“Defying Lines and Confines”
Bumpy road to winery, smoothness in this bottle. A nose of fruit, spice, rich earth. Tamed, yet unchained. It paints its portrait on your palate with angelic movements, a graceful glide through the notes on mouthfeel and mid-palate. Balanced, not too hyper in texture, as many PS’s appear to be. It leads me. Refined, rich patches of earth and spice maneuver around the fruit towards the finish line. Just as this varietal is a hybrid, this bottle from Larson envelopes me. Merging with her majesty. Leading through fruit, earth, spice, creamy finish. A romantic stroll, a blanket of brilliance. Royal, ravishing. Even when the fruitful finish leaves, I’m still pleased. Flawless transitions between stages of taste. A guide through an unfamiliar dimension, this bottle from the secluded sanctuary of Larson. Delightfully different for a Petite Sirah, but that’s its splendor, treasure, what it gently renders. Infatuation I’ve never know with this hybrid.
GRADE: A-
(Review Composed on Fri. 2/19/10)
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Review of Blackstone, Sonoma Reserve, RUBRIC, 2007
Truly, I am incommunicado. Surveying the shade, sensuality. Already enticed. A blend, spread over seven varietals, that works, sings, displays. How did they do this? Fragrant, vibrant, savory. Initial notes: smoke, oak. On nose and front-palate, a darkness delivering delight, almost too much. Looking for incongruity. None. The notes of deep, thick, endless blackberry swirl my spirits and propel my palate to paradise. Immovable structure, colossal consistency. The character, a proud, charming emissary of fulfillment, contentment. I keep sipping, slowly. Why rush time with beauty never before seen? Clouds of flavor, what me surround and lift. Nearly perfectly balanced tannins, a mouthfeel so remarkable that you don’t want the taste to terminate. On the finish, the awe is solidified. In a wonderland of sorts with this wondrous wish of a blend. Harmony and unpredictability interwoven. Great sips, each round.
GRADE: A-/A
(Review Composed on Wed. 2/17/10)
GRADE: A-/A
(Review Composed on Wed. 2/17/10)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
2 NEW WINE REVIEWS!!!
Review of Rosenblum Cellars, Zinfandel, California, Vintner’s Cuvee XXXII
The nose is a little light. I swirl, some chords unlocked. Thin pepper, slight red berry. Was hoping for the vanilla promised by the label’s vows, description, but no. Mouthfeel and mid-palate provide more complexity and personality, but not quite the character I look for in a Zin. Putting my bias to the side. The jam layer is a bit scattered, but still noticeable and enjoyable. The finish, by far the most formidable and profound portion of the presentation. A lovely progressive tease of a fadeout, revealing chocolate and a tannic tickle. In this concluding phase of the taste, I am coerced to take another sip. Not the most colorful of characters, but something I would recommend for pouring.
GRADE: B/B-
Review Composed on F. 2/12/10
Review of Joel Gott, 815, Cabernet Sauvignon, California, 2007
Mildly pleased to meet, but not excited. Never heard of this winery. But then, this bottle presents wonderful structure, delivering darkness of fruit, mocha, herbaceous blades. The finish is wonderfully wicked in its spell. Bedazzled with its beauty, truly. Truth in this sleuth. Slow in intro, but more dedicated in the latter portion of presentation. Supple, pulsating with presence and pleasure. Each sip is more informative. The finish is a fadeless fade. Lovely, celestial. Angelic, austere. As I sip further, a certain chewy curtain is thrown before my palate. Cabernet cabaret, flirtatiously floral. Great continuity and character. Sipping again. This is love, baby.
GRADE: B+/A-
Review Composed on F. 2/12/10
The nose is a little light. I swirl, some chords unlocked. Thin pepper, slight red berry. Was hoping for the vanilla promised by the label’s vows, description, but no. Mouthfeel and mid-palate provide more complexity and personality, but not quite the character I look for in a Zin. Putting my bias to the side. The jam layer is a bit scattered, but still noticeable and enjoyable. The finish, by far the most formidable and profound portion of the presentation. A lovely progressive tease of a fadeout, revealing chocolate and a tannic tickle. In this concluding phase of the taste, I am coerced to take another sip. Not the most colorful of characters, but something I would recommend for pouring.
GRADE: B/B-
Review Composed on F. 2/12/10
Review of Joel Gott, 815, Cabernet Sauvignon, California, 2007
Mildly pleased to meet, but not excited. Never heard of this winery. But then, this bottle presents wonderful structure, delivering darkness of fruit, mocha, herbaceous blades. The finish is wonderfully wicked in its spell. Bedazzled with its beauty, truly. Truth in this sleuth. Slow in intro, but more dedicated in the latter portion of presentation. Supple, pulsating with presence and pleasure. Each sip is more informative. The finish is a fadeless fade. Lovely, celestial. Angelic, austere. As I sip further, a certain chewy curtain is thrown before my palate. Cabernet cabaret, flirtatiously floral. Great continuity and character. Sipping again. This is love, baby.
