Stubbed Toe Pinot

2/28/11, Monday.  Long day in the Room, with inventory, end-of month.  But, I still  manage to find a writer’s way to the chair.  From completely anti-romantic to completely quixotic.  Still in a Burgundy mind blizzard, with this Pinot.  Sipping what remains of an ’08 that I opened at the event Saturday night.  Deciding that the magazine blog can’t receive any more free lines from me.  True, I don’t get paid for posting to mikeslognoblog, but I own that stream.  It’s mine, no one else’s.  It’s my bottomless bottle.

Thinking I have enough material for a novel, then I buckle.  Was going to type “wine novel,” but that’s not what I want it coined.  Yes, there will be wine on the pages, in its lines, but it’s not the only elemental anchor.  It’ll take time.  But I don’t have a lot of that.  ’08, tilt...still poised, steady in its conveyance of notes.  Loving these pictures I took Saturday night.  All the tables, cloaked bottles, interactions, poses.  I think this might be my favorite wine writing mission till now.  More characters than I could handle.  Didn’t have time to write, only seconds to snap stills.  But, I’m writing now.

Need to involve Self in more occasions centered around a single varietal.  And what harmony that this one was pushed by Pinot.  Just as it is unpredictable, unorthodox, gentle and ghostly, so forwards all writers, Humans as well; Me, in the wine world; no map, no specific aim, only curiosity, mental vivacity.  Trying to understand what else Pinot could signify.  Yes, something--and I hate this modifier--spiritual, but I’m beginning to believe an entity of unification, webbed eroticism.  Pinot is separatism, true Creativity, Unorthodoxy.  

  I must mimic.  Separating from other blogs, others’ expectations, solicitations.  I’m a writer, heralding the paper, the page, not some blog url.  Inadvertently projected my right toe, one next to the littler, into one of the stairs.  Hurts like an unusually meaty cinderblock fell on it with intent.  The toe, its target.  Quite unpleasant.  Distracting me, presently.  Have to sip and scribble through this odd, but intense, discomfort.  Thank you Pinot, inspiration from Saturday.

vinoLit, 2/27/11: Pinotcast

Still reacting from my immersion in this confusing varietal’s presence.  Somewhat at a loss, but still fortified.  How is that possible?  Contradiction, what Whitman found most applaudable.  Sipping this ’08 Lost Canyon, I wonder if I am, afterall, “a Pinot lad, a Burgundy boy,” as I wrote in the maiden issue of Letterz.  Feel foolish for phrasing such.  Well, now I’m changed, remolded.  And this is not just a Rex Pickett thing; This, a rediscovery, FOR ME.  Time might tell, and it might not.  Either way, I’m enjoying.  Even if this is a phase, which I’m almost convinced it’s not, I’m eased.  Actual Equilibrium.  Tonight’s writing session, assured to be lengthy.  As Pinot persists, so might I.  Sip, sip ...

My New Napa Home: Monticello Vineyards

Raining, so why not drive over to Napa for a little solo mission.  I knew where I was headed, Monticello.  Been wanting to taste there for a while, in the Oak Knoll district, but never made it that far east, or south, on 29.  But today I did.  Love the structures, grounds, and the feel of the tasting Room, which I noted in my little book as being “an enclosing cushion of hospitality.” Didn’t want to go back out into that rain.  Was having a great time sipping, and talking to my new friend, Linda (happy birthday, by the way!).  Once the tasting started, I felt even more anchored.  How was this wine writer ever going to leave, go back into the rain?

Linda started me off with the ’06 Corley Reserve Estate Chardonnay.  Again, I’m not the most persistent of Chardonnay pursuers, but this one was silky, not too rich, crisp and kind.  A great food Chard.  Then, an ’08 Pinot, with fruit from just around the structure where I was sipping, as I understand.  Didn’t even know there was Pinot in that area.  Guess I still have a lot to learn about my beloved valley on the mountain’s other side.  I continued to a Merlot, an ’07, which Director of Wine Sales and Marketing Mr. Stephen A. Corley himself told me contained a sprinkle of Cab Franc, my favorite Bordeaux, as you may or may not know.  More than sensually stricken with this bottle: deep, mysterious; a complexly configured vixen of a wine.  We finished up with the ’07 Jefferson Cuvee Cabernet Sauvignon, which I did wind up taking under my arm and back to the car, in the downpour, and finally the ’06 Corley Reserve Cab, which was disturbingly delectable in every respect.  Had to withhold, couldn’t get a bottle of this finale, but next time, when I return for the tour, to taste with the winemaker, Chris Corley, I more than like will add it to my cellar.

