Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Review of Yorba, 2006 Tempranillo, Amador County, Shake Ridge Vineyards
Looking for an experience, and I found one. Lost and located, elated. Encountering the seductive element I love in wine, here, with my Spanish countess, with her vampiric virility, dancing for me. Deep flavorful nose, even on cork. Gothic leathery fruit, deep and complicated, worthy of more than a remedial enumeration of notes. Dark cherry, slight coffee, damp earth, slightly herbaceous. Finish, a black cherry coat of reassurance and welcome, a lasting tap on the palate. 14.5% in content, not even a delicate brush stroke of alcohol, anywhere. Noticeable, and quite cherishable, chalky tannins, giving the sips duration and diligence. This aphotic sea before me, reveals more structure and complexity as she is left to self-present. Pleasurable punch, her glare seduces me, effortlessly. Erotically unfamiliar from nose to finish, the entirety of its delivery. Don’t want her to leave. Taking my time, dancing with her...
Monday, April 5, 2010
Lazy 100
Mike wanted to post the Tempranillo review, but couldn’t bring himself to edit. He also wanted to work on some spoken word. No propulsion. He was pinned down by an absence of puissance. Papers to grade, no way was he ever going to touch those tonight. The TV, boring, deathly. Wine, “Not tonight,” he thought.
He needed decent sleep tonight. The nap he took a few hours ago was probably hindering any fecundity. The blog, not interesting him, not now. He opened his Composition book, clicked the pen.
Stomach still hurts from that burrito. Never going there again. Never want to eat again.
He needed decent sleep tonight. The nap he took a few hours ago was probably hindering any fecundity. The blog, not interesting him, not now. He opened his Composition book, clicked the pen.
Stomach still hurts from that burrito. Never going there again. Never want to eat again.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
whoso Vision
Today, rainy. We’ve just opened, and I’m out with the guests, walking around, sipping a beer. The fire and the trip-hop/ambient instrumentals appear to be complementing the very aesthetic that entices entry. The language of everyone’s structure, and face shape, reiterates why I opened this place. The lights over there in the far left corner, with their pink and purple tint, where the 40-something couple enjoys the Zin I just added to the list, attracts me. Almost want to ask them to sit elsewhere, so I can have the safe section to my Self.
Sitting down. Happy with all this. Next coat of notes thrown from the speakers, heads nod, bob. I smile, sip. Sip again. Smile, for a batch of beats.
Sitting down. Happy with all this. Next coat of notes thrown from the speakers, heads nod, bob. I smile, sip. Sip again. Smile, for a batch of beats.
Long Live Literary Libation ...
On this Sunday, the hours before a return to the classroom, I’m in a mode of laziness, productivity drought, stress deprivation. Going to Mom and Dad’s tonight for Easter dinner, Katie will be at the table, eager to see what bottle(s) she brings. Mom mentioned pairing her lamb-centered dish with a Rhone. Find pairings so fascinating, entrapping.
Papers that haven’t been graded, laughing at them. Thinking of a character to pair with Erlycia, a young man, 24. He pours in a Room, in Napa. Wants to one day open a restaurant, in the city, SF. So sequestered, safe, and dry in this castle. Not feeling venomous today. Virile, lively, engaged.
Anticipating the Rhone, the pairings, Mom’s magic. Will be capturing what I detect, stay tuned. Hate that phrase. Am I a word snob, the same way that guests in the Room are wine & bottle snobs? Logged some valuable notes yesterday, thanks to the crew, and their respective tales, offerings.
A final disclosure, and please don’t be mad or think I’m just a talker (which even I think I am, somewhat, sometimes), but I failed to print and read pp.1-10 of BOOK ONE. I know, I know...
Papers that haven’t been graded, laughing at them. Thinking of a character to pair with Erlycia, a young man, 24. He pours in a Room, in Napa. Wants to one day open a restaurant, in the city, SF. So sequestered, safe, and dry in this castle. Not feeling venomous today. Virile, lively, engaged.
Anticipating the Rhone, the pairings, Mom’s magic. Will be capturing what I detect, stay tuned. Hate that phrase. Am I a word snob, the same way that guests in the Room are wine & bottle snobs? Logged some valuable notes yesterday, thanks to the crew, and their respective tales, offerings.
A final disclosure, and please don’t be mad or think I’m just a talker (which even I think I am, somewhat, sometimes), but I failed to print and read pp.1-10 of BOOK ONE. I know, I know...
Friday, April 2, 2010
Wine Ode, One of Some to Come ...
What is it about this ghost-like colony of libation? Delightfully dizzy. Loving wine, securing my spine and mind. Cab, Merlot, Syrah, Malbec, all specs in my spirit. Medicine, melody for Mike. Can’t touch 1k without some grape. To typos I might go ...
