black-prowed ships for a well-earned bowl of wine. While they were out raiding, however, Telemonian Ajax had consumed all of their wine. Ulysses and Teukros would have to settle for beer.
Beer of the week: Red Stripe – When I drank this Jamaican lager regularly, the bottles were twelve ounces and had painted labels. Now the bottles are 11.2 ounces and the labels are plastic stickers. In those days, I also thought the beer was better. It is a very pale and clear lager, with an aroma primarily of adjunct grains. The flavor follows: adjunct grains with little hops to speak of, and a slightly sticky finish. Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
Reading of the week: Expert Croquet Tactics by Keith F. Wylie, Article 2. The First Break – In this book, probably the most authoritative text on croquet tactics ever written, Wylie “leave[s] behind the world of everyday croquet, with its missed roquets and blobbed hoops” to explore what the very best croquet players should do under ideal conditions. This particular section may explain some of what happened during the lacunae in the story above.
Question for the week: What was the final score in the game of Ulysses and Teukros v. Rhesus and Lycophontes?
Occasionally, upon witnessing some great athletic performance, hearing some beautiful music, or viewing some astounding work of art, I think to myself, “wouldn’t it be great to have some discernible talent?”
Of course pure, raw talent is exceptionally rare. For the most part, any remarkable performance is the culmination of an immense amount of work. Malcolm Gladwell popularized the the 10,000 Hour Rule, the idea that greatness (in performing arts, computer programming, or whatever) requires 10,000 of practice.
But 10,000 hours of practice is not simply 10,000 hours of practice. It is also 10,000 of not doing something else. Every hour in the gym, the library, or the studio is an hour not spent with family, or relaxing, or anything else. The sacrifices made to achieve greatness are more than the 10,000 hours of practice, they are also the 10,000 not not practicing. We can see the hours of training, but what we can’t see may be more important in the long run.
Beer of the week: Green – The brewers at Tree House Brewing Company must have put in their 10,000 hours because Tree House is one of the hottest names in beer. Green is one of their many renowned IPAs. Green is cloudy, practically muddy, and pours with a big, rocky head. The aroma is hop-forward with some tropical fruit notes. The beer is smooth and creamy with hints of citrus and pineapple and a lingering taste of orange. Green is an excellent IPA.
Reading of the week: First Sorrow by Franz Kafka – I almost wrote that this very short story is about a trapeze artist, but I am never sure what Kafka stories are really about. The main character of the story is a trapeze artist who “never came down from his trapeze by night or day . . . from a desire to perfect his skill.” That’s one way to rack up 10,000 hours quickly.
Question for the week: Can greatness coexist with balance? Or must the great (in any field) have some off-setting deficiency, such as in family life?