Qualia and Christianity

Qualia are a notoriously slippery philosophical construct. But one can safely presume to define them as the -ness of the thing. Redness of red, the-ness of ‘the’, and so forth.

When it comes to Christianity, though, one gets into interesting waters. We are made in the image of God, after all. But what does that mean, really?

In terms of qualia, it means we could be seen as, in fact, God’s qualia. We are the essence of the thing, the nature of the thing, the -ness of the thing. The thing being God. But we are never the thing. Just an epiphenomenal quality of it, at most.

We carry God’s likeness, we walk on the barest edges of His Spirit-nature. Yet we are never in fact God, or a God-thing. We are some qualia of a Godhead. We are some quality of an infinite and all-knowing being, but never the all-knowing and infinite being.

In this context the Triune Godhead makes a LOT more sense, frankly. It is at least more understandable.

This is what discomfits Satan, actually. Like us, he is made in an image of God, but yet he is not God. The angst originates from the fact that the devil is also God’s qualia. Imbued with the nature of the thing, yet not the thing, no matter how he strives to become the thing.

It is a difficulty of qualia, and a difficulty of faith, even for demons.

An Introduction to Whisky, part two.

To-day we come to a brief listing of assorted single malt whiskies that serve as good introductory beverages for the neophyte whisky drinker. Earlier I made note of how to drink whisky (aka Scotch), and now I will explore the drinking of the Scotches. As already noted, I’ll be covering Glenmorangie, Glenfiddich, Ardbeg, Laphroaig, and Bunnahabhain.

Glenmorangie is about the best-selling whisky in Scotland, at least it was when I was first introduced to it. It is exceptionally smooth, with all the peaty goodness one could expect, yet modulated for those who might find an Islay too challenging. I recommend it as the whisky for a beginner because it goes down easily with a little water and can taste quite refreshing. That said, the shops make it confusing by offering this very popular whisky in a variety of ‘casks’ and years (10, 15 and 18 typically). The other casks (Madeira wood, Port wood, Burgundy wood, etc) do not taste as smooth as the basic Glenmorangie 10 year. It is the gold standard of whisky in both look and taste. The older one goes, the nicer the taste, but yet not enough to justify the extra dollars per bottle.

Islay whisky, on the other hand, is very dark and peaty and is often the sort of whisky that people have had impressed upon them and then turned away from with wrinkled nose and sputtering lips. It is the prototypical Scotch whisky and as such is a very acquired taste. I will discuss two of what I consider the best directly after mentioning a couple more sedate non-Islays.

Bunnahabhain is a wonderful step forward after one’s gotten comfortable with the ‘basic’ Glenmorangie and perhaps tried a few of the alternative casks (the Madeira is nearly as good as the original). It is just a smidge darker and duskier, but yet retains a lot of the delicate smoothness that marks Glenmorangie. Again, the 10 year is the way to go, even if older is available. And this holds true for someone baby-stepping into the world of whisky. Any 15 and 18 year whiskies are just costlier, while the 10 and 12 year ones taste much the same and in some instances are better. Whisky doesn’t age quite so well as other alcohols past about the 12th year or so, unless it is very old.

Glenfiddich is a non-Islay single malt that I personally do not care for, but which is well-liked by many other whisky drinkers. It is most commonly found in bars if one is wishing to experiment with whisky in a public setting. It is a grainier, rougher take on Glenmorangie overall, but less bad than the usual blends classed as Scotch at standard American bars.

And on that rough note we wander back towards Islay territory. Among the darkest, moodiest, Islay’s Islay stuff one can get is Laphroaig. It comes in cask strength (about 135 proof or something similar) and regular. I figure if a newb is going to drink an Islay like this one, that newb might as well go with cask strength. It smells like petrol, and the very bottle itself begs the drinker to ONLY take it with water. But once a finger is poured with an equal amount of water, cask strength Laphroaig reveals itself to be a beefy and wonderful Islay. The water is essential, but with it, a beautiful unravelling of peat and dark and alcohol unspools in your mouth. This effect is less intense with the ‘regular’ Laphroaig, but still it is strong stuff, and not to be undertaken as lightly as, say, Glennie (Glenmorangie).

Ardbeg, though, is about as close to a ‘light’ Islay as one can get. It is a good bridge whisky if one has mostly been drinking more mellow ones and would like to sample the Islay branch of the whisky family tree. I like it quite well, but it is hard to come by in bars, alas.

And in this fashion I come to an end of rattling on about whiskies I have loved and drunk more than a little of.

Later, I may deign to describe a few blends, but I have not decided firmly on that yet, so we’ll end this introduction to whisky for now….

more white feminist racism for you

Instead of decanting delicate tales of whisky consumption, I will instead digress to speak of some white feminist assumptions and rudeness.

