Literature: Homesteader 2

Brandon’s car zipped along through the transparent tubes and swerved fearlessly from one tube to the next, whisking by opposing cars with only inches to spare. The minute volume of the commotion was what he found so unnerving. He remembered sentimentally the riding of the freeways with his father. His father had told him something about “the freedom of the open road” before the last of the freeways in Los Angeles was shut down for good. For good. Brandon decided to close the blinds.

“Will you be resting this evening Senior Calabasa?” his auto-chauff asked. “I could activate the noise cancellation.”

“No thank you Mrs. Buttersworth. In fact, I would like some music please.”

“Of course, Senior Calabasa.”

Brandon insisted on having his Auto-chauff, Mrs. Buttersworth, refer to him as “Mr. Pumpkin” as a constant reminder of the artificiality of their exchanges. In fact, he had named his auto-vac, auto-chef, and auto-groom Vigilante Justice, Goat Molester, and Mr. Ection respectively. In keeping himself to himself so much, he worried about building too strong a relationship with any of his auto-nomes.

He jostled lightly and closed his eyes as the outstanding sound system placed him in the center row of the Milan Opera House. He could almost feel the tenor’s vibrato reverberating off of the mahogany handrails. Puccini’s La Boheme. His favorite. He imagined himself in an ancient tuxedo, accompanied by a buxom woman with smiling, imperfect teeth. She glances at him lovingly and squeezes his arm excitedly as Act 1 draws to a close.

“We have arrived in your car port Senior Calabasa.”

“Thank you Mrs. Buttersworth,” replied Brandon. “Tomorrow I will have you replaced with a microwave full of dirty diapers.”

“Ho Hoo. Good one, you scoundrel.”

As Brandon strode through the breezeway and into the parlor, the lights warmed gently, and the fake fireplace began to crackle. Brandon loosened his tie and glanced at the TV wall.

“Mr. Ection,” Brandon called softly.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I want to view my soc-credits.”

The screen instantly flashed a chart that showed his soc-credit reserve by month. The bright blue screen reflected off his face as he poured himself a bourbon from the parlor bar. 9,008,285 soc-credits. Not nearly enough. If he bought a two-month vacation at the cabin he would almost be back where he started. Two months isn’t even close to enough time for what I have in mind, he thought. He took a sip a flopped back into the billowing sofa. His drink hand extended a accusatory finger and poked his soft belly.

“Show me news,” he mumbled.

“And that’s it from here Marlene, A gala event to mark a monumental moment in our city’s history.”

“Thanks, Gill. When we come back we’ll tell you who’s hot in crown-top and who will be joining the injured-reserve. Stay Tuned.”

The screen showed a lagoon-like pool surrounded with soft, white, plastic pebbles. Purple light streaks through the misty air. A naked man playfully chases a laughing woman. The perspective swoops away and they disappear into the fog. Splashes. In front of the misty pool reclines another couple. The woman contentedly pops a yellow into her mouth.

“An oasis of pleasure. The time of your life. You deserve it…”

Brandon clicked off the TV and pulled the vacation magazine out of his briefcase. Leaning back on the bolsters he wondered if he could hit the ceiling with his glass without standing up.

Literature: Homesteader 1

Out. That’s what Brandon Mercer wanted. He gazed longingly at the photo in the back of the vacation magazine as he sat in the glass-domed coffee shop on the fifth floor. He sighed pitifully and glanced to the TV screen. They were showing a sport, crowntop, that he didn’t understand. It was kind of a mix between king-of-the-mountain, football, and capture-the-flag. Three of the grey team were unceremoniously knocking two of the greens down to the lower level. For a while he had been keeping track of the standings if for nothing else than a chance to relate to his contemporaries. It had worked, sort of, but he had lost interest.

He had never found that thing that he was looking for among the shining towers of the corporate village or the sprawling bubble-shaped houses packed with convenience. He himself had a Spanish-style villa with a personal theater and a restaurant quality kitchen, not that he could find any decent ingredients any more. The safety of ultra-pasteurization had washed away the subtleties of his favorite flavors. He usually ordered out.

The magazine was open to the last page, where only the least-expensive, poorly designed, cramped ads would be found. Truly rustic retreats had fallen out of vogue long ago, competing with fantasy camps, ultra-sports, med-spas, and the like. In one corner was the image that intrigued him. A dilapidated cabin sat a-top a gently sloping hill bending towards a steel-grey river. Behind and above the cabin stood towering pines and small, knotted birches. What would it be like? Could he pay the caretaker to turn off the surveillance devices or even remove them? The expense, he thought, would only prolong his captivity in the Grant Corporation.

