The Seltzer Wars

I don't write on this blog much anymore. The reasons are numerous. I'm 32, I'm not single and most of my readers have traded in their Tory Burch clutch for a giant mom bag full of diapers. It's fine, I don't hold it against you. But it is a bit shocking that even the 'younger kids' from college are now in full blown 'I have a family' mode while I stayed up until 9am last Saturday making questionable life decisions. Whatever floats your boat right? A lot of my contemporaries always looked forward to getting married and having children, I always looked forward to watching the sunrise and spending Sundays in bed ordering delivery and watching Netflix. We're both living our dream.

One thing has caught my attention lately, a topic that I am undoubtedly an expert on: bro culture. What specifically interests me is the rise of hard seltzer and White Claw. Well, I am here today to weigh in on the debate, and to accurately predict who will win the war. So whether you want to make sure you look the coolest at Homecoming this October (I'll be there by the way) or you're looking for a hot stock tip that might fund that lake house purchase later this year, pay close attention to the next few paragraphs, and maybe you'll learn a thing or two.

It begins...

The first time I heard about White Claw was Halloween 2018. Someone invited me to a pregame that was going to be "flowing with white claws" which I assumed was some archaic colloquialism that indicated cocaine. You can imagine my surprise when I showed up to said party and saw the aforementioned White Claws, a thin white can with a large wave inviting you to crack one and let your troubles wash away like a midnight tide.

After spending the better part of a decade in a writer's room, I was familiar with the seltzer craze. Writers pound grapefruit La Croix like I slam whiskeys at an open bar wedding. However, I had never seen the 'hard' version before. I took a sip and as predicted it was disgusting and I moved on to a shot of Fireball because some things never change.

I didn't see much more of the Claws until the spring, at this point a challenger had emerged; Truly. Similarly packaged though with a slightly more feminine touch. I figured hard seltzers were intended for women that didn't want to be seen hammering beers all day. Perhaps they were more 'lady-like.' Maybe a woman ordering a hard seltzer didn't feel as guilty drinking a refreshing beverage on a warm summer day as she would being the only one at the pool guzzling down a thick double IPA. The drink was however marketed similarly as the Virginia Slim cigarette, it's not as bad for you because it's skinny and at a casual 5% ABV no one would actually become intoxicated on these.

Lifestyle Brand

My initial assumptions proved to be false as I attended a Joshua Tree excursion at the beginning of the summer. White Claw meme culture was just setting in, but it wasn't until I arrived at a pool party of privileged white males listening to 'Kygo' and sipping on Black Cherry Claws that I knew exactly what had happened. 

The bros had co-opted seltzer culture.

It makes sense if you think about it. The crisp refreshing taste of a hard seltzer embodies the care free lifestyle that most former rich Greeks strive for. No stress, no consequences, laid back, having a good time. I heard some guy announce "Ain't no laws when you're on the claws" before doing a cannonball into the pool, thoroughly soaking everyone in attendance. It's just got a better ring to it than "Gettin unruly on the Truly."

I decided to give the White Claw another chance and this time I realized I quite enjoyed it, not because the taste had changed, but because White Claw had become a lifestyle brand, the brand of people that wear backward hats, flip flops, polos, comically short shorts, and think that while Trump is a pretty bad president, eh, they'll be fine.

Hot girl summer was here and as long as we had Claws on deck it might never end.

A New Challenger Emerges

In some circles there continued to be a debate of seltzer supremacy between White Claws and Truly. We haven't seen such a fierce split in this country since the rise of identity politics or the Harry Potter sorting hat quiz first went online. But over time, White Claw pulled ahead for a substantial lead. Bon & Viv and Truly hung on for relevance as a second and third respective choice whenever White Claws were sold out (quite common). Though it seemed the Claws would be the drink of choice for 18-35 year olds without student debt moving forward. 

Then on Monday August 12th, everything changed.

Natty Light, the preferred cheap beer of frats everywhere introduced two new hard seltzers 'The Catalina Lime Mixer' and 'Aloha Beaches' which cleverly sounds like 'bitches' if you say it in a funny accent. After successfully launching Naturdays last year, it seemed that this newly self-aware Natty Light could be primed to take out the alpha dog.

But that wasn't all. Shortly thereafter PBR threw their name into the ring...but the biggest bomb came later that night when Four Loko, yes the Four Loko that used to make you shit yourself in 2010 and then wake up two days later in a bush, was also entering the Seltzer Wars.

I knew at that exact moment what I was put on this Earth to do. Now without further ado, let's break down the competitors.

Four Loko

ABV: 14%

Target: Alcoholics, frat guys, poor people

Coming in at a 14% ABV in a 24 ounce can, it seems like Four Loko's entry is more of a stunt. During welcome week parties in the Big Ten some guy named Chad will show up with these at a pregame and it will be fucking hilarious. The next thing that will happen is Chad and his friend Jenny will wake up in jail because they drank six of these and then broke into some townie's house and started barking at his dog.

While the original Four Loko served the purpose of blacking you out as quickly and as cheaply as possible, hard seltzers pride themselves on being drinkable, one of the few adult beverages that you can enjoy all day and then still have a chance of making it out that night. If you were to drink two large Four Loko seltzers at noon you will undoubtedly have wet your bed by 7pm. So while I endorse this move in my capacity as an unofficial Four Loko brand ambassador, I don't see this taking off, though it could certainly lead to some fraternity hijinks ie 'icing' in the near future.

PBR

ABV: 8%

Target: Poor Hipsters

The PBR entry is really confusing to me. PBR is the official drink of hipsters, specifically poor hipsters. Pull up to any bar in Silverlake and you can see a guy with a well manicured beard sucking on a can of the ribbon. Maybe it's because he's from Wisconsin, maybe it's because becoming a performance artist isn't really paying the bills. One thing is for certain, that guys was a fucking GDI and he hates frat guys, therefore he hates this whole trend. Every time this guy hears 'Saturdays are for the Boys' he dies a little inside. This guy is actively cyber bullying Joe Biden on Twitter because Joe isn't going to forgive his student debt for the Art History degree he got at Cal State Northridge.

The 8% PBR may have filled the comedy role when it was conceived, but the moment Four Loko doubled down with its entry, PBR lost all strategic positioning. The only corner they have left is to be the 'working man's seltzer,' but then again, union guys probably think hard seltzer is for girls and libs. I expect this to be a total disaster and be pulled off the shelves by the end of 2019. 

