The politics of potables

Having slugged my way from Aristotle to Aquinas to Adlai Stevenson in search of an understanding of politics (or at least a viable major), I have begun to conclude that some of the best insights into political theory may well come from pop culture. A conversation between the counter-bound philosophers in Kevin Smith's cult-classic "Clerks" delves into one of the most driving questions in my concentration: does politics truly pervade everything that we do? For me, the answer is yes, as I pore over the New York Time and Wall Street Journal every morning in searched of "fair and balanced" news. But for character Randall Graves, video store clerk and film aficionado, the average guy is just trying to make a living, oblivious to the political world around him. Randall feels particular sympathy for all the independent contractors hired to complete the second Death Star in "Return of the Jedi," who meet an untimely demise just because the galaxy happened to be swept up in a civil war. A customer who overhears the debate, however, informs the would-be pundits that he, as a contractor, always takes care to avoid potentially messy jobs — such as working on the roof of a Mafia don, a job that resulting the accidental "whacking" of a less-careful contractor.

But given that few of us have a background in construction at Princeton, where do we face these difficult decisions? Some might brag about their choice of Small World Fair-Trade coffee over other evil, capitalist brands. Others might point out their careful use of recycled paper or religious avoidance of individually-wrapped plastic goods. But nothing brings out the true leanings of a Princeton student like our favorite pastime: drinking.

I first became aware of the politics of potables earlier this year when I proudly presented my roommates with a case of sweet silver-bullet nectar: Coors Light, cold brewed in the Rockies for the freshest taste of any beer on the planet. But my trendy-liberal roommate immediately insisted that there would be no fascist beverages in his Ivory Tower. The Coors family, he explained, is racist, clubs baby seals for sport, and supplied the Nazis with tasty frosted beverages in the midst of global conflict. They are also suspected of having ties to right-wing governments in renegade redneck states throughout the Southeast. (Is there any other kind?)

As I also found out, the conservative Coors family was also responsible for the Vietnam War (JFK was bullied into it by his bar-lovin' cousin Ted) and letting Osama bin Laden get away (the Coors-thirsty troops were too busy experimenting with microbrews in the Tora Bora region).

As far as I was aware, the Coors family only had ties to Pete Coors, Republican Senate candidate in Colorado. Unlike your average Republican, who, as my roommate explains, is the puppet of Jerry Falwell and the Religious Right, Candidate Coors has alienated many in the Moral Majority by proposing one of the best platform ideas I've heard this year: lower the drinking age to 18. Since we're already approaching a de-facto drinking age of 18, tacitly endorsed by members of the previous generation who remember enjoying the sweet taste of suds years before they turned 21, the Coors proposal seems to make sense. It may not be politically expedient, and there are some ludicrous accusations that Mr. Coors is just trying drive up beer revenues by expanding demand (we already Tap the Rockies!), but I believe that the candidate from Colorado is the first man since Evan Baehr '05 to truly represent our interests.

So here's to you, Pete Coors; send a case to our room, and I'll drink to your victory. But my roommate will not. I hope we never come to a similar dispute over gin or whiskey: as President Lincoln, whose height must have made him an excellent Beirut player, once said, "A [room] divided against itself cannot stand." Then again, sometimes we have enough trouble standing to begin with. Powell Fraser is a politics major from Atlanta, Ga. He can be reached at pfraser@princeton.edu.