Posts Tagged With: wine industry
5/18. Indicative of my writing obsession– I’m still writing. Can’t just throw and resign eyes to TV. Need another glass of SB, obviously. Hot down here, condo’s first floor. Attempt to implore more, but I move slow. Why am I not just writing verse, for the first chapbook? Don’t know. BUT, of what I am sure: I don’t want to be seen as one of those ordinary bloggers, just posting whenever suits, whenever’s most marketable. I’m extremely Artist. Know that, devil.
Night’s final capping, a generous pour of ’12 SB. Then I’m done. Can’t even write descriptively how tired the writer is. Want more music in my day.. So, muting TV, again. Re-reading poem I wrote in vineyard’s center. See what I saw, again. But that’s me, the unique audience.. the poem’s creator. What would the reader see? Can’t tell, definitively.
Said this before: Love where my mind goes, how I always want2WRITE. No interest in doing anything else. Even when I do out with “friends,” I entertain how I could spin it into sentences, like with my recent Gatsby night, nearly a month ago. The 25th, in 7 days, possible sequel. Just turned on Pandora, set on buying more music than I should, for turns of turning more musical writing. Another sip… Just heard Jackie, now he’s quiet. Bad dream? Who knows what in his little swing stream. Just look at one of my photo banks, holding 350 stills. What if I had same amount in standalones? Why can’t I? What am I saying, I already do. Need to follow thought with my vision. Trust heart, know what I’m doing is what I SHOULD B doing.
And sometimes a writer just needs to resign, fall to dreamt rhymes. Waiting for my first Road trip. I don’t care to where I’m sent, long as it’s from pages. Sipping the SB slowly. Finally relaxed. And with all wholeness, I deserve this. Relaxing with a glass of nice wine, writing. Many males my age would love to be out with their mirrorings, doing what be. But not me. I need silence, Artistry.
Ready to watch SNL, one of my pleasures altogether guilty. Now, having trouble writing, truly.. having to retype most of me. Will reconvene with coffee, in morrow. If this were a play, I’d reconsider all efforts. Where am I going with these pages?
5/19. Brought my newest issue of WineMaker Magazine to work, but left in car. Wouldn’t have had time to read through its content, anyway. Had a VIP Mountaintop gig at 12:30p. Just two people, from Iowa. They joined the club yesterday, decided to return today to experience the views up there, for their 25th wedding anniversary. The two: the kind of guests I like. Unassuming, kind, genuinely interested.
Planned on tasting my wines at lunch, seeing how badly they needed a rack. BUT, decided on two tacos from Nellie’s Oysters stand [having a day or two pretty much every weekend at the estate]. Wound up tasting them right after I clocked out, with Sam. MUCH to my surprise.. the Merlot tasted better than NDC [my blend, “New Dad Cuvée]. Couldn’t believe it, especially as the Merlot was causing me such frustration only weeks ago. At this point, I just want to top them, push back racking as far as I can. Hoping to go in early tomorrow, if I can, to taste through some tanks, or barrels, for topping purposes. Blair had me taste some PV a couple weeks ago. Hopefully I can get my hands on some of that.
No wine for the writer, tonight. Just a couple beers. Then, switching to sparkling lime. Pushing some standalones into book. This Saturday night, the due date. The newest one.. let’s see if I keep it. Wait, why do I type that with the sarcastic slant? What if I do? What if I surprise mySelf? On my humble run today, only thought of my book, the books following.. my realization that my style is the momentary, the instantaneous, whimsical. I can’t afford to spend 3 years writing a bloody book. Writing as a poet, songwriter, even if you’re reading paragraphs. Aimed at doing 3 laps around the rather sizable block down the street, towards the end of run. Ran two, decided to walk final, to think– just enjoy surroundings, observe all the characters in those nice townhouses. Writing my way, our way, out of this small condo. And when I don’t feel like writing, as I did just as I started typing a couple minutes ago– just type. Or WRITE. Anything. And that’s just it. I need to write. More. ACTUALLY write. Proud of myself from racking the poem I wrote in the little pages, yesterday, into book. Short poem, yes, but it surely conveys what I was feeling at the time, standing in the middle of that vineyard block, only minutes before I had to punch back in, killing my lunch hour.. or half-hour.