Love finding new magic in Napa, uniquely spellbinding spots.  And, this is one.  But, Monticello is elevated above many of the others.  I don’t know if it’s the elegant simplicity of the tasting Room, the grounds, or if it’s the family foundation, or the paralyzingly delicious nature and consistency of the wines.  But this one stands out like others don’t.  Again, I am going to go back, soon.  So expect another entry praising Monticello’s mastery of Napa Valley winemaking, hospitality.  Looking at my pictures, I hope there’s nothing I missed.  Sure there was, so good thing I have plans to go back.  And I don’t care if it’s raining.  Nothing’s getting in the way of my revisit.  Sip, sip ... 

(2/25/11)

vinoLit, 2/23/11

Had so much energy about my elemental interrelation, that I had to film.  An incredible new book, by an abounding author, some Cab that throws me to constellations, begets occasion warranted.  Wine continues to prove favorably antagonistic, with its  guidance.  Perpetual pagination of barreled passion.  Frankly, I’m excited for how my book will pour, thanks to Rex.  Almost sideways, not sure if I accept my vertical vision.

Stemless void, another begged.  As it occupies the quaint space, I race to place bait.  For who?  Me.  The host, the penman, hoping he’ll scribble more...

Note2Self:  Check camera depth in next episode; kind of funny this time, but maybe not at all...

AnotherNote:  Your chain’s backwards, writer.

4

Tired.  Tomorrow, making calls.  Must say, I’m not pleasurably absorbed with the immediacy.  Oh, I did decide to open some wine.  A nice bottle of 2009 Tempranillo, Lodi.  Tasty, a bit young, but coherent, forward, vibrant.  Tobacco, not as much cherry as you might expect, herbaceous stroke (subtle), pervading leathery lashes.  Medium mouthfeel and gravity.  Either way, at deconstruction’s end, I’m sipping.  Still full from that quesadilla.  Surprised how relatively early it is.  8:43p.  Glass’ contents, in recession.  Saddening.

Read through a bit of an old entry.  Too similar to now’s pages.  Disappointing revisit.  Details...a motorcycle outside the window, speeding past this condo, down Yulupa, to a juicy speeding ticket.  Should I have tested for a motorcycle license?  How would my character be if I had a bike, wore leather, smoked, knew how to work tools, but still loved art?  Kept it a secret?  There’s a character...A new varietal.

In a foul mood, bubbling with syrupy pollutants.  Difficulty, of any kind, the yo-yo, not welcome.  Seriously, why does it need be?  Where’s Kelly when I need?  She’s the solvent, artistic, sacchariferous, the panacea for such problems.  I see her, but distantly.  Is a nearness plausible?  Fantasy.  Envisioned pastry.  Well past 1k.  Clocking out.  I write so much, I’m uncomfortable when I don’t.  Pronounced predicament.  Another sip, demanded.  A prerequisite for paper and pen...   

3 Post

Getting hungry, here at 4:35p.  Haven’t felt like eating till now.  Curse this cold, or whatever.  Decluttered and cleaned a bit when I returned from distributing some copies of the Letterz.  Bought Pickett’s novel.  Put it atop my other reading assignments.  

The second Letterz issue will entail no gratis copies, in its dissemination.  All 75 will be sold.  Speaking of which, I need to start chipping away at the sophomore installment.  Maybe I’ll just write the whole thing, one sitting, Thursday morning.  With my mocha, at the coffee shop.  Characters around and about my entrenchment.  

-Think I’ll hold off on the camera; Need to invest in the business, publishing Self.

-Take more notes, the more unintelligible, sporadic, random the better

-May not be in the mood for wine, afterall.  Sometimes, a wine writer should make it a point to temporarily disassociate... 

2 Post

Need a better camera.  No, photography will not take precedence over the page.  But it does contribute to propulsion, the content, even if there’s no pic in the post [blog].  And, quite simply, it’s fun.  What can I say?  Even at my advanced age, I like to have fun.  Especially in the wine world.  If I’m not sipping at a winery, I’m scribbling notes, pocketing pics.

