Sunday, September 18, 2011

Morning Mocha Note -- 9/18/2011

On way to tasting Room, slightly over an hour.  Can’t locate my little notebook, “Little Red.”  Is it...hold on...  Found it.  In my devilish, but chic work bag.  That thing has devoured more, to reveal later, than anything I can think of, in my existence.  Need to write a letter--well, email--to a former colleague this AM, before my separation from this manuscript bunker.  Didn’t get around to reading Faulkner as I wanted to, yesterday, last night.  Posted a quote of his to Facecrook.  But, as you’d guess I see, that doesn’t count for anything Literary.  At all.  Antithesis, actually.
Finished my letter.  In my return to the classRoom, I bring more thoughts, provocative Literary approaches, and questions for my students than I ever did before.  The wine world, as much as I love it, doesn’t charge such frenzied tenacity.  It doesn’t invite a true Exchange of Ideas.  As my Dad said, “If one is to be preoccupied with what others think, how could they ever truly be thinking for themSelves?” Wine’s “industry” holds more restrictive, uniformed interchanges, assemblies, that predicates their minutes on others‘ assessments, reactions, embraces.  I was raised, taught, to think for Self, as if I don’t, others will.
Understand:  I LOVE WINE.  Not “the industry.”  I love the consumer, and I enjoy time with my colleagues in wine’s industry that consider themselves eternal consumers, that don’t have some self-elevation about them.  My current set of coworkers, altogether Human.  Insightful, fun, inviting.  But I feel we’re in the minority.  Now, I could be wrong.  I often am.  But this observation I won’t self-censor.  Ever.
Looking forward to pouring 2day.  Poured last Sunday, but it seems longer than a week, for a reason odd, that I can’t articulate.  Separating from this keyboard, as much as I’d rather not.  Why do I write so much, want to write all minutes?  Crazy, obsessive.  Yesterday, I just tallied, yielded over 2300 words.  Beneficial “metrics,” as it were, is, will be.  Thinking of how I’ll describe the wines, today.  Need bizarre but enticing modifiers.  Meditating, waiting.  Deliberating, till pours launch.

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