Take light to date night, shake life to states’ blithe.
I’m a curve on the table, a blurb in the fable.
Zinfandel, I sinned and fell into the well. Can’t the
Self sell. Tempranillo, I sent a Leo a message that
this Gemini, Vemini is making his character known.
They’re scared of my zone, each bone, tone. Leave
the poets alone.
Here I am, thriving on the keyboard, at no dive bar. Sipping in my sanctuary. The character of this bottle, beauteous, brave, bewitching. I’ll keep stumbling, in awe of the winemaker. My sister, how does she do what she does? All I do is journal. Katie makes occasions, memories. We, writers, everywhere. Winemakers, like the little sis, anomalous, true vanguards.
Take light to date night, shake life to states’ blithe.
I’m a curve on the table, a blurb in the fable.
Zinfandel, I sinned and fell into the well. Can’t the
Self sell. Tempranillo, I sent a Leo a message that
this Gemini, Vemini is making his character known.
They’re scared of my zone, each bone, tone. Leave
the poets alone.
Here I am, thriving on the keyboard, at no dive bar. Sipping in my sanctuary. The character of this bottle, beauteous, brave, bewitching. I’ll keep stumbling, in awe of the winemaker. My sister, how does she do what she does? All I do is journal. Katie makes occasions, memories. We, writers, everywhere. Winemakers, like the little sis, anomalous, true vanguards.
Tempranillo 100+
Joyfully mephitic. Playful, still rattling. Rain, gone. On my own. Odd, but homeostatic, pragmatic. Find treasures in the box of old writings, like an attic. This Spanish belle I sip, seduces, propulsion induces. Awake my inner-Poe, and Emerson. Confused, but not contused. When I’m gone, I want people to smile, even chuckle. But I’ll never leave. Installations won’t relent in reprieve.
Poe said, “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.” Love that quote. But who’s truly imbalanced? The Tempranillo tells me that there is no such thing as insanity, only beauty, the celestial. Another sip, on the radar another blip.
Loving safety provided by the Madigan castle. Miss Ms. Alice. On the East Coast she now sleeps. Me, frantic, typing. No cesura, intermission, adjournment. Thinking poetically, and about wine sinking eclectically. Loving the free night, to freewrite!!! Remembering my Creative Writing classes in college. Missing those days, as crazily I do my wife.
Poe said, “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.” Love that quote. But who’s truly imbalanced? The Tempranillo tells me that there is no such thing as insanity, only beauty, the celestial. Another sip, on the radar another blip.
Loving safety provided by the Madigan castle. Miss Ms. Alice. On the East Coast she now sleeps. Me, frantic, typing. No cesura, intermission, adjournment. Thinking poetically, and about wine sinking eclectically. Loving the free night, to freewrite!!! Remembering my Creative Writing classes in college. Missing those days, as crazily I do my wife.
Tres Dias
Wed 31March2010. Leave in less than an hour. Am I nervous? Not really. Okay, I am a little. No, more than a little. Car’s all better, got the brake, or brakes, fixed. It’s raining quite viciously now. Probably shouldn’t have a beer before getting onto the soaked streets. What should I have for dinner, to celebrate? Roberto’s? Mexican? Pizza? No, had that last night. So much fun, that mixer. Love those little get-togethers here in the Valley, or any wine zone. Much more enjoyable than socials with educators, that’s known, to me at least. Just noticing I’ve passed 1k the last couple days.
Yeah, I’m nervous. Having a Racer...
No I’m not. Need to gather what I’m bringing to the studio. Speaking of studios, I should make an instru’ or two 2nite.
10:13p. The interview was amazing, thanks to KAZ and his crew. I really appreciated Randy’s words concerning my entries, logged efforts. Not going to hit 1k. Fine with it. Feel as though my tributary of consciousness is in need of resuscitation, resurrection, recollection.
My thirst for words, fervently stirred. Others in the light, are empty, voice hallowness. Irks me dirty. A show won’t rid this shell of the filthy film. MTV embraces these bots. I’m sick, rebelling. I will die infusing thought and literary merit into the mainstream, even when I feign mean.
Not in the mood for wine tonight. Don’t worry, I’m fine to write. In the mood to rime everything I utter. Typing so fast, my fingernails stutter, shudder. Tinkering with my ticker...
10:59p. Too tall to lay. Calm, I’m just thinking about the coming day. Decided I don’t like writing on assignment. I won’t do it, ever, unless it’s for family, friend/s. And so, the day is low, as is my tide. Why? I’ve adorned Self with jubilation, triumph. I’ll never be a strong interpreter of mine own Self, essence. At the age of 30/31, this is disconcerting, a chord of discord.