Not feeling good, still.  Wish this stupid, whatever it is, would just vanish.  What sinister gratification could it be enjoying while crippling me like this?  Nothing a glass of Cab can’t cure, I’m sure.  Not missing the rain today.  Colors, too attractive, deservingly distracting.  Would pair ethereally with warmer temperature, slight, and a crisp Sauv Blanc, politely oaked.  A bit tangential, I know.  But wine does that to me.  It invites it.

1 Post

Clocking in, as I resettle here in the bunker, back from a couple tasks in the Room, 12:04p.  4 shot mocha to right, haven’t yet sipped.  Already miss the Room, its elements.  Can’t give that focus, not in this session.  I need to be a true writer, with demonstrative innovation, creative influx.  First sip, surprising with its smolder.  This office, a mess.  Stresses me.

12:45p.  Just finished writing my magazine article.  Was dreading it.  Not sure why.  But, as I expected, once I started typing, it was done.  The Chronicle event was one of those socials that changed the way I see vinoLit, Wine Journalism.  Need rest.  I want this cold, or what name this annoyance deserves, to fly away.  It’s frustrating this wine scribe, more than debilitating him.

Hitchcock? King? Poe? Me?

Today, photographic, begging me to capture.  With ink, and snap.  It urged me to pair the two.  Even with the chilling dark cover above the dormant vines.  Still a bit sick.  My Room manager suggested I take a sick day tomorrow, as to definitively and comprehensively defeat this bug.  I really should.  But, not sure if I want to.  Love being within those walls, around those remedying characters far too much.  Not sure what I’ll do.  I’m torn.  If I do take a day, I’d get so much done in the stretch of writing, manuscripts.  Guess you’ll know, WE’ll know, tomorrow.  Time to sip some Zin.  Yes, I may be on a bit of a Zin kick, even though I’ve been lately stating for record I’m Zinned-out.

Looking at one of my stills, gives me the idea for a suspenseful short, or a collection thereabouts.  The genre, Literary varietal, one that continues to taunt me.  If I tomorrow take day, maybe that’s something upon which I could finally, seriously, freewrite.  Looking again at the photo, taken from the winery’s back porch.  Settled. 

Tired, as I moved quite a few cases of wine earlier in the day, when the symptoms had their tentacles around each particle of my vessel.  Not sure I’m in the best state to type.  If I take the day off tomorrow, I can get that Rex Pickett novel.  Looking forward to reading his latest colony of pages.  Was just reading his blog.  Makes me think twice about mikeslognoblog.  But I’m still thinking...

Thinking about a dream house, with a dream wine cellar, with a fantastic writing seat, maybe to the side of, with a view of a pond.  A pool?  I’m just dreaming.  Reserving such a right, to write in that light.  Reconsidering this Log’s termination.  I thought maybe such a deadline would somehow profoundly propel me, as Paris did.  As Kelly does.  Where is she?  What is she drawing?  What’s in her glass?

(Monday, 2/21/11)

Transition, mikeslognoblog

After the shift hectic, I to the keys return.  No time to feel odd.  In the glass, Alderbrook’s ’07 Estate Zin.  Tight, spicy, revolvingly flavorful, focused.  I have decided: mikeslognoblog will be closed at this year’s close.  Want books on shelves, written by me.  Was told today by some guests in the Room that an author I enjoy self-published his latest work, Rex Pickett.  More than ever, I’m entrenched in my Self-publishing endeavors.  With the Letterz, and forward.

Although today was nonstop in the Room, I found it rewarding, especially with the accompaniment, the support and knowledge of Ramona, my most prized of colleagues.  A tasting Room cannot operate without communication and coherence.  AND, it must have effective management, a foundation that is more educating, helpful, supportive, than punitive, micro-managerial.  Like a play on stage, a Room must have an interactive synergy when in the state of task.  

Done talking about tasting Room idealism.  Makes the rattler pulsate, the venom tumble to fang.  Moving onto the Literary.  Not sure if I’m ready for another glass of the Estate.  Just starting to pace Self, don’t want to force composition coagulation.  Just going to listen to this Wine Lounge-centered arrangement.  Subtle percussion, seductively spacey reverb.  Writer fiending for moments like this.  Yet more proof that wine lends itSelf most frequently, optimally, to moments memorable. 