Bon & Viv

ABV: 4.5%

Target: Women, Health Conscious

Bon & Viv is the Ravenclaw of hard or "spiked" seltzers. It's nobodies favorite, but it's generally agreed upon that out of the Big 3, it is number two. Neither a Truly person or a White Claw person would take offense to drinking a B&V (I thought they were called Bon Ivers for two months). Following in the tradition of the Bartles and Jaymes, Zima Mike's Hard and Smirnoff Ice, B&V is geared largely toward women. It features a super rad can with two mermaids, has 90 calories and zero grams of sugar while still packing 4.5% alcohol. An anorexic could drink this shit and convince herself that she wouldn't get fat.

The slightly lower alcohol content also means that a person on-the-go can have a few of these and then drive to pick up their kids without the risk of a DUI. I wouldn't be surprised to see Gen X really grasp onto these and also folks in the athletic community. I've done a few triathlons and seen way too many people drinking Miller 64, now they have an alternative.

Natty

ABV: 6%

Target: Bros, College

When I was in college Natty's marketing machine was fairly quiet. They were the budget arm of Anheuser Busch and that was that. Meanwhile Keystone Light dominated the frat scene at my college because everyone was trying to find a god damn orange can. Well AB must have noticed because shortly after my graduation, Natty really started leaning into the college scene sponsoring Barstool heroes like Smylie Kaufman, throwing epic tailgate parties and even launching a pink lemonade beer called Naturdays. Last year they even launched a 77 pack in certain liquor stores in Maryland.

The question is not whether or not Natty seltzer will catch on anywhere; it will. The question is can it go mainstream? You're certain to see cases of this shit at your local Sigma Chi chapter during homecoming, but will 20somethings at the Manhattan Beach Open be crushing these on the Strand this weekend? It's hard to say. Another thing that is synonymous with hard seltzer is an 'elite' lifestyle. Natty is clearly not elite. They've already publicly stated that their price point will be $3 less than White Claw. They don't want the Hollywood Hills parties, though you'll find them at plenty in Westwood.

Truly

ABV: 5%

Target: Contrarians, People that don't want to be associated w/ bro culture

Where did it go wrong for Truly? It launched around the same time as White Claw in 2016 and enjoyed a fairly anonymous run its first two years. In fact, you could say that Truly got off to a better start when the hard seltzer craze was just starting to bubble in 2018. Though since then it's been all Claw. White Claw was the largest growth brand in the world the week of July 4th this year because, well no shit. Is there a bigger holiday for the bros? It's not all negative for Truly though. All ships rise with the tide. The segment was up to 500 million last year and the year over year growth for hard seltzer was 200% in April, long before the trend peaked.

Furthermore, the more Claws get associated with bros, the more some folks will choose to distance themselves from it. Despite the fact that I have never met someone that doesn't love to absolutely rip it on the weekends, apparently there are people that think being a 'bro' is a bad thing. (They all work for Vox and love to talk about their depression) There will continue to be room for Truly even if it will climb the top of the mountain. As the great Ric Flair once said, 'To be the man, you gotta beat the man.'

White Claw

ABV: 5%

Target: Bros, hot chicks that know they're hot, center-right millennials, trust fund kids, the elite

There likely hasn't been a trend that grasped a community this hard since Fireball came out in 2012. You might remember staggering around a tailgate field and watching people pass around this bottle of cinnamon elixir. They all looked the same, they were all smiling, they hadn't a care in the world. A hit at every wedding, lake day or otherwise, Fireball completely enraptured the world. Four Loko did so before Fireball. Jagermeister did so before Four Loko. You may have seen the memes that Four Lokos walked so White Claws could run. It's an apt comparison. Somehow White Claw became the official drink of every person whose dad owns a dealership. With a divided nation politically and everyone on social media having a fucking 'brand' associating yourself with one that screams youthful ignorance, generational wealth and a bit of blissful apathy doesn't seem that bad. White Claw people go on cool vacations. White Claw people party with their shirts off. White Claw people worry about things later. The question is, how long do the Claws stay on top?

If trendy booze has taught us anything, the Claws have a good 2-3 years before they become stale. Then they'll slip into comical nostalgia like the guy that brings a bottle of Jager to a party in 2019. I predict it will have slightly better staying power as White Claw has become the category leader in a somewhat new space. As long as hard seltzers are around, White Claw will be relevant, but no one lives forever and the sad downfall of White Claw will eventually be a story you read on Buzz Feed. But let's not think about that now, let's shotgun a claw and raise a toast to the dog days of summer '19.

Official Rankings

1. White Claw

2. Natty

3. Bon & Viv

4. Truly

5. Four Loko

6. PBR

Where'd You Go, Grape Kamchatka?

I always thought it was fun to take photos holding a giant bottle of vodka.

This was literally my first ever profile photo on Facebook. It says a lot about me. First of all, I drink and therefore I am cool. But also I have impeccable style and at least one friend, who I can physically dominate. I mean look at that navy blue NBA headband and that blue and green striped J Crew polo. Who the fuck wouldn’t want to hang out with me?

I’ve zoomed in on the photo and it appears to be Dark Eyes vodka. I don’t remember it having a profound effect on me, just one of the numerous suitors in the days pre-Kamchatka. Freshman year was a blur of hazing, awkward sexual encounters and drinking lots and lots of Skol in my dorm room before basketball games. I think back then we could get a half gallon bottle for about 7 dollars.

It’s ironic that I drank the piss that I did. Like any self-respecting frat guy, I had an ‘emergency credit card’ in college which acted as an unlimited line of credit that I would never have to pay. I suppose it was just some misplaced solidarity or the need to assimilate that kept me consuming the vile bottom row vodka with my peers. Alas, I started to grow a real fondness for it.

I don’t remember the exact moment Kamchatka entered my life, but it was likely sometime in late 2006 or early 2007. The first photographic evidence I found after a cursory search of my Facebook library points to March 2007, right around the ramp up to Spring Break and Little 500. Alas, this was the flavorless Kamchatka, a slight upgrade over the gasoline that was our traditional swill. 

