Chasing Utopia by Nikki Giovanni

CHASING UTOPIA
    So here is the actual story. I was bored. Well, not bored because I had the privilege of interviewing Mae Jemison, the first Black woman in space, who said she pursued a degree in physics and also became a medical doctor to keep her mind occupied. Mae’s IQ must be nine hundred and fifty-five or thereabouts. I asked: “How do you keep from being bored?” And she replied: “A friend of my father’s once told me ‘If you’re bored you’re not paying attention.’”
    So I said to myself: “Beer.”
    We are foodies, my family and I. My grandmother was an extraordinary cook. Her miniature Parker House rolls have been known to float the roof off a flooded house in hurricane season. Grandpapa made pineapple ice cream so rich and creamy with those surprising chunks that burst with citrusy flavor. My sister made Spring Rolls so perfectly the Chinese complained to the State Department and my aunt fries chicken just short of burning that has been known to make the Colonel denounce his own KFC. Mommy is the best bean cooker in this world or the next and I do a pretty swell pot roast. We are, in other words, dangerous when it comes to food. But I’m a wine drinker. My sister was a wine drinker also. Red, of course. One aunt married a minister so they ate their wine instead of drinking it. That left Mommy and my middle aunt, Ann, as the beer drinkers.
    Mommy also liked Pig Feet. Boiled. Not Pickled.
    I was sad when Mommy died. Then six weeks later Gary died. Then my aunt Ann. I tried to find a way to bring them back.
    Beer.
    Mommy drank Miller Genuine Draft. Ann drank Bud Light. Not for me. If it was going to be Beer I needed to learn something.
    Going through books I came across Utopia. Sam Adams. The #1 Beer in the World. Having always been a fan of start at the top I called my local beer store. “I’d like to order a Utopia, please.” Thinking this would be easy. “No Way,” Keith said. “We never get that!” O.K. I called Bounty Hunter. They have everything. I bought my Justice Series: Blind Justice, Frontier Justice, Poetic Justice. Great red wines. “No, ma’am, we don’t sell beer.” In Canada they sell Utopia as a Special Brew because the alcohol content is so high but it’s still a beer.
    But here is the happy part. I am a poet. I occasionally get invited to speak at Important Government Agencies. I was thrilled. Sure, someone will say why would you, a poet, a rebel, you who hate the TSA and think Railroads should make a big comeback, you who think modern wars are stupid and unworthy . . . why would you speak for an Important Government Agency? Well for one thing I am an American. So government, whether I like it or not, R Me. For another thing I know they have the world’s best computers. I was charming; I was funny. I was very nice and a good citizen. I wanted an illegal favor.
    â€œPlease, Sir,” said I, “can you find Utopia?” “Of course, Little Lady,” said the Director. “It’s in your heart and mind.” He smiled a lovely smile and patted me on my shoulder. Not wanting to appear to correct him I smiled the smile of the defeated. And waited for him to leave. I asked his assistant. “I think,” he pontificated, “it is in your soul. Search deep and you will find it.” I knew I needed someone of color. Finally an older man, gray hair cut short, came by. “Please excuse me,” I said, “I’m trying to find Utopia. Can you help?” “Why sure,” he said, “as soon as I can find a safe computer.” We moved into another room and he made me stand way away from him so that I could not see the computer screen. He pulled up a website. “Here you go.” And he was right. “I can’t buy it as it’s against the rules but get someone else to go to this site. I hear it’s a great beer. At $350 a pint it ought to