Woah, woah, woah. When did Franzia get his hands on Stagecoach fruit? Or is it really Stagecoach fruit…
Tonight’s good booze:
Bike commuting to work = guilt free wine drinking in the evening. Tonight I’m enjoying a 2007 Napa Cellars Stagecoach Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon. Cheers!
Merle Haggard
Life seemed so sincere until the age of 23. I don’t know what fruit I ate, but suddenly everyone’s intentions were ripe with intrigue and greed. It’s probably only my projections, as I realized all I wanted was what’s mine. Or, perhaps, what I thought was mine. But the blatant annotation I labeled on everything was one capitalized word in permanent marker: fake. Maybe it’s because life is so awe-inspiring when you’re young. Everything is the best you’ve ever seen, tasted, felt. It’s the reason see-saws, operated by incredulous parents bobbing up and down like a carnival game, attract every child on the playground in 0 to 60 in mere seconds. The smallest thrill is worth at least five minutes of giggles and a veritable Palestrina-esque arrangement of, “Wee!” ‘Cause you ain’t got drugs yet. Eventually, life can only maintain it’s Punch and Judy routine so long before the CD skips, and the puppets find themselves flailing to “Girl you know it’s, girl you know it’s, girl you know it’s…” in endless repetition until their exasperated pupeteers finally give up. And it’s so slight, infinitesimal even, that the young, still enraptured with bright bouncy objects and loud rock music, never notice the complete and epic fail. But at 23, you suddenly do.
The Texas @centralmarket wine experience with a whole lot of our Cab. Bravo!
Now *that’s* a floor stack.
Wine Divorced From Food? Let’s Be Adults About It
I was saying the same thing awhile ago, and basically got shat on my blog and twitter (well, as much as a shitty lil’ blogger like me can be.)
My argument isn’t that wine doesn’t belong with food, just that kids (o’er 21, of course…ahem) don’t necessarily think so.
