Sunday, January 1, 2012
First pour of Cab, lovely. ’08, Alexander Valley. Bought the URL for the new blog. And, I can’t say this’ll be the last. Again, I believe part of my writing “Style,” or motion, is the surety of an entry. Hard for me to end this first blog, this “wine blog”? I suppose a bit, somewhat, yes. But, there’ll be a successor. And this new one, bottledaux, presents a more unfettered author. One unafraid, unconcerned with consequences from writing, reflecting. Of course, wine will find its way to the paragraphs, posts. But, bottledaux’s intention is immovably, unequivocally, steadfastly Literary. So, I’m writing, sipping. This Cab seems a bit bolder than I remember. Maybe this is the New Year speaking to me, telling me to write louder, scribble with more staunchness.
Today, definitely different. Delectably so. Thinking about all the jobs I’ve had. The only logical Next: Writer. Job title, waiting. No, I already hold.
11:40p. 20 minutes away, this New Year. Tonight’s varietal, Cabernet Sauvignon, of course. Can’t believe this is the end of mikeslognoblog. But why is it so hard to believe? The books ends. I should be thankful. I should sip again. And I am. Here goes that cliché countdown. Finally bought that URL, for bottledaux. Can’t believe it. So, mikeslognoblog lives. Just with a different book cover. Kelly, in NYC. I’ll be joining her, shortly. Clocking out. Watching my own film progress, with no stress. Only ease. But, I still think, time’s far too brief. I will steal more. Aren’t I, now? Either way, Therapy with each entry. Signing off, clocking out, only to clock back in. Off to see Kelly, feel sane, safe...
Going through steps to start this new blog, “bottledaux”. Technology, successfully frustrating me. 1:06p. Wasted enough of my day on it, already. Want to write books, not do another blog. But, I’m still of intent in showing my writing habits, thought stream. Only have a couple hours to make a decision. Do I want to buy another URL? Isn’t that like paying to write? I shouldn’t have to do that, I’m thinking. Glass of Chardonnay, sounds gorgeous right now. Wonder what Kell’s doing out there, in New York. 4:09, now, out there. Wish I was walking in those crowded metropolitan corridors.
“So do you have plans for tonight?” Kelly asked.
“No, just keeping it cool. Opening some wine, doing some writing. Usual. Nothing exciting. How about you, out there in New York? That’s incredible. So happy for you. What’s it like?” Mike asked, muting his music. Leaning in his chair’s crook, waiting for her details, tales.
“I’ve actually been here before, a few years ago with my mom. But we were only here for like two days, I think. But it’s amazing. It’s New York. I’ve already sold a few glasses, and have some pending orders. You need to come out here soon, Mikey, being a writer. There’s books stores, coffee shops...you’d love it.”
“I know. I want to make it out there, soon, believe me-”
“Are you still working at the winery?”
“Which one? I’ve poured at more than one, recently.”
“The one your friend Lonny works at. A friend of mine’ll be in San Francisco mid-January, and we were gonna do some tasting. And I wanted to know if you could show us around, come taste with us. I was thinking of booking a limo, or wine tour van, or winnebago or whatever.”
“That’d be fun, yeah. But, no, I don’t pour there anymore. My sister’s the winemaker there, and I stop by every so often, so we can taste there, definitely. What kind of wine are you drinking these days?” Mike asks. Curious pause, followed by voices in Kelly’s distance. But not too distant. “Do you need to go?”
“No. No, the lobby’s just getting kind of busy. Sorry. Actually, I just ordered a glass of ’08 Sonoma County Carignane. What are you opening tonight?” she said, laughing a bit, almost to convey that she felt like she were there, sipping with Mike, in one of their funny wine chats again.
Mike laughed. “Cab, of course. But I might open this new Chardonnay from my sis, maybe. It’s early still. Here, anyway.”
“Yeah,” she said, before taking a sip. Mike could tell by the new silence that wine connected with her palate. He wished he were there, in NYC, to see.