Vueve is the Lube of Life

I quit my job and am lubing up for a big change. She pours a flute of vivaciousness, and gracefully dangles it between two fingers.  Slowly, she inhales like a drawn-out drag of a cigarette. The sip lingers. Good thing is, the movie just keeps getting better.

Posted by Teri Citterman

Pondering Cruel In the Shower with Wine

Another absurd piece of meat vomit showed up in the world of sensory overload. This week, CNN reported ‘Jury finds Jodi Airas was cruel when she killed her ex-boyfriend.’ This apparently tips her into the possibility of facing the death penalty. You should know I have no intention of pondering beyond the sixty-seven seconds it takes me to write this, but I am just a little curious about when exactly the line between killing and killing someone cruelly gets crossed. So, I have a few questions:

•       If he had been stabbed 27 times, but in the shapes of little stars, could this have been considered less cruel?
•       If she tied a bow around his throat rather than slashed it, could she have avoided the cruel label?
•       Had he been found tucked in his bed instead of slumped in the shower, would cruel have simply been dismissed?

I’m just brainstorming here. But speaking of showers, I just learned I have a girlfriend who SITS in the shower drinking wine, dipping her face in the water from time to time, pretending she’s in a tropical rain storm. While I consider this unusual, the cruelest part has to be when the shower head goes rogue and sprays into your glass. That would cross my line into some level of cruelty. Bath?

 

Posted by Teri Citterman

Confrontation & Cabernet…You Decide

When you shoot the guy, who was going to shoot the guy, you’re dying to see dead, all bets are off. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. Confrontation can be a barrel of fun or a pain in the bunghole – just depends whether your glass is half full or half empty. Pause; pour some more. Barons V, 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon is rich and elegant, tangled up in black cherry and black currant, which wrestles gracefully with straps of smoke and leather. This dark red juice knows the rules and the ones it needs to break to get where it’s going; the first rule of Fight Club is you DO NOT talk about Fight Club.

Seriously, who doesn’t know that!

Posted by Teri Citterman

Sipping Naked with Strangers

On the red side of exotic, Belmonte Cellars (formerly Pandora) 2009 Connor’s Blend is a made-for-TV animal. It’s equal parts Petit Verdot and Malbec with a dash of Cabernet Sauvignon to ruffle it up. A ribbon of spice and midnight swirl through the goodness of dark cherry and blueberry, while even tannins switch and swap in a conjecture of a good time not yet had by all. Super exotic? Not exactly. But it is a sexy blend that cocktails the wine up just enough to be sipped naked in a hot tub with strangers. Enjoy!

David Sedaris Killed Billie Holiday

David Sedaris killed Billie Holiday for me. I know I’m not the only one, but since I heard his rendition of Silent Night in ‘Billie Holiday’ style, it’s ruined.  I cannot listen to her screechy, door-creaking voice, even when it really is her. It’s worse when he does the Oscar Mayer Wiener Song. It’s accurate and disturbing.  Dammit! I need a drink.

Fortunately, she sang a song called Lilac Wine, which, if you say out loud, sounds like you’re saying “I Like Wine”, which frankly, I can get on board with. Redemption.

A Favorite Indulgence – Rough Justice

Barrister Winery’s Rough Justice truly is the stage kitten of wine. Breathing gently with black plum boa and dark lace – purring and pleading to be subdued by a swirl of graham cracker pie crust. Rich and jammy, this wine does a little more than suggest you pay attention with shocks of blackberry filling, pasties a-twirling, silky tannins and a drawn-out finish to make any onlooker pretty damn eager to indulge.

One of my favorites…

 

Posted by Teri Citterman

Wine Gift Idea: A Bottle of ‘Are You F-ing Kidding Me!’

I need to give a gift to my local car dealership. Why?  Let’s just say the best way to convey my message is with a cheap bottle of  ‘Are You F-ing Kidding Me!’  Here’s how it unraveled:

First: we want to buy your car

Him: Hi Teri. This is Sam (not his real name) from Luxury Car Dealership. I see you brought your car in for service in November.

Me: Yes. And actually, the steering is still pulling.

Him: Oh. Well, that’s not why I’m calling. We have a vehicle shortage of your particular model, and I’m wondering if you’d be willing to let us buy it from you.

Me: Um… I’ve only owned it since October, but what the hell?  I am scheduled for an oil change on Saturday at 8:30am. We can discuss it then.

Him: Oh that won’t work. I don’t work until 11.  Can you bring it in this weekend, like tomorrow? Because we may have a buyer (said with great urgency).

Me:  Well… (let me try and accommodate your work schedule, Sam….But, admittedly, I was curious…) I can stop by tomorrow around 2pm (25 minutes out of my way.)

Second: at dealership next day – why do you want to sell your car

Him: So, why do you want to sell your car?

Me: I don’t. You called me.

Him: Oh, right… If we’re able to get you a great price on it, would you upgrade to a 2013 model?