Not looking to pass the thousand.  Starting to feel better, so I aim to delight, resurrect in this pairing of varietal and songs specified.  The morning mocha, already calling me. Can’t give such my mental’s entertainment.  What deserves sight and scope: wine, itSelf, its Literary elements.  Today, reminded me.  It reminded the pages.  Today, in this session speaks.  Tomorrow, more notes.  For the book.  For me.  For you.  For us.  Sipping, now, and all sessions in tow, for readers.  All truly in session with me.

Saving the session’s detritus for pages.  Actual pages.  I’ll make it gourmet.  Ones tangible.  Ones comprising BOOKS.  Another sip...surprised.  Time, pushing me to lines aside.  Not taking it personally.  Just writing my way through and past the reality.  This Zin, its own pose.  I think it taunts me, to be bold, just as she is.  Writers need to disregard discretion.  Leap.  And this penman, invites collision.  But through words, paragraphs.  Now delectable, in notes of spice, light cherry, subtle earth, vanilla.  Gentle, massaging mouthfeel.  Low contents in bowl.  Nightcap, welcome.  Just checked, new Composition pages by bed.  WRITER4LIFE...

Turning off heater.  The key slaps’ll keep Mike cozy.  Just like my character.  Always wondering where she is.  But isn’t that up to me?  Her concept, her amorous aggregate, too much for this hour.  So, I need a distraction.  And that distraction...dreams.  Of my publishing company.  I’ve started it, with the Letterz.  Even if I’m giving some away.  Well, only one.  Today.  To a friend at Starbucks.  Either way, the company arrived.  Here.

Need an ocean.  Just to look at.  The Zin told me, this session.  Where am I going with this?  Nowhere.  And nowhere continues in beauty.  Just as my character does.  Her walks in Paris, she thinks of what I do: art.  Tonight, with this ’07, oracle.  Us. 

Russian River Exploration: Inman Family Wines

So I finally started my Russian River mission.  Took the Fulton exit off 101.  Once in RR’s heart, I decided to just drive around.  I saw Inman’s sign, and a huge barn-like edifice, gorgeous, vineyard, so I pulled in.  With the rain starting to gently descend, I rushed into the tasting Room, inside the barn.  But not before taking a picture of the rustic, artful structure.  As soon as the door behind me sealed, I was warmly greeted by the multi-talented, ever-knowledgable, many-role-mastering Mary.  Within 30 seconds, I had a glass with a pour of the bright, clean, electrifying 2009 Russian River Valley Pinot Gris.  Dauntingly hospitable.  So far, I’m smitten.  After the Chardonnay, which, if I remember correctly, goes through full ML, I was intrigued to the point of finding a spot to sit; I might be here a while.  Complex and delicious, and I don’t really flirt with Chard too often.

After the whites, Mary poured three distinctly, prolifically flavored Pinot Noirs.  All from ’07, I started with the Russian River/Sonoma County.  Not too light, firmly earthy, spicy fruit with a whirlwind of a finish.  Then, the Thorn Ridge and Estate, OGV, Russian River, the latter being my favorite.  Bought an Estate.  Had to.  Pinots like this need be in the author’s cellar.  Mary then told me about the winery’s history, the grounds, a little bit more about Russian River.  And that’s what hospitality should be: conversational, comfortable, HUMAN.  I also learned that Mary is one of the winemakers at Inman, which made the experience all the more enriching and engaging.

As I walked out, I noticed the rain was still indecisive.  Took a couple more pics while I still had time.  Before I could get to my car, I was unexpectedly stopped by a very polite woman, very courteous as she told me she didn’t want to interrupt my photo session.  Who else, but the owner/winemaker Kathleen Inman herself!  She invited me to return to the tasting Room to taste the ’06 Estate after she saw the bottle of ’07 in my hand.  The ’06 was entirely phenomenal, simply.  Next visit, I’m buying a bottle, assuredly. What a way to conclude my maiden voyage into the valley that, to me, is mostly a mystery.  Can’t wait to visit again.  All around homely, sightly, serene.  Great first mission.  Saving my ’07 for an occasion, even though I’m tempted to pop it tonight.  Thanks, Mary and Kathleen, for everything!  Sip, sip ... 

vinoLit Show: Dionysus, Lovely Reflection

Didn’t expect a turn like this in my day, evening.  Again, what I love about this industry, another layer, the unexpected.  Watching the episode below, sipping the Cab, still giddy.  A new discovery, the brainspawn of an old friend.  Feeling quite Dionysian mySelf.  Tonight’s episode, also one of spontaneity, Humanness, improvisation.

