Random Brew Generator: Outer Gourd

If you're anything like me, you're of legal age and you enjoy a nice brew while you unwind with video games. My experience with drinking while playing games has ranged from a pleasant, unfazed focus to intense and uncoordinated debauchery.

But I find that when I hit the right mix, something exceptional bubbles up.

My method is simple. One beer is for taste, and the next for a playthrough of whatever video game I think goes best with it. So, while the setup is predictable, the experience is anything but. It's random, generated by 1s and 0s, mediated through my ever-suffering skillset.

New Belgium: Atomic Pumpkin and Rimworld

Here we go again. With the release of my poetry book, I've been a lot busier of late. I' wouldn't say I was blowing off this blog, but I will give a hearty, corporate "I didn't have the capacity to add it to my workflow." I was fixating on perfecting my book to great effect. The book wound up releasing 99% satisfactory to my perfectionist inclinations.

I have to give credit where it's due - my editor graciously accommodated my lateness with a prompt review and minimal razzing. What a legend. I would be in grammar hell without him, especially for that HZD one last week.

The Taste

You know what's weird about plastic glasses? Sometimes, the detergent from the washing machine leaves small bubble stains on the outside. I always polish mine inside and out, because I have yet to retain the fact that there is no soap remaining. My rinsing works every time. So far, it's only the plastic and the too-thick rim that leaves a mark on the taste.

Anyways.

I delved into Atomic Pumpkin with high expectations, as I've loved New Belgium brews for over a decade. I recognized that I could also discuss the breweries more in these articles, giving credit where it's due and providing background for readers who are unfamiliar with beer.

The truth is that it would just mean more work for me. My brain is only full of useless things about menial subjects; to properly represent these companies, I'd have to do research, which I actively avoid in all areas of my life.

The initial pour formed a bubbly, cohesive, lacey head. I could tell the drink was well-carbonated from all the little bubbles that coated the bottom of the glass. The aroma of cooked sugar, like that of a sweet piece of toast, mingled with a thick layer of spice. While it sat in the glass, the spicy smell grew stronger and sweeter. It was definitely pumpkin, and pungently so. The bubbles didn't fade. Instead, they retained a nice white layer on the surface. The liquid itself was a beautiful tangerine, At first inspection, it looked crystal clear. The beer had limited visibility, belying the colloidal nature of beer itself. Seeing the bubbles from underneath made me feel like I was looking at the bottom of the surface of a frozen lake. It was beautiful.

From the first sip, the spice was really what hit. It took a few seconds but eventually coated my entire mouth. There wasn't really much of an aftertaste at first. The spice was so strong that the malt only amplified it. It had a nice fluffy mouth feel, but the drink itself is medium to heavy. I think this was probably due to the carbonation. I've been fixated on carbonation lately, because we have not been able to get it right in our homebrew.

The retronasal evaluation revealed the extremely subtle hops. They were crisp, and while the bitter was mostly overwhelmed by the spice, it did add to the refreshing nature of the drink. In fact, the whole package was very smooth in spite of its sharp taste. As the drink warmed, and my palate leveled out the spicy effect, I could more readily taste the hops. Not that the spice was fully gone; it stuck to the roof of my mouth, the back of my tongue, and in my throat. I found it very pleasant. I have been a huge spice enjoyer since my teenage years, and this brew fed that craving well.

Proving myself the ultimate hypocrite, I quickly looked the flavors up online. Then, I realized the same information was on the can. I really should read more. Whatever. But I learned that alongside the pumpkin was cinnamon and habanero. These ingredients fully explained the intensity of the spicy burn.

The Activity

I can't say that games from the life sim genre have been an easy sell to me. For many years of my real life, I let all of my choices be decided by extenuating circumstances. However, I'd revel in the well-crafted stories from online folk as they enjoyed games like Sims 4 (or Sims 3, which allegedly is better) or Dwarf Fortress. These narratives ranged from absurdly cruel to positively wholesome to descriptions of war crimes, and they held my interest fast.

Out of all the stories, I followed the ones from Rimworld with the most zeal (kudos to Tynan for his passion in creating and maintaining his indie game). The premise of the game is that the player managed several colonists who crash-land on a remote planet. Functionally, it's a life-sim that's narrated by an AI storyteller who schedules world events that the players have to navigate. Survival of the colony is never guaranteed.

As such, there are stories about harvesting body parts for silver, about full-on psychotic breaks because a colonist would refuse to eat at a table five feet away from them, about designing vegetarian cafes for oncoming travelers. And after several years of entertainment, I decided that it was time to bite the bullet and see what would happen to me. I found myself readily invested in the well-being of my townsfolk.

If only for the community meme, I used Randy as my sole narrator. He is famous for random events, which can prove alternately easy (like when I got three auroras in a row, which lit the night and improved morale) or devastating (read: man-hunting guinea pigs). I also play on an easier difficulty. Combat is fun, but it's not something I need to encounter all too frequently.