This last regarding sexwork. I read some white feminist’s postings about prostitution in which she mentions it being a ‘first choice’ for ’some women’. As ever with white feminists, it is all about the subtext. White feminist discourse about sexwork goes in a number of unhelpful directions, this particular anti-sexwork stance being one of them. It presupposes that ’some women’ (never ever ever white) are so ill-treated by ‘their men’ that selling their bodies is not one possible response, but the first.

Dontcha love the implication that WOC are just Too Stupid to think of anything else first? And the implication that Their Men are worse, treat their women more poorly?

I notice that a lot of white feminists who are anti-pornstitution don’t even see the latent racism in how they frame the discussion. The girls who choose, who are reviled by their white feminist compatriots for buying into the haetara fantasy are always white. And those who cannot choose are always of color, and never think of a damned thing else as a first choice economically. That is Just.Not.True.

And this is not to even get into how all those WOC who choose sexwork ‘first’ are invariably poor and omg oppressed. Heaven forfend any of ‘em make a tidy living at it, not like the white (and white-identified, let’s not leave anyone out) happy-hooker girls who slum it. This is of course another veil drawn over WOC’s experiences, to keep them ever shadowed, ever the Other, to be redeemed by some white mistress.

It is so rude and biased and smug, and totally par for a white feminist’s course.

An Introduction to Whisky, part one.

Among liquors, whisky is one of the most ill-used and misunderstood. It rarely receives the tender and considerate treatment it warrants as a finely crafted work of alcoholic art. Far too often it is carelessly splashed into a tumbler full of ice and drowned with some over-the-counter soda before being gulped down in businesslike haste. Additionally, whisky must suffer the indignity of being conflated or confused with bourbon, which is commonly referred to as ‘whiskey’. A single ‘e’ is all that distinguishes a fine product of Scottish artisanship from a cannily packaged rendering of moonshine. As this is but an introduction, one must glide away from the digressions the decades-old confusion of whisky and whiskey could evoke and focus on the important thing, which is whisky (also known as Scotch for the less discerning.)

The first thing that must be understood about whisky is that there are three options for a bold and experimental drinker. One may try the path of blended whisky (in which multiple malts are blended together to form the liquor), single-malt whisky, or Islay single-malt whisky. Blends are hardly worth the effort of drinking unless one wishes to spend a hundred or more dollars per bottle. The reason is that the effort required to blend multiple malts into a tongue-pleasing drink is a more complex process than preparing a single malt for public consumption. (Additionally, said blends are less often bound to dear Scotland and are typically the product of foreigners.) And so we must presently leave blends behind in their nebulous corner and consider the whisky types found in whisky’s true home. Whilst one can divide single malts up regionally beyond Islay and ‘everything else’, for all effective purpose that dividing line is the simplest for an introduction. Most specially because I am pausing to include blends at all.

Before moving on to an overview of some selected single malt whiskies of both Islay and non-Islay persuasion, a moment must be taken to note the proper method of drinking whisky. Not for the brave and discriminating drinker such additions as cola, or sour mix, or other such items appended to ‘whiskey’ (bourbon.) No, for true whisky, one needs only the barest touch of pure spring water. The water must be served separately, a touch below room temperature. The whisky itself must be served neat, with no ice to sully its flavour. Then one may opt to take a single sip before adding a few drops of water. The addition of water serves to draw out some of the subtler flavours in a single malt, separating out elements for improved consumption. With experience, a drinker learns to enjoy the subtleties without water. For neophytes or those who prefer their whisky slightly dressed rather than naked, that hint of water is invaluable.

Now, having established how to drink (single malt) whisky properly, one can move on to listing a few samples of single malts as a starting point for anyone seeking to enrich their palates. The examples to be used are Glenmorangie, Glenfiddich, Ardbeg, Laphroaig, and Bunnahabhain.

…but they will be noted another day.

Down Memory Lane– touring with Declan Patrick MacManus

During my last go-round in college, I followed Elvis Costello across California and later Texas. What follows is one of the logs I kept of the California adventure, regarding his show in LA at the Wiltern. There’s some minor edits and notes for clarity. Notes are in brackets.  Also, this is copied from handwritten notes using marker and pen.

Elvis Costello in Los Angeles, June 1-2, 1999– tour log

19:00, 5/31/99

The rent a car places are all closed so I took a bus and cab to UC Riverside and am now waiting for the kid I’m supposed to stay with [internet mate at the time who was attending that uni]. If he doesn’t turn up by 7:45, I’ll go down and ring my mum. She’ll rant and rage but I’ve been travelling all day and couldn’t get to many phones at the times she’s about. I am boggled slightly that I am staying 1hr’s drive away from LA to avoid hotel bills. Granted, taking the bus or train is cheaper but it is bloody annoying. However, if the sum is less than 70$ daily, I’m okay. Orright, my day on trains and buses and automobiles has gotten me in an ultraconfessional mood. Losing the phone numbers of every single person I was supposed to meet in LA and SF [again, all internet-folk, and all ircmates] has completely thrown me off. All that I can do at the mo’ is wait on this kid and try to net retrieve the #s that way [borrow his box to get the numbers via irc].

