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The adjunct thing, what kind of thing, a con a soap opera, a mess, an everything and a fruitless nothing pit at once. So I’m stopping. I’m teaching, is what I think, what I tell myself and how I’ll see it. Just teach a class here and there. MY career is writing, and I guess wine, I guess. And blogging, reporting my life to interested and relevant and engaged readers, although modern readers are rarely engaged. But the adjunct wheel receives no more acknowledgement from me. And I will not, I REFUSE, to be one of those adjunct who continues to bicker and complain and form into some argumentative and grieving porcupine in some halfwit newspaper or publication or blog. Life is far too short and since the passing of Uncle Ross I can only focus on life and live for him, for Grandma, for Mo’, for Nana, Aunt Terri, and everyone else who separated so soon.
In tasting room today and run after.. more steps toward total Zen and Wellness and more material, more Life, more to record and report. REMEMBER: talk less and write more. “The greatest happiness is to know the source of unhappiness,” Dostoevsky said, and when I don’t write and I don’t have time to write I become ravishingly discontent. I’ll bring a book with me today, more than likely the Kerouac Dreams, and note, certain words and thoughts and characters that come into the tasting room and what they say to the wines they sip and to each other, to use behind the bar. Again, all material, and all for my pages, that makes me happy. The fact that I’m only an adjunct at the JC, and that I have towers of papers now to grade and students coming up with excuses as to why they didn’t have their submission ready and why they need an extension (one of them), in no manner adds to any pleasure for the writer. So I move on, into more writing and into more projects, this ever-written novel and novels and reportings and recordings of what I observe.
I’m not ‘supplementary rather than an essential part.’. I AM the essential. And with this fervor and fortitude I depart…..

(5/22/15)

MOCK SOMM: whoso cellars, Sonoma Valley, New Dad Cuvée, 2012

IMG_6158I know it’s extremely biased and uncouth to review my own wine. And I’m a writer, not a winemaker, so now it’s all the more skewed and beleaguering… But I have made wine, with a professional winemaker, Blair Guthrie, and I revisited a bottle last night and tonight and am more than wooed by the effulgence of olfactory and palate and the spanning theatricality of the taste-rhythm arrangement; maple-ized raspberry and wild earth honed by jubilant tannins and amorous acidity.. good thing I had Blair there. But I have to be critical.. this bottle SHOULD have a bit more texture and slow-tempo’d seduction to its sensory. But I’m wishing. And this is, was, what, the third wine I’ve ever made? What does this pair with? I don’t know. I’m not a swag-bellied skainsmste sommelier. I’m a wine lover, and writer, in love with wine but I have to say I’m not in love with this one, at least not at this moment in my home, at day’s end. Maybe, perhaps, yes, a tryst of sorts.. a certain sip excursion, delicious distraction.. deviantly wined act personified. Fine. I’ll take it. And that’s where the charm and gems lie, in the casual passing and interaction of the blend we made. And… well, maybe that’s it: I’m tired. How much sleep have his wine “experts” had when they review or respond to their bottles assigned, in their 50 or 60-word “writings”? This ‘whoso’ proprietor, needs more practice, needs more immersion in wine and winemaking and wine-study–
So do I have to score my own wine? Can I be objective– oh stop it yes of course I can.. IIMG_6161 would have had it in oak longer, and longer with the oak chain, but I remember making it at the Kenwood winery and being forced to rack it at a certain time and bottle it at one punctuated.. not as I’d have like it– but it wasn’t my winery. The ‘NDC’ is about New DADS, needing an accessible red wine for occasions any. There’s no incongruence with palate or nose or finish or texture, I just feel there could be more.
whoso cellars is about nonconformity, yes, but as well innovation and invention and the LEAP of winemaking vision. So did I succeed? I.. well….. No. There needs to be more here; more vocal, more scene, more éclat in its character weaving. I don’t know, but I’m not pleased. And I don’t blame Blair, or the hosting winery, the resources, no one or anything, no element.. I’m here sipping and learning, and knowing I AM a winemaker, well as a penman.
So let’s say I’m not me, I’m not a writer/winemaking whatever of this bottle, that I never met Blair and I never made this.. so then what.. well I guess my estimation would be sewn in another stroll. But I’m biased, rationally curved and cognitively curtailed, so I just now sip, and now sense and see there are improvements to be made in this winemaker’s crafting. He’ll be better with years, a few more harvests.. there’s promise, A promise here. We’ll just have to see what he does next; what singular varietals and what blends.. and just WHAT. Not sure who this writer thinks he is making wine, but it’ll be interesting to see what he promises next, what else he decides to put in Bottle.. this expository Ox.

MM88

(5/14/15)

journal gust, 62512

9:51am.  Wrote quite a few spoken rimed lines this morning, while spending time with little Kerouac.  Just waiting for him to wake, so I can get a couple things done.  Have to fit that run in today, at some point.  Also want to take some pictures, Russian River area, or northern Santa Rosa.  Have a meeting up there later, with a fellow wine blogger.  Still thinking about last night’s SB.  Where I’d like to sip it, abroad, or whites like it, while writing…  Spain, Ibiza, Morocco, Dominican Republic, Miami.  Wherever it’s hot, and there’s water out at which I can just irresponsibly stare.  If time is just going to forward unconcerned with damage it inflicts, then I don’t want to be aware of it.  So I’ll stare at the waves.  Sip and scribble.