Closing my little leviathan of a laptop. A day I’ll replay in endless ways. The rain had something to do with the development of these scenes. What, precisely, I’m not sure. I don’t need to know, just appreciate, grow.
Th. 4/1/10. How is it April? Time, is the true devil. More than any devil I’ve in the past dated. I know time will victor, but till the close, I’ll make habitual havoc a tragic habit. Should be asleep, but I’m still conveyed to the page. Why am I watching reality TV? These constructed clones on BRAVO, boils, poison. “‘Real’ Housewives.” Not one element of these devils is real, authentic, believable. And not just the women! Devil does not translate in my head to woman, necessarily.
Topic next. James Joyce, a true Portrait. Me, aiming for such. On the shelf, soon, I hope. Like Pac said, “...felt alone out here on my own...” Searching for words that can expand and curb my nerves. -1:12a
Friday 2APR2010. Waiting for a JC to call me back, for Fall assignments. Now, this author, a coiled viper. My inner sea, toxicity. Was going to compose a review, but I’m not in a “professional” state right now. Even the rain, which I usually adore, teases me. Peace, Mike, peace...
I called at 12:52p. In that same tic of the clock, they said they would call me back. My little laptop reads 1p. What exactly are they solving in that esteemed educational control tower that has them so mentally mangled?
They called me back, left a message as I was on the phone with Alice, and was in no rush to get off. I called back to “score” a section of 1A down at the Petaluma campus, a MW from 5-7p. Hate evening classes, but I must book what I can, for the time being.
The rain now me clams. Beads no longer surface in my palms.
1:39p. Haven’t had lunch yet. Don’t want to venture into the deluge. PB&J? Food of a penman secluded. A burrito sounds appetizing as well, but that brings a weather of the weather. When hunger rises, my vivacity vaporizes fast, and drastically. Break...
Nice little snack. Reminds me of Depp’s character in “Secret Window.” Want to keep riming here in this Composition book. Rain diminished. Odd coincidence: when balancing checkbook earlier, the number 31 was everywhere. Entries dated 3/31/10, beginning balance had a 31 in it, and one of the entries had an amount of $31.31. Odd, unnerving.
Hate these devilish typos, but like Randy said, and/or suggested, on WineBiz Radio the other night, it’s not necessarily the writer’s job to be an expert editor. Thanks Randy! I’m glad someone finally articulated the reality. Even still, as a timid perfectionist, I cringe when slapped by a mistype.
Cold, even with the heater blaring (sorry, Alice!). Please, readers, forgive my vitriolic voice earlier, enmity. Now, charged. Still riming. Like spelling it that way instead of with the ‘h’ and the ‘y’. My fingers, cramping, hating my inner impetus. Should stop, before my character crashes. So comfy in this study, this creative cave...
I cannot get warm in this abode of ours. Going for a drive. Know that the heater of my little XA will surely give me agreeable atmosphere. Peace.
3:14p, and back from a loose cruise. Back in the tasting Room tomorrow, Sunday off for Easter. What an interesting past couple days. Now that I realize it, tonight is my last gasp of vacation, elemental gathering. In this period of pause, I’ve organized writings, more or less, had a great radio/cast opportunity, and jogged through the forest solitarily. Cold again.
Don’t want to use the heater, that detracts from the already ailing account balance. Perhaps this algidity will spin me into a literary blizzard. Maybe. Please, dearest Cold, put me on some type of write-and-release schedule, don’t let me get old. Keep checking winebizradio.com to see if the entire show is uploaded. Not yet. Keep replaying the visit and interview in my head. Think I did okay. Oh shit, forgot about BOOK ONE. 10 pages tonight, no fail.
How do I develop my literary love, Erlycia? Have the basics, but not sure where to go from there, the foundation. 3:36p, just opened the BOOK ONE doc on this little monster, cruised through the first ten pages. Not bad, I have to say. Is that bad, am I a narcissist? Aren’t all writers?
The show is up!!! Listening to it ... thanks again Kaz, Randy, and Boy! Thanks for the support, and believing in me!!!
Yeah, I’m nervous. Having a Racer...
No I’m not. Need to gather what I’m bringing to the studio. Speaking of studios, I should make an instru’ or two 2nite.
10:13p. The interview was amazing, thanks to KAZ and his crew. I really appreciated Randy’s words concerning my entries, logged efforts. Not going to hit 1k. Fine with it. Feel as though my tributary of consciousness is in need of resuscitation, resurrection, recollection.
My thirst for words, fervently stirred. Others in the light, are empty, voice hallowness. Irks me dirty. A show won’t rid this shell of the filthy film. MTV embraces these bots. I’m sick, rebelling. I will die infusing thought and literary merit into the mainstream, even when I feign mean.