Just as this Cab is tidally savory, so be my aims with my praise of Dionysus Winery.  Not just because one of the proprietors is one of my friends, but because the approach is unique, its sailing ideology, bottled demonstration.  The model, the product.  And honestly, all analysis aside, this is my friend’s endeavor.  Her dream, her product.  What the wine industry invites: DREAMS.  To supporting friends, their visions.  Sip, sip ...

Reflection: Tonight’s Yelp Event

11:09p.  Finally home.  Yes, a long drive.  But entirely worth it.  Already posted last night’s podcast somewhere, but I decided on the drive home to post a link here, to show my new Yelp crew what I was talking about, my approach to the social media reality, and how it intermingles with wine, my Literary/artistic conceptualization.  Loved talking to this evening’s attendants.  Jennifer, the MACLA administrator who cleverly arranged everything, helped me get set up; Abby, the Yelp manager who invited Alderbrook and my Self to pour at her social; and, most notably, my new Yelping colleagues, who made this occasion so enjoyable and memorable for me, as a writer.  Loved their questions, responses to the wine, telling me how much they envy what I do, the product I represent - wine.  Said to Self that I wouldn’t be having a glass of wine, beer, tonight.  Too tired, and I am.  Keeping my promise: no wine, beer.  I sip champagne, a bold brut, toasting to tonight’s ideality, celebratory profile.  Meant what I said earlier, “Best event ever!” Sip, sip, my new fellow minds...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7zBZsKu60Ig

(2/15/11)

Composition, Cabernet

9:05p.  Watching an episode, of a show, downstairs, then returning to the upstairs office for a sitting.  Tonight, assured productivity...Taking the Comp book with me in descent.

10:15p.  The fenced Nature of this paginated persistence, pendulum, taxing.  Bored of certain recurrences.  Need my own office.  Offsite.  Can’t believe I didn’t type yesterday.  Occupied, but not so much to the valley of inaction.  Blaming the vino.  Tonight, blaming the Bordeaux bully of Cab Sauv.

Downstairs, this couch tempts the scribe with sweet laziness.  Refusing, waiting for returning rain.  What is it about deluge, downfall, paired with ink?  Tomorrow, pouring a fair distance from the bunker.  Will be bringing equipment, paper, you can be assured.  For some reason I feel uneasy in this scribed stretch.  Maybe ‘cause I plan to post.  Again, I’ll state: freewriting, delicious, a mind’s ferrel feast.  Need another sip.  This Cab tastes more ravishingly rampaging that I recall, from the eve’s early.

Thinking of turning off this writing film, nestle in music, wine lounge tunes, as I did with my colleague 2nite, sipping that Zin/Syrah blend.  We spoke of possibilities, what one could do with the right idea, in wine’s pond of potential.  Listening to the night’s podcast, again.  Just making sure it agreeably flowed.  Wishing the rain would come back.  The weather man, empty-headed actor.  He promised steady precipitation, a truthful movement in the atmosphere.  Still will type.

Wondering what the drive will be like.  Love driving, but I see my little ship’s mileage accumulating, from adjuncting all those years.  Need a new car; more pressure to write, sell pages.  Lovely, like the walk in Annadel a couple days ago.  That forest, park, so mysterious, pleasurably menacing.  Should I return by mySelf?  Is it safe?  What a ridiculous pose.  Is this Room safe?  Is this laptop a non-hostile package?  How about this Cab?  Worrying too much at my age advanced.  Need another healthy pour...

Matanzas Creek, Bennett Valley AVA Ruler...