Further research shows the first appearance of flavored Kamchatka as December of 2007. If you look at the man in the far right of this photo and draw a line down from his left elbow you will see it, 35% alcohol, 100% perfection: grape Kamchatka.

There were rumors that it wasn’t even really vodka, that it was some sort of grain alcohol infused with artificial flavors. Some would say that drinking enough of it might render you temporarily blind. We didn’t care. We just knew that by drinking a half a bottle of this we would hit the town with enough inflated confidence to fight a fucking shark.

The grape Kamchatka really hit the mainstream in 2008 and 2009. ‘Twas a staple at every tailgate, every boat trip. By the end of a four-hour session on Lake Monroe the 1.75 liter bottles would be half full of sea water, but we didn’t care. If the alcohol was strong enough to cause blindness surely it could handle a little dirty water.

Unfortunately, I graduated after four years. I moved to Chicago and I lost the family credit card. My Kamchatka consumption would no longer be a luxury but a necessity. Though as hard as I scoured the windy city, I could never find what I sought.

Fortunately, I was still quasi-dating a couple students at IU as fuckboys do. Thus, I could always look forward to my next trip down to campus. A football game, Homecoming, Little 500, a random fucking party in the middle of February that would help me forget about selling computer software.

But one day I arrived at the Big Red liquor store and realized it was gone. No grape Kamchatka. Not even Cherry. Nothing.

Thinking that this surely must be an anomaly I traveled to the other five liquor stores around town and they all told me the same thing. 

“It just stopped coming.”

There were of course rumors flying around that Bloomington had ‘banned’ the beverage due to numerous cases of alcohol poisoning; a Four Loko situation all over again.

This story made sense. We drank grape ‘chatch straight and typically without chaser. It would often make me do things like this…

And this…

So I drove down to Bedford. Surely Indiana University would have less influence in neighboring towns, but again I found the same. Grape Kamchatka had disappeared into thin air.

Eventually I moved to California and would think less and less about the elixir of my youth. When I would travel back home I would see that Karkov and some other imitators had attempted to fill the gap left by Kamchatka’s departure, but none of them quite measured up.

Over the years as eCommerce and alcohol delivery improved I would periodically search for a long lost bottle. It would be a huge hit at some sort of reunion, perhaps a fifth exchange. Maybe I would hang it over my bed like a trophy from my youth.

I came close once, finding a listing in Union, NJonly to find out that the bottle was long gone. I would bring up my search to friends from all over the country and started to realize, this may have been a fairly narrow niche from the beginning.

Just today I did a search for “grape Kamchatka.”

There were only three English results.

The first is a girl that clearly went to Indiana and explains how Cherry (not Grape Kamchatka) was instrumental in her dropping out. (Actually you should read her post, it’s really good!)

The second is an Ohio liquor distributer’s ordering guide for 2013.

The third was my friend Jen trying to get all the IU Pi Phis together for a reunion last year. Hi Jen, hope it was fun.

So what ever happened to grape Kamchatka anyway? If you just google “Kamchatka” you will learn that it is (or at least was) one of the highest selling vodkas in America…at least in the Midwest (it was distributed out of Kentucky)

Could it be that Bloomington was just a test market for grape and cherry flavors for a very specific time from 2007-2009? You would be hard pressed to find anyone that studied in Bloomington during that time that doesn’t harbor strong feelings about it one way or the other.

I find myself chasing parts of nostalgia from my youth often. I buy a Four Loko (non-caffeinated – boo) once in a while because it reminds me of going to bars like Gamekeepers in Chicago (RIP) I buy a jager bottle now and again because it reminds me of my absurd pregames in Florence. Shit, I even bought a sixer of Zima last year because it reminded me of the icing craze from a few years back,.

I just want one more bottle of grape Kamchatka so I can remember waking up on a spring Friday in Bloomington, sending out a mass BBM to all my homies in the Greek system and inviting them over for a darty…or leaving the tailgate to keep it going at my house with a DJ that also moonlighted as an accountant, blasting ‘Country Roads,’ showering beers while passersby shook their head, either in total disgust or complete envy.

I don’t know if I’ll ever find that bottle of grape Kamchatka that I’m looking for, but I’ll never stop trying. Perhaps it’s an overarching metaphor for my lost youth. But as long as there is still hope for one bottle out there, I will maintain a purpose. 

If you have any info on how to acquire grape Kamchatka (or even cherry) please reach out or let me know in the comments!

Always Remember Us This Way

A lot has happened since the last time I posted on this blog...

I've traveled to Australia, New Zealand, Germany, Serbia and England. Indiana basketball has lost something like 60 consecutive basketball games, I've advanced in age and I'm no longer the "single" dude in LA.

Of course my beloved Star is Born (inspiration for the title to this post!) was also beaten by a movie written by the Dumb and Dumber guy that attempted to solve racism...BUT I DIGRESS.

I'm 32 now. The vast majority of my social sphere is either already in their 30's or knocking on the door. I've always been very aware of my age. Age is something that was a big deal to me because I felt so immature and behind throughout most of my life. Last to get a girlfriend, last to get a good job, last to grow up. At 30 I was unemployed, single, living in a triple and had overdrawn my checking account. (LOL there were no savings)

NOT GREAT BOB!

So you could see why I became obsessed with the number. At 22 that type off behavior is expected. At 26 it's passable. At 30 it just begins to look pathetic.

Some time over the past 2 years I decided I would stop comparing myself to people from my past; beating myself up over things like engagements, baby announcements and promotions on LinkedIn.

That motherfucker is an EVP? HOW?! I let him copy ALL of my answers on a Stats final. Now he has 2 kids, a beautiful wife and flies business class? FUCK THAT GUY!

You see how one could spiral quite quickly. You start thinking about choices you made long ago and how the ripples have been devastating ever since.

If I wouldn't have skipped that P&G dinner that one time, would I be a sales director in Ohio? If I wouldn't have worn my stupid fucking purple tie to that Target interview would I own a 2 bedroom condo in St. Paul? Did I always prioritize partying above everything else in my life and has this since destroyed me? The answer is probably not to all of the above, but these are the thoughts that creep into your head moments before you fall asleep.

What jolted me this past year wasn't ME turning 32 it was other people from my life getting older. It was my brother turning 28, it was the Sophomore Kappas not being Sophomores anymore (they're all fucking 30!) it was people that I used to babysit getting married and divorced and holy shit when did all of this happen?