Not in the mood for wine tonight. Don’t worry, I’m fine to write. In the mood to rime everything I utter. Typing so fast, my fingernails stutter, shudder. Tinkering with my ticker...
10:59p. Too tall to lay. Calm, I’m just thinking about the coming day. Decided I don’t like writing on assignment. I won’t do it, ever, unless it’s for family, friend/s. And so, the day is low, as is my tide. Why? I’ve adorned Self with jubilation, triumph. I’ll never be a strong interpreter of mine own Self, essence. At the age of 30/31, this is disconcerting, a chord of discord.
Closing my little leviathan of a laptop. A day I’ll replay in endless ways. The rain had something to do with the development of these scenes. What, precisely, I’m not sure. I don’t need to know, just appreciate, grow.
Th. 4/1/10. How is it April? Time, is the true devil. More than any devil I’ve in the past dated. I know time will victor, but till the close, I’ll make habitual havoc a tragic habit. Should be asleep, but I’m still conveyed to the page. Why am I watching reality TV? These constructed clones on BRAVO, boils, poison. “‘Real’ Housewives.” Not one element of these devils is real, authentic, believable. And not just the women! Devil does not translate in my head to woman, necessarily.
Topic next. James Joyce, a true Portrait. Me, aiming for such. On the shelf, soon, I hope. Like Pac said, “...felt alone out here on my own...” Searching for words that can expand and curb my nerves. -1:12a
Friday 2APR2010. Waiting for a JC to call me back, for Fall assignments. Now, this author, a coiled viper. My inner sea, toxicity. Was going to compose a review, but I’m not in a “professional” state right now. Even the rain, which I usually adore, teases me. Peace, Mike, peace...
I called at 12:52p. In that same tic of the clock, they said they would call me back. My little laptop reads 1p. What exactly are they solving in that esteemed educational control tower that has them so mentally mangled?
They called me back, left a message as I was on the phone with Alice, and was in no rush to get off. I called back to “score” a section of 1A down at the Petaluma campus, a MW from 5-7p. Hate evening classes, but I must book what I can, for the time being.
The rain now me clams. Beads no longer surface in my palms.
1:39p. Haven’t had lunch yet. Don’t want to venture into the deluge. PB&J? Food of a penman secluded. A burrito sounds appetizing as well, but that brings a weather of the weather. When hunger rises, my vivacity vaporizes fast, and drastically. Break...
Nice little snack. Reminds me of Depp’s character in “Secret Window.” Want to keep riming here in this Composition book. Rain diminished. Odd coincidence: when balancing checkbook earlier, the number 31 was everywhere. Entries dated 3/31/10, beginning balance had a 31 in it, and one of the entries had an amount of $31.31. Odd, unnerving.
Hate these devilish typos, but like Randy said, and/or suggested, on WineBiz Radio the other night, it’s not necessarily the writer’s job to be an expert editor. Thanks Randy! I’m glad someone finally articulated the reality. Even still, as a timid perfectionist, I cringe when slapped by a mistype.
Cold, even with the heater blaring (sorry, Alice!). Please, readers, forgive my vitriolic voice earlier, enmity. Now, charged. Still riming. Like spelling it that way instead of with the ‘h’ and the ‘y’. My fingers, cramping, hating my inner impetus. Should stop, before my character crashes. So comfy in this study, this creative cave...
I cannot get warm in this abode of ours. Going for a drive. Know that the heater of my little XA will surely give me agreeable atmosphere. Peace.
3:14p, and back from a loose cruise. Back in the tasting Room tomorrow, Sunday off for Easter. What an interesting past couple days. Now that I realize it, tonight is my last gasp of vacation, elemental gathering. In this period of pause, I’ve organized writings, more or less, had a great radio/cast opportunity, and jogged through the forest solitarily. Cold again.
Don’t want to use the heater, that detracts from the already ailing account balance. Perhaps this algidity will spin me into a literary blizzard. Maybe. Please, dearest Cold, put me on some type of write-and-release schedule, don’t let me get old. Keep checking winebizradio.com to see if the entire show is uploaded. Not yet. Keep replaying the visit and interview in my head. Think I did okay. Oh shit, forgot about BOOK ONE. 10 pages tonight, no fail.
How do I develop my literary love, Erlycia? Have the basics, but not sure where to go from there, the foundation. 3:36p, just opened the BOOK ONE doc on this little monster, cruised through the first ten pages. Not bad, I have to say. Is that bad, am I a narcissist? Aren’t all writers?
The show is up!!! Listening to it ... thanks again Kaz, Randy, and Boy! Thanks for the support, and believing in me!!!
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