this old heart of mine - the isley brothers.
the perception of working with wine is people either think you have a license to be drunk 24/7 or that you are a snooty elitist. after really immersing myself in this thing i knew nothing about five years ago, i’ve observed that it’s the so-called “enthusiasts” who really make us out to be snobs. those who refuse to try anything under $20 bucks. those who won’t look at anything pointed below 90. those who question up-and-coming regions and their validity. those who aren’t patient with other wine drinkers. a heavy emphasis on the last one.
but if you talk with a somm, often times they’re ready and willing to help based on your level of understanding, rather than simply upselling you to the highest price tag.
sitting down, listening to the story of a winemaker or supplier, especially through the heartbreaks of bad harvest seasons (i.e. this lovely year of 2014), makes you realize just how down-to-earth these people are who share in the passion of making wine. they’re in polos and ripped up jeans, dirt on their cheeks, smiling big ol’ smiles. i’ve met far more the judging eye working a weekend in the tents during new york fashion week.
winemaking is an extreme science, in the same way baking is often times seen as harder than cooking because it leaves little to no room for improvisation. the 2012 vintage doesn’t taste the same as 2011 / one little thing can screw up years of harvests. (maybe that passion and meticulousness is seen as snobbery, i don’t know.)
what i do know is there is such a divide in the understanding of wine and i really think it stems from the “enthusiast” and their unwillingness to share, to educate. but they gotta wake up to the reality that is. we are the generation who understands the 2 buck chuck, the yellowtail, and the skinnygirls. we don’t know shit, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have the capacity to learn. i just started working tastings this month and noticed that people are simply enlightened to learn something. i barely did any selling, it was more like storytelling.
and generally speaking, here in the u.s. we were not brought up drinking wine like many of our european counterparts. wine is still a mystery overall. i mean, just in purchasing behaviors you notice our consumers are likely drawn to brand or varietal familiarity, bottle design, and price point. when in other parts of the world they’ll look specifically for a region and already have a basic understanding of the soil properties or that many badly designed bottles are actually some of the better wines.
i definitely see myself in the distant future being a collector, but just as i have a hard time finding interest friends in music that are of a non-elitist breed, finding wine interest friends (that i don’t work with) is posing the same difficulties. that, and i’m still fairly uncomfortable in the lack of diversity around me as i briefly pointed out in a previous post, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.
i have held off giving my two cents on the michael brown shooting as i’m still trying to make sense of what i can do, as one citizen of a country that somehow can significantly advance on some levels but takes 1,000 steps backwards on others, day in and day out.
especially on matters regarding just basic, fundamental rights.
"i’m angry" doesn’t even scratch the surface, but not many other words in the english language fit.
reaching for utopia is an absurd ideal. so the answer is in togetherness, but there is no togetherness. there isn’t even a place of tolerance of each other, which i would take over the place we are at now. every excuse i hear justifying this act and those like it (televised and untelevised) regurgitates in my mind like throw up or the girlfriend you have who’ll think of every excuse in the goddamn world to forgive an abusive motherfucker.
it is a dead end road if we can’t even hold to something as simple as giving somebody their due process. RESPECT ALL OF THE LEGAL RIGHTS THAT ARE OWED TO A PERSON. the robbery, the mary jane, all of that is just side commentary to what that kid had every right to, stripped away by exercising ego and authority.
how many more have to die like this? the riots and escalated violence are products of peacefulness getting spit at.
this blog post is an over-generalization, but i think it’s an accurate breakdown of white privilege written by a white mother of three, for anyone who doesn’t see this as a racial issue, who thinks that race is only a slim factor.
but, i also said time and again throwing literature in somebody’s face isn’t going to change a mind. in research and in talking to folks there are a few things i may make time to attend, at least here in chicago, but if any of you have any other important happenings you want to send my way, i’d like to know.
it’s stagnant, then it’s can’t-even-keep-up active. it tries to haul you to the finish line, but you keep giving into the cramping. it leads you through a dark alley you’ve never been before and it’s okay because google maps told you so and it’ll reroute anyway. but as soon as the light manifests the vibe of familiarity, it throws shade your way. what the fuck was all that for? asshole.
it throbs. it’s badu telling you to shake that load off and sing your song, liberate the minds, then go on home. then again, where is home? is it in an inspiring lecture? is it in the arms of somebody? is it in the smell of mac n cheese? is it in coltrane? is it in that sitcom you can recite in your sleep? is it in the down feather pillow that pokes at you but you deal with it anyway? is it in the pillow you’ve been laying on you’ve just turned over, fresh and cold to the touch? is it in acknowledgment? is it in the head you just got? was it in your last cigarette?
it anticipates to pour a glass of scotch for you as you make your way to the bar. it’s the very architecture of your sore throat, nausea, and headache in the morning after. it brings you to a place you never thought never existed. it revisits old wounds. it buries you in to-dos, making checklists seem mandatory in order to feel good about checking something off.
it’s sensitive. it’s angered easily. it’s a flip of the coin.
it’s that white, mystery flavor airhead.
.....fleeting moments and the daily grind.
from the city of wind, in a love-hate tango with nostalgia, doubts there'll ever be a point when common will not be relevant, revels in (eases) life's cherry pits, and fueled by words & beats.