Right Up the Road from the Author 

Don’t know how many times I’ve visited.  One more, before hundreds more, couldn’t hurt.  Wanted to stock up on some wine, and capture some of the celestially unparalleled vistas.  I parked, and was instantly agape with the grounds’ arrangement and layout.  Took over a dozen pics within a minute of being there.  As I walked up the little hill to the tasting Room, I noticed a quiet, calm area that would serve ideal for a picnic, or just an afternoon bottle of the ’09 Sonoma County Sauvignon Blanc that Cathie poured for me.  Once on the deck, your eyes ingest almost a difficult amount of gorgeous views, charming picturesque pulses.

So, the wines...all impressive.  Disciplined structure, versatile and voluptuous, opulently ornate.  Tasting Room Lead Cathie started me with the Sauv Blanc aforementioned, then escorted me to the 2008 Sonoma County Chardonnay.  My messy blue-inked note in the little catalogue: “Nice flow with creamy character.” In my opinion, Chard is a dangerous varietal, risky.  Too many times I’ve seen it overdone with the ML.  But not this one.  Crisp, rich, certainly sippable, even for those who don’t regularly connect with Chardonnay.  Then, Chris took over, pouring me some reds that really entrenched themselves on my palate, in my memory.  The 2007 Jackson Park Merlot stunned me with its profile and presence, fluttering finish.  Then, Chris dove into the library, poured me a 1999 Sonoma County Merlot (5% Cab) followed by a 2002 Sonoma County Cab (8% Merlot).  I don’t even have words for these two.  Well, I do: I bought one of each...

I love this new AVA, its ruling Room.  I had to laugh to mySelf on the way back to Bennet Valley Road, on the long soothing driveway, as I live, LITERALLY, five minutes down the road.  Fortunate.  This winery, with its art gallery/loft of an interior, would dazzle anyone.  Again, I’ve been there several times.  So why was I so impressed today?  Maybe because I did a full tasting this time; maybe the interactions I had with Cathie and Chris; maybe the weather; maybe all of it coming together, my realization of my nearness.  Either way, visit as soon as you can.  You’ll probably see me there.  Sip, sip ...  

(Friday, 2/11/11)

In a Day2Me

Unknown.  No plan.  Love that.  Definitely doing my Random Russian River mission today.  Or tomorrow.  Write offsite.  That’ll be healthy.  Also want to develop some of these vineyard/winery/wine pictures in my cameras.  They keep piling up.  Might scout a new camera today.  But do I really want to throw that much $ into a device?  All I need, a writer, truly, is paper and ink.  And yes, the little monster laptop, sometimes.  Just something I’m thinking about, as photography further encircles my interest.

Also going wine shopping, more than likely.  Need to toil more with unfamiliar producers, regions.  These songs, the wine lounge list, recently arranged, telling me not to think about it so hard.  Wine entails more spontaneity that seriousness.  

(2/10/11)

Skirmishes with Distractions

Too much of this Cabernet, won’t finish a manuscript.  Neither will toying with these infernal social media “connections.” As I reconnect with my character, I realize she deserves truly inscribed attention.  She deserves better than me.  So why did she me select?

Not permitting his imagination to turn in her cosmos, Mike refocused on the pages, now atop the carpet, by his right foot.  His publication, on the other desk, also aright.  He looked at a picture he took with her a few days ago.  The only one in his fragile possession.  Broke.  

Mike turned off the movie.  He sparked the chilled instrumentals that brought him to his wine lounge.  He sank into the fabric of his chair.  Then his eyes met it, her sketchbook, on couch, the armrest, partially open, a session slightly shown.  He wanted to look closer, roam through her efforts like a child excessively inquisitive.  Couldn’t.  No matter how much Cab he had.

Assembly

Of what?  This book.  A little more tempestuous than thought.  Like an ardently resentful harvest to a production crew, the lead winemaker.  Me, alone, to my own.  Exhilarating, gamble.  To where in this cluttered composer’s corner did those pages I printed a couple weeks ago fly?  Oh, guess it’s that manila there that’s tagged “Book Pages.” Did I ever claim to be organized?  Well, yes, a few times, to students.  But, I here concede: me, anything but.

Does anyone want to read a book about a wine writer writing about writing while whisking a way, away, through wine’s world?  Too much alliteration, why do I always do that?  Just read through the pages.  Not bad, but not in any way suffocating me with effulgence.  Need another sip.  Then, more key pushes, till I get it write...right, I mean.