With every relationship I form, I default to a certain time in our life and hold onto it. With my college buddies it will always be the corner of 7th and Indiana, after a tailgate, blaring Country Roads. It's raining beer, the shorts are short. No one is wearing sunscreen. Not a care in the world.

My high school friends, we're driving around in an old station wagon figuring out somewhere to go. I'm thinking of a lie to tell my parents why I'm going to miss curfew. I honestly don't even have anything better to do, I just feel like hanging out and talking for a while longer.

I'm back in Chicago. I'm in a basement on Burling Street staying up way too late making questionable decisions on a school night, Beaumont is open until 4am, 5 on a Saturday but our apartment never closes. Let's grab one more round.

Then there is my LA crew. When I close my eyes I see us drenched in sweat at Townhouse or wandering around the beach at night feeling invincible. The sun is about to rise, I have to get home before it, or I'll be awake all day.

When did this stop being who we were? I didn't opt in to this life of escalating responsibilities. I thought we could stay young forever in these mental oases I had conjured up in my head. Am I the only one that wanted to run away?

I've read a lot about mental health and mental illness in recent years and given lots of thought to whether I was afflicted by it at times in my life. Do I have addiction issues? Do I suffer from depression? I think my conclusion is always something along the lines of ...'it's not a black or white issues, it's a spectrum and I'm probably somewhere on it.'

I suffer pangs of regret, hints of anxiety and waves of sadness like everybody else but not so much that I would self-identify in this way or make it a passionate crusade of mine. But I understand the existential dread, why everyone on the internet seems to be pessimistic about the world. Things are happening that you didn't sign up for. Maybe it's politics that bums you out, maybe it's climate change or something more personal. All these scenarios have something in common, they contain elements outside of one's control and that's what causes the nervous uncertainty.

One of the greatest joys of my past 6 months has been making a real effort to visit people from my past. I flew out to Sydney to spend a week with my cousins, I went to London and San Francisco to see my old Chicago roommates. This weekend I'm heading to a music festival with some Coachella alumni to try to recreate the magic (yes, even after I publicly stated on this blog that I was retiring from festivals)

I think it's important to spend time with people that make you happy. (Obviously) But I also think it can be healthy to take a stroll down memory lane once in a while. Sometimes I get too caught up in the fact that I'm 'living in the past' but isn't that what makes me who I am? A collection of experiences that shape my current self.

Think about every time you see a person that means something to you; friend or foe. There is an immediate feeling that washes over you be it positive or negative. These are the important things to latch onto as we grow up. Not a mental dick measuring contest "Why does he drive a nicer car than me?" It doesn't matter.

The girl I started dating recently asked me what my best quality was. It took me a moment because surely there are more negative than positive things about me, but then it popped into my mind clear as day.

"I surround myself with great people."

And sure it might be a backhanded compliment to...uh...myself.

 But it cannot be overstated how great it is to have wonderful people in your life. I mentioned earlier that a collection of experiences is what shapes who you are but that's probably only half, with the other half being reflections of the people you choose to surround yourself with.

It won't solve the problems of the world, but when I'm feeling a little down, I find I gain the most inspiration and happiness by picking up the phone and asking a buddy if they want to just grab a beer and hang out. After a couple cold ones, laughing about teenage angst and some of the more precarious situations we found ourselves in, I usually feel a bit more optimistic about the future.

But one thing is for damn sure, I always feel less alone in my uncertainty. No one has life figured out, we're all just doing our best to fake it.

Top 10 Movies of 2018

I think I’ve aged out of arthouse cinema.

I watched Roma last night and, sure, it looked cool. And yes, I was gasping for breath during the ocean scene and the hospital scene and the furniture store scene.

But you know what? I didn’t enjoy myself. Roma was a tough hang. So was Sorry to Bother You and The Hate U Give. I’m not out here trying to learn a lesson. I’m trying to enjoy myself for the next couple hours. You know what I enjoyed this year? Mamma Mia 2. Now Mamma Mia 2 did not make my list, but I took a bottle of Rose into that movie and literally danced my way out of the theater when it was over.

The world needs more Mamma Mia 2 and less First Man. And look, not to disparage the God Damien Chazelle, First Man similarly to Roma and a bunch of other movies that didn’t make my list are fine works of art that look beautiful. I guess as I get older I’m just less interested in super serious depictions of tragedy…unless it’s a war movie because war movies kick ass.

I’ll also have to issue my list of apologies right now, I didn’t see every single movie this year. I missed Vox Lux and Anna and the Apocalypse. After Beautiful Boy I was all set on rehab movies so I skipped Ben is Back and Boy Erased. I can’t find a Destroyer screener and I think I’m all set on my RGB content for the year so On the Basis of Sex will have to wait until 2019.

No animation and no docs on my list this year. I’m sure I forgot something awesome I watched in March, who cares, Sing Street is still the best movie this decade and 2018 was kind of whatever. To the list!

10. Eighth Grade

All that grandiose soapboxing about ‘movies are meant to entertain’ and then I drop the movie that made me the most uncomfortable this year. I hated watching this movie. It made me physically uncomfortable and I just wanted it to end before any other bad things could happen to that little girl. But I think that was the point. Director Bo Burnham is a 28 year old comedian who is objectively good looking and I would imagine that he could have sex with anyone in Los Angeles male or female. The fact that he remembers this kind of pain and angst from middle school just goes to prove that it’s a horrible time for everyone.

9. Black Panther

What can I say about this movie that hasn’t been said already? It’s the most captivating political thriller in years. It makes statements without being annoying about it and it has an all time performance from Michael B Jordan who may be the most interesting American actor working right now. The entire cast really just knocks it out of the park, all the while being set in one of the freshest and most exciting worlds that we have seen in any comic book movie. The film loses a couple points with me because I’ve really had it with the third act final battle. I didn’t need those rhinocerous looking motherfuckers rushing into battle but I guess this movie is for 8 year olds too. 

8. Annihilation

I’ve thought about this movie a lot and I really don’t have a fucking clue what was going on, but there was a scene in which an alien bear rips a chick’s jaw off and it’s the most metal scene of 2018. Also Natalie Portman is perfect in everything she does.

