It’s So My Mom.

Image by La Ignorancia Mata via Flickr

I’m back from the dead. I let this site go for way too long (totally not cool, especially because I’ve started a new gig building blogs for businesses. Does not speak well for my ability to update content regularly!).

But my work life finally intersected back with my hobby/soon-be-be-author life (that’s this blog) after I went on the Good Beer Show last night to talk about beer myths and chicks. I was trying to wear my food writer hat, but I had met the host, Jeff Meyer, via Twitter, where my profile has a link back to this site. He didn’t mind helping me plug the book a bit, which was great, seeing as how I need, oh, 500 more interviews with women to finish the book.

Plenty of women are sympathizing with the topic–both of women becoming their mothers, and that chicks do drink good beer. I’ll post the podcast when it’s live.

But the whole chicks and beer thing got me thinking … it’s so not my mom. But it also points to the differences between my mother’s specific time in history and mine. I’m young and hip when craft breweries are growing like flowers in sidewalk cracks, finding ways to rise above a crappy economy. (Of course I’ve set the argument up this way to soon examine circumstances when my mother was young and hip, which assumes that she was, in fact, ever young and hip. Not sure. Had a daydream the other day about what it would be like to be back in time and in her body when she was my age. And then I realized that was probably the logic behind the movie “Freaky Friday.” But I digress.)

Plenty of women revel in craft beer culture today–even if some Bud Light-drinking idiot chides us for it, or a misanthrope on Beer Advocate decides to sully a female BA’s rating notes with patronizing comments.

Yes, we do demand clean bathrooms in our breweries, and we’re starved for some cute, form-fitting swag (watch for a possible Short Change offshoot on these topics). But we also edit the top beer magazines and win brewing awards.

In my mother’s time, female beer appreciation probably wasn’t appreciated. She was left stone sober to do nothing but … chores. No wonder we’re so different.