I'm in this game for the stories that come from the fantasy of control. And the control especially provides me with a certain satisfaction that I have trouble obtaining in my everyday life.

The Experience

For this playthrough session, I was smart in two ways (three, if you count the obvious penchant for bloviating as a boon).

The first way I was smart is that I pulled the beer out of the fridge to warm it up somewhat before pouring. Unquestionably smart. Ales should be served at around 50 degrees Fahrenheit.

The second thing I believed clever was that, before diving into the rim, I pre-gamed with some other brews. Questionably smart. Inebriation facilitates a certain atmosphere that could swing either way.

As I boot up my laptop  (because yes, I have this on my work laptop, and no, it is not distracting at all, unless I want it to be) I realize that I've never played this game with the sound on, and I decide that I'm not about to start. Video game OSTs are often a beautiful thing, which my fiancée suffers because she's often subject to the same soundtrack songs over and over again. But there are times where I'd rather cultivate my own vibe, where I don't want to hear the dings and bells and whistles of gamified dopamine drops. Besides, isn't this level of control what life sims are all about?

And so, in order to seem as pretentious as possible, I queue up Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

I've only played the base game so far. As is rote for Rimworld players, I also use too many mods to list here, each providing more options for me to micromanage. You can tell your colonists what to do and what to prioritize; you can have them interact with anything at any time (or, at least, you can tell them to). I really like setting them up to do whatever I need at the moment, and then watching them run around.  I like to play at three times fast-forward speed. It obviously makes things go a little faster, but it means that I can let colonists run about their daily business and finish it quickly. I can always shake up routine and deal with problems by pausing time whenever I want.

I load my current colony, "Rococo Cocoas," which is a settlement in a hot climate, desert terrain town. So far, it is much more successful than my last one, Cozy Couch, which was torn apart by ravenous, man-eating guinea pigs. The beer looks so appetizing (I'll tell you later about the weirder palates I've been forced to entertain).  I take a swig and take stock. The spice hones my instinct and suspends my already-lackluster disbelief. Time to get started.

I am the proprietor of a small township, one that thrives on the havoc wreaked by climate change. We live in an arid region with pockets of fertile ground, and because it's always warm, our plants are always growing. We rarely hunt for meat unless we have to defend ourselves from predators. We have several windmills and geyser power generators, which provide ample A/C for our buildings. Our town entertains frequent visitors. Our clothes may be tattered, our labor may be tedious, and it may get up to 40°C every day, but everyone works together to survive and ensure that no one goes crazy.

As of right now, the only person who is at a minor risk of having a mental breakdown is the captain of my colony, Doe. She was among my first colonists, and I am enamored with her. She has a lethal talent with her gun; she's first on the line of defense, and often last. But since she is rarely called to action, I often employ her hardy nature in the mines, which she fixates on and eventually tires of. She is also very absent-minded, which means that when I tell her to take a break, sometimes she will forget and head straight back to the rock and pickaxe.

Mood is vital to existence on the rim. If your colonists aren't happy, they go crazy, and then, they either eat everything, destroy your buildings, or kill everyone. I often wonder what commodities and mental/psychological necessities prevent me from such a break. What situation could cause such a thing? How can I measure the control I have on my own psychological welfare versus the influence that existing systems have on me?

Immediately, a storm sets in, and a stray lightning bolt starts a fire on one of my power lines. It's far enough away that my homes and storage aren't threatened. My freed slave and young genius Kit is up to task. She sprints towards the fire and extinguishes it. The rest of my colonists are unperturbed. My butler, Szafa, continues to grow crops in the pouring rain. I note that, while we have hot peppers, my colony isn't growing any pumpkins. So much for being ludonarratively thematic.

The spice from the brew is hitting really well. I don't know why, but it makes me feel more present with my colonists. The drink is rough; it's got an edge to it. If I were stranded on a planet far from civilization, this flavor would be very heartening.

I return my attention to the game as tragedy strikes. My beloved captain Doe, who had taken bullets in her formidable colony defense, who had toiled and played and fomented Rococo Cocoas from its inception, had mined away the last stone of the quarry. This caused the roof to collapse on her, crush her head, and kill her immediately.

This death is a devastating blow. I know my colony will go on, but I'm not sure if I will. I can't even bury her, because I don't know where her body lies because of the rubble. I take a swig in remembrance.

In the ensuing Vivaldic lull, my fiancée notes that I'm being super dramatic. I respond that one can't help but be dramatic when they play this game. She sighs and leaves the room.

Of course, the irony is obvious to me. I came to this playthrough expecting to talk about control, and death is the most potent metaphor for the limitations of human intervention. I am completely out of control.