7. Bohemian Rhapsody.

This movie got shit for not being gay enough and it got shit for not making Freddie Mercury enough of a degenerate. I counter with this, when you see him stumbling through a house full of empty booze bottles and coke residue, what do you think happened? They weren’t having bible study the night before! I could watch that Live Aid sequence probably every day for the rest of my life. If Rami Malek doesn’t get an Oscar nomination I may organize a protest.

6. The Favourite

I wanted to like this movie so much more. The first half was hilarious, absurd, fun. The second half, not so much. Similar to The Lobster, Yorgos Lanthimos…you know what?Fuck it. I didn’t really like this movie. I’m changing my mind. Fuck The Favourite go see 6. Overlord.

5. BlacKKKlansman

I feel like I’ve been disingenuous with my list thus far. The truth is, I probably liked To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before AND Set It Up more than Eighth Grade. I just put Eighth Grade in there so I would have some indie cred. Whatever. At least I didn’t put something super obscure like Sisters Brothers on here (even though I quite enjoyed it) BlacKKKlansman was really fucking good. John David Washington was really fucking good…and Adam Driver? I’m so glad you fucked up your back mountain biking and never went to war. I think Spike Lee is pretty hit or miss, this movie is his best in 20 years.

4. Crazy Rich Asians

My interests are always changing but I will never not be into rich people doing rich things. A rom com about the opulence of the Singaporian elite is right up my alley and boy does this thing deliver. Maybe this is why I didn’t like Roma. That movie follows a poor maid and a rich family slipping into the middle class. What a tragedy. Fewer politically motivated massacres and more POND WEEDDINGS PLEASE! Alas, the cast of CRA is stellar. Everyone is pretty. Even Awkwafina is funny. Man, I really am just a materialistic girl out here, huh? There better be fireworks at my wedding.

3. Vice

I’m going to be honest with you. I find Adam McKay’s satirizing American tragedies to be absolutely hilarious. As a former hard line Republican, I really found nothing upsetting about the war in Iraq and Afghanistan at the time. I was playing a lot of Halo back then and my preferred mode in that game was ‘slayer’ which essentially means, kill more bad guys than bad guys kill you. We definitely killed more bad guys in that war than they killed us. But that’s not the point. We also killed innocents and really no Americans should’ve died to mid-east fuckery. I know that now. I’ve grown up. All that said, fat Christian Bale makes me laugh.

2. Hereditary

The less you know going into this movie the better, so I’ll leave it at this. Hereditary is the scariest movie I have ever seen in my life. Hard stop. Toni Collette deserves seven Oscars but since the Academy is made up of limp dick cowards, she probably won’t be nominated. The car scene is the wildest cinematic experience in 10 years and the piano wire shit is still giving me nightmares. Go see Hereditary you peasant.

1. A Star is Born

Oh fuck you. Yes, it’s basic. Yes, it’s very white. Yes it’s heteronormative. But it’s also fucking perfection. Listen to ‘Shallow’ again you fucking muppet. It’s magical. Listen to ‘Always Remember Us This Way.’ Ya that song bangs too. I even ride for the song at the end. It’s pretty good. I listen to it in the shower. Give this movie all the Oscars. Give Sam Elliott an Oscar. Let Lady Gaga and Brad perform the whole god damn soundtrack. You really want to give Glenn Close an Oscar for The Wife? You didn’t watch the fucking wife. Basically what I’m trying to say is that if you want to go to Vegas for Gaga’s residency, I’m down. Tiny arthouse fiends, we gave you Moonlight, a film about a poor kid getting a hand job. La La Land was robbed. Just…just let me have this. Thank you. 

Top 10 TV Shows of 2018

Ah yes, it's year end list SZN, the time of year where I put very little thought into putting together my 'best of' but I get thousands of views because I got Mindy Kaling's lunch for a season.

THAT MAKES ME A FUCKING EXPERT. (Apparently)

Truth be told 2018 was my first year mostly away from the TV industry. I wrote one pilot and briefly consulted on a couple treatments but I actually didn't work on a series this year. As such, I watched a bit less than in years past. Also nearly everything on my list came from streaming so I am now officially an idiot for not cutting the cord. I legit have DirecTV for the two times a year I wake up in time to watch the Colts play at 10am on a Sunday.

Now looking at it in totality my list can be categorized as things I'm in to...rich people, young love, drugs and terrorists getting shot in the fucking face. I guess I'm a pretty simple guy when it comes down to it. Let's go to the list.


10. Lovesick, Season 3 (Netflix)

As a show it barely qualifies, the entire episode dump came while I was nursing a hangover on January 1st of this year. Season 3 (or series 3 as the Brits are wont to call it) was not as crisp as its previous iterations, but as long as Dylan, Luke and Evie are appearing together in something it's making my list. The show is about a bunch of 30ish year olds just trying to figure it out in between black outs at the pub, angsty confessions and sloppy break-ups. Inject that shit into my veins. It doesn't hurt that I aspire to have the personality of Luke and the look of Dylan and end up with a girl as beautiful as Evie.

9. Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit, Season 1 (Amazon) / You, Season 1 (Lifetime)

I have these tied for 9 because they are both guilty pleasures of mine. Unlike my woke counterparts, I still really enjoy getting jingoistic from time to time and fist pumping when a nameless terrorist has his head blown off. The fact that Jim Halpert and the guy from The Wire are the two protagonists of Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit makes it that much better. The fact that this is my lone Amazon choice may puzzle you, surely Ms. Maisel or Homecoming are objectively better fare, but just think of JRSR as my Indiana comfort food when I'm feeling like 'Making America Great.'

On the flip side, You is a show about attractive people making questionable decisions. You can just go ahead and sign me up for all of that. The pilot alone has rich people doing rich things, Dan Humphrey as a voyeur, multiple scenes of gratuitous masturbation, and an arrogant douche getting maimed by a hammer! All the while it's set against a very Gossip Girly New York backdrop. While I was watching You, I wasn't sure if the show was great or if it was just made especially for me. Either way, I'm in.

8. End of the F***ing World, Season 1 (Netflix)

I watched EOTFW hungover on a Sunday afternoon after making some very poor choices on a Saturday night. Anxiety was through the roof. That's probably the best way to watch this show, which feels like a 4 hour My Chemical Romance music video. The show revolves around two teens that kind of want to murder each other but also kinda want to fuck? Eventually they decide to go on a Bonnie and Clyde-esque tear through England and by the time its over you think Sid and Nancy had a healthy relationship.