Me: Is this why I’m here?

Him:  No, no… just wondering…Wait! Weren’t you the one that wanted to buy a Chevy?

Me: Sam. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Interlude:

Text to boyfriend: Why does car dealership feel like trip to gynecologist

Text from boyfriend: because their hands are in all the wrong holes

Third: 45 minutes later and a thorough examination

Him: The used car manager just needs to sign off on the final offer.  (Reappears 10 minutes later.) …Seems, he’s not working today. Can you come in on Tuesday, when he’s here?

Me: (Dumbfounded exasperation spreading like lava across my face)

Him: I know that’s not the answer you wanted to hear…

Me:  Sam. That is not an answer. That is a problem. No, I cannot come in Tuesday. I will be here Saturday, at 8:30, to service my car.

Him: Oh, that’s right. I start at 11. Could you come in later?  I know…(flashes flirty smile) I should be fired…. I’m sorry.

Last: make it right call

Needless to say, an electrified email sparked a call from the general manager the next day.

GM: ….is there anything we can do?

Me: I’d like a loaner car during while my car gets serviced

GM: Oh, we don’t usually give loaner cars when you come in for service.

Me: Yah, I don’t usually spend 2 hours on a Sunday at your dealership….

Based on the myriad of promises – free service, free gas, free loaner car, I do believe they will make this right.

A Grand Potpourri of Meat Vomit

Please help me understand why I find these tasting notes written by a local wine store so troubling?  I say crazy shit, but this reads like a potpourri of meat vomit projecting in every direction.

Roasted marrowbones, cured meat, black olive, minerals and cracked black pepper are wrapped in layers of violets, wet tobacco and warm soil.

Really?

• Is it because the aroma described matches the fragrance of my grandmother’s cooking mixed with a large dose of her perfume?
• Is it because marrowbones and minerals sound like a calcium supplement I should be taking to prevent osteoporosis?
• Is it because I realize I need to infuse more meat products into my own writing?
• Is it because I feel they’re trying too hard?

I don’t know, but it really bothers me….

Pope Smoke and Two Wine Barrels

Colored smoke? I’m all for theatrics, but that one seems a little outdated.  Perhaps that’s the ultimate irony, but… I digress.  By the way, it’s not like Jews don’t do a lot of weird shit too. Point taken.

So there’s an Argentinian in the house, which gives pause and wonderment to whether the Eucharist wine will now be of the South American sway?’ (Slow down! The house is still Italian…)

Still, I’m proposing – the lovely Tempus Tempranillo from Mendoza, which seems wildly appropriate for this auspicious occasion. Why? Because it sounds like TEMPLAR, which sounds like TEMPEST, which besides being a Shakespeare play, I’ve just learned, is a codename referring to investigations and studies of compromising emanations (CE). I know!

You can say a lot about the Catholic church, but compromising emanation may just be going too far… Or is it? There’s no shortage of a naughty implication in a compromising emanation. (Rhyme!) That’s right, if you use it in a sentence, it’s hard to not blush a little! Think back to the last time you were found in a compromising emanation. Just sayin’.

Compromised or not, this is a very fortuitous moment. Tempus is dark and venerable. It’s heady and holy, something to fall in love with again and again. Adoration? Sure, why not?  This wine is cloaked in a rich velvet robe of dark fruit and ruby spice, layered in a rosary of complex intensity. It emanates virgin vanilla and finishes with a smooth sense of moral judgment. Forgive me father for I have sinned. Calm down, I’m just quoting a Madonna song says the Jewish girl.

If the Baby’s Head Pops Off, Choose Your Wine Wisely

I’d take snakes on a plane over screaming babies any day.  Traveling from DC to Seattle is no short flight. And the screeching emitting from this small bundle was like no sound I’d ever heard.  Maybe from a car with a broken fanbelt, but never from a human.  And yes, I realize most people go to a place of empathy; poor baby. I go to “how much more can I take before I have no choice but to slit my wrists with a safety pin!”

This baby was making such guttural, throatal sounds that I thought its head might pop off.  And then of course I started thinking, what does one drink when a baby’s head pops off? On a plane, your choices are limited, so it’s always good to anticipate these things.

Iris Vineyard, 2009, Pinot Noir from Oregon could work. It provides the calm I need in a moment of complete chaos.  This wine is light, a little more squawky than I like, but non-offensive and non-remarkable. It might be brighter with food, but it seemed inappropriate to ask the flight attendant to whip up an appetizer for me to de-acid-ify the wine. I’m probably inappropriate enough as it is. The thing is this wine achieved the goal.  It was a fine distraction – not terribly interesting but absolutely good enough. Which happened to be the last name of a person my seatmate and I were gossiping about.  Jennifer Goodenough.  Now that’s something to cry about!

 

PS – Some will find this offensive for a variety of reasons.  I know that. I’m okay with it. Also, the baby was pretty damn cute.  But that’s beside the point.