Thinking more about wines from ’12, the one or two I do for ’13. Think I’ll do 1 with Katie, and maybe 1 at estate. Katie and I should do another Cab, I’m thinking. She says there may be guidelines to whatever we do. I don’t want an excess of restrictions when it comes to my Art, whatever outlet. With all due respect to my sister. Maybe I’ll do 1 wine, all by mySelf. But what? Still to early to measure.
Did a little writing in caves today, as I was closing. Love that stage, under the hill. Could write at that table, at the end of the left channel [where we do tours] for hours. Would love to just spend a day walking the estate, with only a Comp Book, couple pens, record everything I see. Like this morning, when I had to have a guy from an event equipment company follow me out to the ruins. I drove, utterly relaxed, with my 4shot mocha, blueberry scone, window down, just admiring where I was, what I could be writing if I were in more a position to scribble. Speaking of, just looked at Comp Book.. it’s almost full. Should pull from there, tonight, for book. Give those verses a final home.
Time for sparkling lemon. Do have some of last night’s SB in fridge.. I’m just not in the mood. At all. Want to wake with more energy than I did this A.M. Just turned on Midnight in Paris, for perhaps the something-thousandth occasion, in the last few months. What am I looking for in this film? AM I looking for anything in particular?
Should have bought some coffee at store. I believe Alice’s going for a walk at 8 tomorrow morning, with one of the other young mothers. Should give me a good 30-40 mins to write, if I correctly budget. Was just looking through first draft of book. Wondering if I should rack at all, or blend down to the 57 pages I was entertaining– See? This is the type of vacillating that KILLS my efforts in bringing book ideas to fruition. And what I do like about the blog: write, post, done. Self-published.
Lied. I’m actually sipping some chocolate milk I bought on store run. For some reason, it sounded good, a chilled glass of chocolate, on night warm like 2nite. TV, off, thankfully. Was getting sick, watching the advertisements, the evil “reality” shows on BRAVO. Think I’m closer to sleep than previously measured.
Need to be back in my city [Paris], soon.
Tonight, this first chapbook will undergo a racking, and re-blending of sorts. Another example of how wine, winemaking, and writing so closely link, intersect. Want the average length to be shorter, of each piece. In deepening my understanding of the analogy, the encompassing application of it all, I figure each page is like a case. 57 page = 57 css. A small lot project. May type some of the forgotten poems from the newJournal, the little black beauty log [with its sleek leather exterior], well as past blog entries [older than 8 months, like wine spending 8 months in bbl before its first racking]. Thought of this today, early A.M., after dropping Kerouac off at Lisa’s, traveling back west on 12 to get morning mocha.
Two tours on Mt. today. FINALLY deposited upstairs stash into acct. Was surprised, $846. That brings the amount destined for the Schwab1 to over $2500. I’m a little proud of Self, I won’t evade. And why shouldn’t I be? That’s all cash I struggled to pocket. I can’t help think to Self, “What if I made deposits, regular, of that magnitude, and higher, from writings sold?” Looking to rack 3 individual tracks into its new home, then one new piece written tonight.
Sipping Dogfish Head 90-Minute IPA tonight. May have SB later, or not. Not in much a wine mood. TV on, but everything I’m hearing annoys me. Why is there so much “reality” TV? What happened to those wildlife documentaries I used to watch, like the one on PBS I watched when I was young, back in the Bayview Drive house? The 17th of May.. I’ll be 34 in 12 days. HOW? Not going to dwell on it. Need to focus on the racking of this book. Not going to allow Self more than 4 rackings, the 4th being into book. OR, bottle, analogously.
Why do I still have the TV on? Think my mood may be southern, from this series of attacking allergies. Was going to run tonight, but late crowds at the winery prohibited that. Well, the crowds paired with the FULL glass of ’12 SB I had with co-workers. Tomorrow, in TR. Can’t let Self drink a single sip. And I didn’t today, till after I clocked [out]. Had 1 helping, dinner– didn’t want to be excessively stuffed. Had the tortilla casserole Alice made last night. Can’t believe last night’s meetings were final for term. Fall, going to instill the concept of Onus on day 1 as I never before have.
Book doc opened, looking at pieces I want to rack into 2nd barrel [doc]. The shorter the piece, the more fortified. Want my style to be rough, authentic, truthful, unfined. Hate the word ‘raw’, but that’s precisely what I want readers to think of when they hear ‘Mike Madigan’. Time for another beer, to start the racking. Again, no more than 3 standalones, 4 total [including the 1 new piece from tonight’s write]. Looking at stills from the other day.. so much more material to trap, record. This vintage’s vines, turning my time. Did I take any pictures today, of note? Hold on… Yes, I did. But I want this entry, or “post,” to emphasize my writing emphasis, obsession, practice. Not that I can pull a camera like one with a gun in a western, snapping a still by pushing button. We writers want to be known for our pages, our consuming habits.. what’s bound, not “posted.” Need to halt this rant. Notice I’m just prolonging the racking of this 1st book.
