Think I hear the fireworks at the fairgrounds. And so my vacation of a weekend closes. Hour, 9:19p. Just home from a dinner, my little sis and I. Her and I both agree, people put too much value on a score, certain critics, number values assigned by certain critics. Katie and I also spoke about wine as a presence at an occasion, how people focus on the wine, paths positive, not hypercritical exchanges. My wine business, my sovereign venture, when I do liftoff with such, she will be onboard when I disembark. She has to be. My sister, a true wine authority. Not sure where anyone finds nerve questioning anything winemakers as innovative as her do. To me, she and all grape alchemists in folds similar, should be left to actual Aesthetic practice. That’s where diamonds sprout. Don’t question what they do. And, certainly don’t aggravate them. If you don’t have content winemakers, you won’t have beaming wines, bottled beacons. That’s my thought. One of them, anyway. We, in “the industry,” need to respect our winemakers, show our appreciation frequently. Certainly fairly compensate them. They write the wines. They’re artists. You can’t micromanage a curious, mentally alive, creator. Raising this cap of night, this ’07 Napa Valley Merlot to Katie, her friend Sally, my friend Cecilia, my brother Kaz, his daughter, and all other winemakers that shift palates, move with their questions, ferment them to what we sip.
Just heard some more fireworks. I get the celebration of independence, but I never understood the pyromaniacal proclivity. When I was a child, I guess I enjoyed certain pops, bangs. But now that I’m 32, I’m at loss, losses. I’d rather read, write, create here in this stuffy studio. Ms. Plath, still next to me. Reading one of her entries, she talks about how everyone around her contributes to her pages. I’ve been saying such for years, but she places it in lines so much more floral than I. Daunting linguistic splendor, it seems, every sentence from Ms. Plath.
Writing lecture ideas. Bringing books to work with me tomorrow. My lunch, dedicated to study. Two books, actually, will be in bag. These fireworks, telling me something, what to do differently; NOT be so diplomatic; You’re a Literary figure in the wine world, not some “wine guy” writing for a friendly bottle publication. Be louder, messier with syntactic arrangement, page sequence. CUBISM characters, on all lines. Think the fairgrounds just had the finale. Now, silence.
That’s what they were telling me. Make noise b4 you’re 4ever quiet. One bit of noise I’ll make before the summation of this typing tumble: Other “wine bloggers” better be clear on what it is I’M doing. I say this because so many of them have said, “How is your blog a ‘wine blog’?” My response, “What do you care?” Don’t be so worried about how I sipNscribble. Just do what you do, whatever it’s supposed to do, and never mind my approaches. That’s another thing Katie and I talked about 2nite, how there’re so many opinionated wonderers on wine’s terrain. But I won’t complain. Where warranted, I convey disdain. Back to delight in summer night. -10:13p.