Looking for a safe place to tell my stories

…or, looking for a safe place to buy groceries…

…or, looking for a safe place to worship…

…or, looking for a safe place to go to school…

…or, looking for a safe place to live out my life in peace…

So, it has come down to this. Americans committing genocide upon Americans. Not Russians upon Ukrainians. Americans killing Americans. First the bang, and then the whimper, the endless recitation by our “leaders” telling us it’s a mental issue. Ya think? Starting with the pols. We are watching the killing of our country, in real time, in our lifetime. Not by the commies. Not by the Nazis. Not by the Jews, or by the Blacks, or by the Mexican immigrants or by the Irish or the Italians or the Poles. By Americans. On Americans. We are burying ourselves.

Want To Be a Better Italian Wine Expert? Study French Wine

I don’t know how it happened, but recently I was talking to an acquaintance who never knew what I did in my career. I mentioned something about being a wine guy, with a particular focus on Italian wine. Right after I said the word “Italian” I noticed a facial micro-expression on the person I was chatting with. It was as if to indicate, “What? No Californian? No French? WTF?”

Living My Best Life in the Age of Social Media

Hey Torquemada, this is all you’ll get out of me…

Here’s what I’ve been thinking about lately. In regards to the wine trade, the wine world, the wine profession and wine enthusiasm in general. What I have been witnessing, in real time, perplexes me, just a little. And more because of my reaction than anything I’ve observed from others. Let’s jump right in, shall we?

“All Italian White Wines Taste Alike”

from the archives

I’m sitting at a table, in a restaurant, with a seminal figure in white wine. The beverage director comes up to us to say hello. A few pleasantries are exchanged. After all, we are guests, even if we are part of the “trade.” Our money spends as well.

We’re talking to the beverage director about which wines do and do not work in his place, which is seafood centric. We come to find out that in this place of his, he says his best-selling category is Cabernet Sauvignon. We are close to a huge body of water; the city is cosmopolitan and diverse. The clientele is well-heeled. The menu is seafood. And Cabernet is the big hit here.

We then approach the subject of Italian wine. I’m beginning to think this fellow isn’t a white wine drinker. But he confirms it when he declares “all Italian white wines taste alike.” He then went on to remark that he had never had a memorable one.

Monday is the new Saturday

Ten years ago on this blog, I was still working, and I wrote a post called An Eternity of Mondays.

“Your job isn’t who you are,” the little monkey voice inside the head kept chattering. Yeah, yeah, heard it all so many times before in a been-there-done-that kind of way. Wave after wave of images roll onto the shores of my short-term recall, trying to evoke a response or any sign of life. Only to return back to the abyss of the deep sea of memory. It’s going to be a long night, but when it’s all said and done it’ll be another Monday.

Ten years later Monday looks a lot different. On Saturday I start looking forward to Monday. I know that’s when I get my world back. It’s when folks go back to work, and the stores are less crowded. The traffic is less congested. And a day when I once felt trapped and pinned in, now fells like I just got sprung. It’s liberating.

Flora Purim sang, when she was with Chick Corea, these lines:

Look around you my people

If you look then you will see

How to love, life is paradise all together

What game shall we play today?

 

Monday has become the day I ask that question, what game shall we play today?