“Beer is sacred business, a mood-altering food substance that may have preserved the human species.”

This is all thousands of years old. It’s the same the world over.

Beer is a gift from the goddesses, a soothing balm given our species to bring joy and comfort in compensation for the curse of self-awareness.

The awful realization of our mortality

I asked these Indians: “Do men ever make Chicha?” My question was met with gales of laughter. The women howled. Bent over in hilarity, one replied, “Men can’t brew. Chicha made by men would only make gas in the belly.

It was this appetite for beer-making material that led to crop cultivation, permanent settlement and agriculture.

It’s what we do as a species. It’s what makes us human. We brew.

To drink beer is to be human.

You are a funny man! Beer is women’s work.”

Anyone who has ever walked upright has loved beer, celebrated over it, told talks over it, hatched plots over it, courted over it.

Beer was the driving force that led nomadic mankind into village life.

Hope and fear cannot alter the seasons

Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?

We have become frighteningly effective at altering nature.

Our perspective on the past alters. Looking back, immediately in front of us is dead ground.

It is easier for a libertarian to attack the science of global warming than to alter one’s core libertarian beliefs.

Women have always had equal importance onstage, and working with them must have altered my sensibilities.

I couldn’t think. The basics of my life seemed altered and thrown into question.

Telling them to stop isn’t going to help. There has to be some incentive for them to alter their behavior.