(2/9/11, 7:38p)

Introductorily Influenced, Line Fiddle

Sipping the remainder of last night’s blend.  Tonight, my Friday.  But why doesn’t it feel the like?  Warped, the beginning of this sitting.  Have a couple ideas for the next Letterz issue, but I toss them on the burner back.  Today, a bit slow in the Room.  But, a cluster of curiosity upon close.  It invigorates this writer when I connect with someone opening up to a varietal for the first time, verbally expressing their surprise, delight.  Precisely what unfolded when I poured the ’07 Pinot.  She said, “I never liked Pinot until this one.  This is a nice wine...” I reflect, now, within my envy of her sensation, discovery.  I want to explore, discover, be irresponsibly whimsical, just see what’s out there.  That’s what writing, wine, writing about/within/around wine should require.

(2/9/11)

A New Favorite: Locals Tasting Room, Geyserville

Engaged.  Enticed.  Enthralled.  After visiting Locals, any visitor would wish they were a local, to visit again and again, whenever they wanted, weekday/end.  First thing I experience upon entry, curiosity.  I want to look around, appreciate everything from the placement of the bottles, to the art on the walls, the focused merchandise, the presence of the bar, the displayed wines behind.  I approach, a bit whirled in eagerness and intrigue.  Diane and Lindley greet me, invite me to select what ever I want to taste.  Diane told me, in her warm enrapturing New York octave, that Locals places a lot of emphasis on varietal, offering sippers opportunity to travel through different interpretations on certain wines.

Sauvignon Blanc, flight 1.  Dianne poured the ’09 Bedarra Beachfront Sauv Blanc & Chard Blend, the ’08 Ramazzotti/Bandiera, straight SB, and the ’09 Saracina Sauvignon Blanc.  Flight two included “Other Reds & Blends,” where we started with the 2008 Ramazzotti Grenache Noir, which I noted as being serenely earthy, rustic, and herbal, with deep layered fruit.  Another star in this second flight was the 2009 Tempranillo from Eric Ross, Bokish Vineyard.  Had to buy this bottle.  Intense cherry, coupled with smoke and mint, and a seductive blanket of mildly electric raspberry, gently-natured tannins.  3rd flight, the final: CABERNETS.  Incredible flight arranged my hostess Diana.  So good, I walked away with two bottles, the 2005 Arbois, from Alexander Valley, then the 2006 Ramzzotti Regale, a Cab-Merlot blend; harmfully wonderful in flavor deliver, assembly.  Probably should have stuck to my budget, but what fun would that be?

After the purchases, I had to walk around the Room.  Didn’t get much writing done--saved that for this session--but I took plenty of stills.  The Room invited it.  Don’t have much more to say than that.  The incomparable hospitality and wine selection lead me to purchase, the Room led me to photo after photo, and those captures in my camera lead me to appreciative rewind, birthing this prose.  Geyserville, holding a prize, not just for palate, but as well for eyes, memory.  Moments for all sippers, here, in Locals Tasting Room.  See you all there, and forget not your camera!  Be ready to taste, buy, enjoy, meet new friends, and who knows what else!  Expect a palatable experience!  Sip, sip...  

(2/5/11)

Last Page, in this Document

Well, I’m finally here.  Page 300 of this words document.  Need to start collecting for the book.  No stalling.  Not anymore.  Cruising up to Geyserville today, visiting another collective tasting Room.  Have the mind to purchase.  Oh, have to pick up the Letterz, don’t let me forget.  Tonight, sister’s birthday dinner at a reputable and exciting wine location in Sausalito.  Just learned yesterday that ‘lito is a spot of gathering artists.  Not hard to believe.  Views, water, boats, levies.  Excited for tonight’s occasion.  Knowing me, I’ll make an entry of it.  And why not?  Wine, paired with family, the occasion of my little sister’s 30th.  That’s what wine is intended to sculpt, support.

My Sunday, today.  A Friday.  Ironic, to me.  Sipping the mocha, finding my fingers have trouble translating the cognitive concert.  Need to start reading the Faulkner shorts that I yesterday bought.  So that’s two distinct Literary characters, VARIETALS, I study to Self: Plath & Faulkner.  Layered lovers of the Literary.  Just read some of the introduction of Faulkner’s collection.  He self-published and self-educated himSelf by “reading promiscuously.”  Love that line.  Departing in 10 for G-ville.  Excited to visit the Room, though not all that enthralled to taste.  I know my friend Carolyn has great wines, 11 producers total being poured, all wonderful, I’m just not in a wine mood.  What does a wine blogger do if he goes out on assignment and doesn’t taste?  Guess I’ll have to push through it.