Of course, "completely" is a relative term when playing a video game. I could always save scum and reset my file to a minute ago. I could tell Doe to run from the mines, to flee the reaper, to live to fight another day.

For the sake of being an honest narrator, I don't. I like to imagine I have some integrity left, whatever that may mean.

Funnily enough, I seem to be the only one who is grieving in excess. Most of my colonists only suffer the impersonal "colonist died"debuff, which sours their mood like reading a negative news article does in the real world. One of my colonists actually has a large boost to her mood because she had hated Doe from the beginning. This is Mills, another original colonist. She is well known for stocking the kitchen, for taking care of crops, and for playing a mean chess game. I had forgotten her loathing of her captain, and even though it benefits me, I resent her for her jovial response.

Maryna, who is known for wearing a hockey mask (where did she even come from?) is the only one who joins me in grief. Doe was her niece. If I remember correctly, Maryna was also the one mining with Doe when she died. Tragic.

Reader, I want to note that I'm only like five minutes in.

Night has fallen. Both of my married couples are making sweet love on the tombstone of their captain. I look at Doe's empty bed and think about all the pots that I had to loot from native tombs because her ugly room was making her go insane. Good times.

As my colonists wake up, Randy reveals that Mills is in such a good mood that she will recruit any prisoner we take over the next five days to become a full-fledged colonist. What a vindictive asshole. Not that I can afford to retaliate. Mills is the cornerstone of this community. She has the license and credence to do whatever she wants.

My colonists get to task. Everyone runs around, chatting with one another, harvesting weed and tomatoes, storing some of my hops so that when I eventually build a keg, I can brew beer. I enjoy looking at the social menus and seeing what people talk to one another about. Right now, my butler and Mills are discussing their current task of storing food. Riveting stuff.

As Vivaldi's pleasant strains resonate in the background, I take another sip. My tongue has acclimated to the heat, and I'm finally picking up the malt, that sweet, overt caramel. The sting is dulled somewhat. Balance is restored. I am once again in control.

My figurative workhorse, Wilkinson, who manages construction and logging efforts alongside being the meat shield of my line of defense, enters something called a party frenzy. Apparently, he will be very physically active over the next few days. I'm not sure what that entails. However, he also gets access to an expertise, which means he can improve one of his skills. In the absence of my crack shot captain, and to the ominous tones of Vivaldi, I choose to make him better at fist-fighting. I will note here that Wilkinson has killed several cougars - the animal - with nothing but a steel club. He is a formidable foe, albeit one who has to recover in the hospital frequently.

However, while Wilkenson is ready to throw down, trouble is brewing in another psyche. Nicole, who I think is another freed slave, is nearing a break. It turns out, she's a night owl in the daytime, which I understand completely. Apparently she was also friends with Doe, which I didn't realize, so she joins me in grief. It warms me to her. I completely update her schedule so she gets the third shift. I'm sure it's a lot cooler then anyways. I take another sip of brew as I watch her get to the mines. Marna is there too. They are always things to be mind, at least for now.

Randy blesses us by sprouting ambrosia. I sip my brew, feeling attuned with his decision. Ambrosia is a slightly addictive fruit that improves the mood of whoever eats it. The ambrosia will take some time to grow, however, so we can't reap the benefits immediately.

Most colonists settle down for another rest and more lovemaking. My forty chickens and ducks fall asleep as well. Could I be any more of a farmer?

As my colonists rest, I am notified that there has been a crash of resources not too far from where I live. I check the world map for like the second time this playthrough. I'm not too big on exploring, because more often than not, my colonists leave their civilization in disrepair and return in no state to return to work. I investigate the wreck, but my attention wavers as I learn that one of the settlements near me is named Earwick, which coincidentally is the name of main character in Finnegans Wake.

To be frank, I'm surprised I haven't brought up that book sooner. I surely don't have time to get into it now.

For the vine, I decide to actually make a caravan and see what all the hubbub is about. Wilkinson, who is good with his fist, and the vengeful Nicole are obvious choices. Doe would have been a certain third, were she alive. The duo should only be gone for a day, so what could happen? I send them along with several meals in case they're delayed. The two gather their supplies, and soon, they're on their way through the wilds.

Everyone else proceeds as normal. We enter another Vivaldic lull. I remember my drink. While Kit botches a harvest, rendering the tomatoes useless, I take a swig. The spice reminds me I'm alive, and it makes me feel hot. I feel like I'm in the desert with my city, who I feel strong loyalty and sense of protection.

Vivaldi starts back up as soon as my caravan arrives at their destination. I pause the game to survey the land, and I am horrified. On either side of the wreck are two armies, preparing for a massive battle. There are just so many people here. What are Wilkinson and Nicole even going to do? Are they just going to watch? Are they going to try to fight? They have no chance of survival if they do. And they have little chance if they're spotted. Things are looking bleak.

