Acquired Tastes

Tell me a month ago that I'd be spending a Tuesday night touring a Bath Ale House and I'd say you were drunk.

But that's what I did and that's what I was. On the excitement of acquired taste, that is.

Organized by the Bath Real Ale society (or BRA society, in which there were only two women so go figure), it was only six quid for a bus ride to the Ale House, where we got a guided tour from the brewmaster and as many pints of the six different kinds of ale as we desired. At first I thought opening the taps to -- of all organizations -- a drinking society was a baffling business maneuver, until I realized that the ale went straight down our throats and into our wallets. After the tour, the 20-some strong BRA group spent thriftlessly, lugging minikegs of their favorite ales on the bus back to Bristol.

I bought something for my dad for when he comes to London next month.

Now, I didn't drink much. I still had some Shakespearean sonnets to read upon returning (so I passed up on going to the pub with BRA afterwards), so I drank just enough to sample the different beers and dull my anxiety about breaking one of my unwritten maxims: "partying" on weekdays.

No, this wasn't a party. It was a completely acceptable tourism experience that allowed me to sample culture. Beer just happened to be a central component. Plus: new country, new laws. Right?

Not even the beer could dissolve my feelings of irresponsibility. I'm not as Puritan as logging in a weekly "fun" quotient on Microsoft Excel, but I knew that this was the icing on a cake that'd -- wait, scratch that -- the foam on a pint glass that'd been brewing since I got here: I wasn't really studying abroad.

Good: now I've jinxed myself, and school work will start flowing like that tasty Gem Ale from its spigot. Even with an overload of 20 credit modules (long story), the school work here is nebulous. I almost feel like I'm being duped. Like I'm doing something wrong. Like I'm having too much fun.

Which brings me to the theme of this post: acquired tastes.

For me, beer was an acquired taste. Or still is. I'm still not sure if I really like it, or if I just fool myself into liking it since it's such a social and cultural staple. But even that is putting it lightly. Beer isn't just a drink: it's a rite of passage. For guys, the ability to drink beer and lots of it is a good a measure of testosterone as we've got (which is to say, a completely inaccurate and inebriated one). Beer isn't a metaphor. It isn't like liquid rebellion. It is liquid rebellion against the sober realities of life. It is entropy, gradually but progressively instilling more and more chaos and hilarity as it carries us from the symbolic to the imaginary.

So no, the Bath Ale Brewery wasn't a waste of time. It was just another classroom, as far as I'm concerned.

Nevertheless, I'm hoping the academics of Bristol stop being beer and start being like beer. In other words, I hope the academics are an acquired taste, not an occasion for holiday. Just today, the old doubt came clawing it's way back up: that my English studies are a waste of time. I tried making the case for the importance of my degree with the usual arguments: it's not what you study, but what you do with what you study. I know/hope my fears are unfounded. Plus, isn't my uncertainty good? Won't it spare me from both cocky elitism and dopey disentchantment?

Who knows. For now, I'm looking forward to the weekend that, well whaddya know, started today. On Wednesday.

Luckily there's plenty on my plate: taking care of this jury duty letter, writing, reading "The Merchant of Venice," getting my science articles in on time, seeing "Slumdog Millionaire" again with some Study Abroad students because it was just so freaking awesome, and heading to London this Saturday.

I think I can handle it. After all, I've the Ale to wash it all down.