Here, at rear table, with Self-anchored writer’s... No. Not accepting any blockage. Mocha2, yes. Hard for this writer to fill sheet, populate page. 49 minutes left in sitting. 31 days left in this log. Then, BOOKS. Only BOOKS. First couple sips, paired with current song, waking me. Autonomy, in scope. Hard to judge distance. Something amiss, though, in this Lit Lunch. Do winemakers experience this? Not concerned, not now, as I’m a writer, right now, and always. Writing way to scenes once dreamed. Life, too short to not live. Seems like whenever I’m pouring at Kaz’s, I remember I’m living, I’m with wine, actual wine. I see bottles, people, vines. Interesting.
Not even entertaining wine thoughts in this short “lunch break,” for which I’m expected to be exceedingly excited. Who knows what’s ahead. Can only be positive, I’m humming. Café, starting to fill. Time, 12:56. 43 minutes left to Self, to this project. Not sure if this log is a project, if it’s ever been. Does it have to be? What if I’m just writing to write? That’s fine, for me. But not if I want to survive from words, live by my pen, its birthed pages. My newest character, Ethan Martin; adjunct English Instructor, specializing in Composition, Literature, no part-time job on side. He loves working 6, 7 classes a term. His colleagues call him crazy, but he doesn’t have a choice, or care, at all. He loves arranging lectures and lessons that captivate his students. He was recently approached by a visiting Stanford Professor, one specializing in Victorian Literature. They had a glass of wine, two, three, discovered they both possessed palpable penchants for Victorian authors, and Viognier. Ethan knew he wanted to see where else his lectures could carry him, his career.
He sees himSelf in lecture mode, but on different campuses, touring with his ideas. He loves the discussion, the ideas’ transference, transcendence. Maybe this is me, or what I see as me, in one or more immediacies. Who knows.
8:57p. Bed, before long. Sipping my brother Kaz’s Stomp Merlot, 2010. The stance of this Bordeaux interpretation, even more formidably enveloping than I remember. I always ask this of Kazzy’s wines, but, how did he do this? No chemicals, predominantly neutral oak on an ’10, if not entirely neutral. Nose, herbal blueberry, blackberry; clean, distinct, cognitive. Mouth, gentle tannic tickled, wild berry, mint, maybe a phantasmic presence of cocoa powder. Finish, enigmatically resonant. It has developed, since last Sunday, distinctly. No wonder he named it “Stomp.” But curious, as it’s not annoyingly invasive with its notes, flavor chords. It haunts, pleasantly. You’ll sip again, just as I am, now. Again, once more... Pairs wonderfully with my Wine Bar beats. This is a wine I would be honored to carry in my Parisian café, not matter where located. Can’t wait to be back in the Kaz Room, come Sunday. Or “Sunday Funday,” as my brother messaged me earlier. A Human approach to wine, no ostentation. We’re not focused on “status,” at Kaz. We embrace the occasion, family, the wine. Many forget the wine, the winemaker. We don’t. I never do. Peace, readers... Pleasant evening.