Sunday 3/21/10. Barrel tasting, behind. Thankful. Can’t believe I have to do the hellish Monday after such a weekend. You know what else I can’t fully grasp, I’m sipping Chardonnay presently. Me. In mode of reflection, realizing today was much more manageable than the previous. Unruly sippers, the boozer and carouser, should never be welcomed into the Room. Sounds harsh, but you try helping these people. They don’t walk through the doors to experience wine, they enter to get “fucked up,” as I heard some guy shout yesterday to his girlfriend, calling her out at the highest of decibels. Other visitors looked at them as if to say, “You’re in the wrong spot.” Even better, Stan and I caught some stragglers pouring for themselves as we were closing up. I told Stan I saw them out there, slow and slurred, and was going to tell them we were closing and that they needed to leave. Stan said, “I’m right behind ya.” After a short skirmish, they had no response to a demand from Stan as to how they had wine, a full pour I might add, in their glasses. They left like unmasked thieves. And that’s just what they were, crooks. Barrel weekend taught this penman much. No thanks, to doing it again, unless I’m on the other end of the marble. I represent sincere appreciation of wine, its elements and “essence,” as Lonny says. The tipplers I observed, break my balance, blemish the beauty of the Room.
Chardonnay, you’re an interesting creature, character. Buttery, vanilla toast, a polite palate host. BOOK ONE, need to print the pages, get to editing. Why am I so demurring, disinclined? Afraid of how many errors I echoed in the entries. Need to write the Self through and out of the blandness. So start editing already! Need a brick on the store’s shelf...
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