A lot of the people that I work with, and nearly all of my crew, are in this business because the hours are flexible, and it pays well, and the work can be fun; but really they want to be doing something else. By which I mean really they are doing something else, they just haven't figured out how to make a living at it. But once they do, they are soooo out of here.

I've been thinking about this lately, reflecting on the magnificent variety of people that working in this business has allowed me to meet and interact with. I have had the pleasure of working with a shockingly large number of brilliant and creative people over the years. Of course there have been lighting and scenic designers; that's a no-brainer, given the nature of the work. But there have also been several painters, a sculptor, writers and playwrights, two glass-blowers, several photographers, a lawyer, a doctor, a couple of scientists, a dancer or two, musicians, magicians, a card shark, a librarian, a computer programmer, a few filmmakers, a trapeze artist, cooks and bakers, and a genuine bearded lady. And those are people that I know (or knew) personally, most of whom I counted as a friend.

Some of them have moved on, of course; the nature of their calling not being compatible or leaving them with the time or desire to load in shows; some are still with me, still not quite ready for whatever reason to take the plunge. And some of them are mostly gone, but come back every once in while to play. But no matter where they are, I feel honored to have had the opportunity to work along side them.

... is like what Fashion Week feels like, more and more each season. It feels more and more foreign and unnatural every time.

Forgive me if I am repeating myself, but the older I get... the more grown up I get, I guess, the more responsible I want to be about the resources I use and the waste I produce and the impact I have on the world around me. It's actually causing me a fair bit of angst, I realized. Because I love my job, Gentle Readers. Using my brain to solve technical and logistical problems under pressure, doing physical work, leading a team, passing on my knowledge to others... I don't want to have a job where I don't get to do all those things.

And yet, as much as I love doing what I do, the people I do it for I mostly find reprehensible, if not downright despicable; and the sheer waste and frivolity of it all... I have a harder and harder time justifying the mindset. Not that I am ready to walk away; because I do enjoy the work on a deep level; just not some of the people I work with. But I used to think I could do this forever, and now I know I can't.

I took the bus to Bear Mountain this weekend, hiking around for the day. Nothing strenuous; more of a walking than a hiking. The places I was (the path around Lake Hessian, and the trail through the zoo up to the ruins of Fort Montgomery) are wilder than, say, Central Park, but really not by much. Which is not to say it wasn't fun, or that I was disappointed. It was exactly what I wanted. A day outdoors, out of the city, that wasn't going to kick my ass.

I hadn't been there in something like ten years, and I forgotten about a lot of things that are there, most notably the zoo. Which is probably the saddest zoo I have ever seen in my entire life. I say this as someone ambivalent about zoos in general. On the one hand, I very much think that animals ought to be free and wild. On the other, I think it is important for people, especially children, to see them in person; their majesty does not come through in video, and the vast majority people do not have the means to see large and exotic animals in their natural habitat. So a zoo can be a place of great wonder and inspiration, if it is done right.

The zoo at Bear Mountain is not. It is full of cramped cages and depressed animals.

To be fair, all the animals have either been rescued from injury or were born in captivity, and are incapable of living in a wild environment; without their caretakers, these animals would perish in short order. But still, it is pretty miserable. The worst, to me, were the birds with damaged or missing wings, hobbling around in their cages looking just so broken. Followed very closely (I know you will be shocked by this, Gentle Readers) by the bears, who, while not damaged, were so obviously miserable that it was heartbreaking. And yet, most of the other people there seemed not to notice how sad they were. They didn't seem to notice how much the bears would have liked to get out and chase them around a little, either; but I could tell.

Or maybe I was just projecting...

The first stage of fermentation of the (not-quite-yet-but-soon-to-be) Buckwheat Mead is complete; I moved have it out of the primary fermenter and into the glass carboy, where it will continue it's transformation.

