OK. Um, sure that looks terrifying, but what bothers me most is that it seems that whoever built the runway was part of a culture that has yet to discover the concept of a string line.
OK. Um, sure that looks terrifying, but what bothers me most is that it seems that whoever built the runway was part of a culture that has yet to discover the concept of a string line.
Maybe you've been too busy researching fires in popcorn factories.
“Two inflammatory words … one wild drink. Nectar imprisoned in a bottle. Let it out. It is cruel to keep a wild animal locked up.”
When artist and illustrator Ralph Steadman wrote those words for the label of Flying Dog Brewery’s “Raging Bitch” Belgian-style IPA, he had no idea that cruel imprisonment would be precisely their fate.
In 2009, the Michigan Liquor Control Commission banned the sale of “Raging Bitch” from store shelves in the state because the commission claimed the beer’s name and its label, designed by Steadman, were “detrimental to the health, safety, and welfare of the general public.”
Any other company might have accepted the commission’s justification for censorship. But Flying Dog Brewery isn’t a company to just roll over.
Flying Dog was founded in 1990 by George Stranahan, a close friend of journalist Hunter S. Thompson, who pioneered a style of journalism known as “Gonzo”: first-person, satirical critiques on society and culture. The brewery has always maintained the critical, anti-authoritarian message embodied by Gonzo journalism.
So, when Michigan banned the sale of “Raging Bitch,” Flying Dog didn’t back down. That’s not its Gonzo style. Instead, it took the brew ha-ha to court and fought back with a First Amendment lawsuit.
We wanted to learn more about Flying Dog’s dog fight in defense of its art. Its lawsuit culminated earlier this year in a resounding legal victory, and the brewery created a First Amendment Society using damages awarded from the lawsuit, thus proving that every dog has its day.
So, we headed down to Frederick, Md., where the brewery is located. What’s the story? Nobody had bothered to say. So we would have to drum it up on our own. Free enterprise. The American dream. Horatio Alger gone mad on beer in Frederick.
When you have forded the river, when you have crossed the mountain pass, you suddenly find before you the city of Moriana, its alabaster gates transparent in the sunlight, its coral columns supporting pediments encrusted with serpentine, its villas all of glass like aquariums where the shadows of dancing girls with silvery scales swim beneath the medusa-shaped chandeliers. If this is not your first journey, you already know that cities like this have an obverse: you have only to walk in a semicircle and you will come into view of Moriana’s hidden face, an expanse of rusting sheet metal, sackcloth, planks bristling with spikes, pipes black with soot, piles of tins, blind walls with fading signs, frames of staved-in straw chairs, ropes good only for hanging oneself from a rotten beam.
____________________
Last edited by Zeno; 10-09-2016 at 01:38 PM.
Reason: Tyop