I just finished reading on my phone a particular Facebook post that had over 600 contentious follow-up comments. I was tired just from hitting the “Load Previous Comments” so many times to get back to the first comment, let alone from reading the thread. It was theological in nature. When I finally made it through, I noted only two things that I really learned.
First, I need to be sure to remind myself often that Facebook is crippled by its innate purpose toward expressing opinion rather than being a study in or comprehension of anything considered by the masses as commonly objective.
Second, it would seem that Facebook has, if anything, provided for the evolution of contests between so-called theologians seeking to constantly out-profound one another with snippet comments to which they receive, almost immediately, fifty “likes.” What I find, however, is that when you set these collectively affirmed profoundnesses side by side, strangely, the Gospel truth begins to contain everything and nothing simultaneously. Those who these folks might so crassly designate as “simpletons,” who pop in now and then and actually offer something of substance, they aren’t necessarily celebritous, so they are often overlooked and don’t get any “likes.” And yet, if you read what they are saying, volumes of profundity are being written. While this is incredibly annoying to watch, it is also very intriguing.
So, your concern at this point: What does this have to do with the Aberlour 18? While I already have my notes well in hand, I have seen a few expert write-ups on the Aberlour 18 that weren’t very kind. And yet I have seen even more of the “commoners” writing about how they have thoroughly enjoyed this whisky, not necessarily in vibrantly grammatical ways, but communicating an essence lost on us so-called whisky theologians. As some have said of character: Most common folks will know good character when they see it. The same may be said here of a good whisky: The ordinary folks will know it when they taste it.
(Now, I offer the following little turn in the review so that you will consider carefully if the Aberlour 18 is worth the extra cash you will be spending compared to the 16-year-old.) The nose of the Aberlour 18 is very similar to what Frank the Wampa prized so greatly in the 16-year-old edition. It is similarly floral with a bearing of citrus. A second nosing gives a twinge of fudge. The palate, however, is only slightly fuller than that for which Frank sacrificed his arm. Add to the caramel and vanilla a distinct sherried bite that comes with a few extra years in the cask, and you may, indeed, be willing to sacrifice a leg as well. The finish is long and penetrating, perfect for a bitterly cold evening on Hoth’s unforgiving landscape. In fact, it would make a great companion if you decided to bundle up and go out to watch the Empire attack the Rebels. But then again, Frank was content with his 16.
So, anyway, this is all objectively true. There is nothing subjective about what I have written here.