7. Narcos: Mexico, Season 1ish (Netflix)

Shows about drugs are objectively cool. Michael Pena is objectively cool. And let me tell ya, Diego Luna has come a long way since crying his way through sex with Mozart in the Jungle. The show has a familiar hook. The bad guys are pushing dope, the good guys are trying to stop them but you find yourself rooting for...the bad guys. Let chaos reign.

6. Succession, Season 1 (HBO)

The only thing I think I like more than the wealthy and elite is a good old fashioned power struggle. I also enjoy dysfunctional families bc my family is painfully normal. This show has a plethora of both. Also: Underground Burning Man drug orgies? Check. Jerking off to city skylines? Check Check. A meth binge in New Mexico? CIRCLE GETS THE SQUARE! Kendall Roy was the biggest dipshit on tv in 2018 and probably the one who I would most like to get a beer with.

5. Bodyguard, Season 1 (Netflix)

Does anyone else watch shows with the subtitles on? When I was like a Sophomore in high school my grades plummeted and my parents were afraid I wouldn't get into a decent college. I went to a psychiatrist and they ran a thousand tests on me. The results showed that I had some sort of hearing fuckery where I can't process information that is told to me, I need to read it. The real reason for my slip in grades was that I just wasn't doing homework and was spending all of my time online after football practice on AIM trying to convince people to have sex with me. Regardless, they prescribed me 40 mg of adderall a day, I went to IU and became your God for four years.

These days, I really find myself struggling to understand people that don't speak perfect English. Maybe that psychiatrist was right! Anyway I can't comprehend what the fuck Richard Madden is saying or why he keeps calling people mom, but I keep the subtitles on and the show beats ass.

4. The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Season 1 (Netflix)

God this show is awesome. I like the cat and the pansexual cousin. I love the 'Mean Girls' witches, I love the Slytherin Aunt, I love that Lady Satan looks like Veronica Lodge all grown up and I love that in season two Sabrina is probably going to start fucking Archie during a Riverdale crossover.

One thing I don't like is that fact that little Sally Draper is playing a 16 year old and the show is full of near nudity. I know the actress is 19, and know that some of these scenes are not written as exploitive but GOD DAMN do not put that temptation on me, it's fucking gross. Never did I think I would be the rallying voice to stop sexualizing women on TV but I guess I am a feminist after all. *None of this applies to Prudence though, strip away Prude. She might be playing a high schooler but she's 22 and I can tell the difference.

3. Bojack Horseman, Season 5 (Netflix)

This is the most consistently great show on television. After five years I don't know what else there is to say. Raphael Bob-Waksberg is a genius. Satires typically have a finite shelf life but every year this show seems to outdo itself. I think that's because once you get past all the sight gags and Hollywood quips, this is a show about despair and mental illness, something that we're all acquainted with in 2018 amirite?!

If you're not a fan of animation, I get it. Listening to those Rick and Morty apostles talk about Szechuan sauce is annoying, but Bojack is different. It's as biting as early South Park and as laugh out loud funny as peak Office.

2. The Haunting of Hill House, Season 1 (Netflix)

While this show won't quite make my best television series of 2018, it certainly had the best episode. Episode 5 'The Bent-Neck Lady' gave me such a visceral reaction, that I'm not sure I have fully recovered. I remember reading internet reviews that read 'Millennials Have Found Haunting of Hill House So Scary, They Can't Sleep!' and thinking God I can't wait HuffPo to pull a Gawker and die. But my God, I would only watch this show, with the lights on, in my room when one of my roommates was home. For whatever reason I figured the ghosts wouldn't come for me when my roommates were home...probably because my roommates would force the ghosts to party with them.

Actually now I'm laughing because I can't shake the thought of Michael chasing a spirit around the house with cigarettes and Budweisers...too drunk to realize that he was tormenting a malevolent demon. Ah, good times.

1. American Vandal, Season 2 (Netflix)

This show is a masterpiece. It is the peak of what entertainment can be, and it's a show that is essentially built upon poop and dick jokes.

When I was working in tv, I used to think I was better than all of my colleagues. If someone got promoted ahead of me it wasn't because they were a better writer, it's because they kissed more ass or were less of a white male than me. (God do I belong on 4chan or what) I really struggle to watch a lot of modern sitcoms because I know I could so easily write for them. Love? Sure. Sunny? Def. You're the Worst? In my sleep.

Not American Vandal.

Everyone on this show is operating at such a high level it shocks me. It's so current and relevant. The style is so fresh. I was genuinely upset when it was over. I went back and binged the entire first season again. This is the type of show that made me want to write television, the type of show that says FUCK the format. Spend less time worrying about your act breaks and just come up with something new.

A year ago when I made this list I was temping at a Regus office while still trying to write. This is the type of show that makes me want to quit my job and give it one more go. Alas, cheers to the Turd Burglar and the best show of 2018.

To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before

Let me tell you something I’m good at.

I’m pretty good at grabbing some beers with the boys. Some may say I am great at it. Actually, an argument could be made that I am a first ballot hall of famer at grabbing some beers with the boys.

Could honestly be thrown on my tombstone some day: “Here lies David Moeller, who was adept at grabbing some beers with the boys.” 

I’m a fun hang! People generally enjoy being in my presence.

Let me tell you something I’m not good at.

Girls. Among other things. Taking things seriously, planning for the future, making good decisions… oh it keeps going.

Talking about my feelings. Telling people what they mean to me. Being honest. 

Sometimes I’m solid at the beginning of a relationship. The part where we just get drunk together and roll around under the covers all night. Other times I just do and say nothing. Wait for some other guy to scoop her up and judge bitterly from the sidelines.

Regardless it always ends terribly because at the end of the day, it’s just easier to grab a few beers with the boys.

It’s ironic because I live an inherently risky lifestyle. I text and drive, I drink to excess, I ride Bird Scooters without a helmet, I still eat romaine lettuce. If I were at a music festival and found a bag of an unknown substance I would take it. I would take all of it. And hope for the best! Chances are it wouldn’t kill me, but who knows? 

Conversely, I find it nearly impossible to tell a person how I feel about them. Telling a girl that I like her is quite unlikely to kill me, yet I find it overwhelming. Dying might be unfortunate, but it isn’t awkward.