In the strictest sense, this isn't necessary. Fermentation would continue if it was left in the primary container, and I would still end up with a good mead. However, transferring to a new, clean vessel allows one to leave behind the dead yeast and other solid by products that have accumulated thus far, and will leave you with a clearer end product, in terms of both visual clarity and taste. It also stirs everything up, and so in effect 'nudges' the yeast (which is slowing down at this point) into a second round of high activity. Additionally, it frees up the primary for the next batch of whatever you are making, which is important if you are doing your brewing in a small New York apartment like I am. And, of course, it creates a good opportunity to taste the mead in-progress.

And what did it taste like, you ask?

When the must was sealed into the primary, it was god-awful sweet, the kind of sweet that makes your teeth vibrate and your eyeballs itch, and totally overpowers any other flavor that might be present; in other words, completely undrinkable. Now, however, I would say about three-quarters of that sweetness has become alcohol. It is still sweet, but not unpleasantly so, and it is currently about as strong, alcohol-wise, as the test batches I made earlier this year, and it still has a bit to go before it is done. The flavor is emerging from behind the sweetness as well; it has these dark, bitter, molasses-y tones that are really interesting. I can't wait to see how the finished mead turns out.

I was in the great city of Chicago all last week (as was A Lover and a Fighter, though our paths did not manage to cross, sadly) attending a rigging seminar taught by none other than Harry Donovan. Which doesn't mean much to most of you, I am sure, but trust me- as far as my industry goes, he is pretty much the bee's knees. It was pretty damn awesome.

I have been doing what I would describe as medium-ish level rigging (at best) for many years, and a lot of my knowledge is that imperfect kind you get by doing things without having too much in the way of actual theory or fact to back it up. That is, 'I know that works, I have seen it done and done it myself many times, and since this is sort of like that, it ought to work to. Probably. Let's try it and see!' Which is fun and exciting and all, but not necessarily the best way to hang a bunch of stuff over people's heads. Now I have a bunch of math and theory that I can apply. Which I like.

I even got a little time to see Chicago. I saw my dear and long-moved friend the Gemological Goddess, which was quite lovely- it had been well over a year. I ate at a couple of pretty good places, went to Navy Pier and Millennium Park. It was quite a good visit.

Earlier in the year, I made a couple of small test batches of mead. Mead, if you are not familiar with it, is honey-wine, very old and very simple; in its base form, it consists of only honey, water, and yeast. I made a gallon of mead with clover honey, and another with orange blossom honey. They were delicious.

Both came out light and (unsurprisingly) a little sweet, but also crisp. There was a champagne-like quality about them, which was made more prevalent by the fact that both batches were slightly carbonated. Which was not certainly not a problem, but also not my intention; I bottled them both just a touch too soon, with the yeast still active. Oh, and did I mention that it's really strong? Stronger than wine, certainly. I neglected to take any measurements, so I can't know for sure exactly what proof it ended up, but it's strong enough to warm you as it goes down, and two glasses is enough to make me pretty tipsy. If I had to guess, I would put it at 18 or 20 percent.

This past week, having successfully done my trial runs, I started a big batch- 4 gallons. Which, for your reference, ought to yield me about 18 wine bottles worth of mead. I am quite excited.

I made it with buckwheat honey. I don't know if you have ever had it; it is very sweet, dark, and full of flavor. Imagine an equal mix of clover honey and dark molasses and you have it about right. It ought to end up giving me a very dark, rich, and seriously strong mead. Sort of the stout of meads, I would think.

I know what you are thinking, Gentle Readers. You are wondering how you can get your hands on some of this elixir. The truth is, at it's base, mead is really simple, and you probably have nearly everything you need in your house to make a gallon of mead right now. The batches I have made, including this last big batch, all follow the same basic recipe- combine 3 parts water to 1 part honey, add yeast, and let it sit and ferment for 6 weeks or so. It is a little more complicated in practice- everything needs to be sterile and handled right, so you don't end up growing a giant mold colony- but only a little, and certainly doable in your kitchen.

If anyone is interested, I will post detailed directions for making a batch yourself. And I will certainly let you know how this batch turns out. I should be able to taste it somewhere near the end of August....