5:59pm.  Learned more than I was expecting from fellow wine nomad Ed, when I visited him at his office.  So many folds, dimensions, angles to wine’s business.  The licensing, though, what forces a balk from this Artist.  Do I want to spend the time getting however many I need?  I’m an Artist, my urge is to Create, be in moments‘ moments.  One of the things about Self I like most, and I don’t want it even minimally compromised.  Well, not something I need to entertain right now, as I haven’t the fees anyhow.  Need to generate immediate revenue.  Pages.  The chapbooks.  Musical angle.  I don’t need some ridiculous permit, a “seller’s permit,” to sell my own writing, MY Art, do I?  At my age, I need 2B true to Self.  So, first, following with the Writing, the photos on the other blog.  Then, we’ll see what.

No mocha this morning.  BUT, did have one in the last hour.  Bought Alice one of her “passion iced teas,” think that’s what they’re called.  And me, a mocha.  Took my sip first at 5:02pm.  Still feels its dark winds.  Love.  This post, the last for day.  Going to move fingers across keys for paragraphs that’ll pay.  Tonight, I’m thinking beer.  No wine.  Well, what’s left of last night’s SB, in fridge, I might “revisit.” Comp Book, right at my 12.. check.  Pens, over there [right side of desk].. check.  Time for song, time to write.. Time to Create, to be me.  No licensing fee.

Another thing that Ed showed me that I thought was quite enlightening, was where the labels were made, how as well.  Wine bottles’ labels have always sent me into thought.  Not every one that I see, but some.  Just something about that cover, like a book.  I want to taste, read with palate, what’s in its borders.  Need music.. Wine Bar beats.  Comp Book open.  Away go I, to fly.  Bye.

rolling reading

added

The stand-alone pieces, my consciousness’, unconsciousness’, stream/s, all here.  Noted.  Each entry stands alone, alongside the next wandering expression set.  Why was I just looking at my phone?  Vibrating, call from work.  This hour, respectfully, MINE.  That pull from pocket, glance at screen, ate away maybe 15 seconds of vinoLit.  Moving on…  Excited to taste some Pinot in a few hours.  Why do I like Pinot?  Just from its contrasting saunter, its song.  The melodically defiant strokes of its character.  It’s doesn’t boast.  Softly speaking; a word whisperer.  She’s a flirt.  She talks, only to unintentionally leave you caught; smitten, bitten.  This mocha, a bit stronger than I estimated.  Need to sip slow.  Almost went to the wine bar across the street for lunch.  But, thankfully I was successful in not letting Self.  Can’t afford it, and that would have been entries never written, lost.

All about the writing, this journal, journals.  Blog, blogs.  Still have a problem with that word.  Since I started mikeslognoblog.  Why?  ‘Cause there are no actual pages, ones you can touch?  Well, in a matter, yes.  But it shouldn’t matter, I’m now seeing, really realized just a couple hours ago at my desk, with my cubeNOTES.  The writing is here.  It can be read.  If anything, more easily, readily, that if I traditionally self-pub’d.  Keeping the pen moving, at my desk, whenever I can breath.  What will those go towards, if not bottledaux?  The Bottled Ox doesn’t know.  Doesn’t need to, anyway.  Not right away, with overt swerves.

Think I have to be back in 12 minutes.  Why can’t I remember when I clocked out?  Tonight, at home, if I can, need to gather some photos together, or I want to, into an informal album.  For me.  To inspire pages.  Need to capture as many presents as I can before sinking into future, before they become pasts.

[1/12/12 – Th]

entries, poured

1/13/11.  Here, at the home desk, just before bed, Friday night.  No idea what to write.  And yes, I’ll admit I’m a bit slow from that ’09 Pinot.  But even still, my scribbling strut has stopped, stuck.  Not much writing today, outside the cubeNOTES.  Tomorrow morning, dedicating Self to mocha manuscripts.  Turning on “Secret Window,” which I’ve watched more times than I want to truthfully tell.  Has me thinking about sending off pages.  But no, I’m a self-publisher.  2 blogs, taking me to away, free, to stapled serenity.  This is completely Pinot talk.  What else does it want to confess?  (11:37p)

1/14/11.  How is it mid-January, already?  What’s I tell you about time?  Insensitive devil.  Just uploaded two posts to 1Stop.  Now, I get to play in the bottled auxiliary.  This morning, quite cold.  But gorgeous outside, kind sun.  Listening to some Wine Bar beats to keep me motioned.  The mocha, all but gone.  Let’s see how many sips I’ve left…  oh, none.  Okay.  Want to look into events coming up in the wine world.  I’m almost positive there’s one next week, at Enkidu I believe.  Could stop by on my way home. Love their Syrahs, Pinots.

Heard from Katie.  She’ll leave a sample of our Cabernet at Mom and Dad’s on Monday.  I know it hasn’t been that long, but I’m looking forward to revisit my inaugural winemaking project again.  Miss it like a child in separations.  As I remember, it could use a little more tannin, but I can be sure upon recollection.  Need to read some of my winemaking book today, take some notes.  Want to start getting ready early for the next harvest.  With the rain lack we’ve been experiencing, I’m not sure when bud break could be, or if you can even gauge such this early.  Where is my book?  Downstairs…  With it now in my grips, I realize I need to engage in meticulous study, note-taking if 2012 is to my first solo winemaking vintage, one to vend.

Found the little black, quasi-leather-bound book I bought.  Meant for winemaking diary-ing.  Need to log weather, each day day.  Short entries.  This will be my log of progress, discovery.  All steps to whoso cellars’ ignition.