There have been four.

Four girls that I felt that burning desire for at all times of the day. Four girls I wrote countless unpublished journals to because screaming into the void was easier than having a human conversation. Four people that caused me physical pain.

Four very different scenarios, four relationships I ruined or prematurely aborted because life is hard. If I could do it all over again, I wonder what I would change.

Four girls I thought about all week at home.

Going home inherently leads to a walk down memory lane, especially when I spend the majority of the time two of the places that were so influential on me during my formative years. 

I walk into Chicago’s Bank of America Theater and instantly it’s 2010 again on a cold winter night, we can’t find a cab home…the beginning of something special, maybe. 

There were four but then there were all the ones in between.

I’m sitting in Nick’s having beers with my dad after an IU/Purdue game. We just walked past my college house and now he’s asking about all the girls he used to meet in the IU tailgate fields.

That one’s married with a kid.

I don’t know what happened to her.

Ya, her dad was cool.

Ya, her dad was rich.

Married with a kid.

I agree that one was very pretty.

Married with a kid.

Divorced maybe?

Yes I probably screwed that one up.

But why did I always screw it up?

Was it because I was afraid of heartbreak? Afraid of an uncomfortable situation?  Was it because I wasn’t sure?

Or is it just because it’s easier to pretend not to care about anything and throw back some pints.

Maybe this is why I find it so much fun to get wrecked all the time. Because when you’re shitfaced it’s easy to ignore your own insecurities and just focus on the pursuit of pleasure. Life is a story and buddy, I have a lot of them.

But a story is that, a work of mostly fiction. Something to laugh about on occasion, but stories don’t help you waking up feeling empty on occasion.

Black Wednesday comes around, I’m in Chicago. This holiday used to be my Christmas. Onesie bar crawl? Yes. Rush and Division until 4am? Obviously. The goal on this night was to drink until I lost all motor functions and then drink some more. Hopefully I would wake up in a bed more comfortable than mine to a person prettier than me.

It was then a matter time…of getting to the airport in time to fly to Chicago or Sacramento wherever I was going. Maybe I would have to drive home to Indy, maybe I wanted to shower before my parents picked me up in the city so they wouldn’t know the extent of what had gone down the previous 24 hours.

I went through security at LAX once with a black eye wearing a Pikachu onesie because I didn’t think I had time to change. This would be a great story at the Thanksgiving table.

But this year as I sat alone in my hotel room at the Moxy Chicago on Wednesday night I had no real desire to tie one off, to go on an epic Ulysseian journey seeking debauchery on a 25 degree night in Chicago. I bought a cheap ticket to Hamilton, had a couple glasses of wine and was in bed before 12.

Likewise, while I was in Bloomington with my parents, all I wanted to do was spend time with them, catch up on what they’ve been up to, get sentimental about old Bloomington memories. Even when I ran into a bunch of college friends at Kilroy’s, it wasn’t a race to see who could black out the quickest. I wanted to hear about their wives, their kids, what life events they were looking forward to.

I remember drafting up text messages to girls while I was home that were less along the lines of ‘U up?’ and more so, ‘Hey I’m sorry I screwed everything up, I wish we could have given it another shot before you moved away.”

“That’s never what you wanted.”

Home is no longer a place I go seeking some kind of king’s homecoming. That ship has sailed. Now it’s just a wistful stroll through my past, a nostalgic memory that used to feel real.

But circling back…if I could do it all over again. I guess the easiest way to deal with my pathetic emotional intelligence would be to write everyone a letter and have my brother send them out without my knowledge. What a zany scenario that would be!

In reality though, I would probably change nothing. That’s just who I was then, and this is me now. I was a child. Why did I self-sabotage? I guess so I could learn things about myself. 

“That’s never what you wanted.”

That’s right, I wanted to be the life of the party, the coolest guy in the room, the person you wanted to be like when you grew up. Fun, confident, wild. The problem is I was never any of those. I was just a lost soul trying to figure everything out.

To all the girls I loved before, I’m sorry I wasn’t better. To the ones that I left hanging, I’m sorry I didn’t care more. To everyone else that did or didn’t give up on me, I just wasn’t ready back then. I’m still not ready. But some day I might be. At 31 it just took me a little longer to learn how to treat people and hopefully I’ll never forget again.

The Deuce

Jack, Nick, Dana, Stephanie, Joey, Sarah, Sam, Mark, Michael...me

These are the people that have lived in 627 Westminster #2 since 2012, yet I'm the only one that's been there the whole time. At least three of those people are married now. Maybe four or five, I lost touch. Two still live with me for the moment. One of them moved 3,000 miles away to find himself the 9th is M.I.A. and then there's me, number 10.

A lot happens in seven years. I've changed, evolved. I've seen people come and go, friendships begin and end, multiple relationships fail and I've accumulated a LOT of stuff.

A LOT of stuff.

It's generally accepted that even if it brings about a better life situation, moving blows. The physical process is just catastrophically bad. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. Even when you involve movers, it can be an emotionally grueling process. The one life event worse than a move though may be the home renovation.

I have a noted slumlord of a property manager, but after seven years and about 30 failed city inspections I was able to convince him to install hardwood floors under threat of violence. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake. What I assumed would be a three day undertaking with a professional crew has turned into a month long cluster fuck in which one guy shows up and installs about 10 square feet a day.

All the while, all of my furniture sits outside on the patio for all of the elements. It rained last week on all of my shit, I'm sure all of it is now infested with bugs. A couple weeks ago I came home to a homeless man passed out on my couch, how exciting.

On a more personal level, it has caused me to completely clean out my room for the first time really since I moved in. I've found jury notices from 2013 that I never responded to, birthday cards from ex-girlfriends wishing me a happy 24th...random items that came in care packages from my mom and about a decade's worth of old t-shirts, socks, and old beer caps. I didn't realize how many night caps I was enjoying from the comfort of my own bed. It's a truly disgusting process, sifting through all of this garbage and deciding what to keep and what to burn.

I've been attempting to stay as far away as possible from the construction site that is my life. I hit the movies every night during the week, I destroyed myself at a festival last weekend, neither of these gave me the answers I was seeking. I decided to try something different on Saturday: head east to the desert.