GRADE: B+/A-
Review Composed on F. 2/12/10
another quick note
F/2/12/10. I’m just writing now, beyond 1k. Feeling stupid, yet triumphant. I strive, push, to be the most hardworking and successful man in literature. Writing and releasing at a rate unseen in this arena. Keep sipping this Cabernet, typing. That’s what an ANTI does. Clocking out, I think. What did I accomplish today? 1k, a wine review, two, and a brief ramble. Hooray for Madigan.
Didn’t record any poetry, rime, today. Sneezing, not sure if I’m out of the mud yet with this fucking bug. Still writing. Was thinking about strolling down the block to the Gnarly Thorn for a nightcap, but no. I want to remain here in the Madigan Castle, write till I call it a night.
Didn’t record any poetry, rime, today. Sneezing, not sure if I’m out of the mud yet with this fucking bug. Still writing. Was thinking about strolling down the block to the Gnarly Thorn for a nightcap, but no. I want to remain here in the Madigan Castle, write till I call it a night.
POEM4LOVE 2010
She, a simple slice of sedation.
I’m enamored, clamored in this sphere.
It’s clear, she’s an orchestra in every
tear. The components, anything but
onerous. Love, a certain pond odorous,
floral, compounding an astounding moral.
(F 2/12/2010)
I’m enamored, clamored in this sphere.
It’s clear, she’s an orchestra in every
tear. The components, anything but
onerous. Love, a certain pond odorous,
floral, compounding an astounding moral.
(F 2/12/2010)
quick note
Sunday 2/14/10. Whatever I thought left my system has returned. Vehement, pragmatic, cruel. Just called the Room to let them know I wouldn’t be in. I could have gone in, and probably pushed through the shift, but the guests wouldn’t have been happy. And any piggish club member, well that’s all the grounds they need to complain, or get something extra out of us. I could just see that one member, Zebla Alotti, saying someting like “He shouldn’t be here.” Then adding, “I want my employees to be healthy when they wait on my. I want to be compensated.” Feel terrible about leaving the crew short on a busy and superficial weekend, Valentine’s and Presidents’ Day, but I need to sequester the Self for recover’s fortune.
2:25p. Definitely not pushing aside the self-publishing option. Opened a document for such. Chap, 35 pages of content, that’s it. Has to be affordable and marketable. Going to create my own brand, genre. If others can execute such with their hackish pages, then I certainly will (notice no “can”). This whatever I have still exhausts me. Off to rest a bit. Will try2log later. With the self-publishing, can’t spread Self too thin. Project by project, a lucrative mindstate.
2:25p. Definitely not pushing aside the self-publishing option. Opened a document for such. Chap, 35 pages of content, that’s it. Has to be affordable and marketable. Going to create my own brand, genre. If others can execute such with their hackish pages, then I certainly will (notice no “can”). This whatever I have still exhausts me. Off to rest a bit. Will try2log later. With the self-publishing, can’t spread Self too thin. Project by project, a lucrative mindstate.
Lazy, as the Stage be Hazy
Tuesday 2/16/2010. Spoke to a close family friend last nite, Kathleen, and she persuaded me to join Facebook. and twitter. Yes, persuaded. It can only help with readership, having more eyes connect with my entries, the log/blog. Need to remain simple, with vision tunnelesque. When you inform me that readers will swarm, I act.
11:19a. Okay, so I have everything set up, I think. Back to the fundamentals, the log itself. Only connecting with these two fads for the sake of the writing. No need to continue on about that. Not so enthused about returning to the classroom on the morrow. Or should I be? Had some interesting ideas for the lecture, need to examine a bit more. Woke up before 5a. Never fell back asleep. Had to go out to NVC to fill out a letter of rec for one of my stronger students. Shouldn’t have let it slip to the last.
1k, my goal for today. 3k is unrealistic, maniacal, unhealthy. In fact, nothing over 1k. A couple extra words is permitted. But that’s it. Alice, the funny little critter, called me at 11-something-p.m. last night to inform me that she had finished reading my blog. I’ve been giggling all day. I want to impress and startle readers that I don’t know personally, but making family proud is an incomparable bonus. Need a break. Feel my prose is pour.