Oh no. Murray. Murray stood with his tray only twenty feet away. It was obvious to Brandon that Murray had seen him and wanted Brandon to notice that Murray clearly hadn’t seen him, and now Murray looked for a reason not to join him. Murray looked past Brandon and then saw a seat near the screen which he moved towards eagerly. Thank God. Everyone in Brandon’s department congenially avoided him now. He was roundly regarded as a harmless dullard. Everyone had attempted friendliness with Brandon but his disinterest was eventually reciprocated.

Through the dome and the rain he could almost see the tube to the valley that he would travel after work. Just as he always had.

Living: Brew Review

Urban Groundhog's Hefeweizen! 6/10 acorns.

We regretfully have to give this first attempt at all-grain brewing a barely passing score of six out of ten acorns. While the drink had a pleasant appearance, aroma, and fruity, wheat notes, it was lacking in several areas. The flavor was weak and didn't give any of the protein-rich mouth-feel usually accompanying the style. This was apparently due to the over sparging which yielded much more wort than was expected. The flavors were mild to the point of being watery and the after-taste had an unpleasant cidery-ness. It was drinkable but barely.

Living: Brewing Sytem

New Brew! We are now in production of our second beer and a review of our first is forth-coming. This next batch will be an American Amber Ale. In the clip below you can see our economical, all-grain system in action.

Remember that you sparge water should be close to 170 degrees without going over.

Society: Prominent Woodchucks to Wed

Woodchucks Michael T. and Carmen B. announced their engagement to a small family gathering and have set the date for September 5, 2009. Insiders say the date was selected to precede some serious, hibernation-time snuggling.

Reliable sources indicate that the ceremony will be "a casual, country, al-fresco, affair" and will be followed by a groundhog jamboree and camp out. Our source further explained that upon hearing the news Michael's mom "cackled like insane hyena."

Pictured here is the happy couple pilfering green beans from the Weaver's Way farm in their Philadelphia habitat.

Living: Gain 10 pounds by the holidays! We'll show you how!

Well, well, well. Here you are again in September looking as svelte as an otter with orthodontia. You have no one but yourself to blame. While your neighbors were annihilating acorns and walling up walnuts, you were chasing lady-hogs, punking gardeners, and trimming your teeth 'til the wee hours. But don't worry, UG's got your back. Follow these guidelines, loosen your belt, and be prepared to hear, "You look fantastic, have you gained weight?"

Step 1: Train with weights

Nothing pumps up your appetite like some serious resistance trainings. As soon as your muscles respond, they will be bullying your laggard stomach into a frenzy. Don't worry if you get some gawkers at the gymnasium. ("Yeah baby, rub my massive gut. It's all natural.")

Step 2: Fat stack

I know what you're going to say, "I love fats, but they satiate so quickly." You need to trick your body into consuming mass quantities of various fats before it can object. Try to fit a large amount of fats into a single meal. Think chocolate burritos and Doritos casseroles.

This great pizza uses feta, mozzarella, sun dried tomatoes, and a pesto sauce. Whew hoggy!

Step 3: The only bad carb is the one you can't find!

Pretzels and breads are a great way to get that insulin spike that makes your brain say, "Sooo sweeeeeeepy....zzzzzzz." Check out http://www.breadworld.com/ for some quick recipes. When making the pretzels, try increasing the yeast by 50% for a doughy roll-type pretzel. Add some honey mustard and you'll be smokin' (from the friction of your thighs rubbing together)!

Step 4: Keep brewing
Alcohol is loaded with energy, that's why you can set shots on fire. Beer combines alcoholic energy with residual sugars to really give you a fat-gaining edge - while taking the edge off!


Remember, gaining weight for hibernation doesn't have to be a chore. Try to enjoy it!

Travel Desk: Discovering America

We sent our unpaid intern/CEO Old Man Towle across the country in his little pickup truck and he had this to say:

"I killed many bugs and brewered many touries. I counted Cracker-Barrels. Seventy-four. Most towns focus on selling one of three things: moccasins, jerky, or petrified wood. St. Louis good, Indiana bad. People get uglier as you move north. I saw some weird shit, especially in Texas."

Favorite Photos:

Mama Groundhog!