Photos contributed by apronsandstilettos.com empress, Ms. Crystal Peterson. To see more of her material, pay her site a visit! Cheers!!!
No run. Just Rosé, here at home. Haven’t read the first 8 pages. Will before I go to bed, or try. Tomorrow, day off, for most part. Optional session, for both sections. We’ll see how many show for 1-on-1. Have to retrieve check from campus, early in A.M. Been saving quite a bit of money, in late. What do I do with it all? Thinking about gambling it all into MY business.. the blog, media, journalism, blended with creative writing, wine. But how? Need to write a business plan, I think. AND, need another wine break. Just walked outside, to put more quarters in laundry–which only reminds me that we need a house of our own–loving the weather. Like Summer. Sunriver. Vacation. So thankful for no summer session awardings.
Want to watch a writing movie tonight. Tomorrow, early in office. Can’t write at Mom and Dad’s, as they’re back from Sunriver.. and the coffee house, 12 & Mission– Well, I COULD give that another shot. The last time I was there, when that peculiarly moldy man sat right next to me, when there were dozens of other options, shook an isolationist scribbler like me, boldly. Either way, leaving house by 2[pm].
The Rosé, on hold, for moments brief. Want my head clearer than clear. Want to look into past entries.. a major theme in this first collection. What was I doing 5 months ago? 8, 10, 12.. 24? Time, my only real adversary.. only way to effectively battle it: record everything. Looking over at light red bottle, condensation on all sides, stemless bowl at its right, calling me for another visit.
Just took sip. The $10 tip from today, my only “table,” those 3 guys from San Diego, going straight to startup fund. This summer, when I launch. I like the pressure I’m putting on Self. Thinking of the story Dad told me last night about the rattlesnake he saw on his walk. The metaphor, entirely obvious. Life about to strike.. hope I’m bitten.
11:10pm. Night’s cap, poured. No way I’ll it finish. More looking forward to this final week of regular instruction, my morning’s home brew. Obviously, I won’t make the deadline of 5/23, having my book’s 1st draft done. BUT, by Fall’s ignition, I’ll be in a place, space different. You’ll see how I mean, reader. Time for pen2paper, REAL poetry. “Change the shape of your future,” the UC Berkeley ad boasts for its extension, or online classes. Why do we as Humans need 2B legitimized by some institution? YES, I’m invigorated when someone I work with tells me they’re interested in going back to school, pursuing a grad degree. But I already have one. Why can’t I just go forward? I can. Don’t get me wrong at all– I love education, I love what it represents.. but I don’t agree with the dependency, the diminishment of the individual. We can study on own, in Autonomous walks. This, believe me, will be only 1 idea I’ll stress in Fall.
Hot yesterday. Ready to leave, but have a couple spare for sitting. Lots of spoken word written last night, when back from Mom & Dad’s. Also, little notes, here/there, for Fall term. Relieved to have two days off every week this summer. Need to intensify my writing efforts, if that’s possible. Well, I already am, really, with this Great Consolidation.
Tired. Definitely need that 4-shot mocha. Bringing Comp Book with me to work. May try to get off a little early to get SRJC check. Was going to go in early, this A.M., to get it, but I needed sleep. Woke yesterday with Kerouac at, I think, 5:15am. Never went back to sleep, as I brought him downstairs to play, have coffee with me.
Quiet in this condo castle. Lovely. Thinking of my sister, how she’s on the Road right now, again. In Hawaii. Again, have to intensify my efforts– You know what, I just realized looking at this printer to left, I could print right now. Gimme a sec… There. Bringing my book’s first 8 pages with me to work. Yesterday, sitting with Sam, talking about career options, the future, being truly stimulated by what you do, going back to school, among several other connected conversation corners, had and HAS me thinking about my career, what I want. Bringing the little notebook, as I always do. Maybe I’ll solve that equation today. Want to start looking for Literary Theory articles and sites for Fall students. Now thinking again– Need to open up that “doc” here on monster, put a couple thoughts in.. 1 more sec… There. Surprised how quick I’m writing, not having had a drop of caffeine.