16:50, 6/1/99.

Am taking the LA metro to the Wiltern. I got everyone’s numbers back in one night which r00led. I do hope to catch Declan in an hour or two, if only to request Distorted Angel again. My mother thinks I’m mad for staying with ircmates and suchlike, but one only lives once and the experience is worth encountering any odd people. I like odd people. What else could explain my costello fixation? =) I’m glad I took this vacation. I’ll pay for it by working two jobs but it will have been worth every penny. Every Susan Anthony, even. ;)

17:32, 6/1/99

I heart the LA metro. It dropped me right in front of the Wiltern. It’s bloody cold here, though, which sucks. I’ve only my light green sweater and it does nothing. After I finish snacking at this cute little café next door to the Wiltern, I’ll head into the Wiltern and hunt for Declan. Should be interesting I hope.

5:38 am, 6/2/99

The 1st LA show was brilliant. Reviews with setlist (I got one!) forthcoming when I stop freezing. I spent the night at Union Station rather than impose on a young man and his shiny vehicle. I think it was ok. However, I did have to sleep at a train station. The seats were fairly comfortable at least.

The schtick he did in SD [San Diego] was mostly the same last night only better. Less singing along, more dare I say respect for the crowd. I mean, he graced the LA peeps with that lovely unplugged CCIU#4 [Couldn't Call It Unexpected #4]. And Almost Blue. And a performance of I Want You that left me breathless. I think my heart stopped a beat literally. Everything flowed so much better somehow. I mean, I was sitting next to an absolutely odious man and during the show I forgot his presence and everyone else’s completely. There were many moments when I felt that I was the only one he was really singing to. Copley [San Diego venue] didn’t make me feel like that really. I’m glad the Wiltern did. Lightning might hit twice. I’ll bring a sweater just to be on the safe side.

12:57 pm, 6/2/99

Acquired a pen so I can write on both sides of the page again. Declan’s show was practically perfect. He opened like in SD with Temptation and AWH [Accidents Will Happen] and TITD [Talking in the Dark] and Toledo and WHNT [What's Her Name Today?] and Chelsea [I Don't Want to Go to Chelsea], but it all felt so much more real and heartfelt. Like he cared tonight. Then when he went into Almost Blue, I wilted into jelly. I totally decided DA [Distorted Angel] wasn’t all that pressing an issue if he was going to play AB. Then he went into IHYHN [I Hope You're Happy Now] and since I heart that song, I gleed. He followed with MOOT [Man Out of Time] which was icing sugar. His voice, which was great in SD, was nearly flawless at the Wiltern. His control is marvellous and gorgeously complemented by [Steve] Naïve’s lunatic keyboarding and piano accompaniment.

Next Declan went into You Lie Sweetly [live track that was brand new at the time, don't know if it was ever recorded] and it sounded sweeter than before. Heheh. As did PFM [Painted from Memory]and THIEN [This House Is Empty Now] though they were more like bittersweet. And PPC [Pads, Paws and Claws] swung and rawked like wow! They sounded more sincere than they had in SD. When he did WFTEOTW [Waiting for the End of the World] before PPC, I almost yelled “Yore the King Elvis!” I just kept thinking that he’d saved the cool songs and cool manner for the LA peeps as opposed to those SD hicks. Indoor Fireworks and Radio Sweetheart sounded much better too. There were even more added JWS lyrics to RS =) [The artist or album referred to here are lost to the mists of time]. The ultralong God’s Comic r00led too, with even the singalong sounding less cheesy. Alison and ITDP [In the Darkest Place]were quite uplifting in a way. I think it was the stretchy timbre of his voice.

The encores were excellent. The 1st one of IBI [Inch by Inch] , SG [Sulky Girl] and WTD [Watching the Detectives] was quick and slinky and loud. Again, better versions than SD. The 2nd encore had Shipbuilding (!), a quiet pretty take, and a chilling and wonderful IWY [I Want You]. 3rd encore was ISHTOG [I Still Have That Other Girl] and GGMS [God Give Me Strength] and they were darned good. As I mentioned, he closed with a naked CCIU#4 that almost broke my heart. I absolutely used to hate that song and now it haunts me like DA does. That, friends and neighbors, is beyond a good or great performance. The clarity and fragility of his mic-less vocal was nearly transcendent. And I got a setlist. Kick ass. Now if only I can find the bravery/stupidity to sneak backstage and get him to sign junk… I’ve only two chances left and I won’t be at the venue until after 7 tonight. So I think I’ll break my neck trying to reach him in Santa Rosa. I have a shot at success there I think. It’s even more of a backwater than SD. ;) And I’m going clubbing tonight. Should be phun.

The clubbing was fun, incidentally, even if I was still too nervous to dance at the time.