We have more freedom than anyone else before us. We can choose what we believe in, whom we sleep with, what clothes to wear and even which gender to be. It's overwhelming and we're confronted by choices all the time.
Some of us react by taking up this dogma or that, by romanticizing a past where personal choice was constricted and it was still possible to have a respectable and successful career without working more than 40 hours a week, and some of us just gawk in envy at stupid celebrities, who lead lives of such simplicity that they make all the weighty choices appear illusory. (In particular, we put a spotlight on stupid people who are paradoxically successful. Your columnist's personal favorite is Paris Hilton, who not only starred in a television series called "The Simple Life" but also achieved fame by a) being infamous and b) making bad decisions. Your columnist is also envious of those old enough to have lived in a time when it was still possible to be generally well-informed, instead of consciously more ignorant with every passing moment.)
At some point, we make decisions just to get them over with. (Like a Christian who puts down the Bible and picks up a bumper sticker that asks, "What would Jesus do?")
The deluge of possibility makes us seem irrevocably arbitrary because what we exclude from consideration vastly outnumbers what we thought about before deciding. Despite our freedom, we're more closed-in than ever.
Nowhere is this surfeit of choice more apparent than at Bowdoin. We've got so many ways to get loaded and not nearly enough time to try them all in four or five years of college.
Many of us come here with a commitment to the open-mindedness that is part of what makes America great, (let's not debate this. But, yes, I agree with you that this is not only debatable but especially worthy of debate, particularly right now) but our drinking habits don't much reflect this commitment. What are we to do? We're stressed out enough already. We want to get away from our problems. Drinking is a great way to do this. So why make that stressful too? PBR. (Which is cheapest at Rite-Aid, by the way.)
This is a problem that demanded a solution. I was tired of walking out of Uncle Tom's Market (Uncle Tom's sells beer and wine, but no liquor, and has the widest variety of pornographic magazines that you'll probably ever see. Your columnist has always wondered if the name is related to the Beecher-Stowe novel, but never asked. There's a new place in Topsham called Bootleggers: it has an equivalent variety of beer and none of the porn), daunted and humiliated by the sheer scope of beers available, unable to decide and afraid to ask for help. It turned out I was not alone.
Eventually, a small group of friends and I realized that the only way to tackle our gnawing inadequacy was to embark on a systematic endeavor. In homage to ethnocentrism everywhere, we excluded everything outside of New England microbrews and created a Facebook group to chart our progress. We used a potluck system.
Our selection committee resembled the U.N. Security Council, with three permanent members who had veto powers and three rotating seats that were filled with different faces every week. The purpose was to try new things, find new favorites, and come together around the consumption of delicious and locally produced beer. Let me share a few notes from the experience.
"Every Thursday, we visit our dear friend at Uncle Tom's Market and purchase six different six-packs of the finest New England microbrews we can find," wrote my estimable partner following our first venture.
We mix these six-packs up so each has six different beers in it. The end result is six different microbrews for six people for only $8 per person. That can't be beat.
After a few weeks, we found that most beers impressed, some disappointed, and a few proved divisive. We learned a lot about our own tastes and had a good time comparing different beers of different sorts from different breweries.
After a year, we'd had every New England microbrew available. Since then, we've mostly stuck with our favorites but are always excited to find something new on the shelves.
Many people at Bowdoin drink to get drunk, which is fine. There's a moderate and sustainable alternative, however, and good beer facilitates a transition to the latter.
Drinking good beer isn't only about arcane facts, like the kinds of hops and yeasts the brewer used, and none of that stuff is on the bottles anyhow. A lot of the experience depends on what you're doing and whom you're with. I can personally assure you that PBR tastes amazing in a hot tub after skiing and that Dogfish Head's Midas Touch Golden Elixir should be had with a rich meal and good conversation.
It's easy to drink less when you enjoy what you're drinking, and, as trite as it sounds, you'll find yourself relaxing and having just as much fun as you do when shotgunning a can of Natural Light.
Above all, in the words of a friend, "Remember, buying beer doesn't mean you have to drink it right away. Enjoy it."