Running today. So no tasting, at all. Going in early tomorrow morning to work on wines, taste from other barrels for topping purposes. My phone, telling me it’s full– 2many pictures, videos. I swear, as I told my friend Crystal, I’m developing a hatred for tech that’s going to make me a better writing, one only ACTUALLY writing, THEN using a laptop to type finished project. And eventually, a typewriter, completely separating me from this devil device, and the carcinogenic internet.
Off to finally get my coffee. Going to taste so good, like reconnection with my character. She’s, more than likely, still asleep, especially if she was at a gallery last night, or on the road. Not sure what she’s been up to, lately.
Finally tasted my wines today. Relieved, as they both taste fine. The blend, however, amazing, unlike any wine I’ve tasted recently. The Merlot, developing a little more muscle, losing whatever flatness it had before. Tonight at home, sipping a ’10 Merlot from St. Francis. Paired perfectly with the Italian sausage pizza I brought home (also having olive, mushroom, onion). Need a break. Of some kind. Just quiet. A Road trip, for writing. OR maybe I just need another sip. Tonight, poetry, after this entry. Closing computer altogether.
Great session this morning. Makes me feel guilty, frankly, about the wine I’m NOW sipping.
Posting my last video to blog, tomorrow. This is a writer’s space. IF there’s the occasional accompanying still [photo], that’s fine. That’s part of journalism. But video, that’s a blogger’s bag. Not an Artist’s. In fact, maybe I should post it to bottledaux’s social media page, one of them. Not spending another second stressing about this nonsense. Focus on page, books. But I’ve said this all before. Tired of my own repetition. Sick of it, really.
My mood, falling. I blame this laptop, all technology. The blog, what it makes me do: Tweet, Facebook, tag, reblog, repost. NEW RULE: no more new “docs” opened on this monster. Divorcing technology. Relying strictly on Comp Books, or legal pads, or pieces of scratch paper I’d find in one of my desk drawers upstairs.
Merlot glass, empty. Thinking of my Merlot.. what do I want to top it with? Maybe some Petit Verdot, if they’d let me. Definitely needs oxygen, some so2 maybe, according to Blair. May be making another wine with Katie this vintage. So excited. Hope it’s something voluptuously palate-situated, depending on what vintage conditions are naturally provided. Do I want to do another Cab? A Merlot? Syrah? Will Katie, the consummate Chardonnay queen make me produce her Burgundian belle? This is the part in winemaking, PRECISELY, I deplore: the waiting, the dependency; on people, Nature. In Literary lots, we do whatever we want. There is no dependency. In fact, we thrive in and ON rejection of pattern, the expected, the “norm.” This may be something I want to cover in Fall, especially with 1A, where we cover Poe, maybe some Faulkner, Plath.. some Shakur?
10:49pm. No run tomorrow, Mothers’ Day. Not sure if I put the apostrophe in place proper, but it’s a day for all mothers, in my sight. Makes me think of all she’s done for me. Almost 34–NO, 34–years of parenting me. Advice, support.. I don’t know what else. I mean, I do, but I don’t have time, space, energy to here it type. She’s amazing, my Mom. Need to bring a nice bottle tomorrow night. Like WHAT? Need to see what I have here.. especially upstairs. Feel I have too much of the winery’s wines in this house. Has to stop. From now on, bottles I take home will be for gifts, or bartering. Like tonight, gave the ’11 “Reserve” Chardonnay to one of our neighbors, Brittany.
Almost out of coffee here in house. See? Need more bottles for exchange, which I’ve done before. Now thinking to Self: “What do I have up there, upstairs?” Lancaster, some St. Francis, maybe some other bottles about which I forgot. Who knows. But my Mom deserves one quite special. I’ll have a bottle-elect at some point in morrow’s morrow early.
Nightcap, approaching. The bottle’s been open for about 2.5 hours. Should show more balance, by now. Would like it to have that tannic shock like our winery’s 2010 Merlot. Have no problem telling guests that’s my favorite at the main bar.
Already well over word limit for day, so I have to park. Need the canvas, anyway. Beginning to hate bloggers, social media willy-nilly subscribers. If the sphere reverse circles, then what’s left for the writer’s hurdle? Watching the news, so bored. Just noticed some of the new “followers” of this [my] “blog.” These aren’t Literary people. Just my point. Need change. Practice revamp. Retarget the box.