4:28p. Back from nap. Thankful I’m not groggy. Anyway, I’m on Facebook and Twitter (is Twitter capitalized?). Never thought that would happen. Not aiming to have a large number of “friends,” be some social digi-butterfly. Simply trying to expand reader base. Nice outside. Miss the crew in the Room. Jack moved in down the street, which is a good thing. Went to the Gnarly Thorn last night for a beer with him and Stan. Can’t believe I called in sick Sunday. Quite at peace with that decision, I’ll state in this log with credible crystalization.
Should I be worried, with this new level of log broadcasting, about coworkers from the Room or students surveying the occasional virulency, surprising honesty, in the entries? Am I to be preoccupied with consequences, fallout? Simply, no. Not at all, never. First, and this is all I will elaborate and expand on such a stream, this is my log, my literary lair. I am ultimately and undeniably free. I will not self-censor again, ever. If someone is addressed, be it with venom or veneration, it is my election. I rule these pages. Anything can happen, and I will not explain beyond these lines, and I definitely won’t ever apologize. I’m not running for office. I’m already seated in throne. ANTI!
Tonight, I hope to get around to unearthing some old entries in this plastic tub under my desk, the one housing retired scribbles. I’m afraid of this box. Why? I view it like a composition’s crypt, a manuscript mausoleum of sorts, a journalistic jail. Can’t be frightful. I will dive in, armed with ink and line.
Went to Stanford’s site again. One day, I tell myself. Didn’t take many Room notes over the last two shifts, especially not on Saturday (which I tagged “asshole day,” on account of the amount of animalistic visitors). But there a couple jots in the little flip pad. Need to review those. Saturday, as harsh and horrible as it was, was one of my biggest tips days in months. Love irony, even when it tires my core. Going for a drive. Praise the Craft.
6:03p. Went to deposit the winery checks. My balance, emaciated. Hate depending on others for income. Exposure and readers are wonderful, but my goal is to live, subsist, by the pen, by these lines, entries. Reminded that time is an element worthy of concern, when I saw an elderly man in Safeway, the same one housing my bank’s branch, who could barely move, even with the assistance of the four-legged device. Felt sorry him, felt sorry for Self. Speedily. It’s good to be delicate, meticulous, but not to excess.
Saturday, in the Room, many on vacation, Valentines Day. One gentleman who came in with his other significant reminded me of something, someone, from a 1990s music video. Cheesiest character I’ve seen in some time. His cologne was suffocating me like I stepped on scared stones, left scars. His shirt’s buttons were unhinged to the middle of his chest, revealing a gold chain of medium girth. His arms were all around, over and about his exotic acquaintance, who must have been fifteen years his junior. Another character that day, with his wife, was quite patient as I jumped from guest to guest, group to group. He tipped me ten dollars. I didn’t charge for his tasting. Maybe I should have, but I’ve been told I can be generous using my judgement and discretion. The first guest I mentioned, the 90s character, was attired in a white shirt with a sparkly design on the back, up around the shoulder area, stretching from left to right. I told him about the bell in the tower, how it goes off every hour on, and how one shouldn’t be in the tour unless they want a taste of brief deafness. He said, “So the bell rings your bell, huh?” Ugh, annoyed me even more. Couldn’t wait to get him out of our Room. Worked with the best of crews on the Day of the Asshole. Will, Stan, Augustus, Joey, Lonny, Dan, Cameron. I think that’s it. If it wasn’t for Auggie pouring me intermittent doses of Sauv Blanc, and my vixenish Viogner, I would have surrendered. There were times during the day where I just wanted to leave, go home sick, but I didn’t want to abandon my brothers. Interesting cast in the Room. Invaluable.
My place, whoso, still under consideration, thawing in thought. I think it should have a revolving menu of starters paired with wines. Still want to investigate champagne/sparkling wine pairings. Lights, lazy. Seating, seductive, sexy. Music, perfect. It would be a place at which I would go, take Alice for an outing. Miss little Alice, her smile, jokes, funny voices. Thinking about her call last night, that woke me. If I’m to be pulled from slumber, that way is lovely. Not just because it contained praise for the log. My wife’s joyous octave was in my ear, laughing, complementary.
Don’t think I’m going to get around to excavating the tomb of tablets. I’ll concede, I’m afraid. Hate reading my past work. Why is that?
11:19a. Okay, so I have everything set up, I think. Back to the fundamentals, the log itself. Only connecting with these two fads for the sake of the writing. No need to continue on about that. Not so enthused about returning to the classroom on the morrow. Or should I be? Had some interesting ideas for the lecture, need to examine a bit more. Woke up before 5a. Never fell back asleep. Had to go out to NVC to fill out a letter of rec for one of my stronger students. Shouldn’t have let it slip to the last.