How did I get to page 300 already?  Time, again, my foe.  It’ll win, eventually.  But it’ll incur irreparable damage from a writer like I.

3:52p.  Returned, from the Geyservile Room, and other errands.  My only aim, enjoy the remaining lines to this 300th page, before dinner.  What do I sip?  This berry-bent sparkling water.  Deliciously crisp, a liquified restart button.  The Letterz copies, finally in my possession, ready for sale, distribution.  Need to start consolidating these writings, current and past, for larger works’ sake.  Want to do some recording tonight, possibly.  Tomorrow, back to work.  Excited, frankly.  I like pouring, the satisfaction of moving cases out the door.

Departure, closer.  Looking at the pics I took in the Geyserville Room.  Great layout.  Comfortable.  Want to start organizing pictures, but when will I have time to do that, when do I, as a Self-published author?

Distracted.  Uploading pictures to a nearby developing center.  Want to centralize these images for future sittings, pen movements.  There, stopped at 12 new pictures.  Listening to lounge beats, lounging in my chair.  Not really aiming for productivity.  It’s my Sunday.  Convenient rationale, I know.  But if it works for me, such a catering mentality, what harm could there be?

Just looked through the photos I have had developed.  From Oregon, to a blogging mission to Napa, plus other moments.  Encouraging.  Going to see where this me pulls.  Not necessarily aiming to be a photographer, but I do want to play with it, see where it reaches.  What wine will be poured at tonight’s dinner?  Eager for the occasion.  Pictures, more on the way, you can safely anticipate.  Want to catch more interactions, smiles, action shots.  One thing I love about the New York Times, aside from the list I want to be on, is the picture that rests on the initial page, the hook, the visual net.  It’s always an image that makes me stop, read while waiting for my mocha.  That takes an incredible instinct, and a bit of happenstance.  Either way, it never fails to squeeze my attention, hold onto it, like me to a glass of Dry Creek Zinfandel.  

(Friday, 2/4/11)

Lake Extensive, Reflective

Back from dinner, and the night only now starts.  I don’t know how much proof one would need to fully understand, appreciate really, how wine makes an occasion.  Births memories.  Sipped a Malbec, Gann, at Mom and Dad’s, so I another sip here, from St. Francis.  Tonight’s entertainment of the wine bar/tasting Room potentialities peak my intrigue with enveloping unfamiliarity.  They encouraged me to embrace my experimental integrity, but consider visions as if from the side of an investor.  I’ll concede--shouldn’t state it like that--I’ll buoyantly reveal that I walked away from our Ideas Exchange immeasurably enriched, awake, abreast of industry and entrepreneurial variables.  I’m more cunning, like Joyce, but from a business perspective.  More evaluative, more tempered, more inclusively pragmatic.  And all this engagement about a wine business leap, spoken over wine, in its presence.  Sipping the present Malbec, I keep revolving.  Do I want to keep my wine bar, or lounge, tasting Room, what have, to the page?  OR, do I want to actually jump?  See if I can truly do it?  It’s difficult for a wine writer to do more than just write about IT, I’ll admit.

Tomorrow morning, that belonging to the mocha manuscript.  Not bringing the laptop monster with me.  Only paper, ink.  Can’t shake the encouraging tremors from dinner’s discussion.  Thinking about clocking out, but I want to enjoy my night, with these sentence floods.  Amazing weather, “amazing weather,” quotes needed, projected for many of days coming.  Wishing for rain, me.  Feel like I’m the only.  Why?  Better for the session, I feel.

Thinking about my instructional killer.  Need to shove him into a manuscript.  Maybe tomorrow, with the mocha.  Dad told me tonight that he recently read a book in five days, one that totaled 225’s excess.  Want to say it was over 240, actually.  Why can’t I write a book, or collect old writings to form a collective work, in five days?  Or less.  3 months and 27 days from 32.  Lot on my mind, while at this Malbec’s side.  Urging all readers to sip and scribble...  -2/2/11