5/22/12. Can’t compose anything composed. Too much wine. Mostly Cabernet. Some topping wines. Cab, Cab Franc, Petite Sirah… Mom and Dad helped with the assessment of what Professor Katie and I should top our barrel with. Now, at this irresponsibly late hour (11:41pm), sipping last night’s ’07. I have to be a Cab producer, after tonight. Want to taste some of that Petite Sirah sample that Mom and I liked so much. Tomorrow, more tours than I had today, I for sure know. Tired. Wanting to 2sleep go.
But I can’t, the way I am. A Writer. 12:14am, the next day. Thinking of how my wine’ll be in the end. Can’t write anymore. And I shouldn’t. Notes would be more advantageous. In the moment. More poetic. Musical. Punching, as I think I deserve to relax for night’s rest…
Shouldn’t even be trying to write, but I am. Obsessive sludge. Bed sounds lovely. Not 2morrow’s tours. Another sip of the night’s cap. Lagunitas, IPA. Tomorrow’s mocha, already calling. People can’t understand my cupped compulsion, that’s ‘cause they’re not writers.
5/23/12. Last night, tasting topping wines for MKCS11, with The Particular Palates. Mom and Dad, case you forgot. I almost did. All still on mind, swirling in my imagination’s rivulets. The Petite Sirah, obvious winner, it stood as the others couldn’t– Confidence in its character; coherence, conviction… The Cab Franc, new clone, came in 2nd. Last pick, of the three, the Cabernet Sauvignon; I just didn’t get its voice, composition, what it was trying to say. Brought little bottles home with me last night from Mom & Dad’s, and I hope to revisit all 3 tonight. Extremely tired, as I sit, typing this entry. Went to bed far too late, enjoyed wholly too much great wine. Had some of Lancaster’s ’08 Nicoles, that I brought home from work’s day, opened a bottle of that 2007 Hoot Owl Creek Vineyards Cabernet Sauvignon. When home, had a glass of that 2007 Sophia’s Hillside Cuvée, also from Lancaster. Spit most of the sips taken from the sample bottle-ettes, but either way was in wine’s scene 24 hours ago.
After work tonight, went to a little mixer at Robert Young. Never had their wines before, but I liked everything I tasted, even the Chardonnays. Say that as I don’t really care for the Burgundy belle. Now that I’m home, finally, I only want to write. Not interested in straightening up the house as I wanted, or even looking for new music– Well, now that I type that word, “music,” I’m pushed to turn off the TV, turn on some tracks. While driving home from the mixer, after filling the XA [ can’t believe I made it to the gas station by Healdsburg’s Square, tell you the truth], I just thought, enjoyed thought, the driving and thinking, music through speaker on both my sides. And I thought of that idea, that continues to haunt and help me; that sometimes I have to not write, as that can serve a more Literary and Artful purpose than Writing itself. I rolled down the window, about shoulder level. My mind skipped to fantasies of my wine, especially after meeting someone from the Kosta Browne crew, and meeting someone at Robert Young who makes his own wine, and from what I hear is soon to be bonded. I also thought about how planning what I’m going to say in a sitting, put on a the page, is the least Literary act I could ever perpetuate. So no more… Onto AUTONOMY.
8:13pm. Before getting back into the wine, I think I’ll treat Self to another Lagunitas. Today’s tours, 2. A couple from Chicago, incredibly familiar with Napa and Sonoma Wineries, wines in general. The other, six people: 4 from Canada, two from Florida, all wine lovers. We just talked about wine, wines they drink, wines I like, the wine world, and how beautiful, although annoyingly windy, it was in the wine world today. Seeing the word “wine” so much in that last line makes me want to do some tasting, get into a sipNscribble. But I’m holding, waiting for later. Sipping slow, only scribbling speedily tonight. Don’t want to feel tomorrow morning as I did today’s. Sauvignon Blanc, 2010, in the fridge… May saunter into that scope this evening. The thought of anymore red, after last night, frightens this writer. Today’s first group, the CHI couple, would stake burn me for such a statement, as they kept reminding me of their motto, “The redder the better.” Ignorant, I thought. Not their motto, but how they bragged to me about how they scorned and scolded every winery they went to, when the behind-bar character asked if they wanted to try an SB, or Chard, or Viognier, Gewürztraminer… That attitude doesn’t belong in the wine world, or at least I don’t see how it belongs here, with us loving what wine truly embodies. Which is all positives.