1k, my goal for today. 3k is unrealistic, maniacal, unhealthy. In fact, nothing over 1k. A couple extra words is permitted. But that’s it. Alice, the funny little critter, called me at 11-something-p.m. last night to inform me that she had finished reading my blog. I’ve been giggling all day. I want to impress and startle readers that I don’t know personally, but making family proud is an incomparable bonus. Need a break. Feel my prose is pour.
4:28p. Back from nap. Thankful I’m not groggy. Anyway, I’m on Facebook and Twitter (is Twitter capitalized?). Never thought that would happen. Not aiming to have a large number of “friends,” be some social digi-butterfly. Simply trying to expand reader base. Nice outside. Miss the crew in the Room. Jack moved in down the street, which is a good thing. Went to the Gnarly Thorn last night for a beer with him and Stan. Can’t believe I called in sick Sunday. Quite at peace with that decision, I’ll state in this log with credible crystalization.
Should I be worried, with this new level of log broadcasting, about coworkers from the Room or students surveying the occasional virulency, surprising honesty, in the entries? Am I to be preoccupied with consequences, fallout? Simply, no. Not at all, never. First, and this is all I will elaborate and expand on such a stream, this is my log, my literary lair. I am ultimately and undeniably free. I will not self-censor again, ever. If someone is addressed, be it with venom or veneration, it is my election. I rule these pages. Anything can happen, and I will not explain beyond these lines, and I definitely won’t ever apologize. I’m not running for office. I’m already seated in throne. ANTI!
Tonight, I hope to get around to unearthing some old entries in this plastic tub under my desk, the one housing retired scribbles. I’m afraid of this box. Why? I view it like a composition’s crypt, a manuscript mausoleum of sorts, a journalistic jail. Can’t be frightful. I will dive in, armed with ink and line.
Went to Stanford’s site again. One day, I tell myself. Didn’t take many Room notes over the last two shifts, especially not on Saturday (which I tagged “asshole day,” on account of the amount of animalistic visitors). But there a couple jots in the little flip pad. Need to review those. Saturday, as harsh and horrible as it was, was one of my biggest tips days in months. Love irony, even when it tires my core. Going for a drive. Praise the Craft.
6:03p. Went to deposit the winery checks. My balance, emaciated. Hate depending on others for income. Exposure and readers are wonderful, but my goal is to live, subsist, by the pen, by these lines, entries. Reminded that time is an element worthy of concern, when I saw an elderly man in Safeway, the same one housing my bank’s branch, who could barely move, even with the assistance of the four-legged device. Felt sorry him, felt sorry for Self. Speedily. It’s good to be delicate, meticulous, but not to excess.
Saturday, in the Room, many on vacation, Valentines Day. One gentleman who came in with his other significant reminded me of something, someone, from a 1990s music video. Cheesiest character I’ve seen in some time. His cologne was suffocating me like I stepped on scared stones, left scars. His shirt’s buttons were unhinged to the middle of his chest, revealing a gold chain of medium girth. His arms were all around, over and about his exotic acquaintance, who must have been fifteen years his junior. Another character that day, with his wife, was quite patient as I jumped from guest to guest, group to group. He tipped me ten dollars. I didn’t charge for his tasting. Maybe I should have, but I’ve been told I can be generous using my judgement and discretion. The first guest I mentioned, the 90s character, was attired in a white shirt with a sparkly design on the back, up around the shoulder area, stretching from left to right. I told him about the bell in the tower, how it goes off every hour on, and how one shouldn’t be in the tour unless they want a taste of brief deafness. He said, “So the bell rings your bell, huh?” Ugh, annoyed me even more. Couldn’t wait to get him out of our Room. Worked with the best of crews on the Day of the Asshole. Will, Stan, Augustus, Joey, Lonny, Dan, Cameron. I think that’s it. If it wasn’t for Auggie pouring me intermittent doses of Sauv Blanc, and my vixenish Viogner, I would have surrendered. There were times during the day where I just wanted to leave, go home sick, but I didn’t want to abandon my brothers. Interesting cast in the Room. Invaluable.
My place, whoso, still under consideration, thawing in thought. I think it should have a revolving menu of starters paired with wines. Still want to investigate champagne/sparkling wine pairings. Lights, lazy. Seating, seductive, sexy. Music, perfect. It would be a place at which I would go, take Alice for an outing. Miss little Alice, her smile, jokes, funny voices. Thinking about her call last night, that woke me. If I’m to be pulled from slumber, that way is lovely. Not just because it contained praise for the log. My wife’s joyous octave was in my ear, laughing, complementary.
Don’t think I’m going to get around to excavating the tomb of tablets. I’ll concede, I’m afraid. Hate reading my past work. Why is that?
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