The battle commences. It's a full-on massacre. Bombs go off, flamethrowers scorch the clay and tear through bodies, machine guns launch volleys of bullets across the river. On the battlefield, a guy named Glasses, who wields a "flame gun," discusses childhood loves and the age of the universe with his comrade, who pulls pins out of grenades and lobs them into the incoming troops. The corpses catch flame, sparking a wildfire across the battlefield.

And Wilkinson and Nicole are just standing there, watching. I'm glad they are. As I contemplate the brutality of war, I realize I've finished my drink. It's very refreshing; the spice is magnificent, reflecting the grit of war and the vigor of battle spirit.

The outlanders have been completely and utterly defeated. They leave their dead behind as they flee, leaving the wealth and breadth of resources to their opponents, who revel in their bloody victory.

In real life, as I watch my cat sprint to the rug and barf up chunks of food, I consider that maybe control is out of my reach.

I can tell you firsthand that it's impossible to get things that you have complete control over to be perfect. There are already things I would change about my poetry book, things I only recognized as soon as I opened it for the first time and casually flipped through its pages. I felt like I marred what was meant to be a celebratory moment with my strong internal critic, but I couldn't help myself. I demand perfection, and when I don't get it, I find myself dispirited.

And it's hard to find perfection in just about anything. I know this all too well; I fret over it constantly. Not having control over how people interpret my work stresses me out to no end. Add to that the idea of not knowing how others perceive me as an individual, and I become an anxious wreck. It's so frightening to have a different image of yourself in your head that you have no proof is reciprocated by the real world.

Maybe it's time to learn to let go. After all, the beauty of this game is in the storytelling. The stories were what got me to play it in the first place. And stories are something that spiral beyond our control, but they are all the more enjoyable for it. Maybe it's time to revel in control where I can wield it, and enjoy the story in everything else. I mean, I'm here, aren't I? I'm putting stuff out for you all, and, most of the time, I'm completely unsure of how it will land, of how interested you will be, of what you will get out of this. But, here we are, discussing things.

And, for all it's imperfections, my poetry book joins the canon. The fact that it exists gives its odd and undesirable parts measure. These things are just a part of the story now, like the hole in my sock as I step on wet vomit is also a part of the story.

You're welcome for the imagery.

What a rewarding experience it is, to tell stories. What a great thing to share in the whims of life as they remind me that I'm less a puppeteer and more a dancer hearing cosmic music he can't describe and moving in ways he can't understand. And you are all swept away in it, too. Maybe we can arrive at a minutia of comprehension when we discuss it together.

Anyways -

Wilkenson and Nicole won't leave until they either kill everyone or die trying. I am confused at what's gotten into them, so I resign myself to watch in horror as Nicole fires on the victors, and, in retaliation, they hit Wilkinson dead-on with a missile. Subsequently, Nicole falls asleep on the sand. Good lord.

I remember I can un-draft my idiots and have them stand around peacefully. I do so and pray to every divine and demonic being that they incur no more vitriol from the heavily-armed, viciously celebratory multitude of successful raiders. Luckily for all of us, Randy decides that the victors are so excited about their spoils that they dance offscreen, leaving my caravan untouched.

Some weapons and ammunition remain strewn about the battlefield, but there are still 20-odd wounded and slumbering soldiers lazing about, their fingers on the triggers of their bloodied guns and swords. I send my colonists home empty-handed. We've all faced enough fate for one fucking day.

We all know that when they make it, it'll be back to the old grind. Back to farming, back to managing essential structures, back to managing emotions and avoiding psychotic breaks. But I know they'll at least be safe, and under my control, at least as much as I'm able to exert.

Whatever else happens only adds spice to the story.

Conclusion

Why did I think pre-gaming was a good idea? This series continues to feel like beating my head into drywall.

This game has so much character. If you're willing to stick with the somewhat steep learning curve, it provides such an easy window into the joys of storytelling and the fantasy of facilitating as perfect a life as you can give others. Each challenge only brings you closer to your colony and your colonists, and this beer added to that effect, putting me so close to the game that the 2D almost became 3D. I'm really accustomed to spices, so while this combination of heat may not be palatable for everyone, I find it incredibly appeasing, if not slightly reminiscent of fires.

I want to note that I've only touched on about 1/100 of what this game has to offer. I didn't even hit resources, research, behaviors, medicine, technology, or zoning districts. This game encapsulates a lot of the larger systems that influence everyday existence. More detail is added every day by its creator and modders alike, encouraging a strong community of reporters and storytellers.

And war criminals. Let's not forget those.

My cat is chewing next to me, which signifies that, for some reason, she wants more food. I think I'll have to log out of this one.

Recommendation

I recommend this pairing. In fact, I may grab myself another glass while I switch out the batteries of my controller.