The first time I ever went to Joshua Tree was with roommate Nick. He was the first roommate at #2 and the first to leave. We had been fighting a lot about stupid stuff but decided to take a trip to the desert. We ended up climbing a mountain and watching a sunset together then proceeding to get extremely drunk with 10 eighteen year olds who were starting college the next week. A park ranger came and confiscated our bong and looked very disapprovingly at Nick and I (24) for hanging out with high school kids. Regardless, the desert healed our friendship and we remain close to this day.

I don't know what it is about Joshua Tree but anytime I go there for answers, the desert provides. I've been back probably a dozen times since my first trip and every time I come back emotionally rejuvenated. I hoped I might find that refreshment once more.

Saturday, we pitched our tent off the Boy Scout trail, one mile in, 200 feet off a path (these are the back country rules) at Outlaw Rock, a place I thought I knew as well as the back of my hand. We then set off for Pioneertown and a meal at the legendary Pappy and Harriet's. Pioneertown is a city that was created in the 1940s to be a living 1880s film set. Western television shows such as the Gene Autry Show have been shooting there for years. Now it exists as an escape for tourists in the Yucca Valley. We witnessed a wedding, had some drinks and ate some truly incredible ribs, highly recommend.

Now here is what I WOULDN'T recommend...

On the way back to our campsite I decided to begin my vision quest a little early and ate a few stems. This was a bad life decision. Because by the time I parked at the Boy Scout trailhead it was...

A. Pitch Black
B. Freezing Cold

And I was without...

A. A flashlight
B. A fucking clue where I was going.

For those that have ever wandered around the desert or a forest at night, you are probably aware that it can be difficult to walk in a single direction. Even if you think you are walking a straight line, it's entirely possible that you drift one way or the other, so the chances of walking in circles is rather high. I assure you, if you are tripping your dick off, these odds go exponentially higher.

So instead of finding the answers to my questions about being metaphorically lost, I spent my vision quest being literally lost in the desert.

For close to two hours I led my merry band of misfits in circles through San Bernadino's high desert. There were laughs, there were tears and there was a growing sense of desperation. At one point I thought we may have to go sleep in the car, but I was so turned around I'm not sure I knew where it was. I had flashbacks to getting lost on Mt. Baldy, but that was during the day, I had ample water and sunlight. This was 10pm, I was cold and the only assets I had on my person were whiskey and more mushrooms. Against my better judgment I took more, sometimes you need to get all the way lost before you can be found.

Two hours later, I was debating whether we could survive a night exposed in the desert. I had a vague idea where a road was, so I didn't think our situation was completely dire, but at this moment I gave up. I let go. Every rock looked the same, we were not going to find our camp.

And then there it was, like a shining pearl in a deep blue sea, an orange tent emerged.

There was celebration of course, dancing around with a boot full of tequila watching the stars smile back upon us. Little did I know, in all of my jubilation, that my questions had just been answered.

You just have to let go.

Let go of the past, let go of my anxieties, let go of expectations and just...be.

I've heard of this with addicts or those who are super religious: submitting to a higher power. Well to be honest, I don't know what I am submitting to, I'm just making a conscious effort to stop being my own worst enemy.

I didn't find my camp until I stopped looking for it, and maybe that's a metaphor for happiness. If I am spending my whole life looking for something, maybe there's a chance I was just too distracted to realize that it was right in front of me the whole time.

I was sorting through the junk in my room this morning and I had a bit of a revelation. I don't need any of this shit. Everything must go.

All of it. This old mattress, this 2014 IKEA bed frame. This shitty desk I took from an Abbot Kinney law firm. Every article of clothing more than a year old, this cracked iPad, this fucking old drone. Get it the FUCK out of here. I'm DONE.

But it's probably time to let go of these old letters from an ex-girlfriend who is married with a kid now. Probably time to let go of this Tri Delt Flapjack Attack t shirt. The car that's been gathering dust in my driveway for a year? GONE! I think I'm all set on at least five of these onesies, this stuffed giraffe and a couple unrequited crushes I've been holding onto for a couple years too long.

Move on. Clean slate. Fresh start.

It's therapeutic really, to just kind of rip off the band-aid. Start a new game, eliminate all baggage. I had a friend in college who told me she would intentionally 'fire' all of her friends every two years and start over. I thought it was insane, but now I'm starting to understand.

Throwing away all of your shit and starting fresh is not a novel concept. It's a trope in movies about divorce and self discovery. Hell, there is a Will Ferrell movie called 'Everything Must Go.' I'm not going through a messy break up or anything but it has recently occurred to me that I have like three assets that I really care about.
1. Nintendo Switch
2. OC Christmakkuh Sweater
3. Golf Clubs

Everything else can fucking BURN baby. Who needs it? Why do I still have old sheets that were stained when a girl wet the bed? Why do I hoard gag gifts from Cards Against Humanity's 12 days of Christmas?

It's time to bag all of this shit up and drop it at Goodwill, and some underprivileged youth out there can have all of my frat shirts, Members Only jackets, pink polos and stupid hats. When I moved out here I was making $12 an hour selling newspaper ads door to door. Now I'm making slightly more than that and my life should reflect it.

If that means growing up and moving out of Westminster sooner rather than later, so be it. Because as long as I'm living the life of a 21 year old Junior in the frat, I'm never going to emotionally mature beyond that. I still love to party, and that will probably never change...but I do have the option to do it whilst NOT living in squalor.

Once we made it into the tent on Saturday night we were punished with 50 mph winds. I thought the REI tent might snap in half several times, but it weathered the storm. In the morning I saw the poles had tangled up into a steel mess, but they hadn't broken. Bend but don't break. I think that's a good metaphor for my last 10 years. I was resilient in the face of adversity several times...but it's time to start the next chapter, in which Dave becomes a human adult and tries to stop sleeping on the floor so often.

Sometimes we feel the most lost moments before we are found. I was wandering around in life, straying to the left or right in the darkness, often spinning in circles looking for something that I couldn't define. So let go and head back to the drawing board and get excited to fail again. One of these days we'll get it right. Westminster has been a hell of a ride and it's not over yet, Unit 2 will always be a part of me. In seven years I've experienced a lifetime of memories but it's hard to get better while staying the same. I've been lost in the desert for quite a while now, but